“So ...” Styx puts the juice away and turns to face me. “You wanna watch TV or something?”
“Can we go to bed?”
Great, Alaska. Just great. Why not just stick a neon flashing sign above your head that reads whore?
“Er ... sure.”
“I mean, I’m kind of tired, and I don’t know, maybe the adrenalin of sneaking out and travelling across the city by myself after two is wearing off.”
“You want me to take the couch?”
“No.” I answer too quickly. Oh my God. When did I become such a mental case? “Can we just hang out in your room? I don’t think I can sleep by myself.”
“Cool.”
I exhale. “Cool.”
Styx grabs the duvet off the chair and walks the short hallway. He turns at the door. “Are you coming?”
I shake my head and offer a weak smile. “Yeah.”
“What the hell is up with you, Stones? You’re acting weird.”
I just shrug and walk toward him. He steps aside to let me enter.
This bedroom isn’t like the one at his mom’s. It’s devoid of posters, Rolling Stone magazines, and vinyl. Basically everything Styx.
He closes the door behind him, and I jump. “I can leave it open if you want?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Styx crosses the room to the bed underneath the bay window and I follow. I glance out onto the street. A bum pushes a cart filled with cans along the sidewalk. He stops and bends to pick up the can I’d thrown, before tossing it in amongst the others. Guess now I know why Styx heard me and his dad talking. There’s no soundproofing in this apartment whatsoever.
Styx throws the duvet on top of the bed and climbs in, holding the blankets aloft for me.
I take a tentative step forward and pause. “I don’t have anything to sleep in.”
“Oh, yeah.” He lets the duvet fall and sits up, yanking off his shirt and throwing it at me. “Here.”
Nervous laughter bubbles out my throat. “I didn’t mean you had to give me the shirt off your back.”
“It’s fine; I have others. I’m just too lazy to get up.”
“Right.”
“Is there somewhere I can change?”
“Bathroom’s across the hall. Or you can change here.”
My brows shoot skyward. “Here’s fine, I guess. Just cover your eyes.”
Styx rolls his eyes instead, and then he makes a show of covering them, as if I just asked him to clean his room. I take a second to make sure he’s not peeking and then I turn around and strip off my jeans and boots. I take off my jacket and T-shirt and throw his on. I lift the fabric to my nose and smell the soft, worn cotton. Styx. It’s so odd that someone who was a stranger to me just two months ago can be such a comfort.
I debate removing my bra, but the shirt is far too see-through for that. I turn around. Styx’s peeking through his fingers. I grab the cushion at the foot of the bed and toss it at him.
“You said you wouldn’t look.”
“I said no such thing.”
I replay our conversation in my head. He’s right. He never promised anything. “Asshole.”
“Come on. There’s a hot, half-naked girl in my room, and I’m not gonna look? I thought you knew me better than that.”
I jump on the bed and punch him in the arm.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Ow! Ow! Jesus, woman. What are you on, ’roids or something?”
“You suck.” I climb under the covers and press my freezing hands against his naked chest.
“Holy shit, Elsa. Can you keep your fuckin’ ice-queen hands to yourself?”
“That’s a first. Can’t say I’ve ever had a guy ask me to stop touching him.”
“Well, get used to it if you’re going to insist on freezing me to death.”
My teeth chatter, and Styx pulls me close. I rest my head in the crook of his arm and snuggle in while he strokes my hair. “Styx?”
“Yeah?”
“You think I’m hot?”
“Your cancer doesn’t affect your ability to see, right?”
“No.”
“And you have mirrors in your house?”
“Shut up.” I slap his chest. He flinches.
“You first.” He grabs a fistful of my hair and gives it a playful tug, then he crushes me as he leans over and turns out the light. “Go to sleep, Stones.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
Long seconds tick by, and the words are on the very tip of my tongue, but every time I try to speak, I can’t.
“Fuck! You’re thinking so goddamn loud I can’t sleep. What the hell is going on in that head of yours, Stones?”
