“I’m not sure if that makes things better or worse.”
“I think we need more help.” Mya looks at me through a row of long lashes.
“I’m not seeing any counselor or head doctor again.”
“No, I mean an astrophysicist’s kind of help.”
“And where do we find one of those?” I open my can of soda and take a swig.
“Not sure.” She shrugs. “Maybe I can e-mail a college professor or something.”
“There’s that Langley guy from CalTech. I saw him on the news.”
“Definitely worth investigating.” Mya opens my drawing book again, back to the comics. “So these are just drawings; there’s a story too, I presume.”
“Of course,” I say, sidling over. I open the A3 book across our laps. “The blank spaces are dialogue boxes. I’ve got the story worked out, just haven’t done the type. It’s hard work.”
“I can imagine.” She looks at me with a gaze that’s too intense, that makes me immediately aware of how our thighs are touching. Her hand rests on my knee. Then she’s reaching a hand behind my head, pulling my face toward hers.
Her kiss is gentle at first, like Shira’s, like she’s afraid to hurt me. I’m almost disappointed. Then she catches my bottom lip between her teeth and she’s biting, her kisses violent as a summer storm.
Her hands slip under my shirt, her fingers feeling their way across my scars, nails digging grooves down my back. She’s tugging at my shirt, trying to pull it over my head when I grab her hands.
“Whoa, hold on.”
“This doesn’t make you less gay, you know.” She bites her lip, teasing me.
“I realize that, but…” But what? But this makes me more of a cheat? Now I’m betraying Shira as well.
“Danny’s dead in this world,” she says. Her deft fingers are already undoing my fly.
“And Shira?”
“Are you exclusive?”
“It’s not even like that.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
The problem is my mom downstairs in the kitchen, no doubt keeping an ear tuned to my bedroom, listening for shenanigans, as she calls them. It’s just way too weird.
“I like you, Mya.” I pry her fingers from my zip. “As a friend. I really need you right now. As a friend.”
She screws her face up at me and then sighs. “Fine. Just friends then.”
“I appreciate it though.”
“What? A girl wanting to jump your bones?”
“No, that you didn’t think I’d break.”
She smiles and brushes the hair out of my eyes, tracing a single fingertip along the welts of scar tissue.
“Can I see the rest?”
“Ah…” I don’t know what to say. Revulsion, disgust, pity—those are the reactions I expect and receive. Even Shira pities me, and maybe tolerates me out of guilt. I don’t know how to handle Mya’s fascination.
“This is awkward,” I say.
“Why? You’re surprised I want to see you naked, Scarface?” Mya brushes my hand away, tucking hair behind the gnarled formation that was once an ear.
“A little, yeah.”
“Come on, show me then. You’ll feel better, I promise.” She stands and moves away a little, giving me some space.
“Fine, I’ll go first.” She takes off her top, revealing a sheer lace bra. “Your turn.”
My face is burning. “I’m not taking off my pants.”
“Suit yourself.”
When I still hesitate, she takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. Mya’s tall, only an inch or two shorter than me.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers.
Hoping I’ll disappear and wake up in the other world, I do as she says. Her fingers tug on the hem of my shirt, pulling it up over my head. I keep my eyes shut, not wanting to see her expression as my disfigured body is revealed.
Her fingers are soft petals skimming the skin of my forehead, my cheek, trailing down my neck and over my collarbone. I feel the pressure of her touch, but not much else. She reaches around me, her hand wandering to the small of my back and then up across my side, belly, and chest, brushing the ridge of tissue that used to be a nipple.
I screw my eyes shut tighter as her lips press against my cheek. She hugs me and it’s all I can do to keep from crying. She leans into me, her thigh pressed up between my legs, turning me on despite the circumstances.
I hug her back. Her lithe body feels so good against mine. But not like Danny’s. It’s just not the same with girls, no matter how much I like them. Thoughts of Danny intrude, ruining the moment.
