I hadn’t realized his experience bothered me until I heard him say he didn’t have any. The relief and delight flooding my body is so overpowering, I almost can’t handle it.
“I love you,” I say, breaking our kiss long enough for the words to slip out.
We topple to the shower floor. Neither of us seems to care about the bruises we will surely have later.
My wall is down, and for a brief moment, it feels like it was never there.
CHAPTER 22
T.K. sighs, pulling me to his chest as we lay in my bed later that night. After we managed to pull ourselves out of the shower–I don’t think either of us has ever been so clean–he lent me one of his shirts and drove me home. My mom is still at the office, so I was able to convince him to stay and entice him under my covers.
We lay in silence for a while as Oswald snuggles between our bodies, finding the right spot to curl up into a kitten-size ball. T.K. runs his hand down my slightly damp hair, occasionally brushing it with kisses. I don’t understand how he is able to make me feel so completely at peace, as though nothing and no one could ever harm me. It’s been a long time since I felt anything resembling calm.
“Are you sure you’re okay after everything? I know what that crash must have felt like for you, especially today.”
“I’m alright. It’s better now.”
“You always keep yourself so together. I don’t know how you do it.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my chin so I can look into his eyes.
“I’ve only seen you lose it a few times. Even then, you manage to pull yourself out of it so quickly, it’s like it never even happened. Sometimes I think I completely understand you and other times it’s like I have no idea what goes on in there.” He taps my forehead with his index finger, trailing it over my jaw down to my chin. It is almost surreal to see myself through T.K.’s eyes. Nothing about me is put together, at least not on the inside.
“You didn’t know me back then, T.K.” I brace myself, closing my eyes. “After he died, I lost it. No one could be around me. I scared my mom, and Lindsay, and every student at school. There’s a reason people avoid me. I was a force to be reckoned with. If you knew me when I was like that… I don’t think you would have liked me.”
“I can’t imagine any version of you I wouldn’t like.” My chest tightens in response to the sincerity in his voice. If he only knew who I had been, who I fear I still am, I doubt he would be able to say such powerful words.
No one likes a drunken, violent, pill-popper.
“I was high all the time; it was the only thing that made everything…stop. I liked being numb, and I didn’t know how else to do that. When I wasn’t high, I was drunk, and if I wasn’t either of those things, I was a tornado, lashing out at everyone and everything I could wrap my hands around. One of the classrooms on the main level is still out of use thanks to me and one of my moments of sobriety. I was expelled, T.K. If my mom was less intimidating, I still would be.”
“You were only thirteen.” He says it as though it is an excuse. I know better than to agree with him.
“Thirteen, thirty–it doesn’t matter. Once you decide to hate your life, you’ll do just about anything to avoid it.”
“Do you ever worry about going back to that place?”
“Every day.” I look up at him, afraid I will see fear or pity, but he looks at me like he loves me–unquestionably, unconditionally, and irrevocably. “I’ve gotten better at finding the numbness without help. I don’t need pills or alcohol to avoid my emotions anymore.”
“You shouldn’t have to avoid them at all.”
“I’m trying. You’re helping,” I say, kissing his shoulder. I can’t bear to look at him as I say the words, no matter how true they may be.
“I’m helping?” He laughs a little as my lips tickle his skin.
“You make me…happy.” I say the word like it is a secret, something I would not feel comfortable saying aloud to anyone but him or Lindsay. “My mom shut down completely after the police found his car. She’s never been the same and we weren’t close to begin with. I was all alone breaking apart, and no one was there to piece me back together. Lindsay helped a lot, once I let her. She’s the only person who’s never left.”
“I fully intend on joining the list, so you know.” He smiles at me, placing a light kiss on my forehead. “I hate that you two are fighting.”
“This is the longest we’ve gone without speaking since right after the funeral. Even then, I was the one ignoring her, not the other way around. I don’t know how to do this.”
“She’s going to forgive you, Raye.”
