BONE DEEP

by Brooklyn Skye

  Ditty goes to find our seats, but instead of going with him, I make my way down to the front of the amphitheater near the stage where I will have a better view of Cambria. Where I’ll be able to see her expression.

  For a few minutes, Cambria and her roommate sit and chat as the theater fills up. I can only imagine Cambria is spouting on about some of the songs Lewis has written—the stories behind them and where she was the first time she heard them, and then the lights go down and I watch as she loses herself when Lewis enters the stage and fills the theater with his deep, entrancing voice. Like last time, he’s wearing only white against the other members of the band dressed in black; Lewis’s way of giving himself fully to the audience, not to monopolize all of the attention I learned when I was researching them last month. I’m also close enough to see the silver chain he wears around his neck—the one he’s worn since his mother died of cancer two years ago. Singing Your Name Here, the song he wrote as his last words for his dying mother, his finger graces the small angel charm dangling from the chain.

  The audience stills, growing quiet and somber as the song comes to a close—every single person feeling the pain of Lewis’s words—then like a switch is flicked, the drums start into a fast progression and Davey the guitarist steps forward, his fingers dancing along the strings with the melody of Martyr Theory.

  Once all of the popular songs are played, and even a few of the not-so-well-known songs, Lewis announces that he’s going to play a new song. “This one was inspired by a letter written by one of you,” he says. “It’s called Bone Deep.”

  Chills skitter down my arms, the anticipation and excitement rushing from my fingers to my toes. This is it. My last-ditch effort to get Cambria to talk to me.

  Everyone in the theater stands, including Cambria and Leesa, whispers filling the beat of silence before the vibration of the cymbals accompanied by the slow strain of bass. Lewis sits cross-legged in the middle of the stage and closes his eyes, letting his long, black hair fall in front of his ghostly pale face.

  I went there by day, but left in darkness

  And found you on the way

  Now it’s silver and silent

  Your somber soul, I hold

  Light, like the flutter of wings,

  Feel your lifeless voice rushing into me, yearning to sing

  Part your lips a bit more

  I'll swallow your fear

  The guitar swoops in, slow and melodic—sounding completely unlike anything they’ve ever played. And it’s at this very moment Cambria’s eyes stray from Lewis, skim the edge of the stage, and as if by magnetic force find mine.

  She stands, frozen, as Lewis’s voice engulfs the room.

  May you feel this while you sleep

  Push my thorns of love into you

  May you feel this while you wake

  Bear your wounds for all to see

  Cambria’s face blanches, and I read her lips as they mumble to her roommate, “Oh my god. It was Krister, wasn’t it? Who wrote the letter…”

  Leesa nods, her white-blond hair brushing her elbows, and though her mouth is blocked by the baseball cap of the dude in front of her, I know she’s explaining the list she gave me a copy of, the plan, and phone call she received the other day: Plan is set. I’ll drop off the tickets when Cambria goes to class. Once her mouth is done moving, Leesa grabs Cambria by the shoulders and spins her to face the exit of their row, her chin resting on her shoulder. “He’s in love with you. Go to him,” she mouths.

  Cambria shakes her head, an expression like she’s about to puke overcoming her face. “I can’t.”

  I don’t know what Leesa says to Cambria after that, but whatever it is, along with the gentle shove on the shoulder, Cambria starts to move my way. I make a mental note to thank her roommate for helping. And then my heart is suddenly louder than the beat of the drums behind me.

  There's a light in you now

  But the purveyor is cast down

  I have never been before

  So desperate in my whole life

  The music swells, and I start toward her, closing the distance between us twice as fast. Jesus, am I ready for this? To possibly see her for the very last time? To have her tell me she can never forgive me for lying to her? Just seeing her in front of me, skinny jeans and black-sequined top dizzies me with every stair I climb.

  After what feels like a thousand steps, I’m standing face-to-face with Cambria. She opens her mouth to say…I don’t even know what, but I press my finger to her lips and say, “Shh. You’ll miss the best part.”

  Still each time I always meant

  Every word

  Every one

  Though in time they finally bent

  No one will take them away, erase them

  Every word

  Every one

  Lewis’s voice lingers on the last word for a moment before it fades out and is replaced with the cheers of the crowd. A new song. A new story.

  Our story.

  Again she opens her mouth, and again I silence her. “Don’t say anything,” I say lowly. “Just listen to what I have to say before you tell me to fuck off.”

  Thankfully, she nods. At least she’s willing to hear me out. I trail my fingers slowly from her lips to her cheeks, trying not to get distracted by the warmth of her skin or the glisten in her eyes as the audience around me settles into the next song. A few people have their attention on us, but in the darkened theater we’re just two standing bodies amongst the rest.

  I cup her cheeks, and the heat from them burns straight through to my soul. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her. “I kept something important from you,” I say, “and you have every right to be pissed at me—to hate my guts. But I want you to understand why I didn’t tell you.” I slip the first piece of paper from my back pocket and hold it up for her to see. “This is my list.” Only a second, and her eyes skim top to bottom, landing on her mom’s name with a flinch. “The eight crash victims who I’ve been tracking down one by one.”

  “Why?”

  I tug a second paper from my pocket, this one smaller and scrawled with only a single line of words. “Because of this. And the boxful of others that were being sent to me.”

  Knowingly, she nods. “My brother… I caught him writing them months ago. Remember that night you snuck into my room? I didn’t realize they were to you…not until”—she clears her throat—“well, when we were at your house…”

  I place both papers in her hand, my fingers curling around hers. “I wasn’t looking for revenge with this list, from these letters.” I jiggle her hand. “I only wanted to find the person whose life was ruined because of my family. I wanted to tell her I was sorry. And…most importantly, I wanted to make it up to her.”

