“Shhhh…” She smooths my hair back.
I keep my eyes closed, the tension easing from my face, my head swimming as the warmth and gentleness of her touch lulls me.
“You were the one who wasn’t supposed to leave.”
Everyone else gave up.
She holds me for a while, and I don’t know if it’s her or me, but the hold gets tighter. And tighter.
“What are you doing?” she whispers in my ear, and I feel the tears on her cheeks. “What are you doing to me, Clay?”
And I realize she’s not holding me. She’s holding onto me, because I’m not the only one alone.
“What do you need?” she asks. “Tell me what you need.”
“Just this,” I tell her. “Just don’t move, Liv. Please don’t leave.”
My parents give me whatever I want, because they don’t want the fight. My mother doesn’t have it in her to raise me anymore, and my father finds his time is better spent elsewhere. Liv was all I had left. I wanted to hurt her, so I could matter.
I live for her, an enemy I never wanted to defeat. A fight I never wanted to end.
But, God, her arms. The feel of her. Her voice.
More.
Opening my eyes, I look up at her, wiping my tears. “I changed my mind,” I tell her as she looks down at me. “I think I need carbs.”
I CHEW THE pizza, glancing up at her as she sits showered, hair wet, and dressed in sleep shorts with blue octopi on them and a white Henley on top. Despite the small, round table and two chairs behind me, we sit on the carpet, under the window of our sixth-floor hotel room, with the open pizza box between us.
Our eyes meet, but we haven’t said much since she broke down in the bathroom an hour ago.
For now, we enjoy an awkward silence, but it’s not fighting, and that’s something.
Maybe this is a play. A way to reel me in so she doesn’t lose her favorite chew toy.
But I think what happened in the bathroom was real. It’s just hard to trust anything genuine from her. As much I want to.
And whyyyyyy do I want to? I keep looking for the good in her. Why?
“I’m sorry about your dad,” she says in a quiet voice.
I look over, seeing her pick at her slice and put it in her mouth.
I shrug. “It was eight years ago.”
I take another bite, almost ready for my second. She ordered old world pepperoni. My favorite.
She nods. “I know. At least he went quickly, though.”
Her brother didn’t. The Collins’ could afford to put up a fight with leukemia, but it just prolonged his suffering. I guess they had to try, though.
“I’m sorry about Henry.” It comes out as a rasp, and I don’t know why. “I saw you with him sometimes. You were a good sister.”
My dad died long before Clay and I knew each other, but Henry was only a few years ago.
She still doesn’t look at me, just nods, and I watch the ball in her throat move up and down.
She picks off a piece of pepperoni. What’s going on in her head?
“Do you like it?” I ask her.
She pops her eyes up, still bloodshot from the crying. “Yeah, why?”
“You usually like all the fixings.” Olives, peppers, onions, sausage… She likes her pizza loaded. After years of playing lacrosse together, I know her pizza order by now.
She lifts the slice to her mouth. “It’s good.”
I smile to myself. I appreciate the sacrifice. Old world pep is my thing.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask after a moment. I don’t know why I want to know. Maybe I’m taking advantage of the opportunity to finally talk to her. “Why do you act like you hate me, I mean?”
She looks at me, holding my eyes, but when her mouth opens, nothing comes out. Her lids fall, her gaze drops, and I can see the tears pool again.
But she blinks them away, clearing her throat. “You don’t have to come back to school.”
She changes the subject, and I let her. “I know.”
“But I’ll miss you,” she adds, and her voice is as small as a needle, and seeps right into my skin just as easily.
I’m dying for air. She’s fixated on me, right? Because she has nothing else? That’s all this is, right? She couldn’t control me anymore, because I’d started to react. She’s starved for attention, and if that means going to bed with me, she’ll do it. That’s what she’s doing, right?
You weren’t supposed to leave.
“No one has left you, Clay,” I tell her. “Your brother was taken. He didn’t make a choice.”
She’s not alone.
“And your parents…” I go on. “They may be going through stuff, but they’re there. They love you.”
Demand their attention like you do mine. Why not?
“Did you feel like your mom loved you?” she asks. “Do you remember her?”