by Lee Jacquot
Tears prick the back of my lids, the small ache now radiating to every cell in my skin, leaving me wishing I could rip it off. We’ve said goodbye twenty times, and still, it’s not enough.
“Honey.” My mother leans back, craning her neck to look at me. “Please don’t forget what we talked about.”
We talked about plenty, but I know she means Lily. My mom’s never met her, but even when I was a kid, she would say she can see Liliana in my eyes, tied to my soul in a way that only true love is.
When we were in Niagara Falls alone while my dad got us some ponchos, I told her everything. There had been something about the way the water rolled over the cliff, crashing into the water beneath that reminded me of what was going on in my chest. Because when it came to Lily, everything was erratic, a contradiction… torrential.
But after my mother had time to digest my words, she pointed out something else. Like the waterfall, Lily and I were also passionate, graceful poetry with a full roar.
“You don’t give up on something as world-altering as a waterfall, son. And if you loved her, even when you hated her, that’s all you need. Because when I was angry with your father, love was nowhere in sight. That’s when I knew he wasn’t the one. Now, make things right, and get your girl.”
“I love you,” I whisper into her temple, leaving a whisper of a kiss on each one and wiping the lone tear that fell from my face to hers.
She leans into my chest once more before lightly pushing me back to examine my eyes. “I love you most. Now, go win, and I’m not talking about just the fair.”
My lips twitch with a smile, but I don’t give in. Not when there’s so much pain coursing through my veins. “Yes, ma’am.”
I kiss her again before she ushers me out the door, fussing about being late.
When I arrive at the school, I make out the small silhouette of Remy bouncing on her heels, peering at her watch, and saying something to Mr. Jones. His eyebrows are threaded together, and he, too, is checking his watch.
I swing into a spot, grab my bag from the back and haul ass toward the antsy pair.
“Sorry, Mr. Jones. There was traffic.”
Remy’s face splits in a huge smile, and she runs to greet me, throwing her arms around my neck. It soothes some of the ache from earlier, but Mr. Jones is quick to break it up.
“Alright, Mr. Hanes, come now, let’s go. We’ll be late for check-in.”
He escorts us on the bus and points to an empty seat near the front. I keep my eyes down, careful not to search for her. But I don’t need to. I can feel her. Her eyes burn into the side of my face, leaving me shifting in my seat.
Just do it.
My knees move first, turning to the aisle before I twist my body. My pulse thrums against my neck, accelerating to an uncomfortable pace. But when my eyes meet hers, everything stops.
There are no contacts.
Lily’s big chestnut orbs glow with the wide grin curling up the ends of her lips. Her beautiful sun-kissed skin shimmers from the light peeking through the bus window and illuminates a few freckles across her collarbone I never noticed before.
She’s sitting in the seats one row back on the opposite side, but I can make out her lavender cream even from here. It fills my nostrils with its hues of lemon until she’s all I can smell. My head feels high, dizzy as it becomes intoxicated with the scent. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.
Remy clears her throat. “Go. Sit with her.”
Guilt rams into my chest, and I snap back in my seat. “I’m sorry, Remy. That was rude. Talk to me. How were midterms?”
She rolls her eyes. “Boy, I’ve talked to you every week. Really. It’s a three-hour ride. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
“Exactly.” I push my back into the seat, twisting my knees so they face her.
Every nerve in my body is on fire, pulling me, begging me to talk to the brown-eyed girl two feet away, but I don’t. Not yet. I need to wait until I know exactly what to say and when I’m a little less high on her smell because this time, I’m going to get it right.
Remy gives me a once-over and sighs, resting her head in the crook of my shoulder. “Isn’t today…?”
She doesn’t have to finish for me to know what she’s talking about. I nod, letting my head fall on the top of hers. “Yeah.”
We sit in silence for a moment, and the next thing I know, a dark veil closes over my eyes.
THIRTY
By the time our bus pulls into the hotel, the back of my neck is raw from the friction of my necklace, and my nerves are shot to hell. The entire three hours, I had to text my support system to keep from jumping over the seats.
Another suggestion from Dr. Floren.
“Create a small circle of those you trust who you can reach out to when you are feeling overwhelmed or upset. Sometimes even when you feel extremely happy. These people can help you calm down or talk to you in order to help find a solution.”
Mr. Jones rises, holding up a hand to silence the dozen students all buzzing with excitement. My eyes drift to Spencer and notice he’s leaning to the side and can easily see me out of his periphery.
It forces my spine to straighten, and the hair on my nape stands at attention.
“Alright. We’re running a little behind, but you all have practiced repeatedly over the past few weeks, so I’m confident you have your data memorized by now. We’re in section 45 B. I’ll call you by partner groups, give you your badges, and then I need you to hurry inside. I’ll also give the team leader your hotel key for the night. Remember, we’ll have dinner after and breakfast in the morning at eight sharp. Good luck, Bulldogs.”
Team leader?
Mr. Jones must’ve forgotten that Spencer is no longer teamed up with a guy. I make a mental note to tell him later as I pack my things inside my purse. He begins calling names, and as luck would have it, Spencer and I are the first called.
