Last Girl

by K. S. Thomas

  “Good at what?”

  “Catching me. Keeping me from falling. I’ve always liked telling myself that I don’t need anyone. But I’m starting to think that maybe the reason I’ve never needed anyone, is because I’ve always had you.”

  His lips move ever so slightly, a hint of a smile hiding behind the seriousness of this moment. “I think we’ve both had our fair share of practice when it comes to catching each other.”

  He glances down at his hands for what seems like a small eternity before he lifts his gaze back onto mine. “Thing is, Trix, I’m about to fall again. And this time, you need to think long and hard before catching me. Because this time, I don’t plan on getting back up. If you reach out for me and wrap me in your arms again, I’m staying there. Forever.”

  My heart is pounding in my chest. Penn isn’t supposed to say things like that. I’m not prepared to have him say things like that. To me. But there it is. Out in the open. No more secrets. And I should answer. I would answer. If I could. If I could string together one complete thought. But I can’t. One second I want to ask if he’s sure he’s ready to be caught and the next I want to tell him to look out because I’m about to give him a hefty shove to move things along.

  Thankfully, Penn is used to a lot of things about me as well. Including my chaotic thoughts and need to think things through ad nauseam, so he’s not waiting for an answer. Leading me over to the table, he helps me slide into my seat before moving to take the one across from me.

  Dinner tonight is compliments of the new Ethiopian place I’ve been dying to try. Four bites in and I’m in love with their chef. Everything is spicy and rich and I feel like I’m getting to know a whole new side of food by eating it with my hands, experiencing the textures along with the flavors. Of course, this also limits our conversation, but that’s okay. His last words are still lingering at the forefront of my mind anyway and I’m not ready to release them to some new, less important words we might share over dinner.

  When I’m certain I can’t eat another bite, Penn clears the table, blows out the candles and reaches for my hand, letting me know we’re moving to another section of the boat.

  As we walk along the rocking vessel, he stops briefly to bend down for something near the floor boards. Next thing I know, all the lights go out and we’re standing there in the pitch black. I can’t even see him anymore.

  Then, his fingers tighten around mine and he tugs at my hand to start walking again. Soon after, he releases his grip and slides both hands over my waist, pulling me back toward him and slowly shifting us down into a sitting position. When we’ve settled in, my head is resting comfortably on his chest and his arms are crossed over mine, holding me snug to his body. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. The scent of fresh water and summer nights mingle beautifully with Penn, who smells of soap and aloe.

  Between the ways it feels to be tangled up in Penn and having the warm breeze continue to wash over my skin, I’m prepared to let the boat rock me just like this for hours on end.

  I feel Penn’s finger tap gently at my chin, I open my eyes, curious to see what he has in store for me next. I’m certain it can’t possibly top the feeling of lying here with him like this, but I’m wrong.

  Now that my vision has adjusted to the dark, the sky is on fire with sparkling lights as far as the eye can see. My mouth drops open in awe and I can feel myself tear up for the second time tonight.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. His arms wrap around me even tighter in response. All of a sudden, I can’t even fathom why I was ever afraid of this. Why I ever considered forfeiting these moments in exchange for a friendship that was always doomed to fail. Because it’s suddenly heart achingly clear to me that Penn has never been my friend. He’s been my person. My one. And after all the other girls who came and went, it turns out, I’m his.

  By the time we get back to the dock it’s nearly five in the morning. We’ve spent almost all night out on the water, just lying there together, staring out at the stars as if they were sharing secrets with us the rest of the world would never know. Maybe they were. I know things now. Things I didn’t know before I left the dock last night.

  “You realize, of course, that it’s morning and I never got my good night kiss,” I point out when we’re back inside the truck.

  “Believe me, I’m well aware I haven’t kissed you yet. Patience, Trix. I’m getting to it.” He winks and turns the key to start the engine.

  Only I don’t really feel like being patient anymore. Especially not when he does cheesy things like wink at me which makes my stomach do summer saults and puts the goofiest grin on my face. I feel like an idiot sitting here with him. A really disgustingly happy idiot. The worst part is, I think I might like it.

  He flicks the side of my thigh to snap me out of my daze.

  “How tired are you?”

  I have to think about this before I answer. I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, logically, I should be exhausted. I’m not though. I’ve got way too much adrenaline pumping through my system right now to even consider sleep an option.

  “Not tired. Why?”

  He smiles, hinting at another surprise. “There’s one more thing I want to do with you before I take you home.”

  “And kiss me.”

  He laughs. “And kiss you.”

  A warm burst of tingles explodes in the pit of my stomach, steadily streaming through the rest of my body. I’m ready to be kissed. I’m also stirring up a fresh batch of adrenaline just thinking about what else he has in store for us.

  Penn

  Trix is staring out of the window, a dreamy expression on her face. I put it there. And that knowledge alone will be enough to keep me smiling for a very long time.

  We could have stayed on the boat to watch the sun come up, but somehow that seemed redundant after spending all night out there watching the stars. I know I’m not about to top that, because it was fucking mind blowing, but I definitely want to end this outing with something memorable. And when it comes to sunrises, there’s really only one place worth getting up that early for. The beach.

