by Jay McLean
Where the fuck is her dad? And now I'm pissed. Because it's not on Lucy to have to carry all this on her own. "Stay with her," I tell Lucas, the oldest at twelve. He nods, his eyes already filled with tears.
I march up the stairs. Each step, my anger builds. By the time I'm at his bedroom door, rage so strong fills me that I can't even think. I just kick the door and watch it forcefully smack into the wall behind it. "Get up you asshole." I lean over his passed out form, ignoring the stench of booze. "Your family needs you." I shake him as hard as possible, but all he does is moan in response.
My gaze darts around the room, looking for something to make him get up. There's nothing here, just half empty bottles of whiskey. I take the nearest one and run to his bathroom. Then I empty it and fill it with water. I walk back and stand over his pathetic state and proceed to empty it all over his head. He jerks up. "Kathy," he moans. And for a split second I actually feel sorry for him.
"Get downstairs," I grind out. "Your baby's sick and Lucy needs you."
"Lucy?"
"Lucy. You know... your only daughter. The one that's been keeping this family together since you checked out."
He sits on the edge of the bed and rubs his palm down the side of his face.
"NOW!" I yell. And it seems like he finally comprehends the seriousness of what's happening.
He rushes down the stairs, tripping on the last step. I help him up and push him toward the kitchen. Nothing's changed in the time I was gone.
The front door bursts open. A moment later it feels like a million people fill the kitchen—the paramedics, my mom, and her aunt.
"Lucy." Her dad sways on his feet, watching her crying on the floor. He hasn't even gone to her yet. My fists ball—it's the only way I can keep my rage in check. A tear falls from his eye. "What did you do, Lucy?"
His words alone release the rage and I punch him.
I can tell that it hurts me more than it hurts him because he barely flinches.
I hate him.
Mom yells my name and the boys start shouting.
Lucy screams.
"She didn't do shit," I yell up at his surprised face. "She's done nothing but almost kill herself looking after YOUR kids. She's fifteen! She doesn't need this shit."
"STOP IT!" she shouts. "Please, Cameron! Stop!"
I stop.
We all do.
Even the baby—who's now in the hands of the paramedic. "Sweetheart," she says to Lucy, throwing a hand out to help her on her feet. "He's just teething. It's painful for them. It's normal for them to get a fever... for them to cry. It's all normal." She glares up at Lucy's dad, but her words are meant for Lucy. "You didn't do anything wrong."
Lucy's breath catches before she shoves past everyone and runs upstairs. I go after her but Mom holds me back. "She might just need some time, honey."
I get out of her grasp and ignore her words. Lucy doesn't need time. She needs me. My heart thumps as I take the steps to her room. She's not there, but I can hear her loud cries through her bathroom door. My hands cover the doorknob, but then Mom's words repeat in my head. She might just need some time. I press my ear against the door and listen for any sign that she's okay. And then I hear the one sound that changes everything.
She's vomiting.
I turn the knob and slowly push open the door. She's standing over the toilet with her finger in her mouth.
She's making herself vomit.
"Lucy," I breathe out. "Stop."
Her eyes stay on me, while I watch them turn to stone. Face wet from her tears, she slowly pushes her finger further into her mouth.
I move.
Faster than I thought possible.
I shove her hand out of her mouth and wrap my arms around her, pinning her arms to her body. "No," she cries, but I can feel the strength leaving her. I tighten my hold and bring us both down to the floor. "What are you doing, Luce?" I'm crying. And I don't care. I don't care for anything but her. I grab a towel of the rack and wipe her mouth.
"I just want it stop."
She cries, and I let her.
Her fingers grip my arms so tight I know they'll bruise. But it's nothing compared to the pain I feel for her. She wipes her face on my shirt and looks up at me with an emptiness in her eyes I never want to see again. "I want it to stop, Cameron. Please make it stop."
My eyes drift shut. "Okay, Luce. I'll make it stop. I'll make it better. I promise." And I do. I promise her, and I promise myself, right there and then; I'll make it right.
