Hushed

by Kelley York

  The mattress shifted behind him and Vivian’s arms slithered around his middle. Her cold hands wormed beneath his shirt, palms flat against his stomach. Archer inhaled sharply, back rigid. She nuzzled her face against the curve of his neck.

  “You said not to worry, right?” she hummed against his ear. “I’m not stupid. I know how to play guys like the detective into believing me.”

  Yeah, she did, didn’t she? You’ve been doing it to me all these years. But she was still just a frightened little girl beneath it all. At the first sign that her games weren’t working, she would break down. She would leave it for him to fix…and this time he wasn’t sure that he could. Or that he wanted to.

  He removed her hands from under his shirt and got up. “I need to get home.”

  Vivian’s big blue eyes looked lost in such a way he almost felt bad. Almost. But they hardened a second later and the Vivian he didn’t recognize was back. “What, going to see Evan? I thought you were staying with me tonight.”

  Archer skipped over Evan’s name cautiously. “You said you wanted to come over. So come over. But I need my gun.”

  She hmph’d and looked down, picking at lint on her shirt. “I don’t have it.”

  His breath hitched. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I don’t have it,” she repeated. “I threw it away.”

  “You threw it…” He pushed a hand through his hair, gripping it too tightly. “…Okay. Okay, where?”

  “In the ocean, duh. They can’t catch either of us with it, right? At least if they find it, they won’t know whose it is.”

  His hands shook. Not from anxiousness. Not from nervousness. Anger. “Vivian… That gun was registered under my dad’s name. I took it when I moved out. You better hope they don’t find it, because if they do they’ll link it right back to me.”

  “Link back to you.” The way Vivian stared at him, he realized she didn’t care. Him. He hadn’t said anything about her. She truly would let him take the fall for it, and maybe the most regret she’d have was that he wouldn’t be around to do her bidding anymore.

  “…I need to go.” He spun away. Halfway out the door, Vivian whimpered after him.

  “Archer…”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  Her words were like a chain around his throat, jerking him to a halt, strangling the breath right out of him. He planted his hands against the doorframe. His head dropped.

  It still hurt. Why? Why couldn’t he dredge up some kind of resilient anger toward her? Even apathy would’ve been better than this. When she said those words, so open and raw, he could remember why he’d gotten them in this mess to begin with.

  I wanted you to love me. I wanted it more than anything.

  He’d ruined everything. Including her.

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  But he left, because he couldn’t stand to see her cry anymore.

  Friday, November 14th

  Professor Gonera placed Archer’s story on his desk without looking at him. He stared down at the big red C at the top. No notes, no commentary, no nothing. Nearly a month, and this was what she gave him? Nothing he could complain about without looking petty, nothing high enough to make her feel like she’d lost. Setting his jaw, he crammed the story into his backpack. He stood and left without a flourish. No way would he let her think she’d struck a nerve.

  Roxy was waiting for him outside. If he remembered right, she had class today, too, but across campus near the science building. He slowed when he saw her. When their eyes met, she pushed away from the wall and fell into step beside him.

  “They’re questioning everyone at The Grove, you know.”

  He nodded solemnly. “About Mickey.”

  “About Vivian.” Her eyes were trained intently on his face. “I’m not sure what any of us should be saying.”

  He shrugged. “Tell the truth. Do you think there’s something to hide?”

  “I don’t know, Archer. Is there?”

  At the door to the building, Archer faced her. “You’re asking me if she did it.”

  Roxy’s lips pursed, thoughtful. “I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

  He sighed. “I can’t answer that. I know she’s been acting strange, but she did just lose her brother and her mom…”

  “And Mick was with another girl. Like, days after he and Viv called it quits for the twentieth time. I heard the girl with him was killed, too.” She folded her arms across her chest, obviously refusing to let him skirt around the topic. “Not like it would be out of the norm. Girl finds her boyfriend in bed with another girl and totally flips out…”

  Archer studied her. “I would never think Viv capable of something like that.”

