by Kat Turner
“Fine. You want to know the truth?” She barked a bitter laugh, looking at her hands as she wrung them. Her spine bowed as her ribcage collapsed.
Exhaustion and dread waged a sickening war in his abdomen. Shoring up what remained of his emotional fortitude, Jonnie lifted Eve’s chin with two fingers. “Yes. More than anything I want to know the truth.”
“I’m toxic. Through and through. Misery follows me like a lost soul. I tried to tell you that in New Orleans, and you wouldn’t listen. And now your life is in danger because I betrayed you. I sold you out.”
He dropped his arm to his side. “You sold me out?” The words were broken glass in his throat, deep cuts inflicted on unhealed wounds.
“I sold you out,” she said, voice as flat and dull as the computer paper surrounding them. “I’m a Judas. Thirty pieces of silver. As cliché as it gets.”
His past spun by, a circus of memories both faded and vivid, bitter and sweet and everything in between. The school bullies who picked on him for being different, the solace he sought in his happy home, those garages where his band first played.
The loss of home when Fyre left for their first stateside tour, Jonnie eighteen and impressionable, an eager puppy hungry for all the love he could beg, borrow, or steal. Lots of facsimiles of love had gravitated to him, their forms tending more false than true.
Misguided attempts to get love led him to the first slew of girls and boys he’d been with, the ones who collected rock stars like friendship bracelets. Maladaptive yearning for family and mentorship steered him in the direction of managers and promoters and executives, all wanting a piece, who’d exploited his youthful naivete and enthusiasm for their greed.
He’d bought lie after lie. And finally, in the absence of sustained human connection over the years, he’d turned to his looks and youth as a primary source of validation. As long as he kept his thick hair and dewy skin and didn’t get fat, the fans would cheer for him and with him, never laugh at him like the bullies did. Their adoration was never to wane, never leave the horrible threat of barren fallout in its wake.
His first real partner, a woman named Bebe, had slipped away as she sought to disentangle herself from his guitar strap and trade the vicarious perks of a rocker girlfriend’s fame and chase stardom of her own.
Connors and those he answered to had smelled that hole in Jonnie’s heart, that rotten pit no number of adoring fans or groupies, no amount of money or awards, could fill. Connors had stepped in with his eternal solution, eager to fill the gap.
Perhaps all of this was why Jonnie latched onto Cara after she got sick, doubled down on his obsession with keeping her alive. Because despite his supposed hold on youth, his radical move to clutch his greatest treasure forever, he was dead in his grave on the inside. A dusty cavern yawned beneath his ribs. His unnaturally pretty veneer masked an ugly disease. The disease wasn’t vampirism, either. Vampirism was a symptom of his true malady: chronic loneliness.
“Eve, no.” Water wobbled in his eyes, making his vision waver like a heat waves on concrete. His throat swelled while he fidgeted with his face. “Say it isn’t so. Lie to me. I promise, I’ll believe.”
“I sold you out,” she whispered.
A bomb of silence dropped.
“How?” Feelings drained from him. He remained still as a statue, his insides slowly turning to stone.
“Remember the towel I used to clean blood off your cut? I gave it to Susan, who works for these monsters. There is no telling what they’ll do with it, but in light of this, in light of all that we’ve learned about their projects with magic and demons? It’s anyone’s guess. And it’s not safe for you to be near me. I mean it this time, Jonnie.”
Logic and reason left him. He could only hurt, a raw and gaping wound from head to toe. Eve had double-crossed him, like a long line of duplicitous people before her. A sweet baking smell drifted through Helen and Brian’s house, the incongruity of its pleasantness adding to the discomfort of having an awful talk in someone else’s home. “How could you?”
She stooped, gathered papers from the floor, and rose. Turning her back to him, Eve pulled sheets from the wall, stacking her findings into a neat pile. “I regret what I did. I love you. And because I love you, I’m telling you to turn and run in the opposite direction from me.”
There were pieces of her story missing, gaps. But none howled as loudly as the abyss in his heart. Its presence drowned out everything else. “I loved you, Eve.”
