Lock & West

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  I’m surprised to see someone wearing a sweater, honestly. I was starting to think Georgia didn’t have seasons, just one perpetual summer.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask then bite my tongue because that probably sounded rude.

  Shay doesn’t seem to mind my tone. “I wanted to check in on you. Haven’t seen you at the lunch table in a while.”

  “I haven’t really been hungry.”

  She nods as if she understands more than just my answer. She crosses to the foot of the bed, bringing with her a pleasant vanilla scent. The silence between us is still comfortable, despite my recent absence from school. I sort through my assignments, rearranging them by deadline then by class. And because I can’t help myself, I do it again in reverse order.

  “She’s beautiful,” Shay says after a while.

  “You should have seen her before my dad left,” I find myself saying, unsure why I’m being so open about things I never speak about. “She was a completely different person.”

  “I’m sorry,” Shay sympathizes. For once, I don’t question it. Plenty of people have said the same thing, offering condolences at school as if Mom’s already dead. But Shay is different. She’s always different. Kind, compassionate, and way too freaking nice. The kind of person you don’t believe exists until you find them. Or in my case, they find you.

  “Thank you,” I respond, stowing the newly organized papers into a folder in my backpack. “It was nice of you to visit.”

  Shay nods again, still staring at my mother. There’s something odd in her expression. A layer of sadness hidden behind the normally bubbly joy. It’s unnerving, like seeing a shadow through frosted glass—all shapes and no sharpness.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense.” She steps to the opposite side of the bed. “You ask yourself a thousand questions. You think, if only you were there, if only you could have done more. If only, if only, if only.”

  She takes Mom’s uninjured hand, her fingers curling around it gently.

  “But logic can’t explain the reasons behind our actions. Regret can’t turn back time. And no amount of love—” Her free hand pulls on her sleeve, and I catch a glimpse at the thin scar carved across her wrist. “Can erase what’s left behind.”

  I wonder if I’ll ever truly know a person. Even Shay, poster child for angels on earth, has dark secrets. Secrets she hides under kindness and smiles and cheering.

  “But it can help rebuild what’s been broken,” she adds, brushing the hair from Mom’s forehead. “And it can make it easier to remember there are always things worth living for.”

  I’m crying again, and no amount of blinking stops the tears from spilling down my face. Shay doesn’t seem to mind.

  “It’s my fault,” I tell her, confessing to the crime that’s slowly eaten away at my sanity over the past weeks. “It may as well have been me holding the knife.”

  My phone vibrates beside the stack of homework on the bed. It’s another text from West. It’s not the first of the day, but I can’t even think about talking to him.

  Shay’s beside me now, keeping a comfortable distance because she knows how I am about touching.

  “You can’t think that, Lock. Your mother’s decisions are her own and no one else’s.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” I flip the phone face down so I don’t have to feel guilty about ignoring West.

  “Maybe not, but it’s true.”

  I turn to her, wiping my face. “So, what do I do?”

  She smiles that wonderful smile, the kind that triggers those little fluttery feelings in your stomach.

  “You do the hardest thing in the world. You keep on going.”

  My number one problem with mirrors? They don’t lie. No matter how long you stare into them, no matter how much you wish it would, the image doesn’t change. It only reflects the truth, harsh and inescapable.

  Mirrors have become my enemy once again.

  I look at my latest text to Lock, sitting on ‘read.’ He hasn’t responded, but that doesn’t mean I stop trying. Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I need to talk to him. He’s the only one who helps me feel like I’m not spiraling.

  “How can you breathe in all that?”

  Chels is looking at me with disgust from across the lunch table, and I can only assume she’s talking about my multi-layer outfit. Even with the sweater, jacket, scarf, and hat combo, my hands are ice and there’s a constant shivering sensation just waiting to make my teeth chatter.

  “It’s cold outside,” is my lame response.

  “It’s seventy-two out there. That’s practically beach weather up north.”

