EDGES

by C. G. Carroll

  “It’s all right.”

  She was clearly the woman Lindsey had gotten her looks from. “I’m Lindsey’s mom.”

  He nodded. “Patrick. Lindsey’s a friend of mine. Just wanted to see how she was doing.”

  The woman stood up. “I’m glad someone came. I was just about to get some lunch.” She approached him and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you, Patrick.” They shook, and then she asked, “Will you stay with her while I’m gone?”

  “Sure, of course.”

  She looked reassured and faintly smiled, though he could tell by her wrecked countenance that she’d been up all night crying. “I’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  She passed through the doorway and left him there with Lindsey and the sounds of the machines.

  It was a haunting feeling, like being in a well-lit tomb. He ambled over to the side of the bed and cringed on getting a good look at her. The right side of her face was grotesquely swollen, and her jaw must’ve been broken in several spots because there were large incisions that still had fresh stitches holding them closed. Her right eye was completely covered with a bandage.

  He pulled a rolling chair from across the room so he could sit close to her. His hands gripped the bed railing and he hunched over as if there was a violent pain in his stomach. He began to cry again, pressed his forefinger and thumb into his eyes to try and plug them up, but it was no use. He glanced at her again, and had to lay his hand flat over his mouth.

  The sight of her lying there made his bones vibrate painfully. She looked like she was already dead. With hesitancy, Patrick reached over the railing and gently brushed her forearm, one of the only parts of her body that hadn’t been maimed. That’s when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

  Mallory

  HE TWISTED SHARPLY FROM THE bed to look up at Mallory when she tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Mallory said.

  Patrick’s expression softened and he acknowledged her, but without speaking a word he turned back to look at Lindsey. His eyes were puffed up and sunken deep in the sockets, his face stretched tight with distress. Patrick was tending to her in a way Mallory hadn’t expected. Mallory wondered if he’d had something special with the girl, something beyond the animalistic horror show she’d been dragged into, which she now regretted.

  When her attention shifted away from Patrick and she saw Lindsey’s gruesome injuries, she stepped backward and had to look away for a moment while the shock settled. Turning back for another look, she curled her fingers over her mouth while she studied each part of the face. It didn’t even resemble the girl she’d known.

  Mallory found a chair by the door, and dragged it as discreetly as possible over next to Patrick, abreast with him, facing the bed. She placed her hand on his shoulder, which was drenched. “Have you heard anything about her condition?”

  He shook his head.

  She wanted desperately to talk with him about that night, how she’d let things get out of control, but considering the setting and how she hadn’t even expected him to be here, she couldn’t push the words out. Their gazes hovered over Lindsey in silence for some time.

  “Have you ever done something unforgivable?” he asked without looking at her. There was a cold roughness in his voice made her hair stand on end.

  “Yes.”

  That pulled his gaze to her. He must’ve recognized what her tone pointed to.

  “Teddy,” he said, anger etched on his face. “You feel sorry for Teddy?”

  “Despite our problems, what I did to him was unforgivable.”

  He nodded at Lindsey. “Is Teddy lying here almost dead in a hospital bed?”

  “What are you getting at, Patrick?”

  “Cheating on your douche bag fiancé is nothing compared to this.”

  He hadn’t said it like it was some badge of honor. He said it like he truly meant it, that he’d done something horrific.

  “Please don’t talk to me like that. To me, what happened the other night was horrific.”

  He leaned toward her suddenly and it made her lurch backwards in the chair. “Don’t waste your life on him, Mallory. Don’t.”

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do.”

  Patrick snapped his gaze away, the deep somberness overtaking him again. “Have you ever been to confession?” he asked, more calm this time.

  “Like with a priest?”

  He nodded.

  “No,” she admitted.

  “Me either,” Patrick said. “Right now I need to confess something. I haven’t told anyone else. I feel like my chest is going to cave in if I don’t.”