Two streams slipped down her cheeks. They fell to the page atop her messy stack of printouts. “Goodbye, Jonnie.”
“Let me fetch you the plane at least. Will you at least give me details? Maybe we can still work this out together.” Incoherent ramblings. His mouth was dry, his limbs lead. His thoughts fled. An anesthetizing thickness permeated his abdominal cavity.
“No. I can take care of it. I just need to go. Now.”
He stood and watched, numb, as she threw clothes in her suitcase and the printouts in her purse. She yanked on her windbreaker and boots and, with a backwards glance shot through with sorrow, rushed out of the bedroom and down the hall.
“Eve?” Helen’s confused voice. “We just made waffles, where are you going?”
The front door slammed.
Brian muttered something indecipherable.
“I don’t know, she didn’t tell me anything. I thought I heard them arguing, but I didn’t want to butt in. Jonnie?” Helen spoke again, a bit closer now.
He would explain the hurtful new twist to his friends in a moment, but not now. His eyes burned, tender with the threat of tears. His hands shook. An invisible sword flayed his skin from bone. His heart was an open sore. He couldn’t think.
Before he freaked out and broke something or screamed, Jonnie fished a receipt from his pocket and scribbled “will explain later, don’t follow me” on the back. He dropped it on the bed.
With trembling hands, he tugged on jeans and tee and his canvas high tops, yanking his pea coat over arms.
He pushed open a window. Fall air prickled the tip of his nose as he crawled out of the space he’d made and hopped into the side of the yard. Jonnie pulled the storm window down behind him in case the dogs liked to escape, shoved hands in his coat pockets, and slipped across the front lawn. He scanned for Eve as he walked, squinting into the morning sun. Glittery beams glistened across the lake, cheerful atmosphere making a mockery of his hopelessness.
Frosted grass crunched beneath rubber soles as he descended the slope of the hill, unlatched the gate, and set off down a sidewalk circling the perimeter of the lake. No sign of Eve, only a couple of joggers and a chatty couple pedaling a tandem bike. She’d probably brought up the app on her phone and summoned a car in under a minute. No doubt drivers relentlessly cruised this hip, upscale neighborhood, facilitating her speedy getaway.
A tinny bell on the bicycle handlebar clanked, and the woman waved. Jonnie averted his eyes from the strangers, popping the collar of his coat in absurd homage to caricatures of cartoon burglars. Along with his identity, he hid his anguish, his confusion, his utter lack of interest in chatting with people or playing the rock star part. Not now. Maybe not ever again.
Though he couldn’t deny that Eve’s so-called admission left him with more questions than answers, he also couldn’t deny that she’d pushed him away. With a puff of vaporized breath, he halfheartedly released thoughts of her.
Strides quick and purposeful, Jonnie routed his focus back to the epiphany he’d had in the bedroom. He might be chewed up and spit out, dejected in the nuclear aftermath of Eve’s rejection, but that didn’t mean he’d write off his goal of helping Cara in some callous tallying of collateral heartbreak damage.
Jonnie fished his mobile from his pocket and rang Anya.
“Morning, Jonnie. What’s up?” His sister let out a clipped moan. No doubt was she ragged as ever, run into the ground. He made a mental note to send her more money.
“How are we doing?” Nervous en
ergy jittered through him. There was an urgent quality to speaking with Anya, a palpable sense of the other shoe dangling from a frayed string as it threatened to drop. But at least he had something else in his life to focus on, and an area where he might be able to help.
“Same.” She yawned. “But I have positive news. We got approved for a new clinical trial. I loathe to bring this up now, since you’re already doing so much, but it’s a stretch financially and we hit our lifetime insurance maximum a long—”
He put up his palm to no one but the chilly lake breeze blowing in his face, a nascent sense of triumph replacing hollow hurt inside. “I have a better solution for us.”
A fried, confounded grunt from Anya. “Wait, what?”
A woman with a stroller passed, and he bowed his head so his hair masked his distinctive features. “I can’t explain over the phone, but I can be at the hospital today. I’ll text you when I arrive. Meet me in Cara’s room and I’ll explain in person.”