He reaches Mr. Jones before me and grabs our lanyards, exiting the bus before I’ve slung my bag over my shoulder. I stumble after him and down the steep stairs.
Spencer stands at the bottom, leaning against the bus, with his hands in his dark jeans. His chocolate locks are a little longer, curling around the shell of his ear. My heart thumps violently in my rib cage, and I’m almost certain he’ll be able to see an outline of it if he looks down.
“Hey.” His voice is throaty, and my breath falters.
I swallow, reaching out for my badge. “Hey.”
“How are you?” he asks, handing me the lanyard.
Our fingers brush against each other’s, and a shock sparks the length of my forearm. I clamp down on my bottom lip to keep my smile from stretching too far. “We aren’t in the color room, you know.”
One of his shoulders hitches up, and his dimple appears with a smirk. “Yeah, but I still want to know.”
I open my mouth to answer, but Remy appears at our side, her partner following close behind. She eyes us for a moment before tapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s go, you guys. Time to win some money.”
Some money?
Spencer nods and turns, but waits until I’m next to him before leading the way.
It’s strange. We wrestled as kids, shared the same bag of popcorn, and slept cuddled up in a treehouse. Yet being six inches away from him right now feels like I’m a breath away from the sun.
Stop.
This is about closure. Letting go so that I can move on.
I repeat the phrase three times before we enter the hotel.
To say the fire marshal would be disappointed is an understatement. The entire floor of the lobby is packed, overflowing with students and projects, and men in white jackets with clipboards. They are all moving to a room behind the tall reception area. The majority of everything inside is glass or reflective steel. The nearby elevators are see-through, all full of onlooking spectators. The ceiling in the hotel is enormous, at least twenty feet, and has a complete slanted skylight. A light sprinkle has started, and I
watch as the water beads and rolls down the windows. Soon enough, it picks up, and watching it feels almost like being on the inside of a waterfall.
Suddenly, a firm hand wraps around my wrist and weaves me through the crowd. When I look down at Spencer’s fingers locked on me, every nerve in my body ignites, and my core throbs in a way it hasn’t since our time in the colored room. I squeeze my eyes closed and remind myself.
Closure.
Finally, we reach our section, and he finds our table quickly. His trifold is set up next to a plethora of others, and honestly, pretty badass. There is data and graphs, pictures, and studies. He even has a binder with colored tabs, which I assume have more in-depth information on his color study. That’s when I noticed the title.
Colors affect humans, but to what extent?
I huff. Of course. How the hell hadn’t I put that together?
Spencer leans in, his breath tickling the stray hairs on my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine. “Thank you.”
My eyes connect with his, and instantly the world around us is drowned out. He’s right next to my face, one deep breath away from his lips touching mine. And for some insane reason, I actually consider rising on my tiptoes and closing the distance.
It would be so easy.
There was a time I thought maybe we just needed to get all the tension out of our system. Just one good fuck to make us feel better. And right now, with his gaze on my lips, his deep erratic breaths, and the clench of his jaw, I think he may feel the same.
Sex. Then closure. Yeah. Totally possible.
“Colors.” The husky voice of an older gentleman draws us apart.
Four men, who I assume to be judges according to their large badges, step closer to us. I back up, giving the floor to Spencer, and mouth my good luck.
I feel bad I can’t really be of assistance on this part, but that guilt only lasts five seconds. Watching him explain the depths of our experiment leaves me in awe. He uses terms and vocabulary about the brain I had no idea existed. He’s intelligent as hell and listening to him sends a heaviness between my thighs that makes me clench my knees together. By the time he’s done, I’m fairly certain I have taken at least two college courses about the psyche, and that’s when it hits me.
Dr. Floren doesn’t use too many colors because of how the brain can react to each one differently. Leaving her room clean and neutral lets the brain decide what they want to feel without exacerbating it.
Thinking about it, how I still have so much to learn, sends excited shivers down my spine. I can’t wait to be in my field. Helping those that think they are alone… forgotten. And be a haven for managed souls tormented by abusive parents.
Mr. Jones appears as Spencer makes his final remarks and asks them if they have any questions. “Miss Conley. Your room key.”
He places the card in my hand, still staring at Spencer. “How’s he doing?”
“Amazing.” The word tumbles out, but it’s the truth. He’s incredible.
“I knew he would do great—an absolutely wonderful idea. Alright, don’t forget. We’re ordering pizza and meeting in room 734.”
“Oh, Mr. Jones,” I stop him, remembering to remind him that Spencer and I will be sharing a room, but instead, like any conflicted teen, I don’t.
I’m supposed to be amending my past with Spencer. But I don’t recall Dr. Floren saying how that needed to be done. “Never mind.”
He nods, smiling briefly before running off to the next table. When I turn around, Spencer is leaning against the table, his mouth slightly ajar.
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head, those deep brown eyes honing in on me. “They said we are going to place.”
“Seriously? They can tell so soon?”
“I guess. I mean, they got our reports a week ago. This is more for show and presentation. Lily... I didn’t tell you about the prize.”
Lifting my chin, I move closer, fiddling with the edge of one of the binders. “What is it?”
