Put Me Back Together(34)

I placed my cell down on my desk and crawled onto my bed, lying down on my stomach with my arm under my cheek.

I’m fine, I repeated silently to myself. Fine, fine, fine.

But I didn’t feel fine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken out loud about everything that had happened, even peripherally. It made me feel out of control. Like I was in a car about to drive off a bridge and though I was in the driver’s seat, there was nothing I could do to stop it. She’d even said Brandon’s name! I never let myself do that, never let myself think about Dr. Lepore, the trial, or, God forbid, that horrible day itself. If my mind drifted there, if I found myself picturing it—Tommy Wesley’s face, stained with tears, the last time I saw him alive. Brandon’s insistent voice, “I’m doing this for you”. The officer with his face in his hands when they found the body, so little, so bloody. My own hands shaking uncontrollably as they asked me what I’d seen. “Did you see what happened? Did you see who it was?”—I always, always yanked my mind away.

Those memories weren’t safe. Those memories were against the rules, out of bounds, completely off-limits. If I got lost in those memories, I might never find my way back out again. That’s why I didn’t watch the news or listen to the radio. That’s why I didn’t read the articles. Not because I didn’t want to know what happened. Because I knew too much. Because I knew so much that had never been told. Because I could drown in all the things I knew and couldn’t tell.

When the doorbell rang, I still hadn’t gotten dressed or put in my contacts. I drifted into the living room, pulling on a sweater to mask the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my pajama top, and opened the door.

Lucas stood in the hall carrying two pizza boxes, a Styrofoam take-out container, a paper bag, and a pretty adorable goofy grin.

“One of your neighbours let me in,” he explained. I took the pizza boxes out of his arms and moved aside so he could come inside. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got pizza, Cantonese chow mein, a hamburger, fries, and chicken nuggets.”

“And a turkey dinner?” I said, eyeing all the food laid out on my coffee table.

“Nope,” he said. “That’ll have to wait for next time.”

Next time. I wanted those words to make me giddy with happiness, but they barely made an impression.

I sat down on the couch while Lucas busied himself getting plates and cutlery out of the kitchen, another first. I actually didn’t think I’d ever had a guy inside my apartment before, except the super that time the radiator had stopped working. One nice side