Chapter 13
Are We Okay? Am I Okay?
I awoke the next morning with a knot in my stomach. No, not a knot. A knot sounded too small and simple. What was bundled up in my stomach was gargantuan - a super knot, exposed to some otherworldly gamma rays and wrecking havoc on my digestive system with its super size and strength. A little dramatic, yes, but that's what it felt like.
Luckily, I hadn't had any dreams worth remembering last night. Luckily, Lil and all my friends had stayed away. Maybe they'd sensed that I needed space. Or maybe it was just a fluke; dreams are usually random anyway, regardless of how much I'd like to think that I can control them. Yet another reason not to talk about them to people. It makes the argument of 'how can you hope to live in a world beyond your grasp, always wishing and wanting it to come to you?' too valid of a point.
I didn't need other people nagging me on the one sore spot that I had with my dreams, my dilemma with them, if you will. It bothered me enough that I couldn't always have the conversations I wanted, that I couldn't always see who I wanted. That sometimes I had dreams I wouldn't wish on anybody. . . like my nightmare last night.
I shivered as I lay in my bed, staring at my ceiling, remembering the fragments of that dream. Unlike most of my dreams of my friends, I didn't know I was dreaming. Of course, that dream hadn't really been a dream. It was a memory. I'd been reliving events and thoughts that had really happened, right down to turning Lillian's head to make her look at me.
I closed my eyes and fought back the bile suddenly rising in my throat. That had been the most horrific moment of my life and I didn't wish to revisit it. Even still, the screams and tortured cries I'd made in that car echoed through my head. I don't know how long I'd yelled and shaken her, getting her blood all over me, but eventually shock had taken over my body and I'd sat back in my seat, shaking violently, watching the rain ease up on the windshield. . . waiting.
Looking back at that moment, I think I'd been waiting for death to take me too, not someone to rescue me. I think I'd been shaking in that seat, praying for some internal injury to make itself known. Waiting for some part of me to bleed out, so I could close my eyes and join my girlfriend, wherever she had gone. And so, not knowing that Sheriff Whitney was coming, that he was close to being my savior, I had waited. . . to die.
I opened my eyes with that unwelcome memory burning my irises. Combining it with the super-knot in my stomach and the bile I'd already been fighting back and, well, I lost all control. I scrambled to the bathroom and heaved nosily in the toilet.
Perfect. . . just how I like to start my day.
Panting, and urging my body to calm down, I rested my head on my arm over the cold seat. My other hand squeezed my stomach in a massaging fashion, trying to ease the pain of that discomfort. I closed my eyes as my breathing and stomach settled. Feeling a light touch to my shoulder, I opened them and glanced behind me. My mother leaned over me, concern clear in her haggard features.
"Are you alright? Are you sick?"
I sat back on my heels, shaking my head. "No, I. . . "
I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to talk about my dream. I never talked about that to anyone. All I ever told people, even my mom, was that I remembered leaving the party and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital. God, how I wished that were true. But it wasn't, and I couldn't tell her about dreaming of my memory of finding Lil dead. . . that would lead to too many other conversations I didn't want to have.
Throwing on a weak smile, I shook my head again. "I'm fine. . . bad Hot Pocket. "
I shrugged and her face twisted in parental compassion, and probably a little bit of guilt for what I constantly fed myself with. Her hand came up to my cheek, cupping it. "I'm sorry, Luc. I really shouldn't buy that stuff for you. "
I sighed that my stupid cover was making her feel bad about herself. I seemed to be really good at making her feel bad about herself. I hated that. I stood up, feeling a little wobbly, and put a hand on her shoulder, drawing her in for a quick hug. "I'm fine. . . really. It was just a weird moment, but it's gone now. " I hoped it was gone for awhile.
She returned my hug, her face never relaxing out of concern. "Oh. . . alright. Do you want to stay home? Should I call the school?"
