The Darkest Part

by Trisha Wolfe

  “Shit—” I don’t think; I dive. My hands go up over my head and I jump off the cemented ledge.

  I feel the shallow end first and I push off, propelling myself through the water. The chlorine stings my eyes, but I keep them open and spot her thrashing body easily, targeting her black bikini. Swimming up to her, I circle an arm around her waist, then kick off the bottom.

  I break the surface of the water with a gasp, and turn her around in my arms to face me. She’s sputtering, coughing, but breathing.

  As I tread water, I keep her body close to mine. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  She clears the tangles of hair from her face, and her bright eyes look around. “It wasn’t his fault,” she says, anxiety lacing her voice. “He didn’t mean to.”

  Spitting a curse, I anchor her back against my chest and then swim us toward the deep end ladder. When my feet touch the bottom rung, I grasp the metal and help her to do the same, supporting her until she’s stable.

  Clasping the back of her neck, I bring her closer, forcing her to look into my eyes. “What are you talking about?” Each word comes out slow and deliberate. And I’m begging God for her to answer in any way other than what I suspect.

  She coughs out the rest of the water in her chest and shakes her head. “I can’t, Holden.” Her eyes well, liquid other than pool water shimmering on their surface. My chest constricts.

  “Tell me,” I say, my voice gravely. “I won’t say anything asinine. I promise.”

  This must convince her, or maybe it’s the resolve in my voice. Or whatever my face is betraying of the emotions pummeling me. But she jerkily nods as she bites her lip.

  “He came back,” she says. “I think everything . . . you being around, me away from home . . . has been making it more difficult for Tyler to manifest.” That word triggers something dark inside me. I don’t like it. “But he finally did, and I—we needed to talk.” Shame flashes in her eyes before she looks away. “We argued. He became angry. And somehow when he vanished, it was like he was being sucked into a black hole.” She shivers, and without thought, I run my hand along her arm. “This blackness reached out and pulled me under. But it wasn’t him. He didn’t do it.” Her eyes enlarge, pleading. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me. It was just something that happened.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh, God, what if he’s really gone this time. There was so much blackness . . .”

  Taking measured breaths, I get my body under control, but my mind is loud and turbulent. My heart bangs painfully against my chest as I hold her gaze. I won’t look away and make her think I doubt her. But shit. This is going too far. No matter what she’s struggling with inside, I can’t let her hurt herself. She believes she’s not doing any of it. But she’s doing all of it.

  And what happens next? When it’s time for Sam to say goodbye to my brother—when we’re leaving our last destination—and she cracks. Will she throw herself off a bridge? Will she slit her wrist, claiming Tyler’s manifested spirit made her do it? She’s slipping further and further away. From reality. From sanity.

  From me.

  And I just got her back.

  No fucking way.

  I inhale a deep, stinging breath before I say, “Come on.”

  Her brows pull together, but she nods. “Okay. And thanks.” She smiles hesitantly. “For pulling me out.”

  Returning her smile with a tight one of my own, I don’t explain anything as I climb the ladder and then turn to help her out. I don’t say another word as I grab her towel and wrap it around her shoulders, securing it in the middle, while my soaking clothes weigh heavily on my body. My mind is reeling. And when I lead us to the elevator, receiving curious glances from the hotel staff, I just hit the button for our floor.

  All these things I do with one thought on my mind. One blaring truth that grips my insides and won’t let go. This is it. And I’m about to fuck up any chance I have with the one girl I’ve loved since high school. Hell. If I’m being truthful, long before that. But screw what I want. It’s never been about me. And it’s sure as shit not about Tyler anymore.

  It’s about getting this girl the help she needs.

  Whatever comes after . . . will come after. I’ll deal and accept it and go on.

  Sam’s more important.

  After we’re back in the room, I peel off my pants, ignoring Sam’s blush. At least I’m wearing boxers—I’m glad I brought some. I normally don’t wear them. But being around her gives me the fucking libido of a fifteen-year-old. And a boner rubbing against jeans is highly uncomfortable.

