by Jay McLean
I don’t let him step foot in my house.
“Where the hell have you been, and why didn’t you call me? Did something happen to your phone?” I imagine the hint of worry in his tone. “Aubrey?” He rarely calls me Aubrey. “Why won’t you look at me? Is something wrong? Did something happen?”
I shake my head, but I keep it lowered, because looking at him is like looking at the sun: pure agony. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” My voice wobbles, and I hate that it does.
“What?” He steps forward, tugs on the end of my sweatshirt. “I couldn’t hear you.”
I look up now, my eyes focused on his shoulder. I’m weak. Pathetic. I force eye contact. Blue-blue eyes stare back at me. I think I’ll miss them the most. “I said ‘I don’t want to do this anymore.’”
“Do what?” he asks, his eyes narrowing, head cocked to the side.
“Whatever it is we were doing.” My voice is stronger, more certain, mirroring how I feel on the inside. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
His eyebrows rise. “What the hell happened over the weekend? Did you get back with your ex or something?”
“Definitely no.” If I were that desperate, I’d simply continue to have meaningless sex with the boy in front of me.
Logan takes a step forward, and I take a step back. “Don’t.”
“Red, what’s going on?”
I drop my gaze, stare down at the rings covering my fingers. I clear my throat, ready my words. “I added you on Facebook.”
“So?”
When I’d thought about this moment, all the things I would say, I ran through every single response he might possibly have. “So” was on top of that list.
“So” meant “So what?”
“So” meant that he didn’t care.
“So” meant that I was doing it all over again: falling for a guy who didn’t feel the same.
“So, Cambodia was fun, huh? Building those houses and sleeping with Casey Allen?”
He sighs, rubs his hands across his face. “Jesus. That’s what this is about? We weren’t even—”
“And Bella with the Boobies?”
His eyes widen now. “That was before—”
“Before what, Logan? Before you gave me the excuse that you were jet-lagged? That you were going home to crash? Before you left me alone in bed and you went back to the party you dragged me away from and spent the night with someone else?” I’m fucking crying. I’m crying and he’s watching me, watching every single emotion pass through me, watching me wipe away every single tear. I hate myself for feeling this. I hate him for making me.
“When did…?”
“People talk. Girls talk. Girls walk into my store and touch my shit and talk about fucking a guy the night before…” I choke on my words, my pain. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” I repeat.
His eyes drift shut, his hands balling at his sides. “Aubrey,” he whispers. “This is—”
“Nothing,” I finish for him. “This is nothing. We are nothing. And it’s my fault for thinking that it was more, just like I did with my ex. It’s like history repeating itself.”
“Don’t compare me to him,” he grinds out.
“But you are. You’re just like him. Maybe that’s why I fell for you. Maybe that’s why…”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Why what? Say it.”
I swallow my nerves, my pride, and lean back against the door, the weakness of my knees unable to hold me up. “Maybe that’s why I saw you first.”
Logan’s head moves from side to side, but his eyes stay on mine. “What are you talking about?”
“That night,” I finally admit, tears threatening to fall again. My heart’s racing, thumping, beating on the walls of ribs. “The first night you and Joy hooked up… I saw you first. I pointed you out to her, and when you noticed us watching you, you didn’t even… it’s like I was invisible to you. And I let all that go because, I swear, sometimes…”
Sometimes what?
Sometimes he looked at me as if… as if… as if nothing.
“You can’t be mad at me for that,” he says, his voice so quiet I barely hear him.
“I’m not mad at you for that. I’m not even mad about the girl in Cambodia. I’m mad because you…” You made me feel wanted when you didn’t want me at all. “I’m not mad, Logan. I’m just… just sad. God, I’m so sad,” I cry out. “And I’m allowed to feel that way. I’m allowed to want out of this mess, and I’m allowed to want to be with someone who sees me first.”
He shakes his head again, his eyes boring into mine. His jaw clenches. His brow furrows. Right before he says, breaking me completely, “Later, Red.”
Logan
I cut out of work as soon as it’s time and head right for my shack where I let Mary fuck me over the way Aubrey did. Before I know it, day turns to dusk, turns to darkness. Mary is a part of every inhale, every reluctant exhale. I consume enough of her to make Aubrey’s words disappear, make the vision of her crying get lost in the jumbled puzzle pieces of my mind. I let Mary fill every nerve, every vein, every heartbeat until the world begins to spin, just how I like it. I hate it when everything is still, frozen in time, like memories.
I hate it as much as I hate silence.
I grab my headphones from my truck, plug them into my phone, and then I drown out the silence the only way I know how. I lie down on the bank of the lake, Chicken next to me, and look up at the stars again.
I wonder if I’m broken.
I laugh at the thought.
Of course, I am.
But Mary fixes me. She’s my glue, putting the right pieces back in their designated place. She rewires my insides until nothing works, and everything is how it should be.