  “Well, we’re not up north, now are we?” I snip.

  What I don’t tell her is I can’t get warm, no matter what I do, and I don’t want her or anyone else to see how my collarbones stick out. My head pounds, and I can barely form my thoughts into coherent sentences. Maybe just a bite of something…

  My stomach twists at the thought, so I toss it away just like I’ll do with my lunch.

  “Nope,” Chels answers. “Thank God for that. I don’t know if I’d make it north of the Mason-Dixon line. No sweet tea? No thanks.” She takes a swig from her Chick-fil-A cup for emphasis. “Hey, are you still coming over to run lines?”

  “I’ve got plans.”

  I haven’t told her about Clay yet. I mean, I think she knows, but I’ve been trying to keep him a secret. I can’t say why.

  “Would these so-called plans happen to involve a certain boy you keep sneaking off with?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “Cool your jets, would ya?” Chels flicks a tater tot at me, but I swat it away. “Jesus, you’ve been moody lately. Is it your man-stration cycle or something?”

  “Maybe I’m just sick of you being in my fucking business twenty-four seven?”

  “Oh.” The playful smile fades from Chels’s face. “Okay then. Tell Clay I said hello.”

  She doesn’t give me a chance to apologize, only scoops up her tray and leaves.

  I can feel sympathy radiating from Shay at the opposite end of the table, but I’m not in the mood for her or her saccharine-y niceness, so I stand, grabbing my untouched lunch.

  “West.” Shay rises along with me.

  I turn from her, making a beeline for the trash cans by the door. Unfortunately, Shay’s an athlete, so she has no trouble catching up with me.

  “What do you want?” I ask as I dump my tray.

  “I’m going to take Lock his homework again today.” She stacks her tray on top of mine. “Did you want to tag along? He could use some friendly faces around that place.”

  Go to the hospital? Where his mom is lying in a vegetative state? Where I’d have to stand there and pretend it isn’t my fault she’s there in the first place? I mean, I know I didn’t make her a nutjob, but who’s to say I didn’t trigger all this bullshit when I dragged him to that party?

  “West?” Shay waits patiently for my response.

  “I’ve got plans,” I manage, tugging on the edges of my jacket. “Sorry. Next time.”

  “Of course.” She’s still smiling, even though I turned her down. “See you around.”

  I nod as she heads back to the lunch table.

  I pull out my phone again, staring at the stream of unanswered texts. Lock is far better off without me in his life. I should keep it that way.

  It’s just been a completely shit day, so I’m in a particularly awful mood when Clay shows up at my house, right on schedule.

  “Hey.” He sheds his uniform jacket, throwing it over the computer chair by my desk. “How was your da—”

  I silence him with lips, pulling his tie so he’s half bent to meet me. I need to push all these thoughts out of my head, and to accomplish that, I have to fill my senses with Clay.

  “Alrighty then,” he says, breathless as we separate. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I just really need to forget today.” I’m already fumbling wi
th his shirt buttons. “So, don’t ask how I’m doing, don’t compliment me on my haircut. Just get on the bed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Clay laughs, giving me a mocking salute with that crooked smile that used to mean something to me.

  We do an awkward shuffle across the room, stopping only to discard random pieces of clothing. By the time we hit the sheets, we’re both down to underwear and socks, but then it’s just socks. (He has this thing about cold feet.)

  He’s gentle at first, trailing down my body with kisses and touches so light it makes my stomach flutter, then he reaches his destination, taking me in his mouth as I gasp and run fingers through his weird, silver hair.

  My plan works because I’m not thinking about ruining Lock’s life, or about snapping at Chels, or the look Blake gave me three days ago that made me want to peel the flesh from my bones.

  And I’m really not thinking about how much I wish it was Lock’s mouth on my dick right now.

  I jolt at the feeling of teeth.

  “Sorry.” Clay grins sheepishly, then he disappears again, pushing my legs back until my feet hang above my head.