I seriously considered that. But. . . as terrified as I was to see Sawyer again, avoiding her for a day would probably only make this, thing, between us worse. No, I needed to get this awkwardness behind us so we could have our amazing friendship back again. I relied on that friendship too much.
Shaking my head, I reiterated, "No, I really am fine. "
She finally conceded, reaching up to kiss my cheek before leaving me to shower away my troubles. Or try to anyway. The soothing feeling of hot water and sudsy bubbles sliding over skin, only did so much to ease the soul. But being clean, and eventually dressed, did lighten the pit in my stomach. Now it was only a typical bundle of nerves and not the radiation-enhanced version I'd had upon waking.
Sipping coffee with Mom in the kitchen later, I waited for Sawyer to appear. And waited. . . and waited. I started to worry that she was going to avoid me. She'd only said she'd see me this morning. . . she didn't say she'd come get me. I'd just gotten so used to being picked up, I guess I kind of expected it now. Pretty selfish of me really.
Mom looked at her watch and frowned. Another few minutes and I'd have to take the bus or be late. God, I really did not want to climb back on that damn bus. I shifted in my chair and spun the coffee cup in my hands, trying to appear unworried. Surely she wouldn't ditch me?
"Um. . . Luc?" Mom began, glancing at her watch again.
"She'll be here," I muttered, more to myself than my mom.
"Well, she's never late and you're going to be, if she doesn't get here soon. . . "
I stopped fidgeting and stared at my mom, meeting her gaze. "She'll be here. " My voice sounded confident, but I wasn't. How badly had I damaged us?
Mom stood and ruffled my hair, grabbing my coffee cup and walking over to the sink. "Okay," she said as she rinsed out our cups. She glanced at her watch again and shook her head. "Sorry, Luc, but I have a. . . meeting before work. " She shrugged and looked really guilty. "I can't give you a ride today, honey. . . if she doesn't make it. "
I stood up and threw on an unworried smile. Walking over to her, I slung my arms around her and brightly proclaimed. "Have a good day, Mom. . . and don't worry, she'll be here. "
She sighed and cupped my cheek as her eyes took me in. I waited patiently for her to finish and then she grabbed her purse, kissed my cheek and left me alone in the kitchen. . . with that gargantuan knot making a reappearance.
I paced for a few minutes and then decided the enclosed space was just making me feel worse. The bus had gone by not long after my mom had left and my options for getting to school on time were dwindling. I suppose I could run there. . . if I really needed to. Or maybe I'd just skip first period.
I stepped outside and breathed in the crisp, cool December air. It had rained during the night and everything was slick and damp. Deep puddles filled in a low spot on our lawn and the edge of the road by the sidewalk streamed like a narrow river. Leaves dripped their stores of excess water and the whole world felt heavy and damp. I was not looking forward to being in this.
Just as I mentally accepted that she really wasn't coming, a familiar Camaro pulled into the drive. A frazzled looking Sawyer waved at me through the window, urging me to get my butt in the car already. I startled from where I'd been stupidly staring at her, and briskly walked to her car, getting in and shutting the door behind me. She was off before my door had even finished closing.
"Sorry I'm late," she muttered as she sped down the wet streets, the sound of the rain splashing up under her car nearly as loud as the roar of the car's engine.
"It's okay. . . I'm just glad you came. " I cringed at my choice of words and stared out the window. The town sped by and I clutched
the handle of the door, part nerves from driving so fast in the rain, part nerves from the tension I felt in the car.
"Why wouldn't I?" she shot back, a flatness to her tone that I didn't like hearing.
She'd ignored the suggestiveness of what I'd said, so I ignored it as well and looked back at her. She focused hard on the road, too hard for it to not be intentional. Her hands were white as she gripped the wheel and she was breathing shallowly though parted lips. I sighed at her obvious discomfort. I didn't want us like this.
Just as I was about to speak, to apologize for my behavior last night, we reached the school lot and she parked, shut off the car, and opened her door, all in practically one move. I had trouble adjusting to her swiftness, and scrambled to pick my bag off the floor and open my own door. By the time I'd successfully done both, she was ten paces in front of me, walking fast towards the main building.