I lean my head back against his arm, breathing in his sweet, cinnamon smell. Oswald purrs against my chest, passed out and blissful.
“I’m sick of losing people.” I stare at the ceiling. The words are a confession, not to T.K., but to myself.
T.K. holds me for the rest of the night, staying even after my mom has come home.
When the clock hits midnight, I cry, letting all the pain and anger I feel toward my dad drift away with each dropping tear. I’m done being angry, and I’m done pushing people away.
I’m so, so tired of being alone.
CHAPTER 23
Lindsay misses the following week of school.
When I finally cave in and call her cell phone, Shawn answers. “Hey, Raye. Linds is sick out of her freaking mind. I swear I’ve never seen so much vomit before in my life, which is saying something coming from me.”
“Will you tell her I called?” I ask, wincing at the image. This flu is like some sort of vengeful mutant–you beat it once and it comes back for revenge to spite you.
“Of course. I have to go. She’s back at it again.” I hear moaning in the background as he hangs up the phone.
“Poor Lindsay; that flu is hell. What’s the point of getting a flu shot if the stupid virus is going to mutate?”
T.K. slides my phone into my bag as I drive out of the parking lot, placing his hand on my thigh. “She’s going to be fine. You were done after round two.”
“Don’t jinx me!” Memories of cold tile and porcelain fixtures flood my mind. Thinking about the flu makes my head spin. “I’m not even hungry anymore. Want to come over and watch me study for my French test?”
“Tempting, but I have to get home. Markus, Chane, and I are holding an intervention.” He says it so casually I have to blink a few times before I process what he said.
“What? Seriously? For Marcella?”
“Yeah. She’s completely lost it. I guess Lindsay isn’t speaking to her either, and she’s in full-blown tantrum mode. She’s going to give us away if she keeps acting like this. The Leichen are still close enough to worry about, and we don’t need her going all Hulk on the poor humans.” T.K. says the last part with a smirk, trying to deflect from the fact we are still in danger of being hunted. The Leichen have haunted many of my dreams since our almost-encounter. The more T.K. tells me, the more fearful I become. Even their name freaks me out–Leichen.
“Why don’t you send her off to Europe?” I smile, picturing them tying Marcella down and dragging her off to another continent. “I’m sure Darien can look out for her.” The more I think about the idea, the more I like it.
“Yeah, I wish.” He rests his head against the seat in defeat. I’ve been driving T.K. to and from school all week, mostly because he is too afraid to let me go anywhere alone and I refuse to be chauffeured around like a child. I’m surprised he lets me drive to and from his house without an armed guard.
“She doesn’t speak to anyone other than Lindsay, and I’m tired of her constant glares. I actually miss the old, fake-sweet Marcella. As sickening as she was.”
“Markus would never force her to leave, not without serious cause. He’s hoping we’ll be able to talk some sense into her.”
“Well, good luck with that,” I say as he climbs out of my Jeep. Their parking lot is filled up, forcing me to park on the street. The Audi, a
truck, and a Toyota I don’t recognize occupy all the spaces.
T.K. comes around my side of the car to give me a kiss, pulling me in tight. “Can I come over later?” His eyes are glassy once he pulls away.
“Absolutely.”
∆∆∆
I arrive at my house fifteen minutes later, surprised to see Mrs. Cruz’s old Mazda parked in my driveway. “Linds?” I call, walking up to the porch. She is a mess, her hair knotted on top of her head and her arms frail sticks wrapped around her legs. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
“Raye, something’s wrong,” she says, turning to the side to throw up into the bushes.
“Yeah, something’s wrong, you’re sick! What are you doing here? Did you drive?” Not only does Lindsay not have her licence, but she looks worse than if she were drunk. She should not have driven a remote control car, nonetheless a real one.
“I needed to see you.” She coughs, resulting in more puking in the bush. I run up the steps, taking them two at a time. I put my arm around her, brushing my fingers across her forehead. Even though it is well below freezing outside, Lindsay feels like she has lava running under her skin.