The nerves of his exposed bits of skin picked up every sensation in a magnetic hyperawareness. Damp coldness, like a burst of air from the freezer, swirled around him. One tree to his right had shed all of its foliage, leaving it a bare brown network of capillaries.
The sight of dead branches lanced a new spike of pain into him. It dulled to a bittersweet bite as the precise nature of his emotion came into relief. Nostalgia. The sweet memory of him and Eve walking through those autumnal streets of her neighborhood, admiring the turning leaves while they nurtured their relationship. A budding relationship that had died on the vine, smothered by deceit.
“What are you talking about?”
“Be at the hospital in a few hours. This has to be face-to-face. I’m about to propose something outlandish, but I think I can save Cara. Please, trust me.”
“Okay.” He heard her suck in a massive gust of air. “Okay, okay.”
“I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone, stuffed it in his pocket, and kept walking, putting the stupid bloody symbolic tree behind him.
He’d thought he’d had a great love with Eve, a pure and unusual bond reserved for two people custom made for each other. She’d turned away from him, but the more he thought about it, Jonnie didn’t buy her story of selling out and betrayal. He’d been too blindsided at the time to see through it, but he did now.
She’d rejected him with a firing squad of half-truths designed to strike at his deepest wounds. And her strategy, for whatever reason she’d deployed it, had worked.
There wasn’t time to mourn or brood. For now, Eve was gone. But he still had his family. And armed with the information Eve had brought to him before she’d walked out of his life, he could at long last do right by them.
Twenty-Two
Curled at the end of her couch, Eve dunked another tortilla chip into the pan of seven-layer dip resting on her knees. She scooped up a generous dollop. As she filled her mouth with bean and cheese and sour cream solace, she told herself she had done the right thing. Jonnie didn’t need her. He needed to stay as far away from her and a certain conniving bitch with a bloody towel as humanly possible. If Eve couldn’t protect him, by default she endangered him.
If she couldn’t solve the problem, she was the problem.
Eyes swollen and puffy from the tears she’d cried, Eve tried to convince herself that pushing Jonnie away was best for him. But was she lying to herself, rejecting him out of cowardice in lieu of standing in her shameful truth and risking incurring his rejection? Yep. Pretty much. Instead of standing brave and tall in the face of judgment before someone she loved, she’d retreated into fear.
The bag crinkled as she fished out more chips and buried them in the dwindling goop of salt and fat comfort. When the food failed to suffocate her feelings, she turned on the television and brought up Netflix. She tried to watch some show about drug dealers and corrupt cops but couldn’t pay attention.
Eve set the baking dish on the coffee table and hauled her leaden body off of the couch before she ate any more. Calories would not fill the hole inside, but they would make her pants tight in the morning.
Sighing, she picked up the rotary phone’s receiver and spun the dial for her mom’s cell.
“Hey sweetie!” Eve’s mom sounded perky and a bit out of breath. Voices chattered in the background. “I just got done with my synchronized swimming class. Your dad found a Groupon. It’s so fun. You should come with me next time.”
A tentative smile crept over Eve’s lips, along with a pleasant sensation of lightness and warmth. Maybe she should go to water aerobics with her mom. Exercise would boost her endorphins, and the company of her loved ones would feed her soul.
“Good idea. I could use a little fun and positivity in my life.” She threaded the phone cord through her fingers and shifted on her feet. Mom was so upbeat and cheery all of the time that reaching out to her in times of sadness brought a measure of guilt. Eve tried not to be a Debbie Downer, often to no avail.
“Oh, hon.” A sigh that bordered on theatrical. “What’s wrong now, my poor sad baby blue?”
Eve winced as she perched on the arm rest. Mom didn’t mean to be passive-aggressive, but she loved being happy so much that she struggled when anyone or anything compromised her good feels. The woman perpetually danced through a field of wildflowers like the hippie she’d been.
Where Eve was concerned, the apple had fallen pretty far from the family tree. “I was seeing a man, but we broke up.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t be honest with him about me.” True enough. Mom didn’t need to know every grisly detail.