"Sawyer, wait," I called as I hurried to catch up. The lot was full of cars, and no one was around. We only had a few moments before the bell was going to ring; we'd barely have time to get there and we definitely didn't have time for the conversation I felt we needed to have. I suddenly got the feeling that that was exactly what she'd planned this morning. Her being late wasn't an accident.
She said nothing and didn't slow her pace, but my long legs caught up to her easily enough and we made the final steps to the doors in an uncomfortable silence. I watched the way her hair streamed behind her, unrestrained by any clips or rubber bands. I remembered that silky length wrapped in my fingers yesterday, remembered her breath in my ear. . . remembered the noises she'd made and how she'd clutched my back when she came beneath me. The way she'd held me tight when I came.
She cleared her throat and gestured to the door and I woke from my thoughts, my face heating as I realized we were at English already. In my spacing out, I'd missed the entire trip up here. I pulled open the door as I let my heated memories fade; I really needed to not think about her like that.
Ms. Reynolds smiled at our joint entrance and the bell rang right as we sat in our seats. Ignoring the people around me and Ms. Reynolds perkily asking how everyone did on their last assignments, a five page paper we were supposed to write on the person who inspired us most (I think she was trying to prep us for our college essays that we'd be starting to really focus on soon), I stared at Sawyer.
Unlike most days, Sawyer didn't look back at me. She'd slung my letterman's jacket over the back of her chair and was chewing on the end of a pencil, listening to the teacher intently. Nothing in the slump of her body or the casual way she ran her thumb over the edge of her notebook showed any signs of turmoil, but every once in a while, just her eyes would flick over to me, and I knew. I knew she was making herself not return my unblinking gaze. She was making herself kind of ignore me.
When nothing had changed halfway through class, I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to talk to her; I needed to know if we were okay. It was unfortunately a silent reading period, and everyone had their nose in a book. It was too quiet for me to whisper a conversation to her.
Ms. Reynolds was preoccupied with reading our essays at her desk, her red pen flying across the papers as she worked, and aside from the rustle of turning pages among the students, she was making the only noise in the room. Sawyer was twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she read quietly and I stared at my book without even seeing the tiny typed letters on the page.
Wanting to curse for having to resort to fifth grade measures, I grabbed my pencil and quietly tore a sheet out of the notebook still open on my desk. I wrote a question in it and folded it as silently as I could. I extended my note enclosed hand out to her, but her eyes remained on her book. Worried that she'd just plain blow me off, I coughed and exaggerated the 'take it' motion with my hand.
She finally pulled her eyes away from whatever fascinating novel she was reading, and stared at my hand. She flicked a glance to my eyes and I could clearly see the reluctance on her face. I gestured again, my brows drawing together as I worried. With a soft sigh she finally reached over and took the note from my hand. She unfolded it while I bit my lip. With a shake of her head, she picked up her pencil and wrote something next to my question. Then she refolded it and handed it to me, not looking at me. I took it immediately.
In my messy scrawl I'd written, "Are we okay?"
In slanted, elegant script she'd responded with, "Yes. "
My mouth dropped and I looked over at her. That's it, that's all I get? A one syllable answer to cover all the tension between us? She met my eye and I gestured to the paper and shook my head disbelievingly at her. She shrugged and started to turn back to her book.
Irritated, I wrote, "Are you avoiding me?" Deciding to not leave her with another yes/no question, I added, "What's wrong?"
She took the note and read it, responding with, "No. Nothing. "
Sighing, and wanting to scream in frustration, I heavily wrote, "Talk to me!" I nearly ripped the paper I wrote it so hard. I harshly handed it to her and stared while she sighed and wrote a reply. It was a long one and I relaxed.
