The Cost of Living (ARC)

by Emilie Lucadamo

  He can’t help the wheezy laugh that escapes him, too soft for the room’s occupants to hear. He opens his mouth to say something but is beaten to it.

  When Dana speaks, she sounds tentative for the first time in her life. “Umm…guys?”

  “Dani,” James hollers, dipping his head back without tearing his eyes from the screen. “Get in here and help me kick this guy’s ass!”

  Dana swallows hard, throat bobbing, and takes a step into the room. “Turn off the game,” she says over the artillery booms on screen and Dylan’s continued cursing.

  James still doesn’t look up. “The hell ya talkin’ about?”

  “I said—” Dana says, voice pitching in frustration, but Beck beats her to the punch. He slips through the doorway, moving past her and snatching the last controller off the couch. “Mind if I play?” he asks.

  Everything stops.

  The game goes silent. Dylan’s controller slips out of his hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud. James’s fingers freeze over his own remote.

  Slowly, his best friend turns his head to look behind him. “Beck,” he says, very calmly, when he sees the figure standing there.

  Dylan, still upside down in his chair, has gone stark white. Beck can’t read his face, but he knows when his brother is freaking out, and he’d call that frozen expression a freak-out if he ever saw one. James is stone-faced. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

  “Hey guys,” he says weakly. “It’s been a while, huh?”

  No one says a word for a moment that stretches on too long. The silence is broken by a shrill half laugh from Dana, who takes a step away from Beck while gripping the back of the couch like her life depends on it. She’s inching towards James, who’s got his square jaw set and is staring so hard at Beck that he probably doesn’t see his girlfriend at all.

  “What’s goin’ on?” asks James, finally shattering the awful silence that’s fallen across the room. He isn’t asking Beck—his tone of voice, like someone questioning a prank, makes it obvious—but Beck laughs and opens his mouth anyway.

  “I dunno. I think you gotta tell me what’s going on here, Jimmy,” Beck says earnestly. “’Cause seems like I’ve been gone for more than half a freakin’ year, and then this morning I’ve got a guy showing me my own obituary, tryin’ to tell me I’m dead!”

  James’s eyes are very, very wide. He’s got that mildly constipated look on his face, the one he always gets when he’s trying hard to understand what the hell is going on but can’t quite get it. “Well, yeah, Beck,” he replies, slow and careful. “You are dead. At least, you’re supposed to be…”

  He knows it but hearing it from James is too much. James doesn’t mess around; he doesn’t waste his time with jokes that aren’t funny, especially at his friends’ expense. He would never lie to Beck like this. The fact that it’s James, his friend since diapers and the person he trusts more than anything, looking him in the eyes and telling him he’s dead…

  The rickety, half-formed structures of Beck’s world are crumbling around him, and he has no idea how to stop the decay. “What are you talking about?” he demands, voice starting to get shrill. His instincts are all haywire; they urge him a thousand directions at once, to pass out, or run out of the room, or jump out the freaking window just to get away from everyone in his life who’ve suddenly gone crazy.

  Everyone can sense how on edge he is, because they instantly react the same way they’ve always reacted when Beck’s upset. James stands up, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Dana seems ready to lay a hand on Beck’s arm, only holding herself back because she doesn’t know how he’ll react. It’s just Dylan who still wears a look of horror; he’s staring at his brother as if he’s looking at a ghost. Oblivious to the stares of the rest of the room, Dylan is practically trembling. His dark freckles stand out against his stark-white skin; his eyes are huge and bulging. No matter how familiar the reactions of anyone else may be, Beck can’t see anything but his brother.

  “Take it easy,” says Dana. “Why don’t you sit down, Beck?”

  “Sit down? You want me to sit down?” He feels hysterical, frantic. “Why don’t you tell me what’s goin’ on, huh?”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Remember? I don’t remember a thing!” He remembers this house, these people, he remembers his whole life; then he remembers waking up outside of Adam’s shop. He doesn’t remember the in-between, and sure as hell can’t remember dying.

