Toxic

by Rachel Van Dyken

I blew out the breath I’d been holding in and concentrated harder on the instructions. “It’s fine.”

  A few seconds went by.

  “If you stare any harder at that paper you’re going to burn holes through it.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked. “Or are you a fan of going bald at twenty-one?”

  “Twenty-two,” he corrected. “And sorry.”

  I read the last bit of instructions and went to work, all the while hoping that I really didn’t end up burning all of his dark hair off. Though I had to admit, I wouldn’t mind… because for some reason, dark hair really didn’t suit him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The most erotic touch a man can experience is that of a woman digging her nails into his scalp and giving a little tug. —Gabe H., Wes M., and all men… everywhere.

  Gabe

  So the whole ignore Saylor for a few days and try to get her out of my head thing? Didn’t go as planned.

  I dreamt of her.

  I dreamt of her music.

  Her kiss.

  Her stupid laugh.

  It was aggravating to say the least — especially when I was supposed to be focused on making sure my dad didn’t pop up at the Home again.

  Things had been quiet. Too quiet. Even Wes was a bit concerned. He helped me hire the best private investigator money could buy. And still nothing.

  We had no leads. It was like — he just disappeared. Which made me almost as nervous as if he was snooping around.

  When I called my mom, she said he simply left and said he had something to do. Granted, she was used to his escapades. He was pretty unstable most the time but she still loved him — would do anything for him. I wasn’t sure what made me feel sicker — the fact that my dad’s number one desire in life was to bring me to my knees — or that my mom was still capable of loving someone who wanted to destroy her flesh and blood.

  Saylor started combing out my hair, and I literally had to hold onto the countertop so I didn’t slam her against the nearest wall, plunge my tongue down her throat, and beg her to kiss me back.

  And I would beg.

  I would plead.

  Damn, it had been forever since I’d felt so attracted to a girl — the all-consuming feeling was starting to grate on my nerves.

  “I’ve been practicing every day,” Saylor said quietly, her fingers parting my hair as cold liquid made its’ way onto my roots.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Mmm.” She started rubbing the dye in, then moved to another spot on the back of my head. “I think you’d be proud of me.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I want you to watch.”

  Holy shit, I almost choked before answering. “Yeah, I would love to.” No seriously… I would love nothing more.

  Maybe I could.

  Maybe my dad really was gone.

  Maybe being with Saylor was possible.

  Yeah. I was starting to throw myself tiny crumbs from the table in hopes that one day I could have the full meal. Yet I knew as much as anyone that by the time I made it to the buffet, the food would be gone — as if it was a mirage in the first place.

  Saylor moved from my side and stood in front of me, her legs almost straddling mine as she leaned over and started dying the hair in the front.

  I stared straight ahead, at her hips.

  And groaned.

  “Did I hurt you?” Her hands briefly left my head.

  “No.” I coughed. “Sorry.”

  Her hands returned. I fought the urge to close my eyes.

  Her hands paused.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” She sounded like she was thinking. “It’s just… your hair’s really light right here.”

  Damn it. I played dumb. “Oh yeah? Weird.”

  “Gabe…”

  “What?”

  “Your hair’s almost blond.”

  “Maybe it just looks that way because the dye’s so dark.”

  “But—”

  “Saylor.”

  “What?

  “I missed you.”

  I felt like an ass for distracting her like that, but at least what I was saying was true. It wasn’t like I was lying.

  She started rubbing the dye in again and sighed. “I missed you too.”

  A smile spread across my features before I could stop it.

  “And you’re a jackass for using something like that to distract me from the fact that you’re a natural blond and for some reason don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sandy blond,” I grumbled. “And it’s the truth. I did miss you.”

  “Enough to help me more with my music?”

  A cold spot of dye dripped down the side of my head and onto the towel across my shoulders. “After all, you said five tears.”

  My shoulders relaxed. “I’ve only made up for one.”

  “I know.”

  “Tomorrow.” I licked my lips and tried to keep the next smile in but it was impossible. “Tear number two.”

  “I have class all day, then I’m at the Home tomorrow.”

  “Weird, me too.”

  She laughed and grabbed my head. “Stop leaning forward or we’re going to end up dying your eyebrows too.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  She worked in silence and I was happy watching her legs…

  “Okay.” She set everything down on the counter then sat on the floor facing me. “Tell me one true thing.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise. I swallowed and answered. “I hate dying my hair.”

  It was her turn to look surprised.

  “Then why go to all the trouble? And don’t spout crap about gray hair. I saw no gray hair, and you’re not the type of guy to turn down any female, cougar or otherwise…”

  “Ouch.” I laughed.

  Her eyes narrowed. Oh, I loved those eyes. They changed colors when she was angry. Hot. So damn hot.

  “It’s a necessary evil.”

  “Because.”

  “You said one true thing.”

  “This is part of the true thing.”

  “Nope. I told you one true thing. I hate dying my hair.”