"I don't know what to say to you. Last night shouldn't have happened for several reasons, but I'm not trying to avoid you. I promise. "
I frowned down at the paper and glanced back at her. She was worrying her lip and twirling the ring on her thumb. I frowned more as I wrote, "You seem mad at me. Are you? Do you hate me for what I did?"
Her brows drew to a point when she read that. Shaking her head she replied with, "No, I don't hate you. I'm mad at myself. I shouldn't have let that happen. "
Incredulous, I wrote back, "You? I'm the one that started it. I'm the one that kissed you. " As I wrote those words, I really hoped our note didn't get confiscated and read out loud. Ms. Reynolds really wasn't the type to embarrass students like that though. Now, if we were in Mr. Varner's class. . .
"You were hurting. You needed. . . something. I should have pushed you away, found another way to comfort you. I'm mad at myself. I know better than that. . . "
I didn't know what she meant by that last part, but I was so stunned that she was angry at her own conduct, that I ignored it. I didn't blame her for getting carried away when I practically attacked her, especially when I was pretty sure she had feelings for me. It was all my fault. I was the one with the lapse in judgment. I was the one being misleading, again. I told her as much and she sighed and stared at me a moment.
I bit my lip as her wrist performed the delicate act of cursive writing. "You were. . . impaired. I understand. Will you please stop apologizing? You're just making me feel worse. "
I understood what she meant by impaired. She didn't mean drunk or high, she meant overwhelmed by grief. I suppose I was. It still didn't excuse what I'd done and I felt like falling at her feet and begging her forgiveness. I just wanted things to return to normal.
I hastily scrawled back, "I'll stop apologizing if you stop being mad at yourself and avoiding me - because you are avoiding me. I just want us back. Please?"
She closed her eyes briefly after she read that. When she opened them to glance at me, they seemed excessively moist. I swallowed when I read her response. "Okay. I'm sorry if I came off that way. I really was just late this morning, but I guess I do feel sort of weird around you, kind of guilty and. . . angry. I'll stop. We'll brush this aside and just be us again. Okay?"
She held her hand out to me as I read the note and I automatically grabbed it. My eyes were overly moist now too. I'd made her feel guilty and angry. I couldn't grasp that the anger she felt was only towards herself. A part of her had to hate me a little. If anything, she had to hate me for pulling back from a relationship with her. I knew she wanted that, well, I was pretty sure anyway. But I was. . . taken. I was with Lil and we could only be friends. I wished I could tell her that.
Instead, with one hand I wrote, "So, we're okay then?"
She took it, read it and nodded her head, smiling at me. I relaxed b
ack in my seat and smiled halfheartedly. I wanted to believe that, I really did, but a part of me just couldn't. I held her hand for the rest of class, praying that it was true.
The rest of the day went by with an odd sort of tension between us. A tension that anyone not in the loop of what happened last night would ever notice. Outwardly we were the same. We walked to classes together. We talked about trivial topics with our heads close together. I even held her hand during break, needing to feel close to her, even if eyes were watching.
No one else probably noticed the strain in our faces, the slight edge of discomfort in our voices and the almost panicked way we gripped each other. And no one else definitely noticed the quiet lunch we had in her car. No one else was there for that, and the odd feeling between us only intensified in that small space. And, of course, in the closeness of confinement, my mind had started wandering to touching her again.
As she ate half of my sandwich, I watched her lick some crumbs off her upper lip. I instantly imagined that tongue along my upper lip. As she leaned over and her hair fell over her shoulder, I imagined that curtain of dark hair enclosing our faces, brushing against my shoulder. As her fingers wrapped around her water bottle, I imagined them wrapped around me. And as she tilted her head up to take a long drink from that bottle, I imagined. . . far more intimate acts.
I knew I wasn't helping matters any, and turned away from her to stare out the window. My body had started responding to the fantasies I'd allowed it and I berated myself for mentally going there. It was wrong on so many levels - wrong to Lil, wrong to Sawyer. But still, you can only control what your body does and feels so much. Some things are just instinct.
