Lock & West

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  That doesn’t sound like me. I swallow the lump building in my throat.

  “You knew I wasn’t going to do it on my own. I was too stubborn, too proud to let someone else see me hurt. But you gave me the strength to let go of all that, and it was so freeing, West. I can’t describe how much I needed you in that moment. I like to think of myself as this goddess, the baddest of bitches, but you reminded me it’s okay to be human sometimes.”

  I guess it is true. I did tell her that. Chels has always been so strong, but she was totally going to keep on without processing her emotions. I’ve been through enough therapy to know that’s never a good idea. You’d think something would have stuck by now.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you these days,” Chels continues. “And honestly, I don’t think I need to. But I’m not just worried about your health, West. I’m worried because I’m starting to see the same habits in you, and I know what kind of headspace I was in.”

  I don’t move, just stare down at the bedspread, eyes burning with tears I refuse to shed.

  “So, I’m here to tell you.” Two fingers hook my chin, lifting it up until I’m forced to meet her gaze. “It’s okay to cry, West. Be a little human. You can let it all out, and I’ll stay beside you, no matter how long it takes.”

  Chels doesn’t falter. Her warm brown eyes hold me suspended.

  I’m teetering on the edge. If I tip one way, the floodgates will open and all my secrets will come rushing out too fast to stop them. It’s an offer almost too good to pass up. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to tell Chels the truth, to bring her into the part of me I keep sectioned off. But what would that do to us? Am I so cruel as to put my burdens on her shoulders? Maybe I should just fall back, take the plunge, and let the murky waters of my secrets drown me. They rise higher and higher every day.

  I can’t decide, can’t push myself in one direction or another, so I just do what I do best.

  “I have to go.”

  I slide off the silken bed and away from my best friend. Once my feet hit the floor, I’m gone. I don’t look back as she calls, “West, wait!”

  I don’t stop, not until I’m in the car, and then only long enough to crank the engine and stomp the gas until my tires squeal.

  People like Shay are the only reason I still believe in God.

  She finds me, outside of Mom’s room. An hour has passed since they cleared Jill to take Jack back home and I told her I was staying. Thankfully, Mom didn’t injure her too seriously—physically at least—just a bruise here and there. Emotional damage? That’s yet to be determined.

  “Lock?” Shay crouches down to my level, her perfectly penciled eyebrows furrowed.

  I’ve been counting the floor tiles over and over to control my urge to scream. My pulse quickens when she interrupts me.

  “What’s going on?”

  If I talk about it now, I’m going to lose any grasp on the composure I’ve managed to wrangle. I just shake my head, and my lips start to tremble.

  She sits beside me but not too close. She knows I need space.

  Everything is so twisted up inside me, and all I can hear is my mother’s desperate voice ringing in my ears. Although I can’t fathom speaking, a question that’s battered my insides all night slips out.

  “How do I get through this?” My voice is hollow, empty like the waiting room. “How does anyone?”

  Shay doesn’t answer right away. I think she must not have heard me, but then—

  “Remember the day we met? You were sitting outside the office, waiting on your class schedule, and I noticed you were reading one of my favorite books.”

  I give her a nod. She was the first person who acknowledged my existence. She struck up a conversation about Monstrous Anthropology, and I we ended up talking for half an hour about fan theory. That’s the thing about Shay, she makes you feel so comfortable, so welcome and warm, you’ll tell her anything.

  It’s dangerous.

  “Do you want to know why Zombies in Zimbabwe is my favorite in the series?”

  “No offense, Shay,” I start. “But I’m not really in the mood for small talk.”

  “Humor me.”

  I let out a sigh, raising my gaze from the floor to eye level. “Why?”

  “Remember when Veronica is trapped in the tombs after being separated from Timothy and the rest of the search party? At that point, all hope seems lost. She falls into this desperate state and hurls herself down the air shaft, hoping to be spared the pain of starving out.”

  I give another nod to let her know I’m following. Everyone who’s read the book would know that. It was the climax.

  “But after she does it, after she resigns herself to giving up, what happens? She survives the fall. Lying there, broken and dirty, she feels the slightest breeze, sees the tiniest glimmer of light in the pitch black. And it’s those miniscule things, those brief glimpses of hope that give her the strength to dig her way out of the darkest moment in her life.”

  I’m zeroed in on her, transfixed by the details she recalls from the story.

  “For someone like me,” she continues, pulling up the sleeve of her sweater so I can get a good look at the faint white scar on her left wrist. “You can guess how that story resonated. I can tell you from experience, your mom is in the darkness. But just like Veronica, all she needs are those little things. Just that glimpse of hope to bring her back into the light.”

  “But what can I do?” I ask as a shiver shoots up my spine. “She pretty much told me she hates my guts.”

  “That’s the thing you have to realize.” Shay places a warm hand on my knee. “Just like Veronica, your mom is alone in the dark where no one can reach her. Whether or not she digs herself out, it’s her decision. The only thing you can do is try to make it as easy as possible for her to see the hope.”

  “So, you’re saying there’s nothing I can do.”

