Grey: Everlasting (Spectrum Series Book 6)

by Allison White

  A little bird sculpture thing is on the floor in front of my room.

  I look around again for the suspect, but there’s no one around. Cautiously, I bend down and pick it up. I pull myself inside, lock the door, and walk over to the bed. I sit on the ultra-soft mattress, nearly moaning at how perfect it feels conforming around my butt.

  The bird.

  Right.

  I hold it up and spin it around slowly, examining it. It’s a hard figurine. The beak is a soft orange, its wings a pretty blue-lilac, and it has big black eyes. My heart strings tug, and tears fall past my eyes as I fall onto the pillows beneath me. I close my eyes, and images of Grey flood my mind before putting me to sleep.

  ***

  Josh, Garrett and Jenna’s seven-year-old son, was the one who left the striking and meaningful bird in front of my door. I didn’t even know they had a son. Anyway, he saw me and has a slight obsession with birds, according to Garrett, so he thought gifting me with one of his many figurines would put a smile on my face.

  The boy is clinically diagnosed with extreme social anxiety, and the only way he knows to speak with someone is with birds.

  I think he’s adorable, but I would love to see his face rather just know he’s lurking somewhere in the shadow. Or, you know, his room that is across from mine. Either way, he sounds sweet. His present is so amazing, I take it with me to the program the next day.

  I stare at it and all it represents, letting the weight sit on my chest, making it hard to breathe. The lilac, my favorite color. The bird itself, the one that rests on Grey’s right wrist. His huge black eyes that are similar to Grey’s, though his contains the stars of heaven above. My heart flutters and falls to the ground like a brick as I think of him. That man who broke my heart and glued it back together more times than I can count.

  As I trace the intricate designs on the handmade bird’s wing, I think so hard, my brain physically hurts, weighing too heavy with my thoughts. I’ve come to the conclusion that Grey and I need to…we need to take a nice long break. It won’t be nice, but it is desperately needed. I don’t like the way he reacted. It’s exactly how he would react if I really were pregnant. Scream at me and push me, giving me a bruise.

  I can’t have him in my life until I figure out what I want for myself first. It is not selfish or stupid. I just…I can’t depend on him to choose what I want to do. I tried to suppress it before, but damn it, I want kids, and I want marriage. I want my boyfriend or fiancé to be ecstatic when finding out about my pregnancy. I don’t care if he dug it out of the trash or bought it for me personally. I just want him to be happy. At least a tiny bit.

  I want the best career, the only one I have been literally dreaming of since I was little. The same one I had been working toward for years and years. I had a plan before Grey, but he just interjected himself and screwed everything up. I don’t regret loving him or letting him into my life. I just refuse to let him derail what I have wanted for so long; it was literally all I thought about.

  If he really loves me…he’ll follow me and be proud of me and just be there for me. No illegal attachments. No drama. Just him and me. Us. It’s all I have ever wanted. But he just screws things up every chance he gets. He hurts me every chance he gets. And this time, he hurt me really freaking bad. Like really bad.

  A tear falls onto the bird’s head.

  I wipe it away the same time I hear a loud, “I think you should step outside and cool down for a little while!” Matthew’s voice. And it’s coming this way. I stand up behind my desk and swipe away my tears.

  “What’s going…?” I stop talking when Grey wrenches the door open. I gasp at his disheveled appearance. Bloodshot eyes, torn-up shirt, a nasty black and blue bruise sitting on his right eye. And a whiskey bottle in his right hand.

  “Liv. I—I n-need you,” he whimpers.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Grey

  Ever since I was young, I knew there was something wrong with me. One minute I was all smiles and showing off my cartwheels to my mother, and the next I was shoving a kid’s face in the sand. I never knew why it happened, either. I remember feeling on top of the world, laughing, running around the playground. I thought I was on cloud fucking nine.

  But then something in my brain always whispered time to switch, Grey, and I’d feel a light switch or something just flip off. Any laughter was silenced, and a shade of gray slowly veiled over the world.