  I know I affect her, but this has nothing to do with sex. I’m cold and wet and about at my limit. Tossing my soaking jeans to the floor, I stalk toward my bag and lug it to the bed.

  I’m still in my wet T-shirt and should probably change, but I don’t want to take the chance I’ll lose my nerve. Not a moment to second-guess my backup plan. My stomach clenches, and I hate that it’s come to this. I rummage through and dig out the plastic Ziploc buried at the bottom.

  Yanking out the bag, I place it on the bed and look expectantly at Sam.

  Her face falls. “What’s that?”

  With a determined breath, I suck in courage and then say, “Your meds.”

  SAM

  I’m trembling, but it has nothing to do with the AC hitting my wet bikini. My eyes lock on to the clear bag with two orange medication bottles, and my back stiffens.

  “How did you get those?” I pull my towel tighter around me. I don’t ask how he managed to fill new prescriptions when I’d flushed my current ones down the toilet. I feel my question covers just about everything.

  Holden exhales a heavy breath and runs his hands down his face, his palms pressing together and pausing over his mouth. Like he’s in prayer. His eyes hold mine the whole time. Then he crosses his arms over his soaked T-shirt, his wet hair darker, his bangs dripping fresh beads of water down his face.

  “I spoke with your mom before we left,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No, you didn’t. I was with you, remember?”

  He takes a step toward me. “Before I went to the train station,” he clarifies. “I needed to know exactly what was going on with you, and”—his expression transforms into something akin to pity. I’m tempted to punch the look off his face—“I wanted to be prepared if anything bad happened. And, I think we’re at bad.”

  I don’t know what to address first. The fact that he and my mother are conspiring against me, or that he might think I’m one short trip away from being committed. Anger snaps fire-hot in my chest, and suddenly the towel is binding. The room too warm.

  Letting the towel drop to the floor, I fist my hands on my hips, unconcerned that I’m standing in front of him in only my bikini. “You talked to my mom about me . . . about us going on this trip? You went behind my back, to my own family, and what?” I cock my head. “Plotted nefariously to get me to take my stupid meds?”

  “They’re worried about you.” Holden’s eyes never leave mine, deadlocked and ice blue. “And ‘plotted nefariously?’ Come on, Sam. You have to hear how paranoid you sound.”

  I mock laugh. “Oh, no, Holden. It’s just my crazy coming out.” I wave my hands in the air. “Nothing to do with the fact that what I just said is completely true, though, right? Way to avoid my question.”

  “I’m not avoiding. I just don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “The truth, Holden!” My breaths sting my lungs as the heat searing my nerves fires through me. “Did you come with me because my mom asked you to? Was this some kind of lame setup?”

  His head jerks back, his face looking wounded. “No. Not at all. Rachel was concerned you weren’t taking your meds, so I offered to bring them along. And she was right. You haven’t once taken a pill.”

  “It’s none of your business. You went behind my back. You told my mom I was taking this trip. What gives you the fucking right?”

  He steps closer, and I move back. Keeping enough distance between us where I don’
t feel threatened by his proximity or touch. “I was just concerned, all right? I’d known that something was wrong. I mean, apparently you’d dropped out of school, stopped taking showers, were talking to yourself, and wouldn’t leave the house.” He presses his lips into a hard line. “And she told me you were seeing a psychotherapist. I put a lot of it together on my own.”

  I look up at the ceiling, my jaw jutting out, twisting my mouth into a mocking smile. “Awesome,” I say and lower my head. “Look at you, all fucking perfect and judgmental. Never mind that you’re a complete ass.”

  His hands drop to his sides and he grips them into fists. “Go ahead. Unleash all your venom on me. But when you’re done with your rant, will you just suck it up and take your fucking meds?”

  “Unbelievable.” I stomp toward my pack and plunk it onto the bed, then dig out a tee and my jean skirt. Not caring what the hell I put on, just needing to get out. Away from him.

  “You’re not leaving here like this,” he says, his tone a warning.