  She sighs, but her smile doesn’t fade. “What I’m saying is she’ll need someone waiting for her when she reaches the end of her tunnel. Even if it’s only to lift her body out of the dirt. She deserves that much.”

  More tears are falling now.

  “Why does it have to be me?”

  Shay doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she stands up, offering me a hand. I take it, and her strength surprises me as she hauls me to my feet. She holds my gaze for a moment, her delicate features pensive as she takes her time forming the words.

  “It’s easy to give up, Lock. Take it from someone with experience. It’s infinitely harder to stand by and watch it happen. But you’re here. And she’s still here. And sometimes that’s all you can be.”

  “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  The back of my neck pricks, hot and itchy. I can’t lie, so I tell her, “I talked to her, while she was asleep, I mean. They said it could help. Said there was a chance she could hear me. Well, they were right. One of the last things I said to her was I wished she wouldn’t wake up.”

  Another silence. This one ten seconds longer than the last.

  “Healing is a long process.” Shay’s hand is on my shoulder now, steady and comforting. “You’d be surprised what dulls over time.”

  I know she’s right, that maybe with the assistance of time and medication, Mom will get better. But what about me? I’m still going to be the same person who thought these things about his own mother.

  How do I live with that?

  “You look like shit, Lock,” Shay says with another smile. “Can I take you home?”

  I cast one more glance back to the closed door of Mom’s room then take her up on the offer.

  Traffic is bad for people who don’t want to think. It just gives you endless time to dwell on your horrible mistakes and wonder why you can’t seem to get anything right, no matter how hard you try.

  Somewhere between insanity and boredom, I call Clay. He doesn’t pick up the first time. Or the second. Or the third. I’m about
to hang up for the fourth time when he answers.

  “Jeez, West. What is it?”

  He sounds annoyed. Great, now I’m chasing away one of the only people who will even be around me right now.

  “Sorry,” I apologize, hating myself a little bit for how much I missed his voice since just this afternoon. “I just really needed to talk to someone.”

  There’s a lot of background noise as Clay speaks. “Are you okay?”

  I’m honest with him. “No. Not really.”

  “Hang on.” The other end goes quiet for so long I think he’s hung up, but then he’s back. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear anything. What’s going on?”

  Once again, I find myself standing on the precipice. Do I trust him with my life or just keep silent?

  “You still with me?”

  “Y-Yeah,” I breathe, taking a second to gather myself. “Listen, I really need to see you. Can we meet somepl—”

  “Tonight’s not a good night,” Clay interrupts. He sounds annoyed again.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, wishing I was anything but needy. “Forget I said anything.”

  He lets out a sigh. “You’re kinda making me feel like a dick here.”

  “It’s not intentional.”

  Someone calls his name on the other end. I pretend it’s not another boy’s voice.

  “I’ve gotta go,” Clay says quickly. “But I’ll see you tomorrow. We can talk through it then. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The line goes dead without a goodbye, and suddenly, everything is worse than before.

  It was probably just a friend I heard calling Clay’s name. He’s probably doing a project for school, that’s why he couldn’t talk. Maybe they’re on the same debate team. They probably have study sessions every night leading up to the big meet. Maybe Clay pictures his face when he’s kissing me, just like I picture Lock’s when I’m kissing him. And when they’re alone together, Clay probably makes him feel just like I felt this afternoon, lying with him under the sheets.

  I turn the volume on the stereo as loud as it goes, wiping my face.

  I can’t go home this early. I might run into Blake, blissfully planning his nuptials with my sister while simultaneously making my life a living hell. How he finds the time for his residency, there’s no telling.

  So, I’m here, wandering the L-Square Mall because there’s no place else for me to go. The sights and sounds are familiar yet new at the same time. They numb my senses, allowing me to forget about Clay and Lock and all the things I don’t have space for in my head.

  A pair of jeans catches my eye in the window, my sorrows not detracting from my need to spend ludicrous amounts of money on things I don’t need. There’s a hoodie I like next to it, so I detour my walk of self-pity into the store.

  It’s a little crowded for my taste, but I manage to find the advertised jeans, grabbing my size and the next size down because they probably won’t fit. I grab a couple hoodies too before finding the line to the dressing room because I need as many distractions as possible. A guy about my age stands outside the curtain, tapping his foot impatiently. There’s an earring dangling from his left ear, his dark jacket unzipped and hair streaked with blue and silver.

  The shade of silver looks familiar.

  I stand next to him, waiting for my turn.

  “It may be a minute,” the boy tells me, motioning toward the curtain. “He takes forever.”

  “It’s fine,” I mutter, not really in a hurry to go anywhere. Honestly, I’m just surprised I haven’t tried to toss myself down the escalator at this point.

  “Hurry up, babe,” the boy calls over the catchy music playing through the speakers. “We’re going to miss our movie.”

  “Almost done,” a muffled voice responds. “Keep your pants on.”

  “Then pull yours up and let’s go.” The boy makes eye contact with me then rolls his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. I can’t help but crack a smile. “He’s worse than a girl, I swear. He knows I hate to miss the previews.”

  “They’re the best part of the movie,” I commiserate.

