More Than Him

by Jay McLean

  Huh. I wonder who I cried out for.

  *

  Forty-five weeks post Amanda.

  I have nothing to write. Just that I'm here, and I'm okay.

  *

  Fifty Weeks post Amanda.

  It's time.

  I'm ready.

  Dad and I have been talking about what I'm going to do when I get home. He'd organized that I defer, so UNC still awaits. I don't know if Amanda is still there. I still haven't spoken to anyone yet. Apart from that one phone call from Jake, no one else knows anything. That's the way I wanted it. Dad said housing was full on campus dorm-wise, and he'd prefer that I live off-campus anyway, just in case . . .

  Just in case.

  I don't know what he meant, but I sure as shit would prefer it, too.

  Because I was getting back a month or so before summer break started, we'd have enough time to get things sorted: a place to stay, a car, all that shit. I made sure he knew that he wasn't to spend a single cent on me. Not until I got there. Sixteen-year-old Loma—fuck—I'm calling myself Loma now! Anyway, sixteen-year-old me loved that Mercedes. Twenty-one-year-old me? Not so much. I'd be happy with something that gets me from A to B.

  To be honest, a part of me hoped that Dad would transfer me to a different college, somewhere further away. But I knew he wouldn't. He wanted me to face things head on, deal with the consequences of my actions, all that shit.

  I'm prepared. I think. Actually, I have no fucking clue. All I know is that I'm ready to face it. I'm ready to take whatever the world has to give.

  'You're staying in the main house when you get home,' Dad said. It was my punishment for being gone the extra six months. Whatever. The pool house just reminded me of Amanda, anyway.

  First date. Final goodbye.

  Sill missing her, Diary.

  Next entry. I'll be home.

  *

  Home.

  It's been three days.

  I'm still hiding out.

  Bought a car, though, that's something. It's a shitty old truck. It'll do. Anything will do. Dad said he wants to sell the house, find something smaller. The largeness of it makes him lonely. Truth—it's kind of upsetting. I grew up in this house, learned to ride my bike in the driveway. This house holds a lot of good moments for me.

  When I told him, he just smiled, said maybe it was worth keeping.

  He'd also done some upgrading to the house, high cement fencing and a security gate. He even got security lights and cameras in certain spots. He told me that there had been a string of burglaries in the area. I knew it wasn't true, but I didn't call him out on it. Honestly, having that extra security helped me to actually sleep easier at night.

  I'm better, but I'm not, not really. If I were to use psychology terms, I'd tell you I was quiet, withdrawn, introverted. Not my usual asshole-self. Dad said he missed his asshole. That made me laugh.

  I did something stupid today. I drove my car two hours away. Guess where? Not hard. I don't know why I did it. I just wanted to see her, maybe just to assure myself that she was okay. Ethan's jeep was in the driveway, along with a green hatchback. It could be hers.

  Three hours I sat in front of the house like a creeper, then the front door burst open. Ethan first, then Alexis, her best friend. And then Tristan. The outside security light turned on, she walked out, locked the door, and checked it at least five times. My hands shook. I sat on them, moved further down my seat and pulled my cap down past eyebrows. Fucking creeper.

  Then I heard it. Her laugh. 'Oh my God,' she squealed, holding her stomach.

  I drove away.

  It was too much.

  I shouldn't have been there.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  At least she was happy.

  That's something, right?

  A few hours later I had the words that seemed so fitting tattooed on my arm. One day, I swear, I'll look at it, and maybe it won't hurt so much.

  *

  Three weeks of being home.

  I saw her.

  I don't think I fully understood how broken I was until my eyes caught hers and she smiled up at me.

  Suddenly, it felt like all of the broken pieces of me locked into place, one by one. I felt it physically as much as mentally.

  We talked. I can't for the life of me even remember what was said. It's like my heart and my mind were constantly battling, and I didn't know which one to voice. At one point, my heart won out, and I let a familiar comfort settle over my actions, or it could have been the panic that kicked in.

  Baby, I called her.

  And something in her snapped.

  I deserved the slap.

  Just like I'll deserve any and all future punishment I get from her.

  11

  Amanda

  I woke up the next morning feeling worse than I did the night before. It had never been my intention to hurt Logan, not even emotionally. What I did was horrible. The guilt of it consumed me.

  What hurt the most was his reaction. It was as if he saw me for the first time—who I really was. I thought he'd known me better than that, but I guess a year can change a person's perspectives.

  It sure as hell changed mine.

  At first, of course I hated him. I hated that he could just leave, without a single warning, not even a goodbye. But slowly, with every day that passed and every visit with his dad, things started getting easier. With each piece of the puzzle that was his life, his decisions and actions began to make sense—to me, anyway. It wasn't as if I forgave, and I definitely wouldn't be able to forget what he did, but I'd slowly begun to accept it.

  Each conversation I had with his dad was like peeling away a layer. Logan—he built these high walls around him. He put on a persona so that no one got close enough to care for him. With me, those walls came down. I couldn't tell you why he let me in, or what it was about me, or about us, that led him to believe that it was okay for us to fall in love the way we did. The kind of insanely deep, destructive love.