  Her faces scrunches with confusion. “Her? You thought I was sending you the letters?”

  I nod. “After the last concert, yeah.”

  “And the letter you thought was about suicide…? You thought I wanted to commit suicide?”

  I join her on the step, surrounding her feet with mine, and take her face with both of my hands. “At first spending time with you was about saving you. I wanted to take away your pain, remind you what living was supposed to feel like. But then I started to fall for you. And spending time with you became purely about me.” I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers, eyes focused and unwavering for one long second. Then my hands slide to her shoulders and I spin her to face the crowd where Lewis is just about to step onto their awaiting hands for his finale. My voice, grating and low, whispers in her ear, “I did something horrible to someone I love, but…a part of me thinks it’s really good I did.”

  Hands and arms catch Lewis. He takes a few steps, sure and steady, then whips his hair back. The rush of adrenaline displayed on his face seeps into the crowd. It slinks over each and every one of us, my cells bursting alive with the power that is to come with the masterfully written last four lines of his song. Slowly, Lewis raises the microphone to his
mouth and fills the room with his bone-chilling voice. At the same time, Cambria faces me, a deep V between her brows.

  “When I found out who you were, I was so convinced that us meeting at the train station wasn’t chance. That you purposely searched me out to get back at me or something.” She scrubs a hand over her face just as the audience screams with the end of the song and demands more. “God, I made this all about me—losing my mom, and the way my brother was taking it—that I didn’t remember you were hurting, too.” Tears start to fill her eyes, glistening under the low amber lights. “All those things you told me about your dad… I’m such a horrible person. I’m so, so sorry.”

  I hold up one finger, silencing her. “Don’t apologize, Cambria. Whether or not you forgive me, I will never regret loving you. And I will never forget loving you. You have made a difference in my life. I am forever changed because of you.” I tug her bucket list from my other pocket along with the pen I snatched from Ditty’s desk, unfold it, and sketch a single black line through number four: Make a difference in someone’s life. She watches like a ghost as I then place the list in her hands. “All I want is for you to be happy—even if that means without me.”

  A silence, heavy as a lead weight, descends between us as people start to move about, exiting into the stairways now that the concert is over. Her hands tangle in front of her, shoulders hunching forward slightly. Maybe I have lost her for good. What I did—lying to her—was inexcusable, no matter my intentions.

  Still unsmiling, she points to the stage. “How’d you get Lewis to do it?”

  From my back pocket I pull one last piece of paper, a copy of the letter I wrote to Burn Me Up Inside over a month ago—one I knew she’d want to see—and hand it to her. She unfolds the paper slowly, her fingers trembling.

  Burn Me Up Inside,

  Have you ever met someone who comes into your life at an unexpected time, completely rocks your world, turns you inside out and upside down until all you feel is HER down to your bones? Have you ever felt a connection so strong, only to go and fuck it up?

  It’s an experience that can change you, make you grow into a better person and realize at the same time that you are at your best when you are with her.

  I had this experience once, with a girl who’s most likely your hugest fan. She’s amazing to her core, resilient to even the biggest of jerks (aka me), and will probably never forgive me for keeping the secrets I did from her and devastating her the way I did. Even so, you guys are my last chance to get her back, or at least get her to hear my side of the story and understand that I did what I did because I couldn’t see her hurting anymore. That I did it because I was falling in love with her.

  I don’t know what I’m asking for. I don’t even know if you’re going to read this considering you probably get hundreds of letters a day, but I’m desperate to get this girl back.

  I watch as she reads the rest of the letter—where I beg the band to help me win her back, then give my name and number. It was a longshot, and to be honest, I didn’t actually think they’d call, but…

  “Their manager called me last week, told me to bring you to the concert. I knew you wouldn’t come with me, so that’s why I got your roommate to help. I didn’t know how else to get you to listen to me.”

  The lights in the stadium gradually brighten until they are glaring off the white paper and shining against Cambria’s wild hair. She glances up at me, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “You’re not a jerk,” she says quietly, taking a step closer to me. Her sweet scent crashes into me, so strong that I reach for her shoulders to steady me.

  “Out of all that—me pouring my heart out to some gothic dudes about the crazy connection I feel when I’m with you—and that’s what you focused on?” I smile to show I’m teasing, and she returns it hesitantly, letting out a small giggle with it.

  “Because you were wrong.” She holds up the piece of paper, rattling it. “A jerk would’ve never poured his soul out like this. Krister, this is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. I will never ever forget this.”

  “But will you forgive me?”

  She smiles, her full lips parting just enough to show her top row of teeth, the slight overlap of them. It lights up her face, reaches all the way to her eyes. “Only if we can both promise something.”

  “Anything.”

  “No more games. No more lies or secrets or stupid lists…”

  I lean down and carefully press my lips to her neck. “Just us.”

  “Then, yes.” She tilts her head to the side, our cheeks brushing as our lips slide closer, closer, closer. “I forgive you.”

  And then I kiss her, because kissing her makes everything better.

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  About the Author

  Brooklyn Skye grew up in a small town where she quickly realized writing was an escape from small town life. Really, she’s just your average awkward girl who’s obsessed with words. She writes young adult and new adult fiction. You can follow her on Twitter as @brooklyn__skye or visit her web site for updates, teasers, giveaways, and more. www.brooklyn-skye.com