  She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

  I looked away, focusing on the bar of soap in the corner of the bathtub and the slow drip of water coming out of the leaky faucet. “Light hair was the old me — too recognizable. And that’s as close to the truth as I’ve told anyone.”

  Saylor’s lips pressed together, causing her cheeks to tighten just a bit, which also caused her neck muscles to strain. Man, every inch of her was perfect. I wanted to touch every part of her. I’ve never seen a girl look so sexy without trying.

  She was in skinny jeans and a black t-shirt for shit’s sake, and it was a tie between wanting to strip her first and lick her later or lick her first then strip her later.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, getting up off the floor and checking my hair with her fingers.

  “Not so fast,” I murmured, grabbing a hold of her waist. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me one true thing.”

  My fingers dug into her skin, her breath caught.

  “I think you’d be hotter as a blond.”

  I released her and burst out laughing. The sound of it echoed around the bathroom walls like a damn ping-pong ball. “Honey, you have no idea how true that is. No. Freaking. Clue.”

  She swatted me with a towel, and just like that—

  I was back to being obsessed.

  Back to trying to figure out possible scenarios where the endgame wasn’t me packing up and leaving.

  But keeping her all for myself.

  Except — I had a nagging suspicion that if she ever found out who I really was, the normalcy of our relationship would take a nosedive and head straight for the pit of hell.

  Chapter Thirty

  The hardest thing I’ve ever done is watch my family suffer through my illness, knowing there was nothing I could do to comfort them… until I saw the look on Gabe’s face
when she came into the room. And then, like watching the saddest part of a movie, I saw their story unfold. And the ending? I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. Because I hated those types of stories — ones that gave you no hope but left you empty — and searching. —Wes M.

  Saylor

  I pulled into the parking lot and hurried out of my car. An accident on the freeway had made traffic complete insanity. Clenching my keys in my hand and some sheet music in the other, I ran toward the doors. Two men, big enough to cause serious damage to any action star, blocked my way. My eyes fell to two huge guns. Had there been a break-in or something?

  One of them held up his hand, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Um.” I looked around them. “I’m one of the volunteers from UW.”

  The one picked up a clipboard. “Name.”

  “S-saylor.”

  “Last name?”

  I froze, literally forgetting my last name, then one of them pointed at something on the clipboard and nodded.

  “Go on in.” They moved to the side and let me pass. I pulled my cell phone from my back pocket for them to hold at the front desk, and completed my usual sign in.

  Once everything was said and done I was fifteen minutes late.

  I ran through the doors and nearly collided with Gabe.

  He gripped my shoulders and steadied me. “You’re late.”

  “I know,” I huffed. “Traffic was horrible, and then two huge guys stopped me outside the building. Did something happen? Why is there more security than normal?” I vaguely remembered the conversation Gabe had on the phone when our kiss happened. I mean, I’d noticed that more security had been added over the past four weeks but two goons in front? Really? Had he said something about more security in front of the building? To be honest, I’d been so shocked about the kiss that his entire conversation fell on deaf ears. Now I wished I could remember it.

  Gabe removed his hands and shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe some of the residents are trying to escape.”

  “It’s not like we don’t try,” Old Man Peterson grumbled, shuffling up next to us.

  Gabe gave the old man a high five and pointed at his retreating form as he used his walker to make his way across the floor. “My point exactly.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked by Gabe to the front of the room.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone!”

  They quieted down and took their seats.

  “Today I thought it would be fun to break out into groups and write our own scales. When you’re done, you can either hum the song to me or you can use your instrument to play the notes. We’re just going to work with the major scale today, so use any four notes you want, but only four. We don’t want to make it too difficult. I have examples on the worksheets — oh, and please make your notes colorful. If you use an F or a G make sure it’s always the same color as the previous F and G. Any questions?”

  They never had questions.

  Probably because they never actually followed directions, but hey that was fine, at least they were enjoying themselves.

  For the next hour, I made my way around the group tables and offered my assistance, but I stayed away from Princess.

  Gabe was with her, hovered over the piece of paper while she instructed him on what to do.

  Ha, and he thought I was bossy.

  I had nothing on that girl. She knew exactly what she wanted and why.

  “No, Park! I want you to use the same note again! It needs to be pink!”

  I watched them interact, watched how he patted her hand every once in a while, or how he adjusted her chair so he was closer, or even wiped some of the spit from her mouth.

  I’d already suspected there was something more.

  I wanted to ask him, because I was beginning to wonder if she was his sister or some other family member. It was the only logical explanation as to why he would not only volunteer but be the only person who was with Princess the most. Then, on the other hand, Lisa somehow had to fit into the picture. I just didn’t know how. Ugh, I was giving myself a headache.

  “Sorry.” He laughed and tapped her nose with the pink crayon. “So what notes do you want?”

  “I want—” She started coughing wildly.

  Gabe shot to his feet. “Get it out, Princess, that’s right, just cough it up.”

  He put a napkin over her mouth and then wiped it.

