History Is All You Left Me

by Adam Silvera

  I nod, the happiness between us gone, as well. I turn back to the movie, but I’m not watching.

  “He left all his knowledge with us,” Jackson says. “Some of it. I can’t really remember all of it. But the stuff I do know will probably never come up in real life, fun facts basically. Like how the Hoover Dam was built to last two thousand years. And how in the Middle Ages, cats were shoved into sacks and thrown into bonfires and hurled off church towers because they were associated with witchcraft. He also got me hooked on tons of older songs, like ‘All Out of Love’ and ‘(They Long to Be) Close to You.’” Jackson goes through his phone and plays “Come Sail Away,” cranking it up. “This is one of my favorites.”

  “Mine too.”

  Jackson inches toward me, very close. “Okay, please don’t punch me, but I want to show you something Theo taught me.”

  “Why would I punch you?”

  “Because I’m about to be really close to your face, and you might think this is inappropriate, in which case, punch me. Okay?”

  Jackson gets on his knees and tells me to do the same. He puts his hands on my waist and leans in, but not toward my lips. “This is a butterfly kiss.” I tense up as he brushes his eyelashes against mine. “This is a caveman kiss.” He bumps his forehead against mine, gently. I’m shaking a little. “This is an Eskimo kiss.” He rubs his nose against mine with closed eyes, expecting me to do the same, but I’m scared of what I will do if I move. “And this is a zombie kiss.” Jackson nibbles on my cheek, doing a very stupid growl. He stares into my eyes afterward and smiles. He’s pretty happy he shared something so intimate with me.

  He doesn’t know that I know all of this.

  You taught him something personal to me. You taught him a routine I had with my parents as a kid. You taught him something I never thought I would share with anyone else until you came along. You taught him a kiss I personally created for us when I grew up needing a fourth.

  I get it.

  People are complicated puzzles, always trying to piece together a complete picture, but sometimes we get it wrong and sometimes we’re left unfinished. Sometimes that’s for the best. Some pieces can’t be forced into a puzzle, or at least they shouldn’t be, because they won’t make sense.

  Like Jackson and me on this odd day, or any day.

  I grab Jackson by the back of his neck and kiss him—not a butterfly kiss, not a caveman kiss, not an Eskimo kiss, not a zombie kiss—a straight-up kiss where my tongue finds its way into his mouth and his massages mine back. Jackson wrenches away from my lips, looks me in the eyes with confusion, but I’m not sure I find regret there. He takes a deep breath and flies back toward me. Jackson kisses me with the same aggression I surprised him with.

  His fingers rake my lower back as he pulls me so close to him our chests are pressed together, hearts hammering against one another. I push him backward, and he probably thinks I’m done, that I’ve come to my senses or something, but I take off my shirt and send it sailing across the room. I’m used to seeing a smile when reaching this stage in bed, a smile because someone is excited to be doing this with me, but Jackson must be struggling with this, except not enough that he can stop himself from pulling off his own shirt and dropping it on the bed.

  “Where are your condoms?”

  Jackson manages to reach into his bedside drawer.

  “Should I turn off the lights?”

  “Nope.”

  I want you to watch me have sex with your boyfriend.

  This is someone who’s grieving over you, another human with his own human feelings who shouldn’t be used as a weapon against you. But I’m a human too, with my own human feelings. You used our intimate history to create a future with someone else, and that’s a thousand times worse.

  You used our love against me. Now I’m using your love against you.

  When we’re done, sweating despite his shitty air conditioner, I stare up at the ceiling. Jackson does the same.

  I’m naked with Jackson in Jackson’s bed in Jackson’s bedroom in Jackson’s home in Jackson’s state in Jackson’s time zone.

  I want the lights off more than anything right now.

  If there’s anything I want more, it’s for you to go away. I spent so much of my time being loyal to you, even when we weren’t dating, because I thought we had our endgame plan. Look where that loyalty got me. I’m stuck here trying to figure out my next move. What I’ve now learned is, going forward, I have to be careful whom I trust with my heart. I have to be suspicious that someone will use the love I give and carry it over to someone else.