I was so lost in my inner fog for the remainder of that long day, that I barely noticed any of it. By the time Sawyer and I were parting ways, her for purity club, me for counseling, I couldn't remember a single face I'd seen or assignment I'd been given. The only thing in my head was Sawyer. . . and guilt. . . and confusion. As I sat down in my chair and stared at my hands, I started wondering if counseling was the best place for me. I started wondering if maybe I should finally open up to Mrs. Ryans. Just the thought brought back super-knot though.
Still staring at my hands, I heard her merrily greet me. I returned the greeting and my lip lifted to a tiny smile when she asked me to call her Beth. I studied the lines and creases of my fingers as silence filled around us. I wanted to say something, but the behemoth in my stomach had me in a strangle hold - I couldn't speak. I awkwardly shifted in my chair and concentrated harder on my thumb, mentally outlining the unique lines that only belonged to my skin.
Mrs. Ryans started speaking to me, asking me questions that only required either a nod or shake of my head. She usually started out that way, to loosen me up, I think. No matter my good intentions throughout the day, no matter how much I wanted to talk sometimes, by the time I sat in this chair across from her, my throat always closed up. She seemed to sense that and eased me in for conversations. I'd been silent a lot lately, but today, I was nearly mute.
As half the session went by without so much as a peep from me, and I don't think I'd even looked at her yet, she finally sighed and I felt her hand reach over to touch my shoulder. I finally looked up at her with the contact.
"I want to help you, Lucas, but I can't do that if you won't talk to me. " Her astonishingly blue eyes seemed to brighten with concern. "Please. I'm used to a little resistance from you, but this. . . " She indicated where I was rigidly sitting with my hands fisted in my lap. "I can't help you if you completely shut down. "
I tried to relax my stance and unknown aches told me I'd kept my rigid posture for awhile. I hadn't even noticed. Her pale, red eyebrows drew together as she tilted her head and removed her hand from my shoulder, sitting back in her chair. "Things are different today," she surmised. "Something happened?"
I stiffened back up as she crept closer to the truth. Her eyes took in my response and she spoke in a low voice, "Did someone else bother you?" She knew I was picked on. She knew someone had even drugged me. I shook my head, that wasn't my issue today. She sighed and then a thought seemed to lighten up her speckled cheeks. "Is it Sawyer, did you have a fight?"
I closed my eyes and exhaled. Part in nervousness that she'd guessed correctly, part in relief that she'd guessed correctly. I felt that knot start to loosen and I swallowed noisily a few times, trying to loosen my tongue as well. Finally I sputtered, "Yes. . . no. . . I don't know. "
I opened my eyes to find her watching me with an elated expression that she tried to keep even. She was excited I was talking, even if I wasn't making much sense. She leaned over her desk, her red hair moving over her shoulders as she did so. "Can you tell me what happened?"
I nodded, so she'd know I was going to respond, and then I mentally made myself relax in my chair. I listened to the quiet jazz she played in the background and noted how everything else in the room was silent. She normally took kids during school hours. I was her exception. She'd told me once that she stayed late with me so we'd have more privacy. She was aware that her flimsy Japanese screen did little to block out conversations, and she'd fit me into her life this way in the hopes that I'd open up to her if no one was around to hear. I swallowed again and hoped I'd be able to do that today.
"I. . . we. . . I sort of. . . made out with her. . . and I'm really scared. I'm really scared that I've destroyed our friendship. . . " My words were halting, starting and stopping and seeming to take forever in coming out, but she sat patiently and waited for me to be done.