“Holy hell, Linds, you’re burning up! Are you crazy?”
“Something’s wrong,” she repeats, right before she loses consciousness, falling into my lap. She is delirious.
“Lindsay?” I pat her cheek. “I need you to wake up so I can take you home, okay? Linds?” It takes a few minutes before Lindsay gains enough consciousness to semi-walk to her mom’s car. Once I manage to buckle her into the passenger’s seat, I hunt down the keys–Lindsay left them in the ignition. It is a miracle she didn’t crash.
I go slowly, switching between driving and making sure Lindsay is still breathing properly. I’m thankful Shawn taught me to drive manual in this car–illegally, of course–or I would be sorry out of luck in terms of getting it out of my driveway. I still don’t understand how Lindsay managed to drive it.
When I notice her fever spike up even higher, I turn the car around and bring her straight to the clinic. I call Mitch at a stoplight–it is his shift and I need help getting Lindsay out of the car–but he doesn’t answer. As soon as I pull up to the doors, I yank the key out of the ignition and run in for help, wasting precious time.
“Raye? What’s wrong?” Dr. Wright asks, noting my expression.
“It’s Lindsay. She’s sick. It’s the flu or maybe something worse. Can you help me carry her inside?”
It takes the combined strength of me, Dr. Wright, and some volunteer whose name I don’t know to drag Lindsay’s dead weight into the building and on to one of the beds on the ward. I call Shawn while she is being examined, finding him in a state of frenzy.
“What do you mean she drove? She’s been throwing up all day! I went to take a shower; I came back and she was gone. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he says, hanging up the phone.
Shawn has transformed over the past few months; I don’t even recognize him. Whatever demons he had dwelling inside of him, he seems to have banished them out for good, turning into the loving older brother he always should have been.
Nine minutes later, the doors burst open revealing Shawn and Mr. and Mrs. Cruz, who look about as torn up as Shawn sounded on the phone.
“Raye! Sweetie, where is she?” Mrs. Cruz asks, tears welling in her eyes.
“Is she okay?” Mr. Cruz grabs his wife by the shoulder to prevent her from charging forward.
“Dr. Wright is still in there with her. You should have brought her here sooner!” I don’t mean to lecture them, but I can’t stop seeing Lindsay’s face as she burned up underneath my palm.
Lindsay’s parents became instantly uncomfortable. Mrs. Cruz tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and focuses intently on the automatic door to her left.
“They thought it was His wrath,” Shawn says, finally breaking the silence. I can tell he is as furious with his parents as I am. He may be a lot of things, but when it comes down to it, he obviously loves Lindsay as much as I do. That is all that will ever matter.
I know Lindsay’s parents are religious to a flaw, but how could they watch their daughter deteriorate right before their eyes? Because she likes girls? Do they actually think, in their twisted minds, that their daughter getting sick is God’s punishment?
I was always jealous of Lindsay’s parents. They were always present, seemingly loving their children, even if they worked long hours and couldn’t buy them nice things. In this moment, I have never loved my own mother more. No matter what, I know she will never judge me. Not truly. Not for being myself.
“You two make me sick!” I spit. “You are so lucky to have a daughter who loves you as much as Lindsay does. Do you know what her biggest fear was? When she finally opened up about all of this? It was that you wouldn’t love her anymore! And what do you do? You prove her right!”
“Lindsay knows we love her, Raye, even if we don’t accept her…choices.” Her mother says, no longer crying. Were the tears even real?
“You think she chose this?” I yell. “Did you choose to be straight?” I’m inches away from slamming my fist through a wall.
“Is everything okay out here?” Dr. Wright asks, her voice hushed as she steps out of Lindsay’s room.
“How is she?” Shawn demands, the only person who is neither enraged nor uncomfortable. I shove Mrs. Cruz out of the way with my shoulder.