  “Really? Are you going to call my mom or my shrink and tattle on me?” I step into my skirt and jerk it onto my hips, then pull my tee over my head. “Go ahead. And while you’re at it, get some meds for your issues, too. I’m sure they’ll hook you up.”

  He stuffs his hands under his arms and leans against the wall, his stare hard on me. “I never said I was perfect. I do have issues, and I know I’ve made mistakes.”

  I laugh for real this time. “Yeah, mistakes. You really botched up getting into my pants back in the day.”

  In two quick strides, he’s beside me and turning me to face him. His face is drawn, his pale eyes pools of quicksilver. A muscle feathers his jaw as he grits his teeth. My stomach drops, freefall.

  “You don’t know anything about—” He cuts off with a clipped tone.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Why don’t you enlighten me, then?”

  His fingers dig into my arms as he pulls me closer, the heat from his body seeping through his wet tee and rolling over my skin. His cool eyes lock me in place. My breath hitches, and I’m frozen. Hovering in the moment as his face contorts into a lost expression.

  With low growl, he pushes me away. “Fuck!” He turns and slams a fist into the wall. The hard thunk makes me jump.

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice wobbly from adrenaline and nerves. “I’m the one who needs help.” I step into my shoes and grab my cross-body purse from my pack and then head toward the door.

  Holden doesn’t try to stop me like I think, only says, “You were right about one thing.”

  My steps halt. My hand hovers over the doorknob. Keeping my back to him, I don’t ask, just wait for him to either finish his sentence, or release me from his hold and let me walk out.

  He blows out a forced breath. “There was a side to Tyler you never knew. Things about him, his life that would make that pool incident seem like swimming with guppies in a tank.” A beat. “And me? I’m shark infested waters.”

  With a shaky hand, I latch on to the door and yank it open. “Don’t follow me, or I’ll mace your ass.” Then I’m in the hallway, my legs fighting against the tremble wracking my body as I pump them hard to get away.

  I actually do carry mace in my bag. Would I use it on Holden? No. Despite his last words to me and him losing his temper, he doesn’t frighten me in that way. He used to, just under a week ago. But I’ve seen all Holden’s issues acted out since he was in middle school. I’ve been on the receiving end of his angry tirades now a few times, and they no longer scare me. I understand why he has them, what he must be battling because of his past. But he’s the one who needs to seek help. Not me.

  And I’m well aware of Tyler’s life—that I knew nothing. He kept whatever issues he had hidden. From me. From everyone.

  As I head down the sidewalk, the afternoon sun and warm, humid air drying my hair and shirt from my still-wet bikini, I replay the fight in my head. Over and over. My emotions on high.

  I stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to signal go for the walkers, bikers, and joggers. The sidewalks are teeming with every type, from locals shopping to tourists sightseeing, as I head deeper into downtown.

  This strip of the city kind of reminds me of Memphis, with its old brick buildings and run-down looking shops. But it’s not the drinking or partying district like Beale Street. Everything is more upscale. Retro yet chic. Artsy.

  I love it.

  I think if Tyler and I would have gone on this trip, I might’ve wanted to stay longer than a day. Like the other stops on the trip, it’s such a sharp contrast to the island, but there’s still a small-town feel to it—just without the pretentiousness.

  I’ve been walking for about ten minutes when the brick buildings begin to crowd closer together, and more people fill the walkways. I should be scared or intimidated to go off on my own. Especially after spending the past five months locked in my room, my only company my ghost boyfriend. But instead, I feel lighter than I have in months. Like I can do anything, go anywhere, and have no one to answer to.

  That’s not true, though. And the heavy reminder that I have to return home to deal with a mom who’s a gossip, a dad who doesn’t want to be near me, and a shrink who wants me to forget Tyler weighs heavily on my conscience. Beating my reality back into place.

  I wish Leah and I weren’t so distant. Not physically, but in every other way. Since I’ve blown her off during my grieving, we’ve grown apart. I don’t even know where she’d be right now. Don’t know what new things she’s into, or if she has a boyfriend. Or a new crowd of friends she’s hanging with.