  The roads are still fairly empty at this time of morning, so I take the main drag because it’s the fastest route to the ocean. It’s like I’m on autopilot when we pass the Taco Shack and my head turns to search the large windows for our table. Then, I see it.

  One single white candle is burning in the center of our booth. Lupe lights it every year. For Bo. As soon as I register what it all means, my eyes dart over to Trix. She saw it too. And she looks horrified.

  “What date is today?” She’s in a panic and her hands are flying, but I understand her anyway.

  “Slow down, Trix. Before you go off the deep end, just take a minute to breathe.” Except I know her, and taking a breather is about as likely as staying out of the deep end when it comes to Trix.

  I take the first side street I can find and pull over.

  When I face her again, she’s furious. With me.

  “Did you know?” The accusation in her words isn’t nearly as hard hitting as what’s burning in her eyes right now.

  “Are you insane? No! Of course I didn’t know! You really think I would have chosen THIS night to be OUR night if I had known?” Although, I’m starting to wonder if maybe Pop knew, the way he’d been so surprised about my plans last night, it would make sense.

  Tears are rolling down her cheeks in buckets now. Her expression is turning hard and her eyes are getting that dazed and distant look I hate with a desperate passion.

  “We’re despicable. Reprehensible. Shameful. Assholes.”

  Her signing has switched from high speed to slow motion. She’s shutting down. And she’s going to think long and hard about the degrading words she wants to use on herself before she checks out altogether.

  “Stop it. I mean it, Trix. We are none of those things.” I let out a long, harsh breath. “Fine, we forgot the anniversary of Bo’s death. And no, I have no fucking clue how it happened. Wait, y
es I do. We forgot because for the first time in nine years we both found something we wanted to be living for. And I’m not going to be sorry for that, Trix. I’m not.”

  She shakes her head at me, an icy glare directed at me. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? Bo is dead. Because of us...and you think it’s okay we forgot because we were too busy living. Well, isn’t that convenient for us. To be living.”

  I clench my jaw so tight I think I might crack a molar. There are moments I wish shouting at her would be as effective as it would feel satisfying. But this desire to wake her up, to yell loud enough so it cuts through all of the bullshit running rampant in her twisted little brain right now, is completely futile.

  “I’m selfish? Have you lost your ever loving mind? Do you have any idea of the sacrifices I’ve made since Bo died? How often my decisions weren’t about what I wanted but about what you needed? About what Bo would have done if he were still here? No. You don’t. Because I’ve never told you. Never once let you see. And that’s fine. You didn’t need to know. Still don’t. But don’t you dare call me selfish, Trix, or think for one second that there is ever a day that goes by that I don’t remember the part I played in losing him.”

  I barely get the words out when she starts wailing on me. She’s completely losing control.

  I try several times to catch her wrists and stop her. When that proves to be unsuccessful, I resort to my trusty back up, wrapping her up in a massive bear hug until she gives in and quits fighting me.

  She’s sobbing hard, heaving in and out of my chest and for the first time in my life, I have no idea how to soothe her. Then, when I least expect it, she shoves me hard, pushing back and breaking free from my embrace.

  There’s a coldness in her face that scares me. Really scares me.

  Her tears seem to be temporarily frozen and her breathing is so calm I wonder if she’s breathing at all.

  “This was a mistake.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “Which part?”

  “All of it.”

  “All of it? That’s fucking fantastic. Here we go. Trix experienced a brief moment of happiness and consequently concludes that it was wrong to feel such nonsense. Jesus, Trix. When are you going to stop? Huh? When will you have suffered enough? When you’re ninety and you’ve spent your life alone, working non-stop and filling what little free time you have volunteering in third world countries? Will that be a sufficient amount of time? You can’t spend the rest of your life trying to be just as dead as Bo is. That’s not how this shit works. And fucking hate me if you want, but it sure as shit isn’t the kind of life Bo wanted for you. If you ask me, constantly depriving yourself of all the things he never got to experience is way worse than forgetting the anniversary of his death could ever be. Talk about disrespecting someone’s memory.”

  The sting of her hand across my cheek lingers long enough for me to fully comprehend what happened. She slapped me. And she’s just as shocked about it as I am.

  “Take me home, Penn,” she demands sternly. “And do me a favor. After tonight, never worry about what I need ever again.”

  “I’ll take you home but I can’t do you that favor, Trix.”

  “Try.”

  Then she turns to face forward, tears creeping over her flushed, raw skin again, and she’s gone. And this time, I can’t bring her back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trix

  It’s dark out. Again. I’ve been sleeping for two days now. If Penn has checked in on me, he’s done it while I was passed out and left no evidence. Which is just the sort of thing he would do. He won’t let this go. He won’t let me go.

  I curl over in pain. I ache all over, and it’s not just because I’ve been throwing up since we got home yesterday morning. For the first few hours of misery, I tried to use it to fuel my already burning rage, blaming Penn for food poisoning on top of everything else.

  By the time the sun set last night, the fire was out and I was drowning in my own pitiful, pathetic puddle, the truth undeniably clear to me. I’m not sick to my stomach. I’m sick to my heart and it’s making every last part of me ill as well.