  I knew I shouldn’t, but I listen to that whisper, that time to switch, Grey every single time. Even when I didn’t want it to happen. When I protested, my brain would become mush and electrical currents shot up from the soles of my feet all the way up to my cherry slushy for a brain. The pain was too much to bear, so I’d always succumb to the demand and feel my brain flip.

  Colors dulled, gray took its place, and all things good disappeared. Smiles, jokes, love—it all evaporated in thin air. Every. Single. Time. And there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. It was punishment for just being born. Probably for being an ultra-asshole in another life. Anywhere I go, I just know I’m the same. There’s no different part of me, no whole that isn’t a piece of shit.

  Sometimes I want to throw out my brain, get a new one. Fuck memories and personality. I just want to be able to enjoy myself without being told what emotions to feel and when. I want to be able to love without feeling like I don’t deserve it. Like I shouldn’t be laughing or smiling or actually enjoying myself. The veil, the switch, my brain fucks up my life each time I feel too good. If I could, I’d reach into my brain and yank out the very core the switch is connected to, ruin it for good.

  Don’t you think I want to be happy? Permanently happy? I know normal people don’t remain happy for the rest of their lives, but at least they don’t feel numb for the majority of it. Don’t quote me, but at least the whole world has had a happy day, week, maybe even month. No sadness. Just easy-going lives with easy-going brains that don’t get in the way of their lives, their moods.

  Why can’t I be normal?

  Why can’t I have a good week without worrying about it turning into the worst time of my life?

  My mother once apologized to me for hereditarily fucking up my life. She was tucking me into bed; I was eight years old, and the disorder had been acting up the most that year, fucking with my friendships. I didn’t aspire to be an asshole then. I wanted friends, wanted people to like me. But how could I have any of that when I made friends and then turned on them?

  “I’m sorry that I broke you, baby,” she’d whispered, so broken I barely heard her. She’d played with my hair, looking at me like I was her entire world and she left a tree crooked. Not her vision. Not perfect. All her fault.

  “You didn’t break me, Mommy,” I’d assured her, smiling a toothy grin.

  She’d laughed and smiled at the same time, cupping my face. “Oh, but I did, baby boy. But it was not my intention. You have to understand that. I did not mean for this to happen.” She’d tapped my forehead, and I’d felt my bones grow slack.

  “I see gray all the time, Mommy,” I’d confessed to her, hanging my head and picking at my Superman bedsheets. I’d looked up and ask her, “Is that why you named me Grey?”

  “Because I was feeling Grey the moment I had you,” she said. “It’s how I knew I messed you up.”

  “You can see the future?” I’d broken into a shit-eating grin, and she laughed. The best kind. Eyes pinched, cheeks red, crazy curls shaking. I’d decided then it was my absolute favorite.

  “No, honey,” she’d said with a shake of her head.

  “Oh.” I’d slumped back against the headboard. If she could see the future, I’d ask her if I’d win dodgeball the next day at school. Or when the switches would come, just so I could prepare. There was no preparing, really; I’d just like to know when I would feel gloomy. Would it be during a spelling bee, when I ride my bike with my dwindling friend group?

  “But I do know one thing,” she’d sing-song in the sweet, swee
t voice of hers.

  I’d perked up and shot my eyes up to look into her matching ones, bouncing in excitement.

  “What is it?”

  She’d leaned down and pressed our foreheads together. “One day, you will meet someone who can deal with what you have and love you for you. For this.” She’d tapped my chest, over my heart. “And this, not in spite of it.” Then she’d tapped the side of my head.

  “What if she doesn’t like me because I’m not her prince, Mommy?” I’d frowned and leaned back. Little dots of gray dotted across my knuckles. Soft, pure. They itched for a darker, richer color. “What if I’m the beast, like in the movie Beauty and the Beast we saw in class today? And she doesn’t like big teeth and the beast-y side of me?”