“Oh, Evelyn. One day you’ll realize how precious you are. You’re a goddess, my magical, special witch-daughter. Do you know how cool that is? When I was younger, I would have given up a hell of a lot to have your gifts. I still would. And if some guy isn’t man enough to cherish the beauty inside of you, he isn’t worth it.”
This was all very sweet, but Mom didn’t quite get it. “I broke up with him.”
“Oh. Why?” The two little words came with so much surprise that Eve stifled a laugh. Of course Mom figured Eve to be the dumpee. All she needed was a “born to lose” jailhouse tat on her arm to solidify her role in Mom’s eyes.
“I was scared I’d hurt him.”
“Well, he’s a big boy, sweet pea. And if he’s well-adjusted, he should know how and when to put up boundaries. And if he’s being hurt or something is happening that he doesn’t like, then it’s his responsibility to assert himself or take action by standing up for himself. Do you care about this person?”
“Yes. A lot.”
“Does he have feelings for you?”
“Yeah.” Fresh tears threatened as an army of memories tried to storm Eve’s thoughts.
“Then I think you should try to work it out. And be honest with him, Evelyn Grace. Tell him how you fled because you were afraid of yourself, but you won’t do so again. Tell him how you will open up to him wholly, put your heart on the line once and for all. He needs to know that you are learning as you go, figuring out how to succeed in a relationship and make peace with these tremendous gifts you have. And tell him how you need his help. For him to be strong and honest and patient with you.”
Eve exhaled, releasing a burden of negativity. She drew in cleansing energy with a big yoga breath. Her arm twitched, and in her mind she reached through the line and hugged her mom. “Thanks, Mama.”
“Just doing my job. You’re coming to the Halloween party, right? I haven’t gotten an email notice with your reply.”
In all the nuttiness, she’d forgotten about the annual bash her parents hosted for the neighborhood. “Of course.”
“Yay! What are you wearing?”
“It’s a surprise.” Like Eve had given her Halloween costume a single passing thought.
“Mine, too. Can’t wait.”
“Same. And thank you, Mama. For the talk. I needed it.”
“Any time. Take care, sweetie. Bye.”
&nbs
p; “Bye.” Eve replaced the receiver in its cradle, the soft click erasing what remained of her distress with its sound of closure. A Saturday with family, old friends, and childhood neighbors would be therapeutic, enjoyable, and above all an excuse to forget her Jonnie-related angst and misery.
On Sunday, after she’d cleared her head with festivity, she’d call him. Apologize and come clean about why she’d flipped out. Why she’d lied, or catastrophized the truth. Explain to him how, in a moment of panic and weakness and shame, she’d pushed him away before she could stand before him in accountability for the part of herself she hated most. The side of her that hurt people instead of helping people. The Eve who had failed Lacey. The Eve who had handed over the bloody towel and failed Jonnie. The Eve who worried her dark magic was a dark stain on her soul.
How she’d even begin to think about how to bare her soul, she wasn’t sure. But for Jonnie, for the sake of salvaging whatever she could with the gentlest, kindest, and most thoughtful man she’d ever met, she’d sure as hell try. But first, she’d better to go shopping for a Halloween costume.
Eve turned around. At the first glimpse of the orange-blonde hair helmet, her heart froze like a cadaver organ on ice.
Before Eve could react, Susan swung the antique urn she held above her head. With a red and gold streak through the air, it connected to Eve’s temple in a cracking jolt of agony. Fire alarms erupted in her ears. Her vision blacked, nausea shredding her insides. She staggered backward, grasping for purchase as her hands flailed in darkness and her knees wobbled.
Her butt and back hit the soft couch cushions as she fell. The world spun. A hacking cough triggered her gag reflex and sent poisonous vomit into her throat. She swatted at nothing, mumbling slurred nonsense as her consciousness ebbed. The last thing she heard was Susan’s victory snort.
“Ow.” Eve awoke to a world of pain. Her mouth and throat, sandpaper-scraped, throbbed. Stressed arms pulled angrily at their sockets. Her wrists were bound. A million icepicks stabbed her head.