  Destructive.

  That's exactly what we were.

  Logan.

  I couldn't sleep. I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling of my living room. Whatever I’d thought she might have felt when I left, it was worse than I thought. I knew she'd be upset, sad, hurt—but she was devastated beyond words, which is probably why—instead of talking—she chose to slap me.

  I couldn't blame her. I deserved it.

  I fucked up. The worst part is that instead of talking to her about it, I practically shoved her out the door and into her car because I was too much of a pussy to deal with things. I should have tried to calm her down, to calm myself down, just enough so that we could actually use words to get through the mess we'd created. But I just bailed, because obviously, that's how I deal with shit.

  I cursed under my breath and removed the covers off my pathetic bed. You'd think that sleeping on the floor or tiny fold-out beds would make me want the comfort of a luxurious mattress. It didn't.

  ***

  I needed to get out of my head, and out of my apartment. No one knew I was back yet, so there was only one place I could go—the bookstore. It was like history repeating itself. Stupid, regretful, lonely boy finds solace in a random bookstore while he pines for the girl of his dreams that he fucked up with.

  Chantal—the owner of the store—paused mid coffee-pour when she saw me. I had to rush over and stop her from spilling it everywhere. Once she placed the coffee back and handed the cup to her customer, she wrapped her arms around me. "You stupid boy," she whispered in my ear. She pulled back and playfully slapped my chest. "Where the hell have you been? I'm so mad at you."

  I laughed, and rolled my eyes. "Get in line."

  I spent the next hour answering her million questions. I told her about working with Doctors Without Borders for the past year. I didn't offer anything about Amanda, and she didn't bring it up. I respected that a lot.

  She stood up when a customer walked to the register. "I know you just
got back, but can I ask a favor?"

  "Of course. Anything."

  "I have a huge delivery at four, can you help out?"

  I agreed. It wasn't like I had shit to do anyway.

  At four on the dot I was back. "It's not here yet," she said, motioning for me to take a seat. Since the first day I’d come into the store, creepily looking for Amanda, I'd always sat in the same spot. "I'm sure it's on it way."

  A few minutes later I heard her voice.

  Amanda.

  A part of me panicked. A part of me was thankful for second chances. Or, in my case, fourth, fifth, and sixth chances. "Take a seat at your table, I'll bring it out to you," Chantal told her. I braced myself for when she turned around and saw me sitting here. My hands gripped the side of the chair. I was half sitting, half standing, like my body was ready for a battle.

  She froze the second her eyes made contact with me. "Whoa," she said. Then she took a step forward, as if unsure. I found myself sitting back down, relaxing slightly. She bit her lip; her eyes cast downwards, and stopped a few feet away. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  I exhaled loudly. "I can go—"

  "No!" she exclaimed, at the same time as Chantal came back.

  She placed two coffees and a book on the table, then turned to me and said, "You can't go. Besides, that's your chair. It's got your name on it."

  I looked at her confused. "What?"

  Amanda glared at Chantal, who just laughed. "On the arm. You didn't write it?" She gave Amanda a knowing smirk. "Well. Ain't that something . . ."

  I heard Amanda mumble something under her breath, but was too busy looking at my name carved on the wooden arm of the chair. My fingers traced the letters.

  "Do you want me to leave?" her voice was so soft I almost didn't hear it.

  My head whipped up to face her. "No. Do you want to leave?"

  "No." Then she just stood there, her eyes focused on my face. Probably the cut on my lip, and the slight redness on my cheek.

  Chantal came back and made an annoyed huffing sound. We both turned to her. "What are you guys doing? You're not twelve." She threw her hands up in the air. "Talk." She placed her hands on Amanda's shoulders and maneuvered her to the seat opposite me. Amanda's gaze never left mine. Chantal pointed at the book and spoke to Amanda, "I got it signed for you."

  Amanda finally looked away and up at Chantal. "No you didn't!" she said, with excitement in her voice.

  "Yes," Chantal replied. "Look."

  Amanda smiled as she opened the book. Fuck, I miss that smile. "Never regret," she breathed out, and then looked up at Chantal in awe. Chantal smiled back. "Never regret," she repeated.

  She kept her eyes on the book for a while, her smile getting wider with each second.

  "You come here a lot?" I asked her, but then rolled my eyes at myself. Lame.

  "Why, Logan," she smirked and put the book in her bag, "you've lost your game. That was a horrible pick up line."

  I couldn't help but laugh. So did she. And somehow, in that one moment, the world tilted on its axis and the atmosphere became something closer to normal.

  "I do, actually." She fidgeted with a bunch of bracelets on her wrists, and then placed them under the table. "Whenever I get a chance, between classes and what-not."

  I nodded, thankful she was speaking to me.

  "So," she started, looking around the store. "I assume you’re going back to UNC?"

  "Yeah," I told her. "Next semester I start back, so I'll be a year behind."

  She smiled softly. "How come you moved out here now, then? Why not after summer break?"

  I felt the tension leave my muscles. She was talking to me; we were talking to each other. Things would be okay. "I wanted to get in early and find a place. I know it becomes harder the closer we get to the school year."