  I reach out toward the nightstand in the dark and fumble for my bottle of water. The way it flies right out of my grip, weightless and ungrounded, I know it’s empty. Turning my head, I lie here face first in my pillow, whimpering. Because that’s what you do when you’re pathetic and pitiful. You whimper. A lot. You cry too, but I’m too dehydrated to produce any tears. I’m barely managing saliva, and my throat is raw and swollen to prove it.

  My vision blurred from my previous attempts to keep my eyes shut at all costs, I search my room for the cable box above my TV. It takes several tries and multiple bouts of blinking which feel like sandpaper rubbing over my eye balls before I can make out the time. It’s nearly four o’clock in the morning. I have to get up in two hours to get ready for work. Two hours. That’s just enough time for me to never actually go back to sleep because I’ll be watching the clock from here on out worrying I’ll somehow oversleep, and too much time to just say screw it and get up now. If it weren’t for my overwhelming need for fluids, I’d probably opt to hide under my blankets, wide awake but unwilling to roll out of bed even a second before the alarm goes off. But, I’m thirsty. I’m beyond thirsty. I’m a void. One massively hollow crater where there once was a complete person. Who am I kidding? I was never a complete person. From the day I was born, I was half of a whole. Well, I was probably more like the third. I was lacking. And even if my parents never vocalized this feeling, it was evident in the way they treated us. Bo was everything and more. I was enough to get by. With Bo’s help.

  Then their everything and more died and all they had left was enough to get by...which was no longer enough for anyone. It wasn’t just Bo we lost that night of the accident. Our entire family fell apart after. I moved out before the summer was over, and I’ve barely spoken to either of my parents since. And it’s not their fault. It’s my own. I just couldn’t bear it anymore. Couldn’t pretend that we were all going to be okay when none of us believed it. And that’s all we ever did in that house anyway. Pretend. Pretend Trix is just like every other little girl and she will be...even if she’s struggling to keep up in school because she can’t hear the teachers and is still struggling to read. Pretend Trix is just too shy to make friends...even if she’s being bullied and made fun of every time she tries to speak to someone. Pretend Trix will meet a nice young man who will marry her and provide for her so she won’t have to worry about being normal or too shy ever again...even if it’s the last thing on earth she wants. Pretend. I hate pretending. But I still do it. It’s ingrained in me, laced into my soul and my first instinct in every situation that comes along bearing even a hint of discomfort or pain. I pretend. And usually...I believe myself.

  But not tonight. Tonight I’m too emotionally drained to fool myself about anything. So, I throw back the covers and slide my legs over the side of my bed. When my feet hit the hardwood floors I wince. Even the soles of my feet hurt.

  Carefully, I tip-toe across my room in the dark until I reach the door. The light in the hall is on. Penn. He would have left for work ages ago, but considering I’ve only ventured out of my room in the dark of night this weekend, he likely planned ahead on my account as usual. Bastard. He’s not trying at all.

  With nothing in my system, I get lightheaded several feet into the hallway and have to stop a minute to rest my head against the wall. Something soft and furry swirls around my ankles and I nearly jump out of my own skin before I remember we have a cat now. Gilbert is gazing up at me with her lime green eyes and I suddenly want nothing more than to scoop her up and hold her close.

  As soon as I cradle her to my chest, I can feel her vibrating against my skin. I like that about cats. I can feel their contentedness. It’s soothing.

  Together, we continue to mosey through the house in slow motion until we reach the kitchen. Gilbert’s bowls are filled, but apparently she’s not much for din
ing alone. As soon as she spots her bowls, she bolts from my arms to hit the floor running toward her food which she scarfs down, only looking up every so often to make sure I’m still standing nearby.

  Watching her intense appetite makes me hungry too. I start digging through the fridge for things to eat, all the while sucking O.J. straight from the big jug. I’m about to check out the buffet I’ve laid out on the counter when the gallon of juice I just consumed hits me and I’m pretty sure I’ll wind up retching all over the kitchen floor if I don’t do something. And fast.

  Abandoning the kitchen in a hurry, I drag myself into the bathroom just in the nick of time.

  With my system back on empty, I wipe my mouth and stand up straight, bracing myself on the bathroom counter. I don’t even recognize the person staring back at me from the mirror. Her eyes are sunken in and surrounded by dark, gray circles. Her lips are chapped and cracked in the corners while her nose is red and swollen from all the tissue abuse that came with crying all weekend. Her hair, God, I don’t even know what’s happening there. She’s a mess. And I hate her.

  And I tell her.

  “I hate you.”

  She stares back at me blankly. I can’t take the sight of her. I can’t take the sight of myself. A desperation stirs inside of me, spreading fast until it feels like it’s trying to claw its way out from under my skin.

  I don’t think. I just act. Yanking the drawer open. Reaching in for the scissors. Fisting a handful of my hair. And another. Chopping away at the blonde disaster until I my heart slows and my breathing steadies. Until the tears stop and the frantic insults screaming inside my mind go away. Until the sight of me doesn’t make me want to throw things anymore because it no longer looks like me.