“Do you know that lady—”
“What room is your mom in?” West interrupts.
I point out her door across the hallway. “Is everything okay? You’re acting kind of weird.”
“Weird?” West repeats. “Weird how? Like, I’m-so-cool-you-don’t-know-to-react-to-me weird? Or is it more of the oh-boy-this-guy-could-be-a-serial-killer kinda weird?”
“Um, neither?”
“Ha!” He laughs a little too loud. Then he’s picking up my laptop. “Whatcha working on?”
“I was trying to do that paper for Cox’s class,” I tell him, nervous he’s holding my computer in his seemingly heightened state. The last thing I need is for it shatter all over the floor. “But I gave up after staring at nothing for an hour. Now, I’m editing a short story.”
“That’s right! You never told me what your stories are about,” West says, patting the chair next to him to get me to sit. “Are they slashers? Space Operas? Or vampire romance? If that’s the case, I’m horrendously disappointed. You know how I feel about those.”
“This one’s about a monster.” I sink into the seat beside him. “Well, it’s more about people. But the monster plays an important part.” It’s weird talking about this. The idea is still fresh in my head. I started writing it last night when sleep wouldn’t come.
“Awesome,” West breathes, handing me back the laptop. “Are we talking swamp creatures or something a little more sophisticated.”
“Um. There’s no swamp.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I think all great stories should involve a swamp.”
I just stare at him, and he bursts out laughing.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m totally kidding. Continue. What’s this monster?”
“It’s called The Shadow.” I scroll through the first few pages. “Like I said, it’s a work in progress. But the idea is the Shadow starts off just stalking my main character, but eventually it will begin to devour the people around him.”
“Devour?” West repeats, eyes wide.
“Yeah.” I find myself smiling. “It’s a horror story, after all. It’s got to be scary.”
“So, how do you stop it?”
“You don’t.” I burst his bubble. “It grows with the character’s secrets. The more he hides, the stronger the Shadow becomes and the more ravenous its hunger.”
“Wait,” West stops me. “It feeds on his secrets?”
“Kind of.” I angle myself toward him. “It’s more like the Shadow consumes the people who are trying to help Tyler. The more he lies to them, the stronger the Shadow becomes. Ultimately, he chases everyone in his life away to keep them safe from the monster. That is, until the Shadow goes after the one person he thought was safe.”
“Who’s that?” West asks, totally entranced.
“I haven’t really worked that part out, yet,” I admit. Suddenly, it’s too much to be looking directly at him, so my eyes fall to the patterned tile of the floor. “There’s been a lot going through my head.”
“Right,” West says with a sigh. “Sorry, of course. Here I am yapping about this when your mom is…”
“She’s awake now,” I tell him again, grabbing my backpack from the floor and stowing my laptop.
“Right. That’s so great.” West fiddles with his sleeve, and I see a patch of gauze stuck to the inside of his wrist and a plastic bracelet.
A hospital bracelet. I think of all his texts I ignored and a tidal wave of guilt overtakes me. Everything between that day and now is a blur, but I’ve missed him. Without West, there’s a void in my life. I’m almost accustomed to his intricacies. His flamboyant quirks.
“Thank you,” I find myself saying.
West raises a fair brow. “For?”
“For making me go home that day. For not freaking out when I was covered in blood. For being the only reason I’ve smiled in weeks. Pick one.”
He’s quiet, his thin fingers interlocking.
“She’s alive because of you,” I continue.
“She’s alive because you knew how to tie a tourniquet.”
“True,” I agree.
“It was all you, Lock.” West looks down at his knotted hands. “I did next to nothing.”
“I think sometimes, next to nothing is all that’s needed.”
West laughs at me. “I guess you’re right. Your optimism is insatiable.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t texted you back. I’ve been… Actually, there’s no excuse.”
“It’s all right.” He looks down at the floor.
The silence that follows is long but harmonious.
“I missed talking with you,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why.
“I did too,” he replies.
Before he can say anything else, Chels is waving at him from across the hallway. He’s out of his seat in a flash.
“Sorry,” he says, walking backwards. “I’ve gotta jet. But I’ll text you later. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow or something.”
“Sure.” I wave, but he’s already turned the corner.
They let me in to see Mom around eleven. Three different doctors have been in and out of her room all morning, but none of them will tell me anything, which is beyond frustrating.
She’s half asleep when I walk in, a nurse escorting me. She tells me they’ve given Mom something to help her relax, so she may seem out of it. What she doesn’t know is I’ve grown more accustomed to seeing my mother ‘medicated’ than sober.
They had the audacity to move my chair, so I have to drag it back where it belongs.
“Lan?” a groggy voice asks.
“Hey, Mom.” I sink into the seat. Her eyes flutter as they open.
“Hey, baby,” she mutters, exhaling. She shifts herself, the pillows making a crinkly sound. “Where’s your brother?”
“With Jill,” I tell her. “They’re headed to the aquarium today with his class. He’s beyond thrilled. Can’t wait to see real live sharks.”
Mom chuckles. It’s a sound I’ve almost forgotten. “Oh no, I hope they can keep him from jumping into the tank.”