She infinitesimally raised her eyebrow at my admission. I'd sworn up and down in earlier sessions that there was nothing between us and now I'd let it slip that maybe there was. Evening her face she said, "Why are you worried about it being destroyed? You both seem to care about each other. Maybe you're just finally moving closer. That's natural, Lucas. "
I shook my head and wiped my hands on my jeans, ignoring the fluttering sensation in my stomach. "No, we aren't like that. " I sighed heavily. "Well, I'm pretty sure she likes me, like that. " I ran a hand through my hair nervously. Both dreading and wanting to finish my thought, I whispered, "I was having a weak moment and. . . I took advantage of that fact. " I shook my head again, in anger this time. My voice heated as self loathing ran through me. "I needed the comfort and I stole it from her. . . and I sort of feel like a bastard. "
I waited for her to agree with me, my head down. That's exactly what I'd felt like today - a bastard. One of those guys that jerked girls around simply because they could. I felt horrid. She surprised me by instead saying, "You have feelings for her as well, you know. "
I looked up, already shaking my head at her, but she continued, "Everything you've told me about her. . . " she shook her head, her curls bouncing merrily, "that's not a man describing a friend, that's a man describing the woman he loves. "
I shook my head harshly and it spilled out before I could stop it. "No, I can't like her. Lillian's my girlfriend and I don't want to hurt her. " I immediately shut my mouth as I realized what I'd just said. I could feel my face pale and I begged the fates that she somehow hadn't heard that.
No such luck. Her brows drew together. "Lillian?" She looked past me, over my shoulder, and I could see pieces of the puzzle, that was me, snapping into place for her. With an expression that clearly said 'I understand you better', her eyes came back to me and she asked, "Lucas. . . are you afraid to hurt Sawyer, or are you afraid to hurt Lillian?"
"Both," I whispered, wishing I could vanish.
She nodded, like she finally got it. "So, you won't let yourself be with Sawyer, acknowledge the love you feel for her. . . because you still feel loyalty to your ex-girlfriend. You're still bound to her. "
I bristled at that and answered before my head could shout at me to stop. "She's not my ex! We're still together. I still see her and-" I cut myself off, wishing that earlier knot would return and cinch off my throat. This was exactly why I didn't wan
t to open up to her. I couldn't talk about this with her, she'd think I was nuts.
Her brows drew together, confused again. "You still. . . ? What do you mean you still see her?"
I immediately stood up, needing to get out of there. "I have to go. " I made to head for the door.
She stood up as well, hastily reaching across her desk to grasp my arm, stopping me. "No, stay. Please. . . stay and talk to me. Do you still see Lillian?"
I shook my head, tears forming. She'd put me in a padded cell and pump me full of anti-psychotics if I told her the truth. "No. . . I. . . no, I know she's dead. "
Her hand ran under my arm to my elbow, supporting me. With a gentle squeeze she asked, "Then what do you mean?" I hesitated, starting to buckle under the strain of hiding this, and she saw my internal debate. "You can trust me, Luc, you can tell me. "
I stepped away, breaking the contact. Scared beyond belief, I decided to let it out or maybe it decided for me. "I dream of her and its real. . . as real as anything in this world. And in that way. . . we're still together. " My voice was shaking and tears dripped to my cheeks as I waited for her to tell me I was crazy.
I'd been backing up while I was speaking and I eventually bumped into the door handle. My hand automatically clutched it, seeking escape. Her face fell into sympathy as I twisted the knob. As I pulled open the door she shook her head at me and my body tensed.
"Luc. . . oh, Lucas. . . that's not real. "
I swallowed back the tears and fled into the hallway.
I was practically running and wiping tears off my cheeks when I heard her behind me. "Luc, wait. Please. " I kept going, fighting the natural instinct I had to obey a request made from an authority figure.
I slowed as I made my way to the section of the hall where the purity club was just letting out. Feeling panic creep into me, I stopped, not knowing which way to go. I could hear Mrs. Ryans' heels clicking up the hall as she caught up from behind me, and I could hear the light laughter of students as they left the now getting packed classroom in front of me. My breath was coming in stuttered pulls, like I'd just run a marathon and I could feel the burning sensation of a massive barrage of tears starting to form. I was gonna break down; it was more a question of where than when.
Sawyer's black hair entered my vision as she exited the classroom, a big smile on her face as she talked to a young looking blonde girl. She hadn't seen me yet, but I was positive that the moment she looked into my eyes, I'd start to cry. I didn't want to cry again in front of her, especially over Lillian.