  After he’s satisfied with the prep work, there’s the tearing of plastic and the shock of cold lube. Then pressure, followed by familiar pain.

  “Slow,” I tell him, eyes squeezing shut as I focus on breathing. He needs the reminder.

  Clay does as he’s told, pressing into me with careful restraint.

  I let out a breath, relaxing as the pain ebbs with each passing moment.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Clay whispers, leaning down to kiss me. He’s tall enough it doesn’t prove a difficult task.

  “Shut up,” I reply. I don’t need him telling me those lies that go down so easy when you’re skin-to-skin. Especially not now.

  I didn’t really mean to start having sex with Clay. Then again, I don’t really mean to make a lot of the terrible decisions in my life. They just kinda happen. After that night with Lock in the hospital, everything was so fucked up. And Clay had been trying to get back in contact with me since our pseudo-date/soft drink shower incident, and you could say I was feeling more than a little vulnerable. He struck, and I caved.

  While Lock was probably sleeping in the chair beside his mother’s bed, I was out on the town with Clay. Spending time with him brought up all those feelings I thought I’d gotten over years ago. With every kiss, every touch from his hands, they resurfaced, a little dusty but still hella strong. For a split second, I was twelve again, pining after the boy of my dreams. Except this time, everything is real. A little too real, to be honest. Like waking up from a deep sleep and finding reality is too sharp and sounds too loud. It just doesn’t feel right.

  “West.” Clay’s breath is labored. “Where are you, dude?”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re miles away. Want me to stop?”

  Jeez, I’m so distracted I can’t even enjoy my distraction. Come on, West. Get your head in the game.

  “No, keep going.”

  Clay eventually finds his rhythm, and I’m trying to keep myself in the moment. My toes curl as he hits certain spots that push me towards the edge, but when I close my eyes, it’s Lock who’s so close to me, breathing heavy as he kisses my chest. Another thrust and a moan escapes.

  “You like that, don’t you?”

  I must be imagining things because I could have sworn that sounded just like—

  “Of course, you like it, little faggot.”

  The voice fills my ears, and suddenly, it’s not Clay or Lock but Blake’s body bearing down on top of me. Gone is the familiar space of my bed, replaced instead by a shadowy room and silken sheets, and the smell… Oh god, I can smell Blake on me. I try to move, to do anything, but I’m trapped, reliving that horrible moment—

  “Stop.” The word sputters over my lips. But Blake either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care, his pace frantic as he moves inside me. There are tears now from pain, and a hand clamps over my mouth to keep me from crying out. Claire could be in the other room. She could walk in at any moment. Why isn’t she coming in to save me?

  “Get off.”

  My bedroom comes rushing back. Clay is too close, and I can’t breathe.

  “Get the fuck off of me!”

  I manage to kick him, sending him tumbling off the bed.

  “What the—Are you okay?” He asks from the floor, dazed.

  I’m trembling, but no longer from pleasure. Tears pour down my face as I gasp for air. I still feel Blake on my skin, his touch burning like red hot coals. The memories come crashing in.

  Flirting during the family vacation on the beaches of Rimini, Italy. A passing smile, a provocative word, a lingering touch. I encouraged him, only to get back at Claire for ratting out my little problem to our parents. After she told them, Mother made me spend the first month of summer vacation seeing a shrink every day until I could convince them I was eating again.

  But it didn’t stop at flirting. Before I knew it, we’d gone too far. Then we were alone, and Blake made it very clear no wasn’t an option. He proposed to my sister the next day by the sea, and I swore to take this secret to my grave.

  “West?”

  Clay is beside me now, hand on my back.

  “What did I do?”

  “N-Nothing,” I tell him, wiping my face as if that’s going to fix any of this shit. “I’m sorry. It’s not you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  To my grave. I can’t go back on my word now. It’s all I have.

  “It’s—It’s just been a really shitty day. I’m so sorry. Everything just sort of…snuck up on me.”