  “A year ago, I wouldn’t have thought so, either.” Roxy shouldered her bag. “Look, I love Vivian. But you know better than any of us she’s been completely losing it lately.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say.” He tore his gaze from her face. “I’ve broken myself to pieces trying to help her. I can’t do it anymore.”

  She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds. When she exhaled, it was a defeated, hollow sound. “I can’t say I blame you. Forget I said anything. Tell Evan I said hi, yeah?” Her fist hit his shoulder lightly before she slipped out the door and disappeared across the parking lot.

  Archer watched her retreating back. A year ago…he would’ve denied Vivian’s ability to kill. Sweet little Vivian physically hurt someone? No way. But that was before Mickey. He’d broken her. She’d been damaged before, but not like this.

  Never like this.

  Saturday, November 15th

  Evan had an obnoxious habit of stealing the check and paying for their meal before Archer had the chance. This time they got into it until several nearby tables were staring while they tried yanking the ticket away from one another, Evan laughing, until he finally relinquished his hold with a heavy sigh, hands up.

  “Fine, fine. You get it this time.”

  Archer, feeling mildly triumphant, reached for his wallet to get his bank card. Paused. Frowned.

  “Of course,” Evan said, clearly biting back amusement, “you did forget your wallet at the apartment…”

  Sighing, Archer tossed the book back at him. “You’re a pain in the ass. Let’s get going.”

  Evan slid the card into the slot at the top and set the booklet aside for their waitress to pick up. After a moment, he noted, “Vivian’s been quiet.”

  It was a topic they’d been avoiding, but Archer knew it had to be broached eventually. “I haven’t talked to her since Thursday night.” Which, by most standards, wasn’t that long go…but it was for Vivian. Maybe something he’d said triggered her into silence. He wanted to worry about it, but on the other hand, the quiet was nice.

  “I kinda thought…” Evan swirled his straw around in the remainder of his drink. “Maybe you could stay over tonight. Since, you know, she hasn’t been coming by.”

  They hadn’t shared a bed since the trip to Evan’s parents’ house. Unless an afternoon nap or two counted. But the idea sounded more than a little appealing. Archer lowered his eyes. One corner of his mouth threatened a smile. “We can do that.”

  Outside, it smelled like rain. Evan took his hand, something he still wasn’t used to, but it was nice. This was nice. Them. Out together, able to relax and enjoy one another’s company. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of loving someone, someone loving him. No strings attached. Evan asked for nothing of him other than his time and attention.

  Archer liked this. But Vivian lurked in the back of his head, a constant threat to take it all away.

  Tuesday, November 18th

  He dreamt of the ocean. Marissa in her favorite dress. Vivian, young and small, building sandcastles in the distance. Warmth all around him. The smell of salt and water.

  Then Vivian was older, leaning over him with sunlight glinting off her white-blonde hair. Beautiful and angelic, the memory he wa
nted to cling to. She touched his face, his hair. Kissed his forehead and the tip of his nose. Laughed at the way his face crinkled up.

  And he woke up to Vivian’s mouth on his, her hands tracing his brows, his jaw. For a moment he couldn’t discern dream-Vivian from real-Vivian, and her body was soft. Warm. Sliding against his and he couldn’t figure out what the hell she was doing until he realized she was on top of him.

  He sucked in a breath and grabbed her wrists, trying to shake the sleep from his mind. “What are you—?”

  “Hush,” she said, and kissed him. He pulled back. Staring up at her in the dark, he realized—oh, God—she wasn’t wearing a damned thing. Whether he wanted his body to react or not didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, turned his head away when she tried to kiss him again. Vivian stopped, lips shy of his cheek, and her voice wavered. Heartbroken. Hurt. Confused.

  “What’s wrong…?”

  Archer’s voice failed him. He wanted to hold onto her. Ask and beg and plead: Why aren’t you the same? What did I do to you? Come back, come back.