I put out the glowing embers of her soul and light up a new version of her. Then I close my eyes and hope sleep gets me before It does.
Minutes pass before I feel the affects:
I am weightless.
Buoyant.
I am high, high, high above the surface.
I am floating on clouds the color of scarlet.
I am nine years old, and the leather cracks beneath my weight. The car still smells new, even though I’ve been in it for months…
My body goes limp, and Mary becomes sleep’s ally: they work together, fighting to scare my demons away.
21
Logan
I accidentally skipped dinner last night and breakfast this morning, so when the horn of the food truck sounds, I immediately drop my tools, make my way over to it. Dad’s the first one there. I’m right behind him. After ordering his standard turkey sub, he says, eying me over his shoulder, “You didn’t come home last night.”
“I accidentally fell asleep at a friend’s house.” The lie comes effortlessly. “Sorry.”
Dad nods, turns his entire body toward me. “Come see me after lunch, okay?”
Unless it’s work related, Dad’s lectures are few and far between, so I’m not really looking forward to whatever it is he has to say. I knock on the door of his portable office and wait, hands in my pockets. He doesn’t respond verbally, just opens the door, motions for me to come in and take a seat.
Jesus. This is going to be a long one.
It’s not that he cares what we do, especially once we’re grown-ass men, but he doesn’t like to worry, and going by the look on his face, the darkness around his eyes, he’s probably spent half the night worrying.
“Sorry,” I say again, because I truly am. The man has seven kids to take care of; the last thing he needs to worry about is my not coming home because I was stoned off my fucking face.
“For what?” he asks.
“For last night, not coming home. For not calling.”
He waves it off as he takes his seat on the other side of his desk, the cheap plastic of the chair bending beneath his giant frame. “That’s not why I asked you in here.”
“It’s not?”
Dad shakes his head, leans forward on hi
s elbows. “You’ve been doing great on the job, Logan. And I mean it when I say I’m proud of you.”
“But…?” There’s always a “but” when it comes to me.
“But we had a deal.”
I sigh, pick at my work pants. “I know.”
“The deal was, you leave high school, you work for me, and you get your GED. It’s been three years, and I haven’t seen you—”
“I know. I’ll do it, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
I’m a dumbass, I want to say. Instead, I tell him, “I don’t know.”
He sits taller. “You have until the end of next year.”
“School year?”
“Calendar.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He starts messing with some paperwork on his desk.
I don’t make a move to leave.
He lifts his gaze. “Anything else?”
“No lecture?”
“Don’t do it again?” It comes out as a question, as if he doesn’t know if it’s the correct thing to say. He does that a lot in these moments. Like, he questions his own parenting without my mom around. Like he hopes he’s doing right by us.
He is.
“I was thinking…” I start.
Dad drops the papers, gives me his full attention. “Yeah…?”
“I was thinking of going to trade school.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Instead of getting your GED?”
I shrug. “I was thinking I could do both.” What the hell else am I going to do with my life?
“What trade?” he asks. “You know everything there is to know about construction.”
“Electrical.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, it can’t hurt to know that stuff as well. And I enjoy it so…”
“Taking things apart and putting them back together… You’ve always been good with that stuff.” He’s smiling. “I’ll cover the costs on one condition.”
“I can cover the costs.” Seriously, I can. He pays me more than any other guy my age, and everything I use, everything I own is covered by the company. Truck, gas, phone. I literally have zero expenses.
“One condition,” he repeats, and I sigh. “You do it during the day as part of your work hours. No night school. You need to be a nineteen-year-old boy, Logan. This job—it can’t be your life like it was mine.”
“But look where it got you.”
“Yeah. But look at all the time I missed out on,” he says, and I know he means time with my mother. Time with us. His throat bobs with his swallow as his gaze drops. “Just trust me on that, okay?”
I nod.
He motions to the door. “Get back to it.”
I get up, start to leave, but pause with my hand on the doorknob. “Dad?” I say, turning to him. When he looks up, his eyes on mine, I tell him, “You’re doing just fine. With us kids, I mean. Mom—she’d be proud of you, like you are of me.”
I don’t realize the work day’s over until Lucas slaps my back, tells me it’s time to leave. Everyone else is already packing up their tools. “I think um… I think I’m just going to hang back, finish up on a few things.”
He taps his pockets, probably searching for his phone. He thinks I’m planning another Mayhem. I’m not. Truth is, if I don’t keep my mind busy with something, anything, I’ll only think about Aubrey. And then I’ll end up back at the shack, letting Mary have her way with me.
I can’t do that shit again.
“You sure? We’re on schedule.”
“Yeah, man.”
“All right, you got the keys to lock up?”
I’m here every morning before he is to set up for the day. Of course, I have the keys. I give him a look that tells him exactly that.
“Of course, you do. Sorry.”
