Tell Me How This Ends

by Victoria De La O

  “No, I don’t want to get in the way of your guy day.”

  “We were going to go to Santa Cruz to drive the coast. Just come. It’ll be fun,” he says.

  “Can we go to Marianne’s for ice cream?” Her face lights up. One of the things I love about Lizzie is that small things, like ice cream, still get her excited.

  “I can swing that. We can put the top down on the Audi and enjoy the sun,” Jude says.

  Lizzie smiles. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

  We pile into the car, with Lizzie in the back, and we jump onto Highway 17. I love how this road winds through the Santa Cruz Mountains. It smells of Douglas firs and moss, and the tree canopies block out the light, leaving the air cool and shadowed.

  Once we’re over the hill, we head for the ocean. The sight of the blue Pacific is something I’ll never tire of. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I’m always in awe of the sun reflecting off the water like silver, and the large rock formations that defend our coast.

  Jude drives and drives, and I stick my unbroken arm up in the air to feel the breeze. We don’t talk much. Instead Jude blasts some garage rock and we move along to the beat.

  “Do you have any country music?” Lizzie asks. Jude turns around and lowers his aviator sunglasses to stare at her. I have to agree with him on this one.

  “Please tell me you’ll never m-make me listen to that,” I say.

  “So narrow-minded, the both of you,” she says. But then she rocks out to some Royal Blood with us.

  Lizzie points at all the surfers paddling out to deeper waters. “The water is so cold. How do they do that?”

  “I don’t know, because the few times I’ve been, I’ve frozen my b-balls off. But Jude likes it.”

  “You surf?” she asks him as we get out to stretch and walk along West Cliff Drive. The ocean is right below us as we pass the Surfing Monument and old brick lighthouse.

  “When I can, which isn’t often. I’m not that great at it, but it’s peaceful. Really peaceful. Until I fall on my ass and the water swallows me. Which is often.”

  There are lots of people walking and jogging and biking on the paved trail that follows the water, so we stroll along with them. I hold Lizzie’s hand and lean on her shoulder. Jude walks silently, gazing out at the water.

  “You’re so lucky to have grown up around all this beauty,” Lizzie says.

  Jude turns to look at her. “Well, you had your mountains.”

  When she smiles at him, I wonder why I didn’t think to say that.

  I get tired faster than I’d hoped, so we head back to the car and then to lunch. Afterward, Jude takes us to Marianne’s for ice cream, as promised. We drive up to the old red shack of a building and get in a line that stretches out the door. Lizzie agonizes over what flavor to choose, as though she’ll never be here again. She’s so funny I can’t resist kissing her on the cheek.

  When she kisses me back, Jude stiffens next to me. It’s not anything obvious; it’s more like the air changes around him, and he pulls away from me a millimeter.

  There’s nowhere to sit inside—there never is—so we head back out to the car.

  “Oh, pistachio cardamom is sooo good. I know I get it every time, but I can’t resist.” Lizzie is licking her ice cream like she’s having an orgasm, and every man around her is staring.

  “Wish I was that ice cream cone,” the guy standing next to her says. He’s young—nineteen or so—and he’s tall and wiry, skinny almost. He’s wearing a slouchy beanie and seems like he’s high, which is not all that uncommon in these parts.

  Jude steps around me toward the guy. “What did you fucking say?”

  “Dude, your girlfriend’s hot.”

  “Jude, don’t,” Lizzie says, maybe sensing the craziness that radiates off this guy.

  “You better fucking apologize right now, asshole.” Everything about Jude’s posture indicates he’s not messing around: His arms and hands are tensed, he’s leaning forward, and his stance has “I’m about to throw a punch” all over it.

  I pull Jude back with one arm, and skinny guy puts a hand up and stumbles backward.

  “Relax, dude,” he says, which almost makes Jude launch at him.

  “Just walk away,” I say.

  He stumbles off confused, probably headed to the liquor store next door. Lizzie and I manage to pull Jude toward the car, but his body is still coiled and tense.

