by Rose Fall
“Not anymore,” I said matter-of-factly before glancing down at my wrist.
He placed the hat and needles down and turned back to me. “You’ll get better.”
I sighed. I couldn’t keep up my half-assed attempt at being polite anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“Are you still in love with Ryan?”
My eyes widened. ‘What? …What??’
“What?” I asked in a confused voice.
Where was this coming from? Did he know Ryan had come to visit me in the hospital? What had I done to suggest that I was still in love with Ryan?
I didn’t even know how to answer. But he didn’t give me a chance to.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. But it sounded more like a question than a statement, like he was looking to me for approval. “It was a mistake,” he added. This time, he sounded more certain.
“You made that perfectly clear,” I said bitterly.
His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Are you mad?”
“Why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated, “Did you want me to kiss you?”
“Why would you think that?” I asked in a defensive tone.
“Are you going to answer every question with a question?” He shot back.
I didn’t reply. He scooted closer, He was trying to get me to look at him and I was still avoiding his eyes.
He sighed. “I think I’ve been pretty clear, Elle, on how I feel about you. But just for the record, I don’t regret kissing you because I didn’t enjoy it. I think I liked it way too much. I think that was the best kiss in the history of the Universe. And that scared the hell out of me, because I know you don’t feel the same.”
‘That certainly wasn’t what I thought he was going to say.’ But I believed him. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said a minute later. His voice sounded desperate.
I looked up at him for the briefest of seconds. He looked like he was holding his breath. I look back down at my lap and swallowed.
“I can’t.”
My voice broke. I’m not even sure he understood what I said. ‘I will not let this be the second time this week I cry about this stupid boy.’ I told myself. There was no justifying it.
“I knew that,” he said quietly.
I wished I could see his expression, but I knew I couldn’t look at him. We sat in painful silence for a few moments.
“Okay,” he said. It sounded resigned. He stood up, paused for a few seconds, and then left without saying another word.
‘Déjà vu.’
Before I could think about what I said, and what I didn’t say, I pushed the covers away and tossed my ice pack on my nightstand. I rose to my feet, searching wildly for the one thing I needed at this moment, a distraction.
I gripped my phone triumphantly, waiting impatiently as it rung.
“Hi Jared, I was wondering if you could pick me up…”
There, my distraction.
---
I’d entertained some of his texts since the night at the party.
I’d never really expected to see him again, but my present location in the front seat of his car could be a metaphor for my life at the moment; nothing was turning out the way I’d expected.
“So uh…bar fight? Cliff diving? Russian spy…?”
I laughed, figuring he was referring to my injuries, “Close! Racing cars!”
“Wow! I knew I liked you.”
“So what have you been up to?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the passenger window like I was posing the question to the road. Without meaning to I tuned him out, finding my mind wandering to all of the places I didn’t want it to go.
It sounded like a distant echo when he called my name, “We’re here,” he announced.
Here was his apartment, where he’d invited a few of his friends over to hang out.
“Nice place,” I said once we were inside.
“Don’t lie to him, it looks like a pig’s nest.”
I turned to the voice. “Liam,” he said, raising the hand that has holding a beer in a manner that was apparently meant as a greeting. I gathered from his accent that he was Australian. His style could probably be described as lumberjack hipster; his beard rivaled Santa Claus’. It worked for him, but he certainly didn’t look like a college student, in fact he looked old enough to father the other guys there.
“Hi, I’m Cody,” another boy said, rising to shake my hand. He looked like he’d just come from the country club; his grey polo and slicked back hair reminded me of the boys I went to school with.
“Mike” greeted me with a friendly smile more fitting on an adorable child, ironic because of his stature. After learning that he was a football player I was quickly reminded of The Blind Side, deciding he was Michael Oher’s long lost twin.
“Melody and Asha,” Jared said, pointing to the two girls on the couch. I wasn’t sure which one was which, they’d been so enveloped in conversation neither one paid any attention to the introduction. One was a pretty Asian girl with a chin length bob and ruby red lipstick. The other had curly, mahogany colored hair, pulled back from her round face into a high ponytail.
I went to sit between Jared and Liam at the table, preferring this seat to the couch with the girls. They began moving the table as soon I sat down in front of it, as if by some unspoken agreement. The girls joined in on the rearranging, unfolding a large plastic cloth with familiar colored circles.
“Twisted Twister!!!!!” Liam yelled out in a deep voice.
“Can you play?” the Asian girl asked me, motioning towards my wrist. I’d ditched the stupid sling Dr. Nelson had given me, but decided against removing the brace.
“Yeah,” I replied confidently, “Can’t feel a thing!”
“You ever played, Eli?” Mike was asking, his arm around my shoulders like we had known each other for longer than 10 minutes. I shook my head, waiting for him to explain.