  “You mustn’t worry, Grey.” She’d taken my hands in hers, rubbed her thumbs over the backs of my hands. I’d looked into her eyes and saw the sincerity, the confidence behind her words. “You will find your princess. And she will fall madly in love with you.” I’d blushed, and she’d laughed but continued. “And you will be grateful. You should be grateful. Happiness has to be worked toward. Disorder or not. Do not let it define you.”

  But I had let it define me. Let it control me. She told me she knew exactly what I was going through and that I should be in the greatest state of mind that the switch, the voices, had no control over me. I didn’t believe her about finding my princess, finding my great love. I thought she was insane, telling me lies.

  Little did I know, she was right.

  Little did I know, I’d be coaxed out of the darkness, the grey, by my princess. Beast and all. She’d firmly held my hands and gently pulled me from the shade of darkness, blasted me with her radiant smile. Loving her was like holding a fragment of happiness. I never wanted to let go. Never wanted her to let go.

  A loud sob rips through me. Clutching the bourbon to my chest like it’s my anchor, my savior, I cry. I don’t care about masculinity or the fact that it’s such a pussy thing to do. I just cry because I let the gray take over. Let the switch be flipped. No fighting against it because I was afraid of a little shock. Of the overwhelming feeling like I was dying.

  I should have prevailed the last time that switch flipped. The last time I saw my girl. My princess. I am so weak, so stupid, so—so broken. And I can’t fix myself. I can never be fixed. And it hurts.

  Hurts so fucking much.

  Why couldn’t I just shut the voices up? Listen to her? She’s not even pregnant, yet I pushed her away like she was. If she really were, would I have acted worse?

  I just can’t let her or anyone bear my darkness, my fucked-up gene codes. I want to be the last of The Grey bearer in my family. Die and never pass it along to anyone else. It’s the least I could do for being this way. For being a selfish asshole.

  I should have held harder. Fought the voices, the switch, my disorder. I should have fought for her.

  It’s only been a day, but it feels like a month in my fucked-up perception of time. I went to every single person’s house she could have fled to. Jaimie and Julia’s, Marlon and Lily’s. Every place she could have visited. The ice cream shop, the school, the arcade. But she was nowhere. I tried tracking her phone, but she must have thrown it out or taken the chip and battery out, because there was no dot on the map.

  It was like she fell off the earth.

  The thought made me cry, see little spots of gray. So I sprayed on a new color, red—blood. I fought just to change the color.

  As I take a swig of the rich bourbon, the cut on my bottom lip stings. But I barely feel it. I drink and gulp and drink and gulp until I see fit. Placing the glass next to me on the floor, I grip my hair.

  I wish David were here, even fucking chatterbox Holly, but they’re gone. They went back home two days ago, leaving me here, alone.

  Milo barks and scurries over to me, plops himself on my lap.

  With the exception of this asshole.

  “’Sup, dude.” I sigh and scratch behind his ear.

  He pants, satisfied, and looks over his shoulder. “You know you’re pathetic, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.” I sigh again and pat his little tummy.

  “Why are you sitting here with your thumb up your ass, thinking of your mommy?” he questions.

  “I am not—”

  “You are, dude. Just go and find your girl. Apologize. She’ll forgive you like those times before,” he instructs. “Don’t stare at me, idiot. GO!”

  Loud barking snaps me out of my head.

  “You’re so right.” I stand up and walk over to his cage, put him in there. Lock it. “This week she’s at the program. I know she won’t skip it. She’s too much of a goody two shoes to do that. I’ll go and say sorry, and she’ll come home with me,” I say with a smile. As if it’s that easy.

  The drive there is wobbly, slow, and infuriating. I get honked at as I cut in front of others, suddenly hanging sharp turns. Couldn’t give less of a fuck, though. It’s all worth it when I finally arrive at the building. I park sloppily in front of it, insert a few coins in the parking meter, then run to the building. Literally.

  “How’s it going, Grey?” Hank nods at me.

  “I’m gonna get my princess back,” I tell him as I pass by.

  He looks at me like I’m crazy, and I can see him contemplating if security should be called. He scrunches his nose as I punch the elevator button, completely ignoring the woman behind him wanting to get it. He frowns.