  You did this to me.

  History is nothing. It can be recycled or thrown away completely. It isn’t this sacred treasure chest I mistook it to be. We were something, but history isn’t enough to keep something alive forever. You’re not the best friend and love of my life I’ve spent this past month mourning, and missing long before that.

  I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

  Wednesday, December 14th, 2016

  Whose dog is barking?

  It takes a minute for everything to click, but I know I’m in Jackson’s bed where we had sex last night. Wow, I had sex with him while Chloe was in the room. There’s something wrong about that scenario. I don’t know, it’s like having sex in a room where a baby is sleeping, except there’s no way his dog slept through that. I’m facing the wall with the poster for The Goonies.

  Another difference: there are no arms wrapped around me like whenever I woke up next to that asshole, Theo.

  I slowly turn. Jackson is also at the very edge of the bed, an entire island of space between us. Neither of us had cuddling on the brain.

  “Are you awake?” Jackson asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, wishing I had a piece of gum. It sucks I can’t run out of here and hop on a plane to escape all of this, because my flight isn’t until this afternoon. But nothing about my life has been easy lately, and maybe that’s how it should be. I turn as Jackson is sitting up, and I register Jackson is dressed—completely different clothes than yesterday, thankfully. I’m still one hundred percent naked, so I cover up my entire body with the sheet I slept in, suddenly insecure of everything.

  “I didn’t get any sleep last night. Maybe five minutes,” Jackson says. “Probably six minutes,” he corrects.

  I slept. I know because the last thing I remember is turning away from the ceiling and squeezing my eyes shut after promising Theo I was done talking to him.

  “It didn’t mean anything,” I spit out. It sounds harsher than I intend, but that’s me since Theo died, rough around the edges, and his betrayal has only made me sharper. It sucks for Jackson that the tip of my sword is at his throat—poor wording considering last night’s event—but Jackson isn’t at fault because he didn’t actually steal Theo away from me. Theo was simply over me. “Right?”

  Jackson nods strongly, like the pirate bobblehead I put in Jackson’s car’s cup holder on our way back to his place the other night.

  “You’re completely right. It was a weird day. Being back at that beach really twisted me.”

  “We were vulnerable,” I say, which is a half lie. He was hurting because of how much he misses Theo, and I was trying to hurt Theo.

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I say.

  Jackson turns away. I had no problems being naked around Theo. It’s not as if Jackson has a six-pack, but I don’t feel that comfortable around him, sort of like when I was a kid and would keep my shirt on at the beach around my friends. I find my underwear on the floor next to my sad-looking condom. I get completely dressed in ten seconds and throw the condom in his trashcan. I tell Jackson to put Edward Scissorhands back on so I can see how it ends, while I go brush my teeth. But all I end up doing when I get to the bathroom is sitting on his mother’s shower bench and crying while the water in the sink
runs.

  “I’m okay, Dad.”

  “I’m not buying it,” Dad says. His bullshit detector has improved tenfold ever since it failed him on Monday morning when I flew out here.

  I’ve been 90 percent honest about what Jackson and I have been up to the past couple of days, but he can tell something else went down besides watching movies and driving around town. I don’t know how to tell him Theo dicked me over and how I did something unforgivable in return.

  “I know. Things aren’t awesome right now, okay? I promise I’ll tell you both everything when I get home tonight.”

  “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

  “How everything sucks?”

  “No, honesty. We’ll both be at the airport ready to pick you up,” Dad says. “Don’t change your mind last minute and fly to some other country.”

  I hear footsteps in the hallway, so I tell my dad I have to go and will text before I board. I hang up and sit down on the bed as Jackson, wearing nothing but boxers and a towel around his shoulders, enters the room. He doesn’t say anything to me. Last night has undone the friendship we’d started, but maybe once I get home and we have space between us again, we can salvage some of it.