  Jude is silent the entire drive home. His hands grip the wheel and he stares off, a million miles away. I can feel Lizzie squirming in the backseat. She leans forward and opens her mouth to say something but closes it again, which is good. Jude doesn’t often get defensive, but when he does, it’s best to let him cool down and figure his own shit out. I’m glad he feels protective over Lizzie, but I’ve never seen him act quite like that before. I can’t help but feel like there’s a whole conversation happening between them right now that I can’t decode. Except it started back at the ice cream shop—or maybe even this morning. How much did I miss while I was laid up in bed? I turn the music up, lean my head back, and try to let the ride soothe me. It doesn’t.

  When we get home I head into my room, my mind buzzing and my body restless.

  “I’m going to go home,” Lizzie says.

  I shake my head, pull her into my room with me, and close the door.

  “Thanks for inviting me. That was fun. Despite the end part.” Her eyes are darting around the room, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

  I yank my shirt off and lie down. My body aches from walking, and my head hurts from the questions I have about Jude’s weird behavior with Lizzie.

  “I didn’t actually invite you—Jude d-did.”

  Her lips draw into a straight line. I know I hurt her feelings, but I don’t apologize.

  “Are you hurting? Let me get you a pill.”

  “You don’t need to be my fucking n-nurse. You can be here just to be here.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? If I’m here, why not help you?”

  I sit up, furious at how much it hurts and how much effort it takes. That trip took just about everything out of me. “You can stop staring at me like I’m a kid who needs a n-nap.”

  She is sitting on the bed now, her face red. She takes a slow, deep breath, like she’s trying to rein in her frustration.

  “You won’t even argue with m-me. Not ever.”

  She throws her hands up in the air. “Is that what you want? To fight? That’s fine by me.”

  She’s close enough that I can smell her. Her hair is loose and wild from the car ride, and her green eyes are sparking with anger. Her chest is rising and falling with each breath.

  “Maybe that’s not what I w-want,” I say, and my voice is hoarse. I grab the back of her head with my left hand and pull her to me. I’m a bit rough with her as we kiss. I nip at her lips and stroke hard with my tongue. The taste of her sends all of my blood straight to my dick. Her hands move to my chest, and she pushes me away.

  “We shouldn’t,” she says.

  Because I’m hurt, or because she doesn’t want to? Or maybe it’s because she’s thinking of someone else.

  I put my forehead to hers. “It feels like everything is changing. And I c-can’t do anything about it.” I’m shaking—so desperate and wanting. “This f-fucking s-sucks.”

  She strokes my face. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “I’m not sure.” I hug her tighter, trying to pull her closer.

  “Don’t. You’re going to hurt yourself,” she says, pushing me onto my back. I pull her down with me and kiss her again, letting myself get lost in her. She starts to trail her mouth down my neck and chest, leaving warm, wet kisses everywhere.

  “I w-want to touch you,” I say, but she shushes me and continues her trip south. She starts to unbutton my pants and slide them down, so I help her as much as I can. It feels so good that I don’t stop her, but this isn’t what I want. I need to move her beneath me and run my hands all
over her. To own her body, like she owns me.

  But I can’t think now, because her mouth is on me, taking me in, making me moan. Since the accident we haven’t done almost anything physical; maybe that’s why I feel so uneasy. Her touch reminds me she’s real and that she’s mine. So I give myself over. Her hands grip my thighs and she pulls me in close, until I feel the blood rushing through my body. She looks up at me—almost shy—and that does me in. I start to buck into her, the wet heat of her tongue making me crazy. I touch her face to warn her, but she takes me deeper and I come apart, like I always do with Lizzie.

  She crawls up to me, and we lie close for a minute. Just breathing. Then she laughs, I think because my eyes are closed, and I look like someone shot me and left me for dead. She kisses my eyebrow and my cheek.

  “All the fight went out of you,” she says.

  “Smart-ass,” I mumble, but I’m slipping toward unconsciousness. “I love you, Lizzie,” I finally tell her. I fight to grip on to her and not let go, but sleep pulls me under and everything goes white.