  “That’s my girl.”

  “Parker…” She coughed again, and he repeated the process, rubbing at her nasal tubes. “I hate coughing.”

  “I know. It’s because you got the sniffles, but you’re getting better, right? It’s easier to breathe because of them putting air inside?” He winked and tapped against the little machine attached to her wheel chair.

  “A bit.” Her face looked paler than before. “I’m so tired though.”

  “Maybe—”

  “Parker!” she yelled, her voice almost piercing my ears. “I said I’m tired! I’m tired! So tired! And I keep dreaming of the Christmas tree. But it doesn’t have lights. Why doesn’t it have lights, Parker?”

  Gabe froze. I’d never seen him look so pale before.

  “The tree!” she yelled again, and then seemed to almost seize in her chair as her mouth dropped open.

  I ran over just as she started coughing and snatched the napkin from his hand and held it up to her mouth.

  She hacked a few times. I wiped her mouth and offered her a small smile.

  “All better?” I asked.

  “N-no.” Giant tears started falling down her face.

  “Hmm, why don’t we sing then? Would you like that?” I was grasping at straws. It always seemed to calm her down when Gabe sang.

  She didn’t answer, and I knew I was playing with something fragile. Without thinking I shoved the napkin back into Gabe’s hands and went over to the piano and started playing one of the songs that I’d learned from the Little Mermaid when I was little.

  “Part of Your World!” Princess shrieked.

  Gabe still stood motionless.

  Princess tried singing, and even though the words didn’t come out right, her smile returned. Best of all, no more coughing.

  When the song was done, it was time for class to be over. Martha came in and wheeled Princess to the corner, while I approached Gabe and played with the idea of clapping in front of his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I tugged his hand.

  He blinked and looked down at the napkin in his hands. It was stained red. Covered in blood.

  Princess was coughing up blood.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Red— amazing how one color can transport me back to that moment. There had been so much blood and it was all on my hands — it’s still on my hands. —Gabe H.

  Gabe

  The dream was back.

  The dream usually came when she was feverish… Princess couldn’t remember much about her accident¸ only that there were trees. In her mind, they looked like Christmas trees, which meant we had a hell of a time during the holidays, considering she was petrified of them.

  I had to agree with her.

  Trees reminded me of it too.

  Just like her damn Oregon Ducks sweatshirt and the scarf tied around her wheelchair.

  “Gabe…” Saylor repeated my name a few times. I looked down at my hand and tried to find words, but nothing would come.

  “Gabe…” She grabbed my arm and walked me out the back doors to the outside “Is she sick?”

  “Pneumonia.” My voice cracked.

  Saylor’s hand didn’t leave my arm. “I’m sorry, Gabe. That’s… horrible, I know—”

  “You don’t know anything.” I sneered, lashing out because I needed to hurt her like I was hurting, because I was losing my mind, because I was losing the girl I used to love and it was my fault all over again.

  “Don’t yell at me.” Saylor squeezed my arm and pushed me away, releasing my arm in the process. “I’m only try
ing to help. I know she’s important to you. She’s family? Like your sister?”

  I let out a harsh laugh and threw my hands in the air. “My sister? Is that what you think?”

  Eyes wide, Saylor nodded quickly.

  “Wrong.” I scoffed and stalked toward her until I towered over her body. “She was my fiancée.”

  Swearing, I walked back into the building and slammed the door behind me. I was going to puke.

  I barely made it to the bathroom in time before all the contents of my stomach made their way into the toilet.

  I puked until I was doing nothing but dry heaving, then washed my mouth out with water and made my way to Martha’s office.

  She was sitting demurely at her desk, sipping coffee, and looking over paperwork.

  “She’s coughing up blood, Martha.”

  The coffee cup paused mid-air to her lips. “Yes, we didn’t want to worry you.”

  “Worry me?” My voice raised. “Worry me?”

  “Gabe, sit down.”

  “No.” I swore and slammed the door shut so nobody would hear us. “If she’s sick we need to get a better doctor.”

  Martha’s smile was kind. “Thanks to you we have the best money can buy. It’s not that the doctor isn’t skilled.”

  Dread filled my body as the clock ticked on the wall, as if waiting for the perfect time to go off. “I’m afraid the infection is worse than before. She’s stopped responding to antibiotics.”

  “But you said—”

  “Gabe.” Martha sighed. “You look exhausted. Go home, get some rest. I’ll keep you updated when I know more. As of right now, the doctor is still extremely optimistic that she’ll pull through.”

  “But if she’s stopped—”

  “Gabe.” Martha’s voice was more stern this time. “She’s a strong girl. Go home.”

  With a nod, I opened the door and stepped through then slammed it behind me, noticing the crazed looks I was receiving from staff members as my feet pounded against the tile floor.

  When I reached the parking lot, Saylor was waiting by her car.

  Hell, that’s just what I needed. More tears to make up for.

  When I approached her, she opened the passenger side door. “Get in.”