  Jackson kneels before me and his hazel eyes lock with mine. He kisses me and I give in so easily, I don’t push him off. His hand goes under my shirt and finds my shoulder, squeezing, before coming right back out to untie my shorts’ drawstring. I massage his sides, still a little wet. He climbs into my lap and kisses me again, this time rougher, not nearly in control of himself like he was the first time we did this.

  I pull away because despite Theo’s betrayal, I’d rather feel nothing than shame, but Jackson keeps coming for me. “Jackson, stop.”

  He backs off, rolling off of me and onto the bed. His eyes are red. “I miss him so much. I never deserved him. I’m not the guy he thought I was. I fucked up.”

  “We both did.”

  “No, not about last night. I didn’t want to ruin your trip, but . . .” Jackson is crying, and I’m terrified of whatever it is he’s about to say. I have no theories. “I didn’t go . . . I didn’t go into the ocean to save Theo like I said I did. I ran to get a lifeguard instead because I was scared I would drown too, and . . . I didn’t want to die but I was really fast, I swear, I just couldn’t risk . . .”

  Jackson is the reason Theo broke his promise to never die.

  “You fucking coward,” I whisper, and I don’t know how it doesn’t come out as a shout. “You let Theo . . .” I’m getting louder, speaking through my teeth as tears blind me. “You let Theo die.” I jump up from the bed, squeezing my eyes and fists shut. “I would’ve risked my life for him!”

  “You can’t know that, Griffin. Not until you’re facing a moment like that.”

  “I would’ve never stood by and watched Theo die!”

  Jackson jumps up and he holds my arms. I don’t know if he’s trying to stop me from shaking or keep me from walking out, but I break out of his grip and punch him in the face, which surprises both of us, and then I punch him in the face again, which only surprises him. Nothing could surprise me right now. I feel as if I’m watching myself from a distance.

  Jackson’s nose is bleeding. He looks up at me, shaking his head. “You’re the one who sent him into the ocean in the first place! He was listening to one of your voice mails and needed alone time. Don’t blame this all on me.”

  I’m so dizzy I almost confuse the blood on my hands as my own. The last message I ever left Theo was telling him we had to talk about that taboo thing we promised we’d never talk about . . .

  Jackson may not have saved Theo, but I’m the one who killed him.

  I run out of Jackson’s house in my socks. I don’t know if I should go back or forward, left or right. I go left because that’s my default. My options suck because I’m not in my city, where I can run home and wait in my bed. Moments later I throw up on the clean sidewalk, and no surprise again: I don’t feel any better.

  When I find my way back to Jackson’s, he stays out in the living room while I pack—well, shove all my clothes back into my backpack and collect my things. I get a text telling me my cab is outside. I’m in a daze when I say goodbye to Ms. Lane, shaking her hand, and thank her with a smile no one could ever believe is legit. I put on my backpack and head to the door, where Jackson is standing.

  “Griffin. Do you want me to drive you? I can—”

  I pictured this moment on my walk back here, where I would speed past him as if he’s no one, but I stop at the door. I don’t know if I want to punch him two more times or hug him goodbye and apologize for being such a horrible human being. But I can’t let him off the hook. So all I do is look him in the eye and hope he never forgets the face of someone he helped break beyond repair. Someone he tried fixing out of guilt.

  I keep moving and get into the cab. I don’t turn back to look at Jackson. I lower the windows and take in the smells one final time because I will never return. Thinking about home is what helps me through the slow crawl of the airport—the faces I can turn to once I’m back, the only faces I can trust.

  The plane takes off on schedule. The heights and helplessness don’t bother me this time around. There are some strong winds, and when the plane sways unexpectedly, it feels like my heart drops to my stomach. But I don’t freak out or wish Jackson or anyone is here beside me. I just stare out the window, wondering what it would be like to have this view if the plane actually crashed.