  Jude

  The walls of this house are really damn thin. Now I hear Elizabeth brushing her teeth in the bathroom, and I try to pretend that it doesn’t make me fucking sick. I head out of my room and into the kitchen. I decide against water and grab a bottle of bourbon instead. I pour a small glass and inhale its earthy scent. The bourbon feels warm sliding down my throat, but when it hits my stomach, I want to gag.

  I can distinguish the sounds Elizabeth makes in the house, which were so foreign at first. I’m used to Ryan, with his heavy footsteps and loud movements—cabinets banging shut, doors slamming. Women move differently, and as I hear the hushed tones of Elizabeth gathering clothes and attempting to close everything quietly, I can tell she is going to leave rather than stay the night. It’s ten o’clock, and chances are Ryan fell asleep early again. That can happen after a killer blow job. I take another sip of liquor.

  For two weeks now, Elizabeth has spent every night talking to me. She comes out to the living room after Ryan nods off. We play cards, watch movies, or just sit outside and tell each other our secrets. I like confiding in her; it feels warm and terrifying and natural. Every night I remind myself that she’s Ryan’s girl. But it sure as hell doesn’t feel that way, because I know her better than Ryan does—better than anyone does, maybe. And she knows me in a way no one else ever will.

  Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, because now she is creeping out to avoid me, while I sit here and drink.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  She jumps, startled. She might as well have a neon sign on her forehead flashing the word “guilty,” but she tries to ride it out. “Yeah, I need to get going. I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

  I try to breathe, but my lungs don’t seem to be working. “I guess your job is done here. Sounded like you were very reassuring.”

  She glares at me, drops her bag, and motions me out to the backyard. I can tell she is aching for a fight as much as I am.

  “You’re disgusting,” she says when we get far enough away from the house. “And he was hurting. Can you blame him for feeling insecure?”

  “What does he have to feel insecure about? He’s the one that just got laid.”

  I can tell by the way she curls her fingers that she wants to slap me. I wish she would. I would relish the feel of her hand marking my face, making it sting.

  “He’s my boyfriend, in case you’ve forgotten. And you know damn well that you acted possessive at the ice cream place.”

  I throw my hands up. “I fucked up, okay? But I’m not the only one who has something to feel guilty about.”

  Her shoulders drop, her anger fizzling out. “I know.”

  “How long am I supposed to pretend that I don’t have a right to care? That I don’t want you? That I don’t need you.” My gut instinct is to try to shove the words back into my mouth. But I’m glad I can’t. They are overdue.

  She looks up at me, intense and focused. “He’s your brother.”

  I bend over and put my hands on my knees, struggling for air. I force myself to picture Ryan—how betrayed he would feel right now. I squeeze my eyes shut. When I stand back up, she is still composed. Her chin is raised, like she’s ready for battle again. I know I’m going to hate whatever she is about to say.

  “It’s been really nice hanging out here with you the past couple of weeks. As friends. I’m sorry if I—”

  She never gets to finish, because I grab her and haul her to me by the shoulders. Even though she has gone on her tiptoes, she still has to look up at me.

  “I’ll do what I have to do—for Ryan. Stuff all these feelings back down inside so he doesn’t get hurt. But don’t fucking pretend this is just friendship. Does this feel like friendship to you, Elizabeth?” I press her body against mine. “At least have the balls to admit what’s been going on between us. And cut me a little slack when I can’t keep the lies straight.”

  Our mouths are so close now, and I want her so much that even my teeth ache.

  “I have one more secret to tell you, and it’s a big one,” I whisper in her ear. She shivers. “For once, in my fucking life, I don’t want to share with him.”

  “He would say that I’m not yours to share.”

  She tries to pull away. I don’t let her.

  “But he’d be wrong, wouldn’t he? Because you and I know I got there first.” I bite her neck gently. “I want you to admit it.”

  She goes limp, her body crumpling into mine. “Yes, Jude. But what good does that do us now?”