“I’m sure First Mate Jill can handle the captain.”
“Jill.” Mom says her name slowly, like she can’t remember her only sister.
“She’s been taking care of us, Mom. While you’re getting the help you need.”
“I don’t need help,” she snaps in a moment of clarity. Then, her eyes grow glassy once again, and her head hits the pillow. “I don’t.”
I don’t argue with her. She probably won’t remember this conversation anyways. Does she know what I said to her? Does she even remember why she’s there? The questions flutter around my head, almost impossible to see through.
“I don’t want to be here anymore, Lan.”
Is she talking about the hospital or something else?
“I know. It won’t be for much longer.”
She nods, eyes drooping.
I need to do what I came here to do. What I’ve been putting off for so long. One of the things that makes me like Dad. Secrets and lies, they follow me too, even though I don’t want to admit it. I keep telling myself I’m an honest person, but is that really the case?
I’ve told her already, but it’s time to make sure she remembers.
“Mom?” I grab her hand, and her lids flutter again. “I need to tell you something. Can you sit up?”
She manages to focus on me, though her head continues to bobble back and forth. “What is it, Lan?”
“I…know about Dad,” I tell her. “Jill told me everything. How he wasn’t honest with you. How he kept parts of himself from us, and when they came out, you told him to leave.”
“I’m tired, Lan.” Mom pulls her hand away. “Let’s talk later.”
But I grab her again. “It’s been too long already,” I say. “Please, just let me do this.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” She’s getting more lucid by the second.
“And I don’t want to be Dad,” I
say. That catches her attention. “I don’t want to lie to you, or Jack, or Auntie Jill, and mess all of our lives up. So please, just listen to what I have to say.”
Mom nods slightly, and that’s probably as good as it’s going to get.
I take a deep breath and hope it will help the shivers shooting up my spine. “I’m…I’m gay, Mom. I realize you already know this, and maybe it’s why you decided to do what you did because it reminds you of Dad and the pain gets to be too much, but I don’t think that’s fair. I’m not him, Mom. I never was. I don’t want to be a stranger to you. I want you to know me, to love me for who I am. But you can’t do that…if you keep holding onto Dad. Because every time you look at me, you’re just going to see him.”
There are tears in her eyes, spilling over the sides and carving a path down her cheeks. But I don’t stop. This may be the only chance I get to do this.
“I love you too much to watch you keep doing that to yourself.” There’s heat building in my eyes now. I can’t talk anymore past the lump in my throat. My sleeve slides over my hand as I dab my face.
I wait for her to say something, to give me the faintest smile or even just to tell me she doesn’t care. Anything is better than this agonizing silence.
“Lachlan.” Mom pulls free of my grip. “Look at me.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers.
“You’re my son,” she says, “and I can never change that.”
My heart swells, the tears now overflowing. The way she’s looking at me, it radiates that feeling of home. This is the start—the part of my story where things take an upward swing. It’s long overdue.
“But I wish I could.”
I suck in a breath.
“I wish you never existed,” she goes on, baring her teeth as her grip on me tightens. “That I never laid eyes on your fag father. I wish he never stole my life from me and poisoned my mind with empty promises and fake love.”
My voice cracks. “W-Why are you saying this?”
“I’m doing the same as you,” she replies, leaning back into her pillows. “Being honest.”
“You don’t mean it.”
She laughs, and this time, it’s high and sharp and a little manic. “I’ve never meant something more in my life. The only thing of worth your father ever gave me was Jack, and now, I’m not even sure of that. How do I know he won’t just turn into a fairy like his brother?”
Who is this person? She doesn’t even resemble my mother anymore.
I grab my backpack from the chair.
“Tell that cunt sister of mine she can keep the two of you. You’re all suited for each other. Broken.”
I stare at this hateful woman wearing the face of my mother. Was I blind not to see it before? Maybe she’s always been this person and I chose not to notice.
At this point, it doesn’t matter. All I know is this may be the last time I see her. The zipper on my backpack opens without sticking in its usual places. I grab the thin, folded cloth. Blue elephants look back at me, spattered with dark brown splotches and faded clusters of colorful balloons. It may be a little worse for wear but it’s still Jack’s baby blanket.
I toss it to her, the blanket unraveling in the air. It settles over her legs.
“I couldn’t get all your blood out,” I say in a hollow voice. “But I thought you may want to hold onto the reason you’re stuck here.”
Mom doesn’t move, just stares at the blanket until I turn the handle and leave the room and the hospital behind.
Claire catches me in the hospital lobby, totally not amused at my attempted disappearing act.
“Can you get your head out of your ass for like a second?” She accosts me as we walk to her car. Chels bailed at my request. No need for her to get caught in the crossfire.
“That depends,” I tell her, climbing into the passenger seat. “You’d have to move yours over first.”
The Lexus purrs to life—a graduation gift from Mother and Father—as Claire continues her role as annoying, overbearing, ridiculous big sister.
“Haha.” She rolls her eyes, switching off the radio. I guess we’ll be talking the whole way home. Wonderful. “Well, maybe if you weren’t such an irresponsible little twerp, I wouldn’t have to constantly perform a colonoscopy just to make sure you aren’t dead.”
