by Emery Skye
"I don't need more people, Caity," I tell her, but my voice cracks.
"Everyone needs people," she counters with the wisdom of a hundred-year-old lady.
I pick at the carpet.
"I have you and Pierce, I don't need anyone else."
"Pierce and I can't give you everything you need."
"I don't need some guy and flowers to feel better about myself."
"Stop trying to hide behind your anger and sadness. I know that's why you don't want to be around Hunter, Lexi. I could feel your happiness like a lightning bolt when you were with him earlier."
"I'm not hiding!" I yell at her.
"Your parents would want you to be happy."
I let my friend's words soak in, but it's more like acid rain on titanium than water on a sponge.
I try to absorb the words for what they are; words from the lips of a best friend, but I can't. She's hit a sore spot and she knows it. We agreed not to bring my parents into our conversations, but sometimes she does. It's risky of her. I want to tell her to burn in hell and a few years ago, I would have, but I say, "Caity, I have homework to do," and turn my back to her.
"Don't push me out too, Lexi," she pleads in a quiet whisper. "You're stronger than you think you are, but you'll never realize your strength if you don't allow yourself to feel."
"Go," I tell her callously and fight the tears that assault my tear ducts. I'm done.
The door shuts and I know she's left my room.
Guilt infiltrates my body like a plague of maggots eating at my insides with such vigor it's difficult to breathe.
She's right, the voice inside my heart tells me.
I won't cry though. I can't cry anymore. I've cried to the point where all my tears are spent. I simply walk to my desk and grab a deck of cards. I shuffle them, creating a bridge with my hands and lay them out in preparation for a game of solitaire.
It's ironic because solitaire is the story of my life. I play for a bit until I grow bored. I look at my thick, worn-out, leather-bound journal and fleetingly consider writing about this chaotic day but decide against it.
I take the books that Caity stacked and place them back on the floor. I spread out the papers from my latest short story, along with my philosophy and history papers, in a way that only I can decode. I sit back on my knees and smile in satisfaction at the beautiful disaster in front of me.
I hear a loud knock on the door and slowly make my way over. It must be Caity, but I'm not sure how to apologize.
I've never been one for apologies. The knocking becomes urgent and I throw the door open, expecting to find Caity; or even Pierce; it's neither.
"Hunter?" I tilt my head in confusion. "Is everything okay?" I ask.
NINE
I can't imagine why Hunter is standing outside my door wearing a frown.
He looks at me with knowing blue eyes. "I passed Caity. She seemed upset."
I raise my head thinking through what he said. "Caity seemed upset...so, you thought you would come to my dorm..." I raise a doubtful brow. "Wouldn't it make more sense to check on her?"
He averts his eyes. "She told me not to be a jerk to you," he says quickly. "I wanted to apo--" he stops himself and I wonder if he's ever apologized in his life. "I wanted to tell you I never intended to be a jerk."
"Yeah, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Ever heard that?" I ask sarcastically.
His eyes widen madly, and he coughs almost violently. I place a hand on his shoulder, welcoming the warmth that spreads through my body upon contact with the mysterious olive-complexioned boy clad in his heavy, black jacket.
"You know, I think I have heard that."
"Well, don't just stand in the cold. Please, by all means, come in," I step away from the door and gesture to the room with an expanded hand.
The mess on the floor that Hunter scrutinizes should embarrass me, but it doesn't. If he has an issue, then he can leave.
"Let me guess, you can tell me where everything is, in this pile, can't you?" he says.
"Intuitive of you," I remark as I plop on the bed. He remains standing, but reaches for the journal on the desk.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I jump off the bed and race toward him, but sadly catch my boot on the carpet; my hands automatically shoot forward, bracing for the impact that never comes. Hunter grabs me and laughs. I like his laugh.
"You really are the most klutzy person I know," he responds, almost disbelieving. "That's saying something. I've known a lot of people."
I grimace and push myself off his broad, well-defined chest.
I snag the journal out of his hand before he can even process what's happening.
"Secrets, huh?" He reaches for the journal and I bring it close to my body.
"This," I wave the journal around, "is not public domain."
"Feisty," he grins shrewdly.
I purse my lips. "And...?"
"Tell me about Caitlyn," he states.
"What's there to tell...she's an angel. She's got to be one of the oldest, most saintly souls in this universe."
"Interesting."
"That's the truth."
"Don't sound so bitter about it," he says.
"I'm not bitter, just honest."
"Where's she from?"
"Ireland. Why do you care?" I query.
He looks away and I watch as his eyes scan every inch of my room.
"Usually people have photos," he speculates about my empty room lacking all memorabilia, aside from one photo of when Caity, Pierce and I started high school. I know he's changing the subject and trying to distract me. I find his attempt fascinating.
"Photos bring up memories and I don't care for remembering much," I say and am shocked by my honesty, which tastes tangy.
He tilts his head to the side and some of those boyish waves of darkness fall into his eyes.
"I think it's time you tell me why you care about Caity? Do you like her?" I speculate. He's smiles and those dimples form on either side of his mouth, cause wings to flutter in my stomach.
His sardonic laugh says he doesn't.