  He feels his breaths grow ragged as they fight each other to escape his lungs. His head is spinning, blurring the world around him in a confused cacophony. He takes a stumbling step back from Dana’s hand, and somehow trips over his own feet. When he goes crashing to the floor, James is instantly at his side and on his knees to help him.

  “Okay,” he says, in that low tone he adopts whenever he’s taking charge. There is a pressure on both sides of Beck’s face, anchoring him to the real world. It takes him a moment before he is able to focus enough to recognize it as James’s calloused hands. He forces his chin up, dark eyes boring into his. For all the masked panic he’s just seen from his friends, there is little of that in James’s gaze. He looks in control, and that’s the way James is supposed to look. Beck focuses on his best friend and feels himself breathe a little easier.

  “We’re going to figure out what’s going on,” James declares. “Let’s all sit down, and we’ll sort this the hell out.”

  THAT’S HOW BECK finds himself on the couch five minutes later, sandwiched between his friends. A heavy blanket has been wrapped around him, covering all but his face and hands. It leaves him warm and constricted, like being enveloped in a cocoon of pure safety. He nurses a steaming mug in his hands—when there’s stress at home, Dana’s first instinct is always to make hot chocolate, and Beck has never been more grateful for the tasty treat. He isn’t sure whose presence is more soothing: James on his left, solid and steady, or Dana on his right, an arm wrapped around his shoulders with no plans of letting go anytime soon. Being surrounded by such comfort almost makes telling what he knows easy.

  “…and that’s when I freaked out. Because I couldn’t believe it, ya know? Who wants to think they’ve been dead for half a year and had no clue about it? It’s… I mean, it’s not possible. But here I am. So I left there, and I came straight here, and hell if I have any clue what’s going on right now.”

  Dana runs her hand up and down Beck’s shoulder, and he can’t help but lean into her. James’s hand finds his back as well. His friend locks onto his shoulder, gripping like he never wants to let Beck go.

  “This is nuts,” James mutters, leaning forward. “Here I was thinkin’ you were a ghost, or some idiot’s idea of a screwed-up prank. But you ain’t that, are ya?”

  “I’m sure not,” Beck says. The entire situation is so bizarre, and so screwed up, that Beck can’t help it when he finds himself starting to laugh. “I’m so freaking alive,” he giggles, “and I have no idea what the hell is going on!”

  James snorts, caught up in the hysterics. Even Dana presses a hand to her face, releasing a few breathless half laughs as she shakes her head.

  To be together with his friends again, and laughing, makes something inside of Beck warm up. He feels more alive than he has since the moment he woke up.

  Then he sees Dylan.

  His younger brother has still not moved from his chair, a safe distance away from everyone else. Now he is sitting up—back ramrod straight, shoulders tense, and face a hard mask that Beck can’t read no matter how hard he tries.

  Dylan isn’t laughing.

  This is so wrong, because Dylan is always the first to laugh. Hell, he takes pride in rarely, if ever, being serious. When nothing’s going right, Dylan isn’t about to fix anything, but you sure as hell can count on him trying to turn it into a joke.

  It’s because Dylan doesn’t like serious things, and he hates seeing his friends upset. For him to look like that—horrified, uncomprehendin
g, disgusted—sends a jolt of ice through Beck’s core.

  “Dyl,” he says suddenly. His brother’s dark eyes widen. “Come on, say something.”

  Put on the spot, Dylan doesn’t seem to know what to do. He gapes like a fish, eyes flickering around the room for an ally. When he can find none, he turns back to Beck, defensive as a cornered animal.

  “What am I supposed to say?” he demands, in a tone so harsh that it makes Beck cringe. “Yay, you’re back from the freaking dead? Woohoo, throw a party! Beck’s back, and everything’s okay again!” He stares around the room, fury leaking into the incredulity that clouds his face. “How are you guys acting like this is all okay?”

  “What the hell do you want us to do, Dylan?” demands James. “Toss him out on the street? Flip out, start throwing things and screaming zombies are finally here? Hell no. It’s Beck. Our friend. However the hell he’s here, he’s here, and you can deal with it however you want.”