This is why I came here. It’s why I didn’t head to Eleanor’s in the middle of the night, because Styx just gets it. He gets me. “Would you do it? If it was your choice to make?”
“The surgery?”
“Yeah.”
“You want the honest truth, or the truth of a guy who wants you to stick around?”
“Both?”
“Well, the guy who wants you to stick around says have the surgery.” His throat bobs against my forehead.
“And the other guy?”
“The other guy’s a dick. Don’t listen to him.”
I laugh, but all I really want to do is the opposite. A strangled sob tears free of my throat and Styx squeezes my shoulder.
“I know it’s kinda fucked up to put pressure on you, but please don’t listen to the other guy.” His voice catches in the back of his throat and he coughs. “I’m not ready to lose you, Stones. I’ll never be ready for that.”
Styx may only be a seventeen-year-old punk kid, but he always knows exactly what to say.
“Cancer wisdom?” I ask.
He nods. “Cancer wisdom.”
***
The sky outside is San Francisco gray. It’s early. Too early to be awake, but Mr. Hendricks has been juicing. I’m sure he’s trying to be quiet, but with the thin walls in this apartment, it’s like listening to a herd of elephants press their wheatgrass by jumping up and down on top of it.
“Jesus, Dad,” Styx yells and thumps his fist against the bedroom wall. Some of the cracked paint flakes off and falls to the floor.
“Sorry, sorry. I know. I’m trying to be quiet, but this goddamn juicer didn’t get the memo.”
I glance up at Styx’s face. “The memo?” he mouths.
I cover my mouth so my laughter won’t be heard.
“Christ. I hope I never grow old.”
The laughter dies on my lips, and my throat constricts. Styx is sick, just as sick as me, but it’s even worse for him because this is his second time around. He beat cancer once, and it still came back. The reaper wasn’t done with him yet, so what does that mean for him? For me? For us?
I rest my head on his shoulder and squeeze his side tightly. He bows his head. I’m sure he’s wondering what the hell is wrong with me and why I’m now clutching him tighter than a Vulcan death grip.
“You okay?” he whispers against my hair.
“Forty is not old, kid,” his dad bellows from the kitchen.
“Can you shut the fuck up, old man? Some of us are trying to get laid here.”
“Right then, I won’t ask if either of you want a wheatgrass juice.”
“Jesus, go to work already, hippy.”
“Sure.” Mr. Hendricks knocks once and pokes his head through the door. “Just go to school, okay?”
“Can I borrow your truck?”
Styx’s dad frowns. “Are you going to school with it?”
“Probably not.”
“Alright. Then don’t tell your mother,” he says, tossing his keys at the bed. Styx plucks them from midair as if they’ve performed this routine a number of times. “We’ll order in tonight, yeah?”
“We always order in. Will you just leave already so I can fuck my girlfriend?”
Girlfriend? Is that how he sees me, and was he ever go
ing to clue me in? And for the love of God, why are they discussing me and Styx having sex?
“Right, sorry. Going. Oh, and kid, happy birthday.” He closes Styx’s door and a beat later, beyond the crashing furniture—which is likely just his bike squeezing through the tiny kitchen and hallway—he opens the front door and leaves.
Wait. What? I glance up at him. “Today’s your birthday?”
“Yeah. Officially an adult.”
“Oh my God. Styx, why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugs. “Guess I didn’t want to jinx it. For a long time, I didn’t think I was going to make it to this day. Anyway ... sorry about all that girlfriend stuff.”
“Did you really mean it when you said you were trying to get laid?”
“No!”
“So, you don’t want to have sex with me?”
He exhales loudly and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You know, I was sure cancer was going to be the thing to take me out of the game, but it seems you’re determined to kill me early, Stones.”
I push up on my elbow and stare down at him. I’m sure my hair is as crazy as usual, and my cheeks get kind of puffy when I sleep, but I can’t resist seeing Styx’s sleepy morning face.