  CHAPTER 14

  Elizabeth

  What little remains of winter break comes and goes. I go back to school. Ryan keeps healing. I don’t talk to Jude.

  Every day, it takes everything I have to get up and eat breakfast and get where I need to go. I smile at my friends, my patients, and Ryan. I listen to them talk. But I can’t muster the energy to invest in them or their lives.

  I am getting my homework done, but it’s not easy. The thought of going to class each day, writing papers, taking tests is exhausting.

  I spend a lot of time in my apartment, sometimes with Sam when she’s free, but mostly by myself. At first, I told Ryan that I was busy. I said he didn’t need me around as much, crowding him as he healed. Then he went back to work, so that gave me another way to avoid him. He knows I’m barely there, and I know he’s worried. He insisted on celebrating Valentine’s Day, and it was all I could do to keep from crying. I can’t fabricate any more excuses, and I can’t reassure him, either. In fact, I can’t help him at all.

  What I spend a lot of time doing is going back over the past months in my mind, thinking about where I went wrong. Changing my mind about which decisions were mistakes and which weren’t. Who was the right choice and who wasn’t. What’s bringing me to my knees is that all of this thinking is just a diversion. Truth is, people I love are going to get hurt because of my selfishness. I had no right to want so much—to want them both. I care about them like they are almost one person—two sides of the same coin: Ryan, who is so willing to risk loving me because he’s always had a safe space to fall; and Jude, who has been bracing for impact his whole life but wants so badly to let go and be loved. But in the end, the way Jude and I complete each other is something rare. And yet I have to let it go.

  My phone rings but I don’t answer it, which increases my guilt. And boy, is guilt corrosive. I’ve lost at least ten pounds, and I look like hell.

  I haven’t felt this way in a long time—well over a year—and that thought brings me up short. I told Jude my story, but there were things I left unsaid. Like how once you’ve tried to kill yourself, you can never completely trust your own judgment again. And how that’s not so bad, because you learn that you need people. My parents were all about self-sufficiency: learning how to grow and kill your own food, how to fix your own messes and find solutions to your own problems. But complete self-sufficiency is a lie. We need each other, and we shouldn’
t pretend not to.

  I thought I had gotten so strong out here in California. I did all the things I was supposed to—even kept going to therapy. But Jude and Ryan were my first real test of all that strength. And I’m failing.

  Sam comes through the front door, throwing her stuff on the small, ugly table in the dining area to the right. She stands back, like I’m a bomb and she’s waiting for the explosion. She’s tried to get me to open up for a month now, but I haven’t said anything to her. I know my silence is killing me, and I know I won’t feel better until I come clean.

  “Sam,” I say, fighting the embarrassment. “I need help.”

  She comes to me and hugs me as I dissolve into tears.

  “It’s okay; I’m here, Lizzie.” She holds me like that until my tears subside. “Get dressed. We’re going to go out. You need some fresh air and food.”

  I don’t want to get dressed or leave the safety of the apartment, but Sam is a good cheerleader and I do what she asks. As we walk the two blocks to the café, it’s nice to see the blue sky and feel the brisk air against my cheeks. Sam gets us a table in a quiet corner so we have privacy, and then she orders our food.

  “Eat,” she says, and it’s an order, not a request. I nod at her, ashamed that she sees how bad things have gotten. We sit and eat quietly, and she lets me get through half my sandwich before speaking.

  “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

  She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, as though she’s getting down to business, and I can’t help but smile. God, she’s going to be a fantastic doctor someday—smart and kind and fierce.

  “I screwed up so bad. Please don’t think I’m a bad person. Please.” I stare down at my plate, because I don’t deserve her sympathy.

  I tell her the story from beginning to end. All the highlights and lows, including my suicide attempt, my first and only dance with Jude, and my first time with Ryan. Wrestling matches and hayrides, and so much more. I try to explain what it’s like, being in orbit around two amazing guys, both so different but equally compelling.

  “But if you’re being honest, you don’t feel the same way about them both.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, because she already knows.