  Friday, December 16th, 2016

  I’m going to therapy this morning because a promise is a promise. And unlike some others, I want to honor mine. I leave my gryphon pins inside the drawer with the rest of Theo’s belongings and change into one of my own sweaters instead of his hoodie. My dad is accompanying me to my first session, to be there for me. I suspect he also wants to make sure there’s zero chance I’ll hop on a plane and never come back.

  “Shotgun, Griff?” Dad asks as we get into the car.

  “I’m good,” I lie. He should know better than to ask me to sit on his right on the very morning we’re going to see someone about my compulsions. He’s still angry with me, not that I blame him.

  I stretch out in the backseat and cover my face with my peacoat. Theo used to get concerned whenever I slept with the comforter over my head, like I was going to suffocate by the time he woke up next to me. I didn’t get to wake up next to Theo too often—not romantically, at least, since we had plenty of sleepovers—but the times we did get to catch each other’s eyes opening were great. But I won’t dwell on them. He moved on.

  I have to do the same.

  Twenty minutes or so later, the car stops. I hear my dad’s seatbelt click and retreat back into its metallic reel. My jacket slides off of me. “Wake up, we’re here . . .” He looks me dead in the eye, and I turn around, hiding my face against the backrest. “Griffin, it’s okay to cry.”

  I snatch my jacket back, putting it on as I get out of the car. I walk toward the boxy clinic, which looks less like a serious institution and more like a daycare for future criminals currently still in diapers—gray bricks, garden-green window frames, and a dark blue door with sunrays painted around the knob. I don’t get what they’re going for, but I wish my parents’ insurance offered more than this.

  As I walk in, I determine the best spot for me in the waiting room. I go for the chair on the wall opposite the entrance because the desk clerk and offices are all to my right from this position. Spread out on the table are bullshit tabloid magazines. A mother-type sitting next to the potted plant is reading a newspaper. There were a couple of times I tried getting into the newspaper after Theo and I broke up, because of something he said while we were dating: “Some people know a lot about a little, others know a little about a lot.”

  I wanted to be more like him, someone who knew a little about a lot, so our conversations would never lose st
eam, so we could learn what makes this universe tick together. Pointless.

  Dad walks in and heads straight for the counter, glancing my way like I’m someone who cut in front of him in line. I’ve seen his frustration a lot since getting home. I keep resisting his good guy–ness because I don’t deserve it, and that pisses him off. Dad signs me in and sits quietly next to me, to my right, picking up some magazine and flipping past pages of celebrity gossip and who wore the dress better until he finds the film reviews.

  “Maybe we can go see a movie this weekend? Invite Wade?”

  “No thanks,” I tell Dad.

  The secretary peeks over her counter. “Griffin Jennings?”

  She waves me toward an open door. Thankfully Theo is no longer around, because I wouldn’t want him following me into this appointment. Therapy is supposed to be private, and it’s hard to be fully open with a stranger as it is, let alone with my ex-boyfriend watching my every move.

  I let myself in, closing the door behind me. “I’m Griffin,” I say.

  The doctor comes out from around the desk. He has this otherworldly, wise-man thing going for him, with the streaks of gray in his jet-black hair and sideburns. His light-orange eyeglass frames are so distracting, I’m tempted to ask him to take them off, but striking him blind won’t do me any favors this session. He’s here to listen, and he’s here to rewire me.

  “Good morning, Griffin. I’m Dr. Anderson, but feel free to call me Peter.”

  There are five letters in Peter. I’m going to keep it formal with him.

  Dr. Anderson invites me to have a seat wherever I’m comfortable.

  I’m the compass arrow, trying to find my true north. There’s a blue chair, which is inviting, as well as a deep-green couch, which was Theo’s favorite color. Dr. Anderson sits in front of his desk with excellent posture. That spot is great because I consider that direction to be true north since it’s his office. I stand between the chair and couch, torn. “I’m going to stand for a bit,” I decide.