  She was about to speak, but Chantal cut her off by placing a bowl on the table: red Gummy Bears and ice cream.

  Amanda's eyes went wide, and then a smile formed on her lips. "How did she know?" she asked me, bringing the bowl closer to her.

  I shrugged. "No clue."

  "Liar."

  I laughed.

  "What happened to your face?" Chantal asked. I forgot she was standing there.

  Amanda choked.

  "Nothing," I said.

  Amanda coughed some more.

  Chantal eyed me, and then Amanda. "Nothing?" She raised her eyebrows.

  Amanda calmed herself down. "I slapped him," she answered for me.

  Chantal placed her hands on her hips. "Well, did you deserve it?" she asked me.

  "Yes," I answered, the same time as Amanda said, "No."

  Chantal shook her head, and walked away.

  Amanda put the bowl to the side and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "You didn't deserve that, Logan. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I should have never laid a hand on you."

  "It's fine. It really—"

  "It's not fine. It's never fine." She reached out and pulled on my shirt until my position mimicked hers. Our faces so close I felt her exhale of breath against my skin. Then I felt her hand on my cheek. My eyes drifted shut. Her thumb skimmed my lip. "Does it hurt?"

  I covered her hand with mine and brought my face closer to hers. I kept my eyes closed. I didn't want to see her pull away. Our noses rubbed against each other.

  My heart pounded.

  My hand trembled.

  "You're shaking," she whispered.

  Shit. "Mm," was all I could say.

  She placed my hand between both of hers and pulled away. I wanted to tell her to stay. I wanted her to be closer. "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "Mm," I said again.

  I felt her bring my hand up, and press her mouth on my palm. She kissed it once, twice—by the third kiss it'd stopped shaking.

  And I knew it then.

  I knew she had the power to make everything better. That's why I needed her, but it was more than that. It was so much more than that.

  I opened my eyes slowly, and that's when I saw it.

  The mark on her wrist.

  She must've noticed because she started to pull away. I gripped it and moved her bracelets so I could see it clearly.

  And then I gasped. Like a fucking girl.

  "What is this?" My eyes left her wrist and moved to her face.

  She looked sick, like she was going to puke. She pulled her arm out of my grasp and stood up. "I gotta go."

  She rushed for the front door.

  I wanted to yell out. I wanted to stop her.

  But I didn't do shit.

  I just let her walk away.

  What the fuck had happened while I was gone?

  12

  Logan

  Another sleepless night. I couldn't get her out of my head. Honestly, she was always in my head. She'd only been in my life again for two days. Two fucking days, and this was the effect she was having on me. I had to keep reminding myself that she wasn't mine, and that it was my choice.

  There was a knock on my door. No one knew I was back. No one knew where I lived. Only Amanda. I stood up and rushed to the door so fast my head spun. Way too excitedly, I opened it, but it wasn't Amanda.

  She was pissed.

  I grimaced.

  "You fucking asshole." She shoved me hard against my chest.

  "Nice to see you, too."

  "No!" she yelled, hitting my chest a few times.

  I tried to block her, but she was adamant on contact. "Fuck, what is with people hitting me?"

  She stopped, her fist raised mid punch, but then narrowed her eyes. "You deserve it this time." She got in a few more hits before she started to cry. "I was so worried about you, Logan. Nobody knew anything, and you've been here. Why didn't you call me? Email . . . anything?" Her body slumped, as she wiped frantically at her tears.

  "I'm an asshole, Lucy. I'm sorry. Come here." I brought her in for a hug. She resisted at first, but eventually gave in.

  "I hate you," sh
e said, and then I heard her sniff. "I missed you so damn much."

  Ten minutes later, after I'd finally settled her down enough, she spoke, "How come no one knows you're here?"

  I shrugged. "I just want to lay low for a bit. You can't tell anyone I'm here, Luce. Not even Cameron."

  Her eyes went wide. "Well, that's going to be tough."

  "Try, okay?"

  She nodded.

  "How did you even know I was here?"

  "I have my ways." She giggled.

  I sat on the sofa bed, and she did the same. "How's Cam?"

  Her smile was instant. "He's good. We're good."

  "That's awesome."

  "And you? What have you been doing? Where were you?"

  I told her all about Doctors Without Borders and my time in Africa. I told her about Manny and Jamal. She gave me a warning look when I mentioned Rebekah. I laughed at her—she had no idea where my heart and head were. I even told her about Amuhda and her mom. Lucy, being Lucy, cried some more. "But they're okay?" she kept asking.

  I kept assuring her they were.

  Then I told her about the PTSD meds I was on.

  She was quiet for a while, and then lifted her chin, as if gaining the courage to speak. "Logan, no one really knows what happened that night. I mean, no one's said anything. Jake and Kayla, they seem to know, but they won't say much. I know Jake's your best friend, but I thought I was your girl?" She grimaced, probably not wanting to bring up Amanda.

  I held her hand. Lucy was special to me, she always had been. It's like the moment Cameron brought her into our circle, she saw through my bullshit and just saw me. "Ask anything you want, Lucy. There are no secrets between us. Ever."