"So, then, what?" I ask, my interest piqued, but also, I'm protective of my dear, sweet Caity.
"When did she get here?" he picks up a book from my desk, The Stranger by Albert Camus.
"Umm...seven years ago..." I'm pretty sure we've had this conversation before and I'm wondering if he's trying to catch me in a lie.
"Interesting book," he says with a raised eyebrow.
"It is," I assert. "One of my favorites, actually."
He turns to face me. "Why?"
I stop the anxious gnawing on my cheek. It's practically raw at this point. I keep telling myself to play tough, play coy, don't let him in. Don’t let the walls down.
"A lot of reasons, I guess. What is this? An episode of Law & Order?" I bite; my defenses rear their head.
His eyes squint till the little lines of curiosity are visibly apparent.
"You're frustrating," he sighs. His face is scrunched in a most charming expression of bewilderment. I giggle.
Shit. It takes a moment, but I put back up my guard. Giggling? Really, I'm giggling. Who giggles? Oh crud, I'm starting to sound like one of the chicks from Caity's romance novels. Shoot me now!
My head falls back in shame.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, still in a flurry of confusion. I examine his movements as he gracefully takes a seat on the bed next to me. He bounces a couple times, as if to check the durability of the bed.
I'm not about to tell him about my relation to some dumb, love-struck teenagers so I say, "First, you call me annoying and now frustrating," I say pointedly.
"You're changing the subject and avoiding my questions," he counters.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I supposed to just answer your questions and do what you want?" I ask and laugh.
I'm surprised when he returns a curt nod.
"I was being sarcastic," I say the words slowly to be sure
he's catches each one.
"That's exactly what I mean!" he rants, throwing his hands into the air and clawing them through his thick mess of hair. "Why can't you answer questions without the sarcasm? Would that be so difficult?" he says angrily.
"That's life and it's only fair. You do it too," I retort, fuming. I like the power I have over him. I didn't realize I caused this much grief and find it exhilarating.
His eyes drop in concentration. I'm pretty sure he's reflecting on our previous conversations and taking inventory on how right my statement is.
"Do people usually do whatever you want? Get whatever you want."
"Yes," he responds.
I notice it’s approaching five o'clock. I still have a considerable amount of time to kill. "How about we get out of here?"
"And, go where? The stables?" He crosses his arms across.
"No, not the stables. I don't have to go back there till later tonight," I explain the feeding schedule.
"So where?"
"Come on," I jump off the bed and grab Hunter's hand, pulling him forward. He reluctantly falls into step behind me and I release the warmth of his hand.
We make it out the door and start toward the astronomy lab.
"Lex, where are we going?" Hunter tries to pluck the information from me, but I'm not budging.
"Do you have to know everything?" I'm playing around.
Why I’m keeping Hunter in my company; I have no idea. I guess, I’m enjoying myself…
"Yes," he answers without a hint of sarcasm.
"Where's the fun in that?"
He glances away, suddenly silent and I grin at my ability to render him speechless.
We are bathed in the golden hues of the sunset as we continue down the sidewalk.
The sun dips low in the sky and casts an orange miasma above the horizon. It illuminates a small part of the sky, as if lit up by a diminishing fire. I'm sure I can almost touch it.
But, I can’t. Nothing can. It's a lone, solitary piece of the universe that depends on nothing for survival and is left unscathed by the plunders of man.
…
"What is this place?" Hunter asks as we enter the building.
"It's the astronomy lab." I insert the key and turn the knob.
"Why do you have a key to the astronomy lab?" Hunter asks with lifted, thick, black brows.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I sass.
He nods and I chuckle at him. Poor Hunter. He must be so used to people telling him whatever he wants to hear.
I push the glass door open. A slight chime, indicating that someone is entering the building, rings above. The building houses ten science labs, but I'm uninterested in the labs and scoot past them. I stop once we reach a large mahogany door. The metal of the knob is cool against my skin and fits in my palm perfectly. I remember a time, not so long ago, when I had to have Pierce help me open the door because it always jammed.
Hunter and I walk across the white, spotless linoleum floor and past the two parallel lines of tall, pup-style desks that each seat two.
I spot my old station and chortle when memories stream through my mind. "What?" Hunter asks, hearing my super unattractive snort. Please shoot me now, where I stand.
I point to my old desk admiringly. "That's where I used to work in this class. See the spot of burnt plastic, where the surface of the desk is rougher than the rest of it?” Hunter nods. "I did that." I laugh again.
"You did that?" he asks speculative. He's searching my eyes, but it's not the same way that other people stare at me. He's not studying them like I’m the science experiment.
I nod. "There wasn't one thing that I didn't burn or blow up in this place. Eventually, the teachers and administration agreed I had enough science credits," I laugh. "I swear, I was missing at least two classes, but they insisted."
"You have a thing for fire, huh?" he asks.
I hadn't ever really thought about it like that, but I guess I do, which is odd, considering I watched as flames consumed my entire life.
I shrug and walk to my old station, my feet pitter-patter against the floor. I point to the small area on the back of the wooden leg, where nine letters are carved into the wood: CAM, PAT, and AMT.