“You’re making this into such a big deal,” I moan. “You’re even more dramatic than I am, and that’s saying something.”
“It’s not dramatic to want my only brother to stay alive.”
“Oh please, the only reason you give a shit is because of your savior complex. You just have to fix everything, don’t you?”
“Since when is it a crime to try to help others?”
“Since the Reagan Administration!”
“Jesus, West!” Claire slams on the brakes at a red light, and I go flying into the dashboard.
“Son of a bit—”
“Put your seatbelt on,” she snaps, turning onto the interstate as the light changes.
I fasten the belt, my eyes watering as I rub my nose.
“You’re right,” Claire says after a moment. “I know I can be a little invasive. I’m not denying that. But there’s something going on with you, West. I know it because I know you. Better than most, I’d wager.”
It’s true, however much I don’t want to admit it. Claire may be six years my senior, but the two of us were inseparable leading up to last year. Even when she was away at school, we talked daily. There was nothing she didn’t know about me. Which is how she knew things were getting out of hand back then.
“I’m not the same person I used to be.” I speak softly. “And I don’t ever want to be him again. That’s all there is to it.”
“And who is that, exactly?” Claire asks. “The kind-hearted, hilarious little brother who used to make me piss myself?”
“The Pudge.” I spit the word out, triggering flashes of my middle school days. “He’s gone, and I’ll keep doing whatever it takes to keep it that way.”
“Is that what all this is about?”
I don’t answer. I’ve already said too much, and I don’t owe her an explanation. I don’t owe her anything, actually.
“West, honey.” Claire reaches over to take my hand, and I let her because, honestly, I need the support or I’m going to start crying. “That was four years ago. You’ve changed so much since then and not because of starving yourself. You just grew up. Like everyone does.”
“I still feel the same,” I find myself admitting. “Some days. I’ll look in the mirror and all I see is that little round-faced kid who had a crush on his shitty best friend who watched him get kicked around. The kid who had every bit of self-worth stripped from him until he was forced to hide behind jokes that cut too deep. To laugh at himself because at least he laughed first.”
Now I’ve said them, the words keep coming. I can’t take them back.
“I’d finally had enough. I decided I was going to do something about this person I hated. So, I told people to call me West, and I started jogging and eating healthier, but it wasn’t enough. Before long, I didn’t want to eat at all. Definitely not in front of other people. The thought of it just made me so anxious, which made it that much easier to avoid.
“And it worked! At least, that’s what I told myself. I’d never been slimmer. Guys started to talk to me, and I almost forgot about that little pudgy kid I used to share a name with.”
Putting it into words is cathartic. I’ve never admitted this to anyone, even myself, outside of my therapist’s office.
“The therapy helped. At least, I thought it did,” I tell her. She’s the reason our parents sent me. I want her to know it wasn’t a waste of time. “I started to think I could have the best of both worlds. Maybe I could be well both mentally and physically and not have to choose between one or the other. And even though I was super pissed at you, Claire, it was good for me.
“But then the therapy stopped, and I was okay for a bit until Bl—” I bite my ton
gue to silence it. I was about to tell her about Blake, and that’s not something I want to do right now—not when Claire can easily put us into the median. “I mean, when I ran into Clay, it just brought up those feelings I’d buried, and all of a sudden, I was Pudge again. I thought for a second, this is my chance. I can be with Clay like I always wanted. He even kissed me that first day. But it’s never that simple. This time, I walked away from him, and I’ve never felt so lost before.”
Claire doesn’t let go of my hand, even when we pull off on the exit that will take us home.
“I had no clue this was going on, West.”
“Good. That was my intention. So, all this to say, I’m fine. I just let it get away from me is all. Clay’s not really a thing anymore, so I should be okay.”
“I don’t really think that’s being okay, West.”
Maybe she’s right. But what else can I do?
“Why didn’t they come?” I ask, tiring of the current subject.
“Mother and Father?”
“No, Pope Francis and the Archbishop.”
“You’re freaking hilarious.”
But Claire doesn’t answer my question, and we ride on in silence.
“Post-traumatic Bipolar disorder?” Jill says, holding the phone to her ear.
I pause my typing, listening to try to glean what the doctor is saying. It’s Sunday afternoon, and my fingers are about to fall off, but I’ve almost caught up on all the homework I’ve missed over the last few weeks. I take a second to massage my knuckles as Jill nods along to whatever they’re telling her.
“Well, that certainly does explain her behavior.” She doesn’t smile, but she sounds almost relieved. I guess knowing what’s wrong with Mom is a relief, in some way. So, why don’t I feel better? “Yes. I’ll speak with you then. Thank you, Doctor.” She ends the call, setting her cell down on the table with a sigh.
“Is she being released?” I ask.
“Not yet. They’re waiting on a few more test results to make sure she didn’t sustain any permanent brain damage from the coma.”
“But they’re going to release her at some point.”
“Yes,” Jill replies, sorting through a stack of photographs. “They’ll have to.”
Lock & West Page 19