  Mallory had felt something similar lately, an overwhelming stress because of her affair with him. The weight of a secret was enormous she’d come to find out. Maybe that fostered some sympathy for him at that moment, some space within her wanted to listen to whatever it was that he had to say.

  “Tell me,” she said. “If it will help.”

  “You won’t like it,” Patrick replied.

  “It’s okay.”

  He reached out and touched Lindsey’s arm and stroked it with his fingertips. Carefully and slowly he began laying out what happened while she remained silent. First Simone, then his friend Josh, and finally, the chilling incident which led to Lindsey lying there in the bed and a girl named Reagan having lost her life.

  Patrick squinted and seemed to be recalling the finest things about the girl. Then his reddened, watery, miserable eyes lay on Mallory again.

  “She was special, you know? Just a really good person. And just a few hours ago I had to go to her funeral, and know that if she hadn’t taken a chance on me, if I hadn’t gotten involved, she’d still be here. She’d be getting on with her life. She had so many dreams, Mallory. So many. And Lindsey wouldn’t be laid up in this fucking bed!” Patrick grabbed the railing of the bed and began shaking it violently.

  “Patrick!” she grabbed onto his arm, pleading with him to stop.

  He let go of the railing, but could do nothing but sit there.

  She noticed anger rising up in herself, and decided to let him cry. This was who Patrick really was, a mirage of what she’d known, or thought she’d known, only a half hour before walking into that room. As disgusted as she was, she didn’t leave. She stayed with him.

  And the more time that passed, the more the anger subsided and she felt herself finding a closeness to him. A closeness brought on by the truth. He knew her truth, and now she knew his, as awful as it was.

  She listened to him breathe heavy and sharp breaths, and watched how the pain was afflicting him, more so than in anyone else she’d ever witnessed. The tears came out of his dark eyes slowly, like each one were specific to a regret passing through his mind.

  “C’mon,” she said at last. “Let’s get you out of here.” Her hand snuck beneath his arm and lifted him up out of his chair.

  Patrick wouldn’t look up from the floor, but he put his arm around her so they could walk together. They came upon a woman in the hallway returning from somewhere in the hospital who turned out to be Lindsey’s mother. They offered condolences, and Mallory didn’t say much because she didn’t know how much Patrick had told her, if anything.

  “God bless you both,” the woman said, and then went back into the room to be with her daughter.

  Mallory had to steady him until they reached the parking lot. He regained some of his strength once they were out in the open air that had been cooled by the rain. The sky was cloud-covered, but it was dry for the moment. Together, they walked to his car. She didn’t know what to say, or where this was going next. Perhaps, this was the end for them. She felt like it might be. They were at his door and she was going to see him into the vehicle and then go back to hers.

  “I’m going to change,” he told her. “Today, right now. I’m done with the lies. Everything. I’m starting over.”

  “That’s good, Patrick.”

  He nodded. “I want you to start
over with me.”

  It froze her.

  “You can’t be with him, Mallory. Not after what we’ve been through.”

  She couldn’t tell if it was desperation or pure vulnerability gleaming in his eyes.

  “So I should be with you?” she posed. “After everything you just told me?”

  “You’re all I have left,” he said. “We can move forward, honest about everything. I’ll take care of you. I just want to try. Let me try.” Patrick’s words were muffled by how shaken he was.

  She didn’t even realize it but she was unconsciously shaking her head.

  “But you can,” he said.

  “No—”

  He took both of her hands into his. “I just want to try to have something honest with you, in whatever capacity that is. Please. Don’t you feel anything when we hold hands?”

  “I do, but—”

  “But what?” he asked.

  “I’m getting married in a few months!”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and I see right now how you look at me. Leave him, Mallory. I’ll show you how good we are together.”

  “Having threesomes with random girls you’ve hooked up with isn’t being ‘good together.’”

  “Lindsey and I were never together except that once with you. Please, give me another chance.”