  Dylan does laugh now, incredulous and breathless. “Are you kiddin’ me?” he spits. His voice is pitching higher, bordering just on the edge of cracking, the way it used to throughout all of puberty. When Dylan is flustered, he sounds like a twelve-year-old again. “You’re just okay with this?”

  “You’re not?” demands Dana. “You of all people should be kissing Beck’s feet right now.”

  “Did you forget what happened?” James adds, tone sharp. Beck hadn’t realized it was possible, but the temperature in the room drops another ten degrees.

  For a moment Dylan remains very, very still, eyes staring somewhere over their heads. He’s not looking at anything; whatever he’s seeing, it’s nothing the others can witness. His jaw grinds, twitching slightly in the way it always does when he’s trying not to explode. Beck has been caught in Dylan’s explosions before—they’re ugly, violent, and leave nothing undamaged. He opens his mouth to speak, but when Dylan sees this his eyes flash with fire.

  “I’m not gonna freakin’ deal with it,” he declares, and storms out of the room before anyone can get a word in edgewise.

  Beck stares after him, wide-eyed, until his brother disappears from view. The sound of the front door slamming echoes throughout the house. Once again, they are left in oppressive silence. The atmosphere in the room is heavy to the point of being suffocating. No one breaks the spell, because no one wants to admit that Dylan’s reaction might have been the most logical out of all of them.

  Beck is startled by a hand suddenly coming to rest on his knee. He looks over, pale and wary, to be met with Dana’s face. The layers of foundation and mascara cannot mask the worry that knits the corners of her eyes; neither can they mask her intensity. Dana has always cared about everyone in her own way. She is passionately, painfully loving, and the determination that radiates from her eyes now causes Beck’s breath to stall in his throat.

  “It’s okay,” she says. “We may not have a clue what’s goin’ on, but we’re gonna figure it out. All of us.”

  “Damn right,” James agrees, and pulls Beck close to his chest. Beck is objectively larger than James, but when James decides someone is a teddy bear, they’re a teddy bear whether they like it or not. He clutches Beck close, beefy arms wrapped around his shoulders, and barks out a laugh at the whine that escapes his prisoner. “You think you can get away from us that easily? Don’t be stupid. It’ll take more than dyin’ before you’re free from us!”

  “Whatever’s going on, we’ll work it out together.” When Dana says it, Beck can almost believe her.

  In the embrace of his friends, with their support radiating from all sides, Beck finds it hard to breathe again—for a whole different reason. He couldn’t ask for more from them, but being accepted with open arms leaves him feeling for the first time like everything might work out all right. He may have been gone for months, but everyone and everything is just how he remembers it.

  (Everyone, he thinks ruefully, except for his own brother.)

  BECK DOESN’T THINK he’s ever been pampered this much in his life.

  It’s weird, having his normally boisterous relationship with his friends tossed on its head. Now, they alternate between acting like he’s made of glass and treating him like a goddamn king. James, in particular, seems to have fallen victim to this. That familiar vein of overprotectiveness that verges on territorial has been nicked and is gushing strong; his big-brother mentality is out full force, with Beck on the receiving end. James is pushy about everything that evening, from having Beck change into his own clothes (his room remains mostly untouched—Beck can’t be sure whether he’s relieved or heartbroken at the fact) to trying to help him shower. Dinner is a chaotic affair, with Beck’s plate being weighed down with more food than he could ever have the desire to eat. Trying to say “no” to anything just wins him a perfect copy of one of Mama Petrucello’s famous scowls. Beck eats until he can barely get out of his seat, but James still tries to force more on him.

  “If I eat another bite,” he finally says, “I’ll die all over again. Gimme a break.”

  In the face of Beck’s fiery glare, James just grins like it’s Christmas. “Hey, he’s still got his old appetite!” he crows, clapping Beck on the back. “Good to have that mouth back, kid!”