It was at this point that I realized that everyone was already drunk. All seven of us were playing at the same time. Melody/Asha were spinning and calling out plays while they were playing. Whoever created the drunken twister rule book had come up with a really great way to give all players alcohol poisoning. Everyone had to guess the color they thought would be next when the board was spun, if you got it right, you had to take a shot. Not only was I being punished for being a good guesser, but since there was always a twenty-five percent chance of guessing the right color, it’s safe to say we all consumed a large amount of alcohol in a significantly shorter time period than what was advisable.
“I get it, it’s called Twisted Twister because you guys don’t know how to play!” I said.
Everyone burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Even drunk I couldn’t find the humor in the situation, especially since the laughter
led to everyone falling over, with Mike collapsing on top off me. I waited for the pain to kick in, but I felt nothing.
“I’m okay!” I yelled triumphantly as he rolled off of me.
I watched as Jared headed into his little kitchen, grabbing more drinks since their revolutionary reworking of Twister had already gotten us through two bottles of vodka. Now one of the guys, I couldn’t remember who was who anymore, had decided we should all have Jell-O shots, which Jared had bet them $20 he knew how to make.
I watched him from the living room, making a mental note to approach his Jell-O shots with the same apprehension with which I’d approached Rachel’s pot roast. I was mulling over what he planned to do with the hot water he was boiling, when he motioned for me to join him. I climbed through the pile of limbs still sprawled over the Twister mat that everyone had decided they wanted to keep laying on.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Shh!” He whispered, peeking into the living room like it housed enemy spies.
“You said you were
a good cook,” he continued.
“When did I say that?” I asked, leaning onto the counter to avoid the dizziness my walk from the living room to the kitchen had brought on.
“At the party. I need your help.”
I tried to recall, “I definitely don’t remember. Anyway, I don’t know how to make Jell-O shots.”
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be getting any help!” I heard someone yell from the living room.
“What?” I asked at the disapproving look Jared gave me.
“Stop yelling!” he whisper shouted.
“She’s not helping, she’s just keeping me company,” he yelled to whoever had spoken in the living room.
“Now who’s yelling?” I yelled back.
He ignored me, turning to grab unnaturally blue Jell-O and shot glasses from his cabinets. He turned back to me as if the answers were written on my face. I raised an eyebrow, wondering what he expected me to do.
“C’mon, I’ll buy you something nice once I get the money!”
“Ooh, like a whole bag of Skittles?” I asked sarcastically.
He stared at me with comically wide eyes.
“Fine!” I said finally, figuring everyone was so drunk they wouldn’t really notice even if I substituted Jell-O with mayo.
“Okay, pass me the Jell-O and a big bowl.”
I began dumping all of the Jell-O onto a paper plate he passed me, since he apparently hadn’t seen the use of buying bowls when he moved. I stared at the gooey globs of Jell-O, which I’d always been disgusted by, and resisted the urge to throw up all over it.
“Where’s the alcohol?”
He opened his fridge, which unsurprisingly, contained more alcohol than food.
“I only have beer left,” he replied, already opening a few bottles of Budweiser with his teeth.
“Haha, okay!” I shrugged, starting to accept the absurdity of all of this.
“Oh, I have this mini bottle of rum!”
“Open it,” I encouraged. I grabbed it from him when he’d finished and downed it in one quick motion.
“That was supposed to be for the Jell-O!” He exclaimed as I passed him back the empty bottle.
“Oh, that would have been too many different flavors!” I said, wiping the remnants of rum off my cheek.
“Oh,” he nodded, “You’re so smart!”
I laughed without intending to. Suddenly I was struck with an idea, “Do you have a blender?”
I turned to dump all of the Jell-O in the blender he’d pointed towards.
He was already pouring cans of beer into the blender when I decided, “We need sugar!”
I unscrewed the top, having dumped half of the contents into the blender when he said, “Um, I think that’s the salt…”
“You’re not sure?” I asked, watching the rest of it pore into the blender.
I shook my head as he shrugged, pressing “smoothie” on the blender since I saw no option for Jell-O shot. I dumped out the electric blue sludge that resulted into shot glasses, suddenly feeling sick again.
“Done,” I said to him, gripping onto the counter for support,
“You taste it!”
“That’s okay, I’m not that drunk,” he smiled, moving closer. He stood only a few inches away from me, his hands trapping me as they gripped either side of the counter I was leaning on. “But you were great,” he’d leaned in to whisper.
The feeling of nausea came back stronger, I knew what was coming but I did nothing to stop it. He leaned in and began nibbling on my ear, and I couldn’t help my response even if I wanted to. He pulled back to kiss me on the lips, and suddenly I was throwing up all over him, I couldn’t seem to stop, even as he jumped back in disgust.
I felt worse as it continued. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath and I was thinking of how I should have been paid for providing entertainment because all of his friends had gathered around to watch me, and then the room began moving, the lights grew dimmer, and finally, mercifully, everything went black.
The Truth Always Comes Out Eventually
Jessie and I sat by the water, a loaf of bread between us, a flock of pigeons around us. I tore apart bite sized pieces of bread and threw them in different directions. Despite my efforts, I failed to keep the pigeons from fighting with each other.