I backed up and ran into Mrs. Ryans. She looked over at my panicked face staring at Sawyer and pulled me into a classroom. I broke down the minute the door closed. She held me and let me cry all over her. I hated it. I hated feeling so weak in front of a teacher-like figure. She only held me close and rubbed my back though, making soothing sounds and not commenting.
When I'd finished, I pulled away from her, wiping my nose on my sleeve and turning my face away from her. I sat on a nearby desk and sniffled, getting my breath and emotions under control. Mrs. Ryans sat on a desk near me and waited patiently for me to be more put back together.
When I was, she quietly said, "Lucas. . . can you talk about her now?"
I knew which her she meant and the beginning of a sob rose to my throat. I shook my head and looked at her, my eyes begging for the torture to be done for one day. She seemed to understand my expression and nodded. Her next words made that sob escape however. "I'm very proud of you for telling me. I know that was hard. " As my eyes let more embarrassing tears escape, that I hurriedly brushed away, she brought a hand to my cheek. "We'll leave it for another day, okay?"
With a shaky exhale, I nodded, a numb sort of relief filling me. Relief that the burden of my hidden secret was lifted, relief that she hadn't outright called me nuts and relief that I didn't need to open up any more today; my fresh wound hurt enough. She moved her hand from my cheek to my knee and patted it a couple times.
"I do have an assignment for you though. "
With an even shakier voice I muttered, "What?"
She smiled and tilted her head at me. "I want you to take Sawyer to the winter dance. "
I shook my head like she'd just asked me to jump out the window. The winter dance was the last official school function before winter break. It was semi-formal and open to every student. I'd gone last year with Lillian and the others. It had been a fun night with lots of holding and kissing and. . .
"What? I can't. . . Sawyer and I can't. . . " I sputtered on my words and couldn't finish.
Her lips twisted and a somber look passed her. "This is important for you, Lucas. I want you to go. I think Sawyer is the best person to go with you, and who you take is ultimately up to you. . . but I do want you to go, regardless of your escort. "
"But. . . I don't dance. " Even I knew that objection wasn't going to get me anywhere.
She smiled with one corner of her lip. "It's not about dancing, Lucas, and you know that. " Her face got serious again. "It's about you reconnecting with society, with your peers. It's about you stopping this shut down. It's about you living. . . in this world. "
I bristled at that and pulled away from her hand on my knee. I waited for her to further comment on my dream life, but she didn't. She only held my gaze and I knew we both knew what she was talking about. I shook my head and she sighed, but shrugged. "I can't make you go, Lucas. . . but I do think it would help you. " She stood up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Think about it. " Her eyes drifted over my worn features. "Think about if what you're doing now. . . is making anything in your life better. " Her voice was soft and concerned, full of genuine compassion and I found myself nodding.
I stayed in that classroom after she left, my body swirling with so many emotions, I could only feel numbness. My chin lifted when I heard the door open. Sawyer's head popped in, looking around. She spotted me still sitting on a desk and walked into the room. "There you are. " Her brows creased together as I stared blankly at her. I wasn't sure what I looked like, but I knew how I felt: empty, alone. . . tired.
She sat beside me, not breaking our eye contact. Her hand came up to brush some hair off my forehead and she ran her fingers down my cheek, brushing away a tear I hadn't even realized was there. Her thumb continued stroking my face as we gazed at each other.
"Tough session?" she whispered. I could only swallow and nod in answer. The hardest one yet. With a sigh, she brought her arm around me and pulled me in for a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Luc. " I exhaled as she said the words, feeling like she was apologizing for more than just my meeting with Mrs. Ryans.
Feeling the tension between us slip away, I hugged her back just as tight and whispered, "I'm sorry too. " She nodded in my shoulder and I knew she knew exactly what I meant by that.