“She’s going to be fine. I have her on a fluid drip and amphetamine for the fever. She’s dehydrated and weak. You should have brought her in sooner,” she lectures, taking in the tension in the room. She glares coolly at Lindsay’s parents. How much did she hear while in the room? “You did good bringing her here, Raye.”
“Can I see her?” I ask, stepping forward.
Mr. Cruz cuts me off. “I think you’ve done enough for one night, Miss McKenna.”
I’m both shocked and infuriated that Mr. Cruz, who has known me since I was six and has always addressed me as Raye, has suddenly decided to treat me like the problem.
Sorry I saved your daughter’s life, you judgmental SOB.
Dr. Wright leans down to my ear once Lindsay’s family has ventured into her room. “You can come by and see her tomorrow. They can’t stop you from doing your job.” She pats my shoulder and turns back toward Lindsay’s room.
I turn to go and think better of it. “I hope you’ll think about what I said,” I call into the room as the door closes behind Dr. Wright. “Lindsay can’t change who she is because you don’t approve.”
Mr. Cruz forces the door closed, stopping my reprimand.
I head to the break room of the clinic to calm my thoughts, grabbing a coffee and a stale vending machine dirt-cookie. I lean my head on the table until I stop seeing red. After an hour, I pull out my phone and dial T.K. He answers on the first ring.
“Can you pick me up?”
“Where’s your Jeep?” Concern floods his voice; I hear keys jostling as he slams the door of his house. Shit. He’s probably picturing me standing next to a bridge or something.
“Long story. I’m at the clinic.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Exactly five minutes later, T.K. pulls up to the front of the clinic looking frantic. He must have driven like a bat out of hell to get here so quickly. “Thank god.” He pulls me into his arms, cutting off all circulation. “You scared me half to death! What happened? Where’s your Jeep?”
I recount the story of my evening to him as he pulls me toward the car, helping me in the front seat. After he buckles me in, he goes around to the other side and climbs into the car.
“Are you sure you want to leave?” He glances back at the clinic with hesitation.
I nod my head, exhausted. Suddenly, I am freezing. The temperature has dropped so quickly, it could cause whiplash. As if reading my mind, T.K. hands me pair of mittens to protect my shivering hands.
“They aren’t going to let me see her, anyway. I picked up a shift tomorrow aft
ernoon. Dr. Wright already said she wouldn’t stop me from going in. T.K., you should have heard the way they were talking about Lindsay. It’s like they think their God is punishing her. It makes me sick.”
I have to calm myself down before I become worked up again.
I hold my breath until my face feels blue.
T.K. pulls me into his chest with one arm. “Humans can be so judgemental.” I look up at him, not sure what emotion is written on my face. “No, I’m serious,” he says, “I’ve never met one of my kind who cares about things like that. It may have something to do with the fluidity of our sexes, but I still don’t understand it.”
“What do you mean? You could be a girl if you wanted?” I laugh, trying to picture T.K. in a dress. I wonder if I would still be attracted to him in a woman’s body. I hate that I’m not confident in my answer.
“Theoretically. I mean I am male. But I could…mimic the body of a girl easily enough. This feels more natural, though,” he shrugs, lifting his incredibly masculine shoulders.
“It’s never occurred to me.” I wonder why it hasn’t. In my dreams, he always appeared in a different form. That form was always male, though. Still refusing to share that particular secret, I simply let my thoughts trail off.
“Well, I’m glad I picked a body you’re so fond of,” he smirks.
“I think most women are fond of it.”
“True. I definitely get good feedback.”
“If you ever decide to change it up, promise to let me help pick the next one,” I tease, still preoccupied with my vanity and obsession with physical appearances. I love T.K.; shouldn’t that translate even if he looks different? I picture myself cutting up pieces of magazines, creating the perfect human for him to morph into. I’m immediately disgusted by my own mind.
When I look up, T.K. is watching me with sad eyes. It is like he knows the struggle going on in my mind. “I’m sorry. That was mean,” I apologize, kissing his neck.
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