“You don’t need to keep me on a leash, Luke,” I sigh out. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”
He nods, responds with a look of his own—one I can’t figure out. “I’ll see you later, then.”
22
Aubrey
No one took the bike, because everything I touch turns to shit.
23
Logan
During work, my mind is focused. Super, ultra, hyper focused. So focused that I can't switch it off. Even when the work day’s over, all I can think about is the job.
The problem is, it's only my mind that's like that. Everything else is a mess, in pieces; shards of glass too fine to repair, scattered in places too far to reach.
My hands don't follow my mind, my legs move only through a lifetime of repetitive motion. My stomach is a roller coaster: dipping, sliding, swirling. And my heart?
My heart belongs to Mary.
24
Logan
I’ve had a date with Mary every single night for two weeks. Mary is my comfort. My joy. Mary is the only girl who understands who I am, what I am, and the best part? Mary gives zero fucks about any of it.
But.
Mary also makes me feel things I don’t want to feel, makes me think things I don’t want to think. And the down side? Most of those thoughts are layered in scarlet:
Scarlet is bad.
Scarlet is dangerous.
Scarlet is the reason you’re back to using me.
I want you to use me, Logan.
Use me!
Scarlet needs to go.
Besides, you don’t need another girl.
You just need me.
Mary.
Mary is a fickle bitch.
But.
Mary is right.
She always is.
25
Aubrey
So maybe not everything I touch turns to shit, because Lachlan still shows up some days after school, sketchbook in hand. He goes right to the desk I set up in the corner for him, pulls out his markers, and gets to work.
The boy’s skills are beyond talent, and even though we don’t talk much while he’s drawing, I know that I at least did something right. And eating toast for dinner every night to make up for the cost of the markers has totally been worth it.
I print off an email from a supplier with a list of things I’ve asked to return to them. It’s the fourth time I’ve done it this week. Soon, my store will be empty. Soon, I’ll be empty.
I start going through the stock on the shelves, dumping products into a box haphazardly, ticking off items one by one.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Do you not want me here?” Lachlan asks out of nowhere.
My eyes snap to his. “No. I mean, yes. Of course, I want you here. Why would you say that?”
He scratches the side of his head. “You’ve just been, I dunno”—he shrugs—“different the past couple weeks.”
“Different how?”
“Well, for one, you stopped dressing cool.”
I look down at my clothes: sweats. Because I decided this morning that it didn’t matter how I dressed. It’s not like anyone was going to see me. I replay his words in my mind. “Wait. You think I dress cool?”
He grins, as if he knows he just complimented me. He has no idea that besides Logan saying I didn’t need anyone to tell me I was pretty, it’s probably the nicest thing anyone has said to me since I moved here. “You totally dress cool,” he says, nodding. “So… is everything okay with you?”
I could lay it all out there: I could tell him his brother hurt my feelings. That if my heart wasn’t already partially damaged, Logan had the power to break it with a simple “Later, Red.” I could tell him that the image of Logan with someone else right after spending time with me keeps me up at night. Or the fact that he was with someone the night before we reconnected. I could tell him that even though I’m hurting, most of my thoughts are still about a blue-eyed boy who made me laugh more than anyone, who made me feel something beyond loneliness and insecurity. I could open up to him, considering he’s the only person I have in my life who knows to ask if I’m okay. But… Lachlan’s
nine and not at all ready for any of that, so instead, I muster a smile and make my way over to him. “My washer’s broken,” I lie. “That’s why I haven’t been wearing my normal clothes. And you,”—I pull down on the brim of his cap, making him giggle—“you being here is absolutely the highlight of my day. So please don’t ever think that I don’t want you here.”
“Okay, Red,” he says, offering a smile of his own. “I was just worried that something happened with you and Logan.”
My heart skips a beat, and I stumble over my words. “Why—why would you say that?”
Lachlan shrugs. “He’s been coming home late, which isn’t a big deal on the weekend. But, during the week, he normally goes to work and comes right home.”
I try to play it cool, but the images are back, only this time, it isn’t just Bella with the Boobies. It’s so many various nameless, faceless girls. “Oh yeah?”
“He’s probably just been hanging out with you, right? Sexing or whatever?”
My eyes widen at the last part, and I shake my head. “No, Lachy. He hasn’t been with me. But, that’s not to say he hasn’t been with someone else.”
“Oh.” He drops his gaze. “But I thought you two were…”
My lips thin to a line.
“I’m sorry, Red.” He goes back to his drawing, shaking his head. “I don’t ever want to be a stud,” he says, and I laugh for the first time in what feels like forever.
“I don’t think you have a choice, dude.”
“Who’s supposed to be picking you up tonight?” I ask, looking out the full-length windows of my store. Most nights, Lucy or Cameron collect him when they leave work at five. Other times, Lachlan’s brother’s girlfriend, Laney, gets him. But it’s past seven now, and he’s still here.