She peels herself away from me and ruffles my hair.
“Was that so bad?”
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak yet.
“Right, Scarface. We need to get ahold of this Langley guy while you’re still around on this plane.” She tugs her shirt back on as if nothing happened.
After Mya leaves, promising to do some research online and to call me later, my mom beckons me into the kitchen. She’s made a pot of tea. Last time I sat down with my mom over a pot of tea, it involved an awkward conversation about puberty and masturbation, and Jesus watched the entire time. I really hate that crucifix, but it was my grandmother’s, so the ugly thing is on the wall to stay.
“I think we should have a talk.” She fills a cup for me. Chamomile, tastes like cat pee, but it’s supposed to be calming. It’s also what my mom drinks whenever something serious is happening. This doesn’t bode well for me. Reluctantly I sit down and wait for the lecture, about godliness and sin, quotes from scripture and threats of damnation.
“I apologize for reacting the way I did earlier,” she says. It sounds a little rehearsed.
“I’m sorry too,” I manage. “I never wanted to tell you like that.”
Mom nods and stirs honey into her tea. She squeezes a gobbet into mine and hands me the spoon. “You’ve kept this from us for a year?” She looks hurt.
“Actually… I’ve always liked boys.”
“Always?”
I nod. “But a year ago I…” I lost my virginity to a guy. How to word that for Mom’s ears?
“With Daniel?” Mom saves me the embarrassment.
“Only Daniel.”
She takes a deep breath. “Were you safe? I mean…” Color flares on her cheeks, and I smile. This is just as awkward for her as it is for me.
“It’s not like pregnancy is an issue.”
“No, but…” She swallows hard.
“Yes, we were careful. No diseases or anything, I promise.”
Mom chuckles, tension leaving her bunched shoulders. “I’m not sure what to say, Kyle.” She takes my hand. “It’s a lot for your father and I to digest. We never expected…we just don’t know.”
“I never expected it either, Mom. It’s just the way I am.”
She sips her tea. “Have you spoken to anyone about this at all?”
“You worried word’ll get out in town?” Maybe I’m being cruel, but after everything else happening in my life, my sexual orientation seems like a lesser concern.
“People aren’t that understanding, Kyle.”
“Mom, look at me.”
It takes a moment, but she does.
“I’m already a freak. I doubt me being gay is going to change anything.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I just wanted you to be happy, to have a good life.”
“You think it’ll be my scars or my preference for boys that prevent me having a good, happy life?”
“Oh Kyle.” She stifles a sob behind a napkin. “I’m so sorry.”
Mom wasn’t always around to protect me from Dad, but she did her best when she was. She got him into a program, got him sober. The fire was hardly her fault. And being gay, well, that’s just what it is.
“Don’t be sorry, Mom.” This time I squeeze her hand, and her shoulders start to shake. I never meant to make her cry. Feeling like a real asshole, I get up to hug my mom. She wraps her arms
around me.
“Are you sure you’re… Are you really sure?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, Mom.” Definitely, considering what didn’t just happen with Mya.
Her renewed tears wet my shirt. She recovers a little and pats my chest.
“Your father and I still love you, Kyle. Just give us some time. Especially your father.”
Guess there’s no such thing as unconditional love then.
“We’d like you to come to church with us next week; maybe Reverend Davis—”
I’d been waiting for this. “The reverend going to cure me, exorcise me?”
“Kyle, please. We think it might be good for you to talk to someone.”
“Someone who’s going to quote the Bible at me?”
Her gray eyes meet mine. “You think this has been easy on us? On your father?”
“No.”
“Because it hasn’t. You’ve heard the rumors, the speculation about who started the fire.”
I’d never even considered my parents might be dealing with the fallout from that. God, I really am an asshole.
“I don’t think you appreciate…” Mom struggles with the words, wipes her nose, and regains composure. “Maybe it was an accident, but seeing you hurt like that put us through hell, Kyle. Hell.”