Jessie was doing the same, but mostly, he was watching me. I could feel his eyes on me like they were a physical weight. Even though I was here, this moment felt like an old photograph. This was tranquility and bliss. This was more than I’d ever imagined in a way that I’d never imagined it.
“Are you happy Elle?” He asked quietly.
“Yes,” I said without a moment’s hesitation. In that moment, I was convinced I’d reached a level of happiness that no one else in the Universe had ever come close to.
I blinked. Again. Again. Again. Then I sat up in alarm. ‘It wasn’t real,’ I told myself. My dream had seemed so real even though none of it made sense. ‘Pigeons by the beach? Unequivocal bliss brought on by feeding pigeons by the beach?’ Call me high maintenance, but that wasn’t exactly what I wanted out of life.
I took a deep breath before taking in my surroundings. I found myself greeted by the same asylum white walls and rhythmic beeping of machines that I was fast becoming accustomed to.
“You really are stupid, aren’t you?”
I gasped in shock at the sound of Jessie’s voice. I could feel the dream and the calm it had brought dissipating. I did my best to focus on reality. It helped that Jessie remained quiet.
“Are you okay?” He asked after an immeasurable silence.
I shrugged back, even though I was thinking, ‘No, I’m not okay. Not in any sense of the word.’
“What were you thinking?”
I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he really wanted an answer for any of his questions.
His tone softened as he tried a different approach, “It gets better you know. My mother‒”
He stopped when Rachel walked in, she placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to whisper; “Why don’t you take a break?”
He hesitated, and I quickly looked away when he glanced back at me. “Go, it’s okay,” she continued soothingly, in a voice more gentle than any I’d ever heard her use before.
‘I guess there are no time-outs for unconscious opponents,’ I thought bitterly.
“He thinks you’re suicidal,” she said once he’d left.
I let out a humorless snort, “There are much easier ways to die.”
“Maybe he doesn’t think you’re smart enough to figure that out.”
I nodded, “Thanks.”
She shrugged.
“What happened?” I sighed.
“Well,” she placed her hands on her hips and gave me the stern look a disapproving mother would give their daughter, “I thought I taught you better than to mix pain pills and alcohol.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling as stupid as Jessie said I was, “I…I didn’t even think about it.” Somehow, I’d forgotten that I’d taken one of the pills Dr. Nelson had prescribed less than an hour before heading to Jared’s house. Sadly, I had no explanation for how I could forget something like that except that I’d had a lot of other things on my mind.
“So you’re not suicidal?”
“Funny,” I retorted sarcastically.
“Can’t blame me for wondering; first the accident, now this.”
“They were both accidents,” I glared.
“Sure it was,” she nodded. “I remember the reason you stopped, at the race track. You were speeding, you almost lost control the way he did and you were going to run into the wall. And three days after you get out of the hospital, you get in a car with a guy you don’t even know, without telling anyone where you’re going. You don’t see anything wrong with any of that? You’re lucky he cared enough to bring you to the hospital!”
“You’re such a hypocrite. You spend all your time getting into cars with guys you don’t know!�
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“You’re not me! And besides, I can take care of myself!”
“You think I can’t?”
“Obviously not!”
I was furious, and I especially resented the fact that I could do nothing but lie there.
“You are seriously the last person I want to see right now!” I yelled back.
“Well, I’m your ride home,” she smiled. “Unless you want to go with Jessie.”
“I’ll discharge myself!” I was still yelling, irrationally hoping to make her angrier.
“You can’t, doctor’s orders,” she said cheerfully.
“I’m going with Jessie!” I replied, unwilling to lose.
“Good luck with that,” she smiled, slamming the door on her way out.
---
“What are you doing here?” I asked when Jessie finally came back. It was hours later. Rachel had apparently told him to make me wait. I had a feeling he’d wanted to make me suffer too, but I didn’t blame him.
“I hate that question,” he murmured. “Don’t you want a ride home?”
I shook my head, “That’s not what I meant. I just mean that you don’t have to be here.”
It made everything worse, the fact that he was here despite everything. Despite our last conversation. It made me hate myself.
“Do you want me here?” He asked.
“Yes,” I said quickly. I gasped. For once I’d told him the truth. I did want him here, even though it made everything worse…
“Then I do,” he said quietly. He gave me a small smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It broke me. I worried that I’d ruined him.
“I didn’t mean it,” I exclaimed. I hated myself for being such a mess. I was on the verge of tears again.
“Didn’t mean what?” He asked. I could hear the urgency in his voice.
‘I didn’t mean it when I said ‘I can’t’. You were wrong.’ I wanted to say. But whatever possessed me to start telling the truth was gone.
I shook my head.
He tried again, “Didn’t mean what Elle?”
Again, I shook my head. “Just take me home. Please?”
He kept staring at me. His expression was a mixture of anger and disappointment, but if I hadn’t gotten so good at reading his eyes, I would have never known.