She drove me home and stayed with me for awhile, going over our Philosophy homework while slyly watching to make sure I was really okay. Other than homework, we didn't talk much. I didn't tell her about my session and she didn't ask. We didn't talk any more about what had happened between us; that was over and dealt with. And I definitely didn't ask her to the dance. It was such a crazy idea that I couldn't even entertain it yet.
I didn't really want to reconnect with society, with my peers. They didn't want to reconnect with me either. At least the rejection was mutual. I didn't see the point of it, and I didn't see the harm of having a better life in my dreams, crazy as that was. For now, going to a silly high school dance seemed the crazier suggestion and I didn't bring it up around Sawyer.
Dances were apparently in my thoughts when I fell asleep that night though. I blankly looked around at a fully decked out for a dance gymnasium, complete with blue and white crepe paper, generic popular music in the background and a revolving disco ball suspended from the ceiling, throwing sparks of light across the laminated floor. I looked down at myself, taking in the black slacks and white button-down dress shirt. I ran a hand throu
gh my hair and felt the product styling it back into more manageable waves. I looked around the empty room, feeling the lonely expanse of it. Where was everyone?
The room suddenly felt. . . thicker. The scent of lilies and vanilla hit me and I closed my eyes, remembering the fragrance Lillian used for special occasions. Dances, dates, nights when she snuck into my bed to be intimate with me. . . The memories assaulted me, and I swallowed and sat on the bleacher behind me. Panicky nerves shot through me. She was finally reappearing to me. I was about to finally see her again. . . and she'd know. She'd know I was unfaithful to her. She'd hate me. She'd finally hate me. . . and I deserved her hatred.
I felt her presence get even closer and my whole body tensed. I couldn't do this. I couldn't look at her and break her heart, without even having to say a word. Her high heeled shoes filled my vision as I regretfully opened my eyes. I swallowed but didn't look up at her, not wanting to see those achingly beautiful pale eyes fill with tears.
She wasn't just going to let me ignore her though. She squatted down and looked up at me. I avoided looking at her face, my gaze instead going to her dark blue silk dress, the spaghetti straps clinging to her pale shoulders. I swallowed again.
"Lucas," she whispered.
I closed my eyes briefly and then made myself look up to hers. Her hands stroked my knees as she squatted in front of me, a small smile playing on her peach lips, a trace amount of smoky eye makeup highlighting the brilliant blue irises gazing at me lovingly, only the slightest hint of moisture in them.
"I'm sorry," I immediately choked out.
She shook her head, the tight blonde curls of her intricate up-do bouncing as she did. "Don't, Luc. . . it's okay. "
A tear dropped to my cheek as I swallowed and spoke the words I was terrified to say. "I. . . I feel like I cheated on you. " My voice quavered horribly and I swallowed again, looking down at my hands pressing against my stomach.
Her hands came up to grab mine and I looked back at the hazy image of her in my watery vision. "That's ridiculous, Luc. " She shook her pale head again. "You can't cheat on me. . . ," she shrugged, "I'm already gone. . . "
I shook my head and grabbed her face. "Not to me. . . not to me. . . " I brought her lips to mine, needing her comfort. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I promise," I whispered against her mouth.
She pulled back and sighed brokenly. "I want you to do this, Lucas. I want you to move forward with Sawyer. " Her lips came up to a small smile and I felt my heart seize. "I'm telling you it's okay. "
I reached up to stroke her cheek, brushing aside a tear as it spilled from her eye. "Then why are you crying?"
She swallowed, her smile slipping. "Just because I know it's right. . . doesn't mean it's easy. "
I searched her face, not wanting to listen. "I can't be with her, Lillian. . . " She shook her head, like she knew what I was going to say next. "I can't be with her. . . because I'm in love with you. " I searched her watery eyes as I reverently whispered, "I love. . . you. "
Her eyes closed and tears fell from both of them. "Oh, Lucas. . . " She reopened them, pain and joy clear in her face. "I love you too. " She leaned in to kiss me and I pulled her tight, never wanting to let her go.