“Do you want to kiss me, Styx?”
His throat bobs. I let out a slow, steady breath and lick my lips. He follows the movement, watching me as intently as I watch him. My heart hammers against my ribcage, a wild, untamable beast, and I know without a doubt he can feel it.
Styx reaches out and cups my cheek, searching my face. “Yeah, I wanna fucking kiss you.”
I grin and flop back on the bed. “Well, I would kiss you, but your morning breath smells like shit.”
“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.”
Styx rolls on top of me, pinning my arms above my head. I try to kick, but his weight immobilizes my legs too. He leans in, and just when I think he’s about to finally kiss me, he opens his mouth and breathes on me. I thrash and squeal, tossing my head from side to side, trying to escape his death breath. Styx continues breathing his foul, putrid breath on me as tears stream down my cheeks.
Eventually our struggles dissipate, and silence fills the space between us. His sweats are soft and worn against my bare thighs, and his erection presses into me. My panties are soaked, my heart races, and my body trembles beneath his. His skin on my skin is too hot, too much. I ache. All over, I ache for him, for Styx Hendricks, the weirdo loner, that kid with cancer. The boy who shoved his way into my life and became such an important fixture, such a permanent part of me, that I can’t breathe without him.
I can’t process anything I feel. I want, and I ache, and I don’t know how to turn it off. I don’t know how to focus on anything but him, but I’m scared. Scared of loving him, scared of losing him. I’m scared to live.
I swallow around the lump in my throat, and fight back the tears pricking my eyes, but they spill over my lashes anyway.
“Shit. Stones, I’m sorry.” Styx tries to move but I wrap my legs around his hips and my arms around his shoulders, and I pin him in place. Like a butterfly stuck through the middle, I clutch him to me.
“Don’t go. Stay, please ... just stay.” I whisper the words over and over like a mantra, but I’m not even sure if I’m talking about right now or forever.
Stay. Just stay.
He nods and buries his head in the pillow beside me. I’m sure he’s afraid I’ll go all Carrie-at-the-prom on his ass if he moves, but I don’t care. I need to hold onto something. If I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll fall apart completely.
“I’m not going anywhere, Stones. Not without you.”
“Promise?”
He pulls back and studies my face. I don’t know what he finds, but in his eyes, I see it’s not a promise either of us can keep. We don’t get to decide, and that’s what sucks about this situation. We met because we go to a hospital once every three weeks and have our bodies pumped full of chemicals, and if I hadn’t felt a sense of obligation to sit with the others, I probably never would have uttered a word to this kid. Our diagnoses brought us together, but it may be the very thing that tears us apart. I don’t know who I’m more afraid for—Styx or me.
I don’t know which is worse—dying too young, or being the one left behind.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALASKA
After breakfast, we sit on his dad’s crumby couch and prepare to watch a movie. I snatch the popcorn from his hand and stare at the man-child. “Seriously? Peter Pan?”
“It’s a classic.”
“It’s old.”
“Yeah, hence it being a classic.” He throws an unpopped kernel and it hits me right between the eyes. Bastard. I grab a fistful and peg it at him, but he just gives me a typical Styx grin and picks up the pieces one by one, placing them into his mouth and crunching them hard.
I hope he breaks his teeth.
“I thought you were so much cooler than this,” I say.
“It’s about a kid who never grows up, and who lives forever. What’s cooler than that?”
“A sexy street rat who steals loaves of bread to feed his tiny monkey.” I toss the popcorn into my mouth and stare at the boy on the TV. “Peter Pan is about a loner who’s too stubborn to know a good thing when he sees it. Come to think of it, I see now why you’re totally into this dude.”
“What? I’m not into this dude. I just think he’s the best Disney has to offer.”
I laugh. “I bet you were one of those kids who dressed like Peter for your first trip to Disneyland.”
“I’ll have you know,” he says, tossing back several pieces of popcorn and chewing around his words, “I dressed like Captain Jack Sparrow.”