  His reddened eyes held conviction in the faint, cloudy light. Mallory remembered the aliveness she’d felt whenever she was with him, the exhilaration that renewed her spirit and her physical body. Then she remembered all that she knew of him now. It was yin and yang, tugging and pushing on her.

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. I can’t.”

  He reached out for her, but she dodged his hand and went hurrying across the parking lot toward her car. She didn’t look back to see if he was staring at her, but she felt him there. Mallory was leaving behind the only thing that made her feel alive in as long as she could remember. It made her feel panicked, and she hurried quicker.

  It began to rain again.

  George

  GEORGE LAY PERFECTLY STILL IN Tiffany’s bed. His arms were raised, his hands clasped behind his head. The bathroom was just on the other side of her bedroom wall, and the muffled patter of the shower running drifted through. He could hear Tiffany humming a song.

  He rubbed his legs against her soft, expensive sheets one bend of a knee at a time, reflecting on how much his life had changed since they started hooking up—nine days ago, he was counting. Every breath in and exhale out was peaceful. He was lying in the bed of the most beautiful girl in the world. It felt like a dream.

  Every time they had sex, a little bit of the shame that came from years of struggling and wanting was washed off of him.

  George heard the water shut off and threw the sheets back to get out of bed. He crept out of the room to the bathroom where the door hung open and Tiffany was patting her face dry and rubbing away the old mascara from the night before. George tip-toed up to her and reached around her body. She screeched and let the towel drop to her feet.

  He laughed and pulled her into him, her still-wet skin sliding against his naked body. Slowly, he circled around her with a stream of kisses on her neck and shoulders. He didn’t quit until he was snug up behind her.

  Tiffany laughed and let out a whiny, “Not again.”

  “Yes, again,” he whispered into her ear.

  She gave him a playful joust away. “I’m too sore.”

  “We can try something else,” he hinted with fingers sliding down her lower back.

  She batted her eyes seductively. “You want to?”

  George shrugged, but held his grin.

  She giggled and swatted his hand.

  “You’ll barely feel it.”

  She lifted her blonde eyebrows into a challenging arch. “I won’t argue with you there.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m kidding.” Tiffany reached down and took hold of him. “Does this thing run on a timer or something? It’s like every half hour with you.”

  “It likes you.”

  She drew back her hand and then gave it a quick swat, right on the tip.

  George doubled over, wheezing.

  Tiffany lifted a palm to her mouth. “Oops, I’m sorry!”

  He managed to laugh through the pain. “What the hell was that for?”

  “I dunno. I just wanted to hit it.”

  George shook his head in wonderment. He loved this girl. Any pain she caused him ultimately became pleasure. “That’s all you get then,” he said. “You’re officially cut off.”

  Tiffany grabbed his shoulders, pulling him close again. “No, please. I didn’t mean it.”

  “No. We’re done here.”

  Suddenly and gracefully, she dropped to one knee in front of him. Her fingers reached out and grazed his chest, a slight clawing, and then curled slowly, dragging down the length of his abs. George sucked in a sharp breath and felt his whole midsection tingle and flex. Tiffany’s hands fell all the way off his stomach and down onto his thighs. His penis wavered there in the air near her lips. She let out a cruel laugh and then picked up the towel she had dropped on the floor. Before he knew it she was dodging his erection, standing up, and almost dying of a laughing fit.

  He frowned. “You really suck sometimes.”

  She lifted her brow. “Today I don’t, apparently.”

  George gave a disappointed laugh and went to turn on the shower. He stepped in and groaned that most of the hot water was gone. He pulled the curtain closed, and then a minute later, nudging it aside, peeked out so he could spy on her.

  Tiffany rolled on fresh mascara in long sweeps. Once finished, she began tracing eyeliner. In the days he’d spent with her, George had picked up on her habits. One was that the only time she put on makeup like this was when she had plans to go somewhere.

  “You have plans?” he asked after letting the curtain fall back.

  “Yeah,” she replied. “Gotta go to campus real quick.”