She’s going through hell? As if me getting burned was a walk in goddamn Armadillo Park. Hell is getting beaten up by your dad every night because your mom works the night shift. Hell is feeling less of a human being for liking boys. Hell is being suffocated by the guilt of cheating on someone you love. Hell is second- and third-degree burns, new dressings, needles and nurses, morphine, and a split fucking reality that makes you wish you were dead. That’s hell for you, Mom. But I bite back my words and swallow the vitriol burning on my tongue.
“Your father and I are trying to keep it together the best we can. So when you go and complicate matters further, forgive us for wanting to try and help you at a time in your life when you desperately seem to need it.”
The awkward silence is punctuated by the ticking clock. I can’t bear to meet Mom’s gaze. There’s too much disappointment in her eyes.
“You can’t fix me, Mom.”
“Only you can do that.”
“So you’re saying I’m broken and need fixing?”
She hesitates. “I think you need some help.”
“I’ve got friends.”
“Shira? This new girl, Mya, who you barely know? They might have good intentions, Kyle, but that’s not the help you need.”
“How would you know?”
“I was eighteen once.”
“Yeah?” I tug my fingers through my hair. “I’ll bet you were char-grilled and gay on top of it?”
“Don’t be belligerent.” Mom’s lips straighten into a thin line, the look that generally precedes disciplinary action. She sighs and hangs her head, studying the dregs in her teacup.
“I don’t know how to talk to you anymore. I thought maybe the reverend could help you, listen if nothing else, and offer advice the way we can’t.”
“My friends listen.”
“Do as you please then. You’re eighteen, an adult. Sort yourself out.” Mom throws her cup into the sink, shattering porcelain. I’ve never seen my mom like this.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not quite sure if I mean it yet.
She just looks at me. From her expression, it’s clear Mom doesn’t believe me.
I try again. “I am sorry. I’ll go with you on Sunday. I’ll speak to the reverend.”
Mom’s lips twitch. “As you wish, Kyle.”
“Thanks for the tea,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” Her tone is flat; she sounds deflated, exhausted.
“Think I’ll go for a run.” Fresh air and open spaces. I need to get out before I say something I’ll regret. Mom nods.
“Don’t be late for dinner.”
I bolt out of the kitchen. Home’s never felt so claustrophobic and unfriendly. Breathing in the evening air helps clear my head, only the pain in my chest is still there. Why’s it so complicated? Never thought I’d want to hurt my mom, but maybe I do.
I don’t get too far, only halfway down the street, when the air thickens. I’m running through a wet blanket that turns to cold darkness. The absence of light, of life. In that other world I guess I must be dead, and that comes as a relief.
Chapter Twelve
Lost between worlds
Sticky darkness. I can’t open my eyes. It’s so cold, but it’s the silence that’s intolerable. I’m floating…then I’m falling.
Orange pajamas and steel bars. I’m in prison, just like my comic book hero. Black lines on white paper. So much easier when things are black-and-white, but my vision’s stained orange, as if flames seared my eyes, leaving behind a ghost-fire stain.
Flames lick around the edges of my cell, liquid fire pouring down the walls.
“Help, please!” I scream and bang against the bars. Jerking the gate, I manage to bend the bars. My hair’s singed, the heat at my back unbearable, smoke filling my lungs as I wrench open the gate.
Danny’s there. He shoves me back into the cell and shuts the gate, locks it, and wags his finger at me disapprovingly. He stinks of gasoline and burning tea leaves.
Shira’s screams echo in my head, growing louder, until the cacophony drives me to my knees and the flames wash over me.
Voices call my name, but they’re too far away.
Dust and ashes, sizzle pop flames. My body burns, my hands torrid fists of red and yellow. Exquisite and excruciating. I am on fire.