  “Why do you smell like whiskey?” he questions.

  “’Cause I drank an entire bottle,” I admit without hesitance. I have no filter when drunk. It’s what I love about myself. I speak the truth with or without liquor.

  He raises an eyebrow as I slip inside the elevator. “Shit—”

  The doors close before he can finish his realization that I’m piss-drunk and could cause a scene in this glamorous building.

  I ride the elevator up all the way to the tip-top of the building, then happily step off.

  “Grey?” Marty, the guy with the bowtie and prissy loafers says, confused. He stops walking to where he was headed and faces me, attention on me. “What are you doing here?” He sounds offensive. I guess Liv told him what happened. It’d explain why Jaimie slapped me.

  “Came for my princess.” I look around at the crystal chandelier. “Came to save her from this glass tower. From the dragon that is misunderstanding, mistakes.” I take a step forward, and he walks over to me, pressing his hands on my chest.

  “You are the dragon, Grey,” he says, licking his lips. “You really hurt her.”

  “I came to fix it,” I say in a duh tone, taking another step.

  He does too, and I groan.

  What? Are we doing the tango now?

  “You’re drunk, and you’ll only screw things up even more.”

  “God, can everyone smell me?”

  “Yes,” he answers. “You reek of a bar.”

  “Shit. Didn’t mean to say that out loud. He’s a prick. Did he hear that?”

  He rolls his eyes, looking pissed. “You know you’re just saying things out loud, right?”

  “Whoops.” I giggle, take a step forward.

  More tango.

  Growing annoyed now, I push past him. “You’re in my fucking way. Just stay out of it and let me do what I came here to do. Save my girl. Make her understand.”

  He chases after me the entire way to her office, tugging on my jacket and trying to stop me. But like a gnat, he’s small enough and annoying. I keep waving him away with a flick of my wrist.

  “I think you should step outside, cool down for a little while!” he yells after me, like he’s fucking warning her.

  I growl at him over my shoulder but keep walking. Finally, I arrive at her office and push the door open with a relieved smile. My princess. She looks so deflated, like a sparkly balloon without helium.

  “Liv, I—I n-need you,” I whimper like a puppy, like Milo.

  She looks shocked, like she wants
to comfort me. But then she looks down at something next to me, then back up to my eyes. Her face hardens, and she shakes her head.

  “Get out.” She sits back down, looks at her computer. Like I’m not here. Like the switch isn’t being teased with. Voices whispering, “Are you ready?” No. I am not ready.

  “What?” I croak.

  Why isn’t she running over to me? Hugging me? Comforting me?

  “Come on, man. I think security’s on their way up. You should leave on your own accord…” the boy says behind me, tugging on my jacket.

  “Fuck your accord!” Just outright mad and annoyed and pissed off, I whirl around and throw my fist into his nose. I hear a crack and a gasp. And then I am pushed against the glass door, pushed to the side. For him. Why for him? Why not for me?

  Liv kneels over the unconscious “M” boy. “Oh my God! Matthew? Matthew! Wake up, come on.” She pats his cheeks, crying her eyes out. She’s shooting daggers at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she screams.

  “I—he—fuck! I didn’t mean to!” I say, and I mean it. He’d just been nagging at my soul. I couldn’t control myself. I never can.

  “You’re fucked up! Just get the fuck out!” She hits at my leg.

  “No. You don’t mean that.” I shake my head. Close my eyes. Maybe I’m imagining this like last time.

  “Yes, I do!” she screams. “Why did you—fuck, Grey! What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you be fucking normal for once and not fuck something up!”

  “Stop saying that!” I shout.

  Something in me cracks, and I throw my hands out. Glass shatters against the white wall, and she gasps. Brown liquid and glass flies everywhere. She shields her face and begins wailing and screaming and hiccuping. The sight of her like this, hearing her like this, makes me cry. Breaks a part of me. My soul.

  “Shit, shit. Sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t even know I had the bottle in my hand.”