  If I still had her, I’d call and ask for advice. She doesn’t know the whole story, but maybe I’d suck it up and tell her. Just to get another perspective. Maybe I’m the one in the wrong, or maybe I’m not seeing anything clearly at all. I’d call my mother, but that thought sends lightning bolts to my head.

  She’s a co-conspirator with the ass. Besides, I’m definitely not ready to fess up about what happened with Holden in high school. She might understand after she got past the fact that Holden was nearly four years older than me—considered an adult, and I was a minor. I’m pretty sure she’d be pissed at first, but then maybe she’d offer some clarity.

  Slogging toward a bench, I find an empty seat away from the crowds to just sit and watch. Let my mind process. I need to process. And being around Holden? There’s no rational thought there. I just need someone . . . My chest tightens as I realize who I need.

  My best friend.

  Tyler was always there. Could fix anything.

  What happened in the pool comes crashing back with a fury. I’ve been so angry with Holden, I haven’t even had time to process that yet. I didn’t lie to him—I truly believe that Tyler wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. But I can’t help the chill that skitters down my spine as I remember that growing blackness, its tendrils reaching out to me as Tyler vanished.

  He’ll come back.

  I shudder, and with a warm breath sucked into my lungs, I try to center myself.

  Was it real?

  I feel my brow furrow. Of course it was real. I saw it. I felt those wispy claws grab me.

  Weren’t you feeling guilty over your feelings for Holden, though?

  What the hell? Is my own subconscious debating me?

  Annoyed and insulted at my own damn self, I shake off my unease. Then like a prayer being answered, I remember a number I’ve never dialed. A person I didn’t think I’d ever call. But someone who’s not biased to either me or Holden. Biker Melody.

  She programed her number into my phone at the bar, insisting I call her on the road. She was drunk at the time, and skeeted up, and possibly entered the wrong number. But what do I have to lose?

  At this point, the fierce biker girl is the only friend I have. Which is sad. I’ve lived on the island my whole life, and in just under half a year, I’ve pushed everyone important to me away. Even Dr. Hartman is closer to a pal than any of the girls I grew up wit
h.

  Digging into my bag, I pull out my iPhone and scroll through the contacts. A picture of a girl with her mouth open in a mock tough expression pops up. I smile at the image and tap the number.

  It rings a few times, and I think she’s not picking up, or it’s the wrong number, when her raspy voice answers. “Yeah?”

  I can’t help but smile at her curt greeting. “Hey, it’s Sam. The girl at the . . . bar in Talladega?” I stop myself from saying “biker bar.” That’s probably somewhat offensive to actual bikers.

  “I know,” she says. “I saw your pic on my phone. What’s up? You and lover boy made it to Wichita yet?”

  A hazy memory of me drunkenly talking about the trip with her comes back to me. “No, not yet. Springfield, actually.”

  She groans. “Oh, man. That place is so lame. You should totally hotfoot it to Wichita. There’s this show tomorrow. Oh!” The phone crackles with her high-pitched squeal. “Dude, you’d love this band. It’s an all-chick group and they rock. Like, none of that girly shit. Like hardcore, kick ass. If you make it up here tomorrow, we could hang.”

  “You’re there already?” I knew her and her biker peeps were on their own road trip. Well, I guess it’s not the same as us, since they’re always on the road. Bikers and all. But I’m surprised to hear she’s there. I don’t remember her mentioning it. But then again, I was pretty wasted.

  “Not yet,” she says. “We will be tomorrow, though. And you totally should be, too.” I can hear the hopeful smile in her voice. And suddenly, I want to go to whatever show she’s talking about.

  “You know what? It’s on. We’ll be there. Can you send me directions to this place?”

  “I can do better. I’ll send you the website with all the info. Hey, Dar!” The receiver picks up her shuffling movements. “Baby girl Sam is going to the show!” An excited cheer reaches my ear through the phone, and I smile. I really do like these girls.

  “So,” she says, her tone going from fun to serious in a nanosecond. “I know you didn’t call to shoot the shit. What’s really up?”