  Instead he asked, “What’re you doing, Vivian?”

  Her mouth twisted into a wry little smile. “You. That was the plan, anyway.”

  “We can’t.” He tried to sit up.

  “We can. Why not? You want to.” Vivian made it a point to shift just right, hips grinding against his. He choked on a sound and it came out pitifully like a whimper.

  “I can’t.” He needed her to move, preferably off of him. “You know that I can’t. Please—”

  Just like that, her tone steeled. “Why not?” She straightened up, staring down at him. It was an effort to force his gaze to stay on her face. “Is it Evan? Is that it?” When he didn’t respond, her face darkened and she got off of him. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before sitting up fully, legs sliding over the edge of the mattress.

  “Vivian.”

  Her clothes were on the floor. She snatched them up and began jerking them on, uncoordinated. Was she drunk? High? He thought he smelled vague traces of alcohol but didn’t want to call her on it.

  “Should’ve known. Evan this, Evan that. Always Evan.” She didn’t bother buttoning her jeans. Slipped on her bra, yanked on her coat without bothering with a shirt. “I can’t believe you.” Zipped it up.

  He still felt half asleep. This had to be a dream. He sure as hell didn’t understand what was going on. “Where’ve you been the last few days?”

  “Why? You obviously didn’t miss me.” She grabbed her shirt, balling it into her hands. Leaving him to wonder if her entire plan had been to stay away until he was so stupidly lonely for her he’d let himself be seduced in the dead of night. When she started to stalk out, Archer groaned and got out of bed to follow. He barely caught her wrist halfway across the living room.

  “Stop that. You’re taking this too personally—”

  “Am I?” Vivian twisted away from him, giving his chest a shove. “Am I really? You used to want me. You used to stare at me all the time growing up. I used to tell you about my sex life on purpose, did you know that? Just to watch you squirm.”

  Archer paused, eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that?”

  Vivian jabbed a finger into his shoulder. Hard. “You think you’re so different from everyone else, Archer. Think you’re so high and mighty. You love me more than anyone else or whatever. But face it—you wanted me just like every other guy did back then.”

  Only barely did he resist slapping her hand away. It hurt. Not the jabbing—well, that did, too—but the fact she’d not only known how he felt, but taunted him about it? The little bit of wounded pride that managed to heal over in the last few weeks, Vivian gouged right back open.

  “I never tried. That was what made me different.”

  When Vivian glared at him, he felt oddly small. Never mind she was inches shorter and looked like a strong breeze could knock her over.

  “Did you screw him?”

  His hands tightened to fists at his sides. “What?”

  “You heard me. You and Evan.”

  No, he should’ve said. Not that far. Or maybe it depends on how you define sex. He should’ve calmed her down before she did something stupid. Like drive off while intoxicated. Instead he wanted to laugh and lash out and show her how it felt. “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

  Maybe she’d expected him to placate her, because she couldn’t fathom him loving someone else, could she? Wanting to be with someone while rejecting her in the same breath? He could see the emotions running wild across her face: confusion, shock, anger, hurt, loss.

  “Then…why? Why get me to kill Mickey? Why take me with you and make me feel like—“

  Archer’s gut twisted. “Don’t you dare.”

  “—I had to do it or…or…” Vivian hugged herself.

  “I never made you do anything,” he seethed. “I wanted to go home. You took off. I only followed to make sure you didn’t get caught while going completely crazy.”

  “Don’t call me crazy!” She shoved him. He almost stumbled back only because she caught him off-guard. “This was all you, Archer. All you! You killed Mom! If Brody hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have gotten so stressed and depressed, and if she were still alive, none of this would’ve happened.”

  If he weren’t so stunned, he would have hit something. The wall, the couch, the table. Anything. “You’re blaming this on me?”