“Scholarships to any of the sponsor’s universities. Ten thousand, to be exact, for the last place. The full first year paid for winners.”
“Oh shit. That’s amazing.” I knew Kentucky wouldn’t be on the list of Washington fair sponsors, but my curiosity piqued. “Any schools I know?”
“Solace.”
Of course.
The dream school I didn’t have enough money for. Without my permission, my brain starts doing the math. Maybe if I stayed home and commuted to school, it could work. I could always continue cheering there, perhaps even teach cheer at the local dance academy on the weekends. My mind continues to spiral, wondering if perhaps I could have my cake and eat it too.
A saying I never really understood after all. Because what’s the point of giving me a cake if I can’t eat it?
My eyes drift back to Spencer, and I think for a second what it would be like to not have to let him go. To not move on and see what could be.
To close our past and move on to our future.
THIRTY ONE
“Where are you guys going?”
A few of the guys from class suggested taking our pizza to go and hanging out in one of their rooms to celebrate. By some fucking miracle, the universe decided I was due a win, and I actually pulled it off.
First fucking place.
It was close as shit, and I had to answer more questions than I was mentally prepared to, but I killed it.
I called Dad to give him the news and instantly regretted it. Mom was having an episode, I’m sure linked to the stress of her arrival, and didn’t know what fair I was talking about. Hearing her say that twisted the organ in my chest, squeezing it empty of all the pride I felt moments before.
She was the inspiration behind the whole thing, after all, and I hate not being able to tell her we did it.
My father, a cardiologist, always thought I would follow behind him, but everything changed after my mother’s diagnosis. I needed to dive into the circuit board that is the brain. Inspect the wiring and find out how it can be fixed, so no one would have to suffer the living loss of a loved one.
Which brought me to my science project. Colors have been used in studies before with Alzheimer patients to spark memories, but seeing as the individual episodes are linked to other things, I decided to perform it on the average brain. Make notes, comparisons, connections, and a conclusion.
And it was worth drowning in research that took weeks to shift through. Not only did I land mine and Lily’s (even though she doesn’t want it) first year of Solace paid for, the department chair of biology intends to meet with me next fucking week. About what? No clue, but I’m borderline having an aneurysm thinking about it.
Remy’s eyes narrow as she waits.
“To celebrate Spencer!” my classmate, Collen, yelps, snapping me from my daze and grabbing another box of pepperoni.
I try my best to give Remy a reassuring smile, but she purses her lips and eyes each guy beside me in a warning. Ever the pure soul.
Collen tugs on my arm and leads the way down the winding hall. When we make it to his room, I can smell the liquor before he even opens the door.
I stare at the impossibly small screen, trying to read the text from Lily. She told me our room number is 915.
Our.
I have no fucking idea how Mr. Jones made that mistake, but I’m feeling pretty thankful as I trail the halls looking for the door.
Something was different about Lily today. Aside from the missing contacts and the vintage anime tee she wore, her general vibe toward me lacked the usual accompanied loathing. And when I had stooped down to say thanks, a fraction of an inch away from her ear... her eyes lingered on my mouth, and a blush coated her nose. In that moment, she wanted me, and not in the normal, angry, hateful, sex-type way.
I groan, remembering how I had to hide the bulge in my jeans only reignites it, and now I’m hard as a fucking rock.
Finally, I stumble upon our room and rap on the door as soft as my
heavy hands allow. I hear a muffled sound behind it before the locks click, opening to a towel-clad Lily.
If eyes could physically dislocate from their sockets like the cartoon, I’m pretty sure mine would be a foot out of my skull. Her olive skin contrasts with the bright white cotton of the towel, and I thank my lucky stars she’s not fresh out of the shower because I’m pretty sure seeing her skin dripping wet would be my undoing.
I don’t miss her smirk as she backs up, allowing me inside, and shuts the door behind her. I pass by a cloud of steam flowing from the bathroom and into the open living room. Shucking off my jacket, I twist, leaning my ass against an upholstered chair.
“You’re drunk?” She tilts her gorgeous fucking head to the side, amusement dancing in her eyes.
I nod, holding up my thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Maybe a little.”
She scoffs playfully and turns back toward the shower. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I was on my way t—”
“Come here,” I spout the command before I can stop it, and it comes out much more hoarse and forceful than intended.
Her eyes widen for a second before she regains her composure and pops a hand on her hip. “I’m getting in the shower.”
“That can wait,” I clip.
Lily huffs, her wet mouth parting, and I think I may have shocked her. My tongue darts out, sliding along my bottom lip as I consider the few times I’ve gotten to taste hers. Their sweetness holds a rent-free space in my head, and the desire to lick her becomes overwhelming.
As if she can feel the hunger rolling in my gut, she shuffles on her feet, a telltale blush creeping up the side of her delicious-looking neck. “How are you feeling over there?”
“I’m hungry.”
Her breath falters, giving away the fake calmness that’s currently slipping between her fingers. “I’m sure there are leftovers downstairs. Or if not, there’s a room service menu on the nightstand.”
My thumb comes up, wiping the corners of my mouth as my eyes home in on hers.