“You did not?”
“I did. The parents say I got to meet him at the park, and I nearly wet myself. The first thing I said when he went to shake my hand was, ‘I gotta pee!’ Apparently, I had my junk hanging out too. We were almost evicted from Disneyland.”
I gape at him. “Bullshit. You just made that up.”
“I really didn’t.”
“Then I’m embarrassed for you.” I tear my eyes away from Styx’s and stare at the screen. “Do you ever wish you could go back?”
“To Disneyland?”
“To being a kid. To being free of cancer and all these stupid teen hormones, and school ... and life?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because when I was a kid, I still had cancer.”
“Shit.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“And when I was a kid, I couldn’t do this ...” Styx leans across the space between us. I stare at him like he’s lost his damn mind, but he slides his hand behind my neck, threads it into my hair, and pulls me closer. I hold my breath, waiting, wishing he’d erase the excruciating distance between us where his mouth hovers over mine. “I’m gonna fucking kiss you now, Stones.”
He searches my gaze. His lip quirks in a crooked smile.
“’Bout time.” I debate closing the gap, but I want him to do just as he said, and fucking kiss me. With bated breath, I wait.
Styx’s lips finally brush mine. It’s the softest of touches, but I feel it everywhere. A live wire arcing between his body and mine. A spark, a flame, a fiery comet burning through us, fusing us, forging us.
His lips part mine, his tongue slips inside, and I moan against his mouth. I open for him. I’ve kissed boys, I’ve let them take things further than I was ready to, but with Styx, it’s not enough. We’re not close enough. His thick thumb strokes the nape of my neck. I slide my hands from his face to his chest. His skin is so warm. Is he burning up like me? Does he feel this heat and desire the way I do?
I scramble across the couch, knocking the bowl of popcorn to the floor. I climb into his lap.
“Oops.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, swollen from his kisses. “Sorry.”
Styx slides his hands down my back and grabs my ass. “I’m not.”
I search
his face, a little embarrassed now that I’m straddling his lap. He grins up at me, takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I laugh. “I’m so glad you brushed your teeth.”
“Cute, Stones. Real fucking cute.” He shoves me on the sofa and climbs on top, the way he did earlier in his room. He wedges himself into the space between my legs on the narrow cushions. “You used your wish yet?”
I frown, not wanting to talk cancer right now. I want to be reckless and wild. I want to kiss until my lips hurt, until my body can’t stand the savage ache between my legs. I want to seize the freaking day, because who knows how many more we’ll get? “No. I figured I’d save it for something noble like a free trip to Amsterdam to meet my favorite recluse writer.”
Styx rests his weight on his elbows and studies my face. “Oh, Christ. Tell me you didn’t watch that film?”
“Worse. I read the book.”
He scrunches up his nose. I never realized how cute his nose was before this. “God, I feel so dirty.”
“Shut up. The Fault in Our Stars is literary genius at its finest.”
“More like sadomasochism. Who wants to read a book that rips their heart out?”
“For someone so against it, I can’t help but think you might have read this book you find so abhorrent.”
“Nah, I watched the movie.”
“You’re a dick.”
“And you’re coming with me.” He kisses my lips and then pulls away. Styx stands up and holds out his hand.
Is he crazy? He wants to leave now? What is wrong with this guy?
“Um ... no. We just got to the kissing. I have no intention of going anywhere.”
“Not even Disneyland?”
“What are you talking about?” I frown, wondering what he put on that popcorn. “Are you high?”
“Maybe. Now, do you wanna go or not?”
“What do you mean ‘Do I wanna go?’”
“It’s a pretty straightforward question, Stones. Are you going to let me kidnap you and take you to Disneyland, or am I going to drop you off at school?”
“School or Disney? Those are my options?”
“I’m going to Disneyland. You can’t stay here, so you either take my hand and we can have the adventure of a lifetime, or you can go to class and have to sit through detention. What’s it gonna be?”
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