I carry her to her bed, thankful that I'd spent the last few months hitting the weights. We lay together on top of the covers, with her head on my chest and my arms around her. At some point, she falls asleep. And just like the light inside of her, I watch the daylight outside her window turn to darkness.
*
Mom stands at the doorway of Lucy's bedroom with a frown on her face. We've been in here for hours. I forgot that she was here. I bring my finger to my lips and point to Lucy. She nods and quietly walks over to the bed. "How's she doing?"
"Not good." I try to keep my voice low but Lucy wakes anyway. She sees my mom standing over us and buries her head on my chest.
Mom smiles, but it's sad. "Lucy, honey?"
She starts to cry again. I stroke her hair, hoping it comforts her just a little.
Mom sighs. "Pack a bag, sweetheart. You're going to stay with us for a few days."
She doesn't argue. She doesn't put up a fight. She packs her bags, walks downstairs, out of the house and into Mom's car.
She never once looks back at her family.
***
She doesn't speak on the drive home so neither do I.
We sit at the dining table while Mom makes us food. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast and she puked the contents of her stomach.
Mom places the plate in front of me and I take continuous mouthfuls until I hear her clear her throat. I look up at her, she jerks her head toward Lucy.
Lucy's looking down at her plate with a frown on her face. I set my fork on the table and turn to her. "You need to eat something, Luce."
Her head moves slowly from side to side. "I'm not hungry."
Sighing, I reach for her hand under the table and lean in close to her ear, my words meant only for her. "Please, babe. You need to eat. I'm worried."
She slowly turns to face me, the same emptiness in her eyes from earlier.
"Please," I beg. "For me."
She nods and picks up her fork. I watch her take a mouthful, slowly, almost painfully. Like what she's doing is a form of punishment. She has two more bites before pushing the plate away, her mind lost in a world of her own thoughts.
I wish I could read her better.
Her gaze lifts, first to Mom, then to me, and back down to the empty spot in front of her. "He hates me because I look like my mom."
***
She's lying in my bed next to me—her head on my chest with my fingers stroking her hair. My mind is on overdrive, much like the churning in my stomach. She hasn't brought it up so I try hard to forget what I saw in her bathroom—but I'm worried. And I can't ignore that worry anymore. "Lucy?"
She whimpers in response.
"Liam—he told me that sometimes you get so sad it makes you sick?"
She lifts her head, her gaze searching my eyes.
"Is that what he meant... that you get so sad you make yourself throw up?"
Her eyes drift shut and she releases a breath, along with her fight to keep being fine. She nods slowly, almost as if she's sorry for admitting it.
"Never again, okay?" My tone is firm. Final. "I'm not letting it happen again, Lucy."
Tears start to well in her eyes. "Okay, Cameron. I promise."
Mom opens the door without knocking. The concern on her face is overwhelming. "I made your bed on the couch, Cameron."
"Okay," I answer without surprise. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay with Lucy.
I start to get up but she holds on to my arm, grip
ping it tightly to her chest. "Please," she whispers, her eyes pleading.
I look at Mom, still standing in the doorway. "Please," I mouth.
She nods once and lifts a finger. "One night," she mouths back, pushing the door wide open and flattening her palm against it to keep it in place.
-LUCY-
I wake up with Cameron's arms wrapped around me, along with a pounding headache. Picking up his phone from the nightstand, I look at the time. Two a.m. Slowly, I lift his arm off me and make my way downstairs in search for aspirin. His dad—no... his mom's boyfriend is at the dining table. Papers and a box of envelopes in front of him.
"Hey." He leans back in his chair and raises his hand in a wave. "Everything okay?"
I hold a hand to my head, hoping to ease the pain. "Aspirin."
He smiles and motions to the chair opposite him. "Take a seat. I'll be right back."
And he is, with two aspirins and a bottle of water. He waits until I've swallowed both before sitting back down. "Rough night?" he asks. Even though his tone is casual, I can sense the concern in his words.