Hunter bends down to see the initials. We're so close, his minty breath rubs against ear, causing little tingles to dance on the skin of my neck. My thinking becomes labored.
"The 'C' is messed up because we had to help Cait engrave her initials. As in, we held her hand over the knife and forced her," I laugh. "Caity whined the whole time that we were going to get in trouble." I remember like it was yesterday.
Hunter's lips tip upward. "You love them, don't you?"
I bring myself out of the memory. His blue bullets penetrate my eyes. I know he's close enough to scrutinize the red of my eyes, but I don't care. I'm having a hard-enough time remembering to breathe. He inches forward. The thin silver lines separating his olive skin in various places become more visible.
The squeak of an opening door makes me jump, I nearly knock my head on the sharp corner of the desk. Hunter follows me and we run to the adjacent door at the back of the room.
A cool breeze blows down on me from the vent overhead. Shivers dance along my arms and face.
I open the door and we're greeted by an industrial staircase. I climb the spiraling staircase and come to another wooden door that opens easily.
I spin with my arms outstretched, peering up at the night sky. I don't care that Hunter is nearby probably watching me. My heart's beating against my breastbone like a jackhammer.
"That was close," I say and we both smile knowingly. It was close. We almost kissed.
In the glass dome, I feel safe and free. It's one step closer to the stars. Telescopes surround us. This is one of my favorite places on campus, second only to the stables.
I skip to my favorite telescope and adjust the pieces on the complicated space machine. It doesn't look how you’d expect a telescope to. It's shorter in length and wider in diameter, but it's one of the best for stargazing.
I bring my eye to the lens and am pleasantly surprised when I locate my favorite formations.
"Take a look," I tell Hunter.
He stands near me. "I have already seen the sky," he says with a hint of melancholy.
"Not like this you haven't," I grab his hand, ignoring the warmth, and place it on the scope. Reluctantly, he bends his back and gazes into the lens. I hear the familiar gasp that everyone seems to make when they look at the sky through this lens.
Hunter stares out into the night sky for a long while in complete silence. When he shifts his focus back to me, there's a glossiness to his crystalline eyes and a somberness to his dark expression. That's a first.
"Is everything okay?" I ask. I hope he'll tell me everything is fine, while simultaneously hoping he'll spill the gory details of his emotional affliction. It's hard to handle people crying or showing emotion, but for some reason, I feel like it's natural to talk to Hunter even though our day has been tainted with arguments.
"Nothing," he pauses and his eyes meet mine. "Thank you for showing me this," he says earnestly with a ghost of a smile.
"It wasn't just for you," I tell him.
"Why do you come up here?" he wanders the bubble of a room, tapping different scopes.
This might sound stupid, but here it goes, "I never feel right. I'm always falling or tripping; it's like I wasn't made to be down here. When I’m here, I can imagine myself hanging with the stars. The freedom...." As the words slip off my tongue, I realize how insane they sound.
"With the stars, or in heaven?" Hunter asks, looking at me expectantly.
"Heaven is a nice idea, don't get me wrong. But, if I believe in heaven, then I must believe in God too and I don't," I admit.
Hunter now looks lost in a frenzy of thought.
"Why not?"
I swallow hard and brush the hair out of my face.
"There's no way God can exist and be this all-knowing, all-lovin
g, all-powerful being; or why would suffering exist too?" I bite my lower lip as a lump forms in my throat.
"What if suffering isn't because of God, but because of man?" His eyes stare intently into mine.
"God would have the power to stop man from hurting others," I counter with flaring anger.
"How could human beings have free will then?"
"Good point, in that case, if God does exist, then I hate him."
Hunter takes a few strides until he's standing toe-to-toe with me and peers deeper into my eyes.
My cheeks burn in self-consciousness. I know he clearly see’s the bloody red that drips from my pupil into my iris. I've spent hours staring at my eyes, wondering why they're so different from everyone else's.
He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him.
Twice in one night.
"Why do you hate him?" The sincerity in Hunter's voice only causes the dam holding back my tears to weaken more.
"If you'd seen what I have, you would too," I explain. I jerk my head away and check my chiming phone. Hunter drops his hand and as quickly as the moment came, it's gone.
I answer the phone and walk away from Hunter. "Where are you?" Pierce asks.
"At the dome. Is it six already?"
"It's six-twenty. I've been looking for you," Pierce sounds harsh over the phone. "Let’s go eat."
I’m filled with guilt. I feel bad about leaving Hunter and desperately want to talk to Caity and make sure she's all right, as well. She has a habit of harboring every emotion, almost to the brink of destruction.
"Well, we should bring Hunter and Caity along." I pivot my upper body. Hunter's standing at the window and his eyes are searching the crowd below.
"Not him." Pierce's tone is huskier than usual, and determination singes the corners.
"Why not?" I question almost as harshly.
"Come on, Lexi. I want it to be like ol' times." I can practically hear him conjure up puppy-dog eyes, which I am anything but impervious to.
"Oh, all right."
"I'll meet you in the parking lot in ten," I end the call.
"Who was that?" Hunter asks.