Chapter Thirteen
Danny’s dead
I’ve felt it so many times, that sensation of falling just before I wake up with a jolt in bed. That’s what it feels like, tumbling out of the darkness back into the light. I’m on all fours in the dust. My nose is bleeding again and the pounding in my head is excruciating. I can barely breathe, doubled over on the curb outside my house. Only it’s dark now. I check my watch. Still Sunday.
My shirt’s soaked with sweat and my body feels like it just ran a marathon, so I guess I did go running after all, although I don’t remember anything except that wasteland of cold and Danny’s wagging finger.
I vomit more blood into my neighbor’s bushes, then stagger home.
Dad’s watching TV, Mom’s cooking dinner.
“Get cleaned up. Dinner’ll be ready in ten,” Mom says, sounding tired.
“Thanks.” I head for my room past the lounge. “Hey Dad.”
“Hey,” he mumbles without looking away from the screen.
Undressing requires far more effort than it should. Every inch of me aches. Cool shower water helps, but I still wince with every movement.
Clean and feeling less like a corpse, I’m about to head down to dinner when my phone rings.
“Hey, I found something.” It’s Mya.
“About Langley?”
“That too, but something way cooler. Can you come over tonight?”
“Sure. See you in an hour?”
“Don’t forget to bring your book, Scarface.” She hangs up.
I head into the kitchen expecting verbal ordnance from both parents. They ignore me instead, and dinner passes in stilted politeness. Please pass the salt, Kyle. Would you like more salad, Dad?
No comment about the morning’s conversation or my confab with Mom. They don’t object when I tell them I’m going out.
Mya’s dad answers when I knock.
“You must be Kyle.” He shakes my hand, meets my eye. “You can call me Sal.”
“Thank you, Mr.…Sal.”
He chuckles and lets me in. Mya takes after her dad, lean but muscular with sunshine blond hair. Her dad must have some German or Danish blood in his Latino concoction.
“Hey, Scarface,” Mya calls from her room. “Come on in.”
“Hope you have a nicer name for her.” He winks before disappearing into the lounge. The TV’s on, crackling with static thanks to Obs
cura.
“Did you bring your book?” she asks as I step into her bedroom. The same ethereal music is playing.
I join her on the floor where she’s already ensconced with papers and her dad’s laptop. She’s scribbled a rough timeline across the page, starting April 6 and labelled Kyle’s Bad Day 1.
“Did I have any good days?”
“You tell me. Here, look at this.”
She turns the laptop for me to see. A wall of text. I stare uncomprehendingly.
“It’s a paper on rifts in the multiverse.” She scrolls up to the title page.
“Um, the rift in the what?”
“Multiverse.” She says it like it’s common knowledge.
“And this paper explains something about my problem?”
“A lot, actually.” She offers me an open can of soda. “But what I find most disturbing is that A, Professor Cruz, the author of this paper and former research associate of one auspicious Professor Langley, has since been excommunicated from the scientific community; and B, by his estimations, you’re gonna die.”
I choke on the soda, bubbles burning the back of my nose. “What?”
Turning to face me, Mya sighs. “This guy, Prof. Cruz, was into some pretty weird-ass stuff. He believed that a cosmic event could bring about a rift in the multiverse. His far-out theories didn’t go down too well at Princeton. There’s even an article by Langley denouncing Cruz’s speculations as the ravings of a paranoid scientist gone mad.”
“I meant about me dying.”
“Oh.” Her eyes sparkle. “I’m getting there. So this Prof. Cruz—”
“The paranoid scientist gone mad?”
“Just shut up and listen.” She glares at me, and I close my mouth. “So Cruz predicts an event for 2012, tying into all this Mayan mythology stuff about fourth worlds and the start of a new age, et cetera.” She twirls a hand in the air dramatically. “He also reckons that if a person could travel between realities, shift as you call it, then they’d be subjected to enormous physical strain and wouldn’t be able to sustain it.”
“Is that why I’m peeing blood and getting headaches?” While somewhat relieved to know I’m not going crazy and that there may actually be a scientific explanation for the weirdness.
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