I nod. "What are you doing up so late?"
He laughs once, understanding my need to change the subject. "Working. Always working."
I eye the mess of papers in front of me. "Need help?"
"You don't want to go back to sleep?"
I shake my head. "I've slept enough. I'm not used to more than a few hours."
"Okay." He perks up. "I need all the help I can get." He pushes the box of envelopes to my side of the table and hands me a list of names and addresses. "I hope you have neat handwriting."
We spend the next few minutes in silence, but I can feel his eyes on me. I keep my head down and write out the addresses like he asked. Then he drops a stack of papers next to my hand—flyers for a sale at a car dealership. Cameron told me that that's how his mom and Mark met. She went in to buy a car, he wouldn't sell her the one she wanted... told her to come back next week when the right model was available. He told her that for a whole two months. For two months she showed up every weekend, wanting to see this new model. Finally, he told her there was no new model, he just wanted to see her.
I examine the flyer again. It's hand drawn, like a comic strip. The general gist is that the buyer leaves as a superhero. 'Let your next purchase empower you' the headline says. "This is great," I tell him.
"It's pretty awesome, huh?"
"Who drew it?"
He's silent for so long I don't think he heard me. I finally pull my gaze away from the artwork and look up at him. He smirks before he answers, "Cam."
My eyes go wide. "Cameron did this?"
He nods, a sense of pride taking over him.
"He can draw?" My voice comes out louder than expected.
He chuckles. "Yeah, Lucy. He can draw. He's kind of amazing, right?"
I lift the flyer so I can inspect it closer. "Amazing is an understatement."
"I can't believe you didn't know," he muses, shaking his head. And then it dawns on me; all these days he's been at my house, all the hours I've spent with him, he never told me anything about him. It was always about me. He was always about me.
Mark must read my thoughts because he asks, "You don't know much about him do you?"
I shake my head, my mind still reeling from my realization. "Tell me about him?"
He laughs. "I'll tell you as much as I think he'll let me."
"Okay."
"Where do you want me to start?"
"How long have you known him?"
"Since he was six."
And that's how we spend the next few hours; with Mark telling me as much as he can about Cameron.
Cameron is an artist. He's an athlete. He's an unbelievably respectful son. Above all that, Cameron has a heart the size of the ocean. But he didn't need to tell me that part. If anyone knew the size of Cam's heart, it was me.
I get up and stretch my back when we're done. "You know you can enter those names and addresses into a spreadsheet and print directly onto the envelopes."
Mark's eyes go wide. "You're a liar."
His seriousness makes me smile.
When I get back to Cameron's room, he's sitting up in his bed with his phone in his hand. "Lucy," he sighs. "Where have you been? I thought you left." The panic in his voice creates an ache in my chest.
"I just needed aspirin. I'm sorry."
He sucks in a huge breath and lies back down, patting the spot next to him. "Come here."
I climb back into bed with him and rest my head on his chest, the same way I fell asleep earlier. His heart's racing, thudding hard against my ear. "I can feel your heartbeat."
"I know," he replies. "I got worried. I don't like not knowing if you're okay."
CHAPTER FIVE
-LUCY-
He's not in bed when I get up the next morning. I shower in his bathroom, dress for school and head downstairs. "He's in the garage," his mom tells me. "Lucy?"
"Yeah?"
"You're going to be staying with us for a few days... and I know that it's hard—what you're going through at the moment—but I can't let Cameron stay with you every night." She grimaces slightly. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay." I fail at my attempt to smile. "I'll try to be stronger."
She places a hand on my forearm as I try to walk past her and shakes her head slowly. "It's not about—" she cuts herself off with a sigh. "I just can't have teenagers sleeping in the same bed under my roof. You get that, right?"
Only now do I understand what she's saying. It never even occurred to me. Being with Cameron—in his bed—it's not physical, or sexual. "I understand," I tell her. "But you don't have to worry, it's not like that. Cameron—he's my strength. And right now, I don't know that I have any left."