  “Exactly,” my new friend agrees. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. Hey, nice hoodie. Where’d you grab that?”

  I point to the display.

  “Oh man.” The boy raises to his tiptoes to see. “I’m going to have to check those out. Babe, I’ll be right back. I swear to God, if you aren’t out in three minutes, I’m leaving you.”

  The guy gives me a sly wink then heads over to sort through the pile of hoodies. I feel bad for his boyfriend, being rushed. I like to take my time when it comes to trying on clothes. They’re an investment and should be carefully considered. Your clothes say a lot about you.

  The curtain draws back, and Clay steps out, holding an armful of—who the fuck cares?

  “I think I’ll get these—” He stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. “West?”

  This is my fault. How could I assume the universe would grant me even a smidgen of happiness? No, once again, I find that just when things can’t get any worse, they do.

  “I can explain—”

  “Hey babe.” Earring guy is back, holding up two hoodies. “Blue or red?”

  I set the clothes I’m holding down on the shelf beside me, turning away from the two of them before my expression betrays the pain stabbing me in the chest. My face burns as I clear the entrance of the store, trembling hands finding the railing that runs along the second floor. The metal is cold to the touch. The cool sensation tethers me.

  It’s fitting that I should be Clay’s side piece. It seems to be my lot in life, to never be first choice. I’ll always be an afterthought. A convenience.

  A hand on my shoulder makes me jump.

  Clay stands an arm’s length from me, his hands sinking into his pockets. The other guy has disappeared. I wonder what lie Clay told him to get this alone time.

  “Let me explain,” he starts, but I don’t let him finish.

  “I don’t—I can’t hear it.” My arms fold over my chest to keep their trembling hidden.

  “I was trying to break it off with Seth,” Clay continues, looking back over his shoulder. “But I just haven’t found the right opportunity.”

  “The right opportunity?” I echo, a cold and alien laugh bubbling out behind the words. “Hmm… Maybe before you came over to fuck me earlier?”

  “Shh!” Clay’s hands shoot up, trying to control my volume.

  I’m cackling now, not because I find any of this humorous but because something’s broken inside, some peeled back part of myself I’d finally revealed, only to be dealt a shattering blow.

  “What was it, Clay?” I spit, his name bitter on my tongue. “Could you just not help yourself around your old sidekick, Pudge, now he’s not so pudgy? Now he’s killed the person he used to be? Now he’s grown out of his awkward weight and managed to get into a pair of skinny jeans?”

  “West, stop.” He steps closer.

  “Don’t fucking touch me!” I back into the railing.

  “Please, just calm down—”

  “You’re going to miss your movie,” I interrupt, taking a steadying breath. “Don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting now.”

  He just stares at me, hurt flashing behind those warm eyes. I drop my gaze to the floor, pushing down all the other things I want to say to him because I don’t think I’ll have the strength to turn him away if he gets the chance to explain.

  “I really didn’t mean to hurt you, West.”

  There must really be something wrong with me because I scoff at him. “Go fuck yourself, Clay.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else, and I find myself holding my breath. But he walks away after a moment, leaving me huffing and puffing and red in the face. The intrusive people who stopped to witness the spat continue about their business while I just want to crawl under a rock.

  I have to get out of here. No place is safe anymore.

  My feet don’t seem to compreh
end what I want, so I stand, staring at my reflection in the glass across the way. I’m Westley again, and no matter how long I look, all I see is the tubby little kid who loved his best friend.

  You’re not that person anymore, West.

  My head is spinning as I descend the stairs, and I almost collide with a woman pushing a stroller.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, managing to stay on my feet as the woman gives me the stink eye. I don’t care about that though. I don’t care about anything anymore.

  The patterned tile is swirling underneath me, squares changing shape. I make it to the doors, heading for the parking deck and my car and anything that will put distance between me and Clay and the person I used to be.

  Even as I walk, I can’t get Clay’s stupid face out of my head. I really shouldn’t be surprised by what he’s done. He was a shitty friend back then. Why should I expect any different now? He’s the same, after all this time. I should have seen that. Shouldn’t have let myself feel those things again, no matter how briefly.

  Even if Clay was just a substitute, that doesn’t mean my heart’s immune to pain.

  Jesus, my head hurts too. It distracts from the constant churning of my stomach.

  The autumn air is crisp tonight, but it doesn’t do anything to alleviate my spinning head or the pain behind my temples. It swells as I fumble my keys, threatening to blot me out and take everything along with it.

  “Fuck me.” I sigh, bending over to retrieve them.

  Everything goes dark.

  Shay drops me off at Jill’s just before ten o’clock. I thank her for the ride, and, of course, she refuses the cash I try to give her for gas. She’s almost too nice.

  “Get some sleep.” She hands me a red folder through the lowered window of her Mazda. “Ms. Cox said she’d be more than happy to give you an extension on your paper, if you want it.”

  I take the homework from her. “The one silver lining in all this. Jill always says there’s at least one.”

  “Wise words.” Shay smiles, shifting into reverse. “Sleep. Worry about all that tomorrow.”