  Beck tries to keep frowning, but seeing the faces of his friends lit up around him makes his annoyance evaporate. There’s no way for him to be cross. They’ve just got their friend back after having lost him. Of course they’re going to be obsessed with him for a while. If he has to grin and bear it, that’s what he’ll do.

  It’s not all bad—James’s cooking is still the best Italian food outside of his mother’s own cooking.

  After dinner is finished, they lounge around for a bit longer and chat. It’s a callback to nights spent studying for exams, chattering away into the early hours of the morning and getting little actual work done. Beck falls into a familiar rhythm—bantering with James, then teaming up with Dana to take him on. For a while it’s not hard to pretend things are normal.

  (They don’t talk about the past few months, and they don’t acknowledge Dylan’s absence. It’s easy to ignore the unpleasant things, and Beck can’t help but wonder if this was how they coped with his absence.)

  It’s a little past midnight when Dana announces her leave. “I’ve got class tomorrow. I’ve gotta get some rest.”

  Beck and James exchange skeptical glances, both aware she’ll probably wind up working at her desk until early morning, but they’re not about to stop her. It’s been a long day, and surely Dana has as much to process as the rest of them. James pulls her in for one last kiss, and it lingers a bit too long for Beck’s liking. Dana cups her boyfriend’s face before pulling away.

  (He and Dylan have both complained before about their friends’ habit of showing their love in public. James just rolled his eyes and scoffed at them. “Someday the time’s gonna come when we won’t have each other anymore, and we’ll wish we grabbed every kiss that we could.”

  Dylan raised his eyebrows. Sentimentality has no effect on him; rather, he rebels against it. “And what about the day when you finally get sick of kissing each other?”

  “That day will come long after we’ve gotten tired of looking at your ugly face,” James had replied.)

  Once she’s gone, Beck finds himself alone with James. For a few moments it’s obvious that neither of them knows what to say to each other. To find James speechless is a rare occurrence, but the silence stretches between them like a rubber band.

  When James does speak, Beck isn’t expecting it. The sudden “Beck” causes him to fumble with the penny he’s been idly pushing around the table. It falls to the floor with a soft clatter but goes forgotten as he looks up into his friend’s face.

  James scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Quit lookin’ like I’m gonna shoot ya. I have something I need to say.”

  Beck sits up a little straighter. “What’s up?”

  James pauses, hesitates, and runs a hand over his jaw before taking a deep breath. “It�
�s good to have you back, you know? I mean…hell, it feels like a dream, like I’m gonna wake up in a minute and you’ll be gone—we’ve all had that dream. But you’re right here. You’re…back.” He aims a punch at Beck’s shoulder. It connects, but there is no force behind it. “You ever do something stupid like die again, kid, and I’ll kill you myself. But…it’s damn good to have you back.”

  It’s striking to see tears gleaming unshed in James’s eyes. James never cries. He’s easily led by his emotions and can be impulsive and rash at the worst times, but crying in front of others is something he doesn’t let himself do. Beck has only seen him break down once, a week after his brother died.

  James cried for him. The realization is like a stab in the gut, dragging him forcefully back to reality. He has to force a smile onto his face.

  “I’m glad to be back, buddy,” he says, laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. A small pulse of pain radiates through his head but compared to earlier it’s barely a ripple. He pushes the discomfort away, allowing it to be drowned out in the tumult of his thoughts.

  They linger for a while after that, but eventually the day’s weight on James becomes obvious. After the third yawn smothered into his palm, Beck is the one to suggest that his friend head up to bed.

  James is characteristically reluctant to go. “You wish. I’m not leavin’ you down here alone.”

  “If I let you do that, you’ll never leave me alone again.” Beck huffs, though he understands his friend’s concern. It isn’t like he has plans to go anywhere else, or any other place to go. James knows that as well as he does. “I’m not gonna get into any trouble just before bed,” he promises, waving him off. “Go on, it’s almost midnight. Get to sleep.”

  It takes James a moment before the stubbornness fades out of his shoulders.

  “All right,” he agrees. “See ya in the morning, kid.”