***
"Hey," he drops the wrench onto the workbench and walks over to me. "Did you sleep alright?" I nod, feeling a little shy. He leans his face in closer, his lips already puckered. And my mind kicks into over drive. Mouth kiss? Cheek kiss? What is this kiss? I panic, duck my head and swiftly move around him.
Changing the subject to hide my embarrassment, I ask, "What are you doing in here?"
He turns to me with hurt clear in his eyes and my heart drops. I step forward and grab his hand—it's as much as I can offer right now.
Seconds pass while we stare down at our joined hands, then he squeezes it once, causing me to lift my gaze and look up at him. A perfect smile spreads on his face, and I've never wanted to kiss him more. So I do, I get up on my toes and I kiss him. It's quick, because I'm not sure that I'm ready for more. But when I pull away, I know that it's enough. Not just for me, but for him too.
"I was putting pegs on my bike," he says, his smile getting wider.
"Pegs?"
He leads me—with our hands still linked—over to his bike and sets his foot on a piece of round metal sticking out of the center of the back wheel. "Pegs; you stand on them while I ride, so you don't have to walk." He releases my hand, pulls my backpack off my shoulder, and hangs it off the handlebar. "I figure it's the best way we can get around for the next few days. Unless you feel like doing some grand theft auto and driving illegally again?" He jerks his head toward his mom's car.
After the night I had last night, I didn't think it was possible, but somehow, he makes me laugh—the sound surprising to my own ears.
***
I spend the entire day worrying about the boys. By the time the day's over, I'm a mess. "I looked for you at lunch," he states with a grin. He pulls his bike off the rack where I've been waiting for him.
"I had to study," I lie. I wasn't studying; I was in the library reading—getting lost in another world that's not my reality. "I think I should go home, Cam."
His smile fades. "Why?"
"It just doesn't seem right that I'm with you when they need me."
"But—" He lets out a sigh and nods his head. "If that's what you want, Luce. Okay. But can I at least take you somewhere first?"
&
nbsp; "Where?"
He takes the backpack off my shoulder and hangs it off the handlebar again. "It's a surprise."
My eyes narrow. "Surprise?"
He sits on his bike and throws a hand out to me. "You trust me, right?"
"Yes," I reply without hesitation.
***
He takes me to the river that runs behind the townhouses where he lives and starts taking off his shoes.
I look from him, to the water and back again. "No."
"No?" His eyebrows rise. "You said you trusted me."
"I know, and I do trust you, but when you said it was a surprise I thought you meant 'Here, Luce. I got you a unicorn.' not 'Here, Luce, jump in the river.'"
His head throws back in laughter. "It's not that bad." He takes my hand with one of his, the other flipping his cap backwards. "Believe me. You need this."
"I need this?"
He drops my hand and lets out a frustrated breath. Tilting his head to the side, he eyes me with a bored expression.
"Fine," I mutter, kicking off my shoes.
*
We wade out until the water reaches our shoulders—or mine at least. He bends his knees so that we're level.
"What now?"
"Now... you scream."
"What?" I laugh. He's still doing it—making me laugh.
He steps forward until we're face-to-face, as close as we can be without kissing. I let out a gurgle sound from deep in my throat when I see his hand begin to rise.
He's trying to cop a feel!
He pauses mid-movement and eyes me warily. "You trust me, remember?"
I nod, but stay frozen.
His palm flattens against my chest, where I'm sure he can feel the hammering of my heart. "Lucy," he whispers, his eyes boring into mine. "I want you to take everything you feel in here..." His hand moves lower, past my breasts and onto my stomach, where it settles. "And everything in here..." He reaches up and holds the side of my head. "And everything in here." My eyes drift shut from his touch. Then I feel his soft lips on mine, kissing me once before pulling back. "I want you to take all those feelings, the build up of all the stress, the worry... take it all... dip your head under the water... and scream." My eyes snap open. I search his face for an answer to a question that doesn't exist.