  His eyebrows furrowed as he worked shampoo through his hair with his fingertips. “What for?”

  “Summer class registration. I’m meeting with my advisor.”

  It was the first he’d heard anything of it. “You want me to come with?”

  “Mmm, no. That’s okay. It’ll only take an hour or two. You can hang out here though, if you want.” Something about the way she said it struck him wrong. Something in the inflection of her voice.

  “Okay.”

  “But,” she started again, “I kind of need to run. The meeting’s in fifteen minutes. You’ll be okay here?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he told her.

  She moved away from the mirror and peeled back the curtain a little, just enough to see George lathering on body wash. His jaw was tight, his mouth was stuck in a hard line, his eyes refused to connect with the pretty blue ones staring in at him.

  “Hey, now,” she said. “It’s just an hour.”

  “I know,” he grumbled. Finally, he gave her a quick peck that wouldn’t mess up the lip gloss she’d lightly coated on. Their eyes met for a short moment, and then she walked out to get dressed in the bedroom.

  George could hear her moving about, even over the spray of the water. It sounded like a kid running around. She was getting ready in a frantic burst of activity. It couldn’t be that important that she not be even a minute late.

  He peered out from behind the shower curtain one more time and saw her heading to the stairs. Simone wasn’t home, so all the doors in the apartment were open. Tiffany had put on a beautiful white flowing dress with casual yet sexy little shoes with a low heel. Another oddity.

  He turned off the water and stepped out onto the mat. She turned back to glance at him and gave an appreciative whistle at his naked body as she descended the stairs. He didn’t blush at all, just delivered a cold stare to what was now an empty hallway.

  Once the front door was closed and she was gone, George bent over and dried himself in vigorous strokes. Next, he th
rew the towel down, and hurried to the bedroom to get into some clothes. He took a second to peer out the bedroom window. She was backing out of her parking spot. George leapt into his jeans, tugged on his shirt, and was bounding down the stairs in under a minute. He kicked his feet into his untied tennis shoes and was out the front door. He got into his car, his heart pounding with fear, a fear that had come from somewhere deep in him that he couldn’t explain.

  He put the pedal down to catch her, but quickly came upon a clogging of slow-movers. He rode their asses, his hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Come on!” he shouted. He ripped the wheel, crossed the double yellow line, and, with a sudden drumming in his chest, absolutely floored it. Horns blared after him, but it didn’t matter. He passed the clog of four cars and raced on, safely passing back into his own lane.

  He came up behind a massive sand truck that there was no getting around. He momentarily swerved into the oncoming lane to see if he could spot her car up ahead. No luck.

  The road leading up the back hill to the campus was rapidly approaching. George watched the intersection intently. From several cars and one huge truck back, he spotted Tiffany’s silver Sequoia turn onto it. He’d followed Patrick for her. Now he was following her. The irony certainly wasn’t lost on him.

  There was a short wait at the intersection while oncoming traffic passed. George impatiently tapped his thumbs on the wheel, then turned in pursuit.

  He now had her in his sights, but he made sure to stay a ways back. Whatever Tiffany was going to do, he wouldn’t allow her to know he was following. Running out of the house like that? Making up a story that she was meeting her advisor in fifteen minutes? It was implausible at best.

  His whole body remained wound tight as he followed. If she was indeed going to see an advisor, it would be in the Business building. Surprisingly, as she worked her way up onto campus, she was taking all the roads that would lead there. George felt an increasing rush of embarrassment, but still followed.

  Tiffany looped around campus until she came to the Business building, at which point she turned in and parked in the big empty lot. George glanced in his rearview. There was no one coming up behind him, so he came to a dead stop in the middle of the road, the nose of his Honda barely poking out from behind a row of piñon trees. He couldn’t sit there parked for long, so he flipped a U-turn and sped off to an adjacent lot by the college union building. He would approach on foot, could sneak up on one of the numerous walking paths that cut through campus.