  Vivian shouted over him, voice rising in pitch. “Because it’s your fault! All through school, I couldn’t even have a normal boyfriend because you scared them all off! You were all I had because you made it that way.” Her hands fisted in his shirt. “The only ones I could ever get were ones who treated me like shit. Thanks to you.”

  My fault. Archer stared down at her hands without really seeing them, dazed. “But it’s not…” He didn’t understand. How could she say that? “I did things wrong, but it’s not all my fault… I only tried to make you happy. Nothing I ever did was enough.”

  Vivian slapped him. His head snapped to one side with the force of it.

  “Everything your mother said was true,” she hissed. “You’ll regret all of this.”

  ‘You destroy everything.’

  She turned to leave. He took a step after her. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t all him. He tried desperately to hang onto that. The front door slammed with Vivian’s exit. It rattled the pictures on the wall. Pictures Vivian herself had picked out. Evan was right; this wasn’t his apartment, it was Vivian’s. He couldn’t look anywhere without seeing her.

  ‘You destroy everything, Archer.’

  The red and black throw pillows on the couch. He grabbed them, threw them at the front door. One of them struck a picture frame on the wall and it clattered to the ground. He grabbed more off the wall, one by one, flinging them into a pile on the floor in a pile of cracking glass and splitting wood and plastic. Place mats from the kitchen. His bedding. The towels. Lamps.

  ‘You. Destroy. Everything.’

  The heavy curtains. He tore those down, too. Moonlight spilled into the room for the first time since Vivian put them up. When there was nothing left, he went for the boxes in his closet. Letters from high school, stupid notes passed back and forth in class, all written so delicately in Vivian’s neat, flowing scrawl.

  And photos. So many photos. Prom. Birthdays. Always Vivian, always him. She had his arm in most of them, clinging to him, smiling at him. Adoring and loving. When had that changed? At what single defining moment in time had Vivian stopped loving him and started hating him? If she hated him, why had she shown up at all? Why was she doing any of this?

  ‘Everything around you rots and dies.’

  He sank back on the floor, box, letters, photos scattered around him. Him and Vivian on the beach. Marissa must’ve taken that one. All smiles. Always smiling. The Vivian that had died. Disappeared. Somewhere, somehow.

  It can’t be my fault. I tried, I tried…

  Archer stared down at the pictur
es of everything he’d lost. There were no ties left. Vivian had severed the last one.

  §

  Two hours later, Evan found him sitting in front of the fireplace. Archer hadn’t honestly expected him to respond to the message he’d sent. It was the middle of the night. Had he been awake? Had the text woken him? Charred photos curled in on themselves in the flames.

  Evan didn’t say a word when he came in, but Archer could sense his hesitation. Knew he was looking around the apartment, taking in the bare walls, the open windows. Archer had dragged everything down to the dumpsters already. Nothing was left but the skeleton of his old apartment.

  Just bones.

  Sinking behind him on the floor, Evan scooted up until his legs were on either side of Archer, and he put his arms around him, pulling him back. Archer closed his eyes and leaned into him. Glad for the warmth, grateful for comfort. Evan didn’t say anything, and Archer was thankful for that, too. Maybe he knew there was nothing to be said.

  They sat that way for at least thirty minutes before Archer found the will to move. He dropped his head to Evan’s shoulder, breathing in deep the scent of burning wood and memories. “Can you take me somewhere tomorrow?”

  Evan’s arms tightened. “Yeah. Of course. Where?”

  Archer let his eyes roll back to the flames. So tired.

  “I need to see my mom.”

  Wednesday, November 19th

  Archer hadn’t been home since leaving for college. Why his mom didn’t move, he had no idea. Seemed a waste to keep a house drowned in bad memories. Especially one with so many rooms and no one to occupy them. Evan waited in the car. He didn’t ask why Archer wanted him to come along. It just seemed right to have him there.

  He half-expected his key not to work anymore. Mom was terrified of him, so why wouldn’t she have switched out the locks? But the key slid in and clicked, and Archer slipped inside after one last, forlorn look at the car.