History Is All You Left Me(72)
“I’m going to get dressed,” I say.
Jackson turns away. I had no problems being naked around Theo. It’s not as if Jackson has a six-pack, but I don’t feel that comfortable around him, sort of like when I was a kid and would keep my shirt on at the beach around my friends. I find my underwear on the floor next to my sad-looking condom. I get completely dressed in ten seconds and throw the condom in his trashcan. I tell Jackson to put Edward Scissorhands back on so I can see how it ends, while I go brush my teeth. But all I end up doing when I get to the bathroom is sitting on his mother’s shower bench and crying while the water in the sink runs.
“I’m okay, Dad.”
“I’m not buying it,” Dad says. His bullshit detector has improved tenfold ever since it failed him on Monday morning when I flew out here.
I’ve been 90 percent honest about what Jackson and I have been up to the past couple of days, but he can tell something else went down besides watching movies and driving around town. I don’t know how to tell him Theo dicked me over and how I did something unforgivable in return.
“I know. Things aren’t awesome right now, okay? I promise I’ll tell you both everything when I get home tonight.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“How everything sucks?”
“No, honesty. We’ll both be at the airport ready to pick you up,” Dad says. “Don’t change your mind last minute and fly to some other country.”
I hear footsteps in the hallway, so I tell my dad I have to go and will text before I board. I hang up and sit down on the bed as Jackson, wearing nothing but boxers and a towel around his shoulders, enters the room. He doesn’t say anything to me. Last night has undone the friendship we’d started, but maybe once I get home and we have space between us again, we can salvage some of it.
Jackson kneels before me and his hazel eyes lock with mine. He kisses me and I give in so easily, I don’t push him off. His hand goes under my shirt and finds my shoulder, squeezing, before coming right back out to untie my shorts’ drawstring. I massage his sides, still a little wet. He climbs into my lap and kisses me again, this time rougher, not nearly in control of himself like he was the first time we did this.
I pull away because despite Theo’s betrayal, I’d rather feel nothing than shame, but Jackson keeps coming for me. “Jackson, stop.”
He backs off, rolling off of me and onto the bed. His eyes are red. “I miss him so much. I never deserved him. I’m not the guy he thought I was. I fucked up.”
“We both did.”
“No, not about last night. I didn’t want to ruin your trip, but . . .” Jackson is crying, and I’m terrified of whatever it is he’s about to say. I have no theories. “I didn’t go . . . I didn’t go into the ocean to save Theo like I said I did. I ran to get a lifeguard instead because I was scared I would drown too, and . . . I didn’t want to die but I was really fast, I swear, I just couldn’t risk . . .”
Jackson is the reason Theo broke his promise to never die.
“You fucking coward,” I whisper, and I don’t know how it doesn’t come out as a shout. “You let Theo . . .” I’m getting louder, speaking through my teeth as tears blind me. “You let Theo die.” I jump up from the bed, squeezing my eyes and fists shut. “I would’ve risked my life for him!”
“You can’t know that, Griffin. Not until you’re facing a moment like that.”
“I would’ve never stood by and watched Theo die!”
Jackson jumps up and he holds my arms. I don’t know if he’s trying to stop me from shaking or keep me from walking out, but I break out of his grip and punch him in the face, which surprises both of us, and then I punch him in the face again, which only surprises him. Nothing could surprise me right now. I feel as if I’m watching myself from a distance.
Jackson’s nose is bleeding. He looks up at me, shaking his head. “You’re the one who sent him into the ocean in the first place! He was listening to one of your voice mails and needed alone time. Don’t blame this all on me.”
I’m so dizzy I almost confuse the blood on my hands as my own. The last message I ever left Theo was telling him we had to talk about that taboo thing we promised we’d never talk about . . .
Jackson may not have saved Theo, but I’m the one who killed him.
I run out of Jackson’s house in my socks. I don’t know if I should go back or forward, left or right. I go left because that’s my default. My options suck because I’m not in my city, where I can run home and wait in my bed. Moments later I throw up on the clean sidewalk, and no surprise again: I don’t feel any better.
When I find my way back to Jackson’s, he stays out in the living room while I pack—well, shove all my clothes back into my backpack and collect my things. I get a text telling me my cab is outside. I’m in a daze when I say goodbye to Ms. Lane, shaking her hand, and thank her with a smile no one could ever believe is legit. I put on my backpack and head to the door, where Jackson is standing.
“Griffin. Do you want me to drive you? I can—”
I pictured this moment on my walk back here, where I would speed past him as if he’s no one, but I stop at the door. I don’t know if I want to punch him two more times or hug him goodbye and apologize for being such a horrible human being. But I can’t let him off the hook. So all I do is look him in the eye and hope he never forgets the face of someone he helped break beyond repair. Someone he tried fixing out of guilt.