  His eyes are warm pools. Not rich honey, like Lock’s in the sunshine, but so much different than Blake’s. How could I have ever confused the two?

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.” I nod and kiss him, pushing him back on the bed, determined to pick things back up where I dropped them.

  “We don’t have to,” he tells me as I straddle his hips.

  “I want to,” I assure him, guiding him back inside me.

  I don’t think about Blake again as we press toward completing the task that can’t be stopped at this point.

  With a gasp and final thrust, Clay collapses back onto the sheets, panting. I remain still, relishing in the short movements he makes. Then his hand wraps around me and with a practiced motion, I finish too, leaving us chest-to-chest and sticky.

  It’s strange. Despite what I feel toward Clay, whatever buried crush I may have had for him through the years, he’s not the one I want lying in my bed. If I keep my eyes closed and just listen to his breathing, I can imagine it’s Lock underneath me.

  I want that so much it hurts.

  After a few minutes, glowing in the after-light, Clay plants a kiss on my forehead. “I can’t believe it took us this long to do this.”

  “Y-Yeah.” I run fingers through my sweat-damp hair. “It’s fun, right?” I sound like I’m trying to convince myself.

  “I feel bad we didn’t do it sooner,” he says, grinning at me. “Totally accepting the blame, by the way. I’m an idiot of infinite proportion.”

  “I was gonna say moron, but I guess idiot will do in this instance.” My fake laugh is almost convincing.

  “I’m serious,” Clay says, propping himself up on his elbows. “I want to apologize for ditching you like I did. It wasn’t cool, especially now I know what I was missing out on. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “You’re right,” I say. What I don’t say is that while twelve-year-old me didn’t deserve it but the West of today has probably earned much worse. I’ve done terrible things, both to myself and to other people. Now, here I am, using a boy who might even love me to distract myself from the things I don’t have the courage to face.

  So, just what is it I deserve?

  “Is it okay if I hop in the shower?” Clay asks, grabbing his phone from the pile of clothes on the floor.

  “Sure.” I pull the sheets over me, suddenly feeling e
xposed. “Want some company?”

  “No, thanks.” Clay chuckles. He shows no shame in standing stark naked. “I need to get going, and I don’t know if I’ll ever want to leave if you’re in there too.”

  There’s a different heat flickering in me, not passion or lust, but something else entirely. It does nothing to help the fact that Clay isn’t the boy I want any more.

  “Maybe next time?” he adds, turning to walk into the bathroom.

  Right. Next time. Just how long is this going to last?

  “I’m sure they’ll call if something changes,” Jill says, gathering dinner dishes from the kitchen table and setting them in her lap.

  It’s the same thing she’s been telling me for weeks, but I still have to visit Mom. I won’t give up on her, no matter how much everyone is trying to make me.

  “I can’t leave her there,” I say, hoping for the thousandth time she’ll understand. “Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to be left alone.”

  “Lan.” Jill sets aside the stack of plates. “Honey, your father wanted more than anything for you to lead a happy life. Now tell me, how can you do that if you’re just as confined to that hospital room as she is?”

  “Happy?” I repeat the word, attempting to understand it. “He wanted me to be happy? Well, isn’t that a nice sentiment? It’s a shame he never got around to explaining just how I’m supposed to do that. Nope, he just decided to run away from his family, from the people he supposedly cared so much about. He tossed us aside like garbage, like we never mattered at all. Like we—”

  The words stick in my throat, sorrow and anger swirling together to form a knot. I try to swallow it down, but it doesn’t budge.

  Breathe, Lock. Breathe.

  Jill only watches me, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. They do little to quell my rage. Her cell phone plays its chiming ringtone but goes ignored.

  The knot finally budges, and I gasp before finishing my tirade.

  “A-And you want me to believe that man, the coward who couldn’t tell his own son the truth, wanted me to live a happy life by abandoning the woman he left behind to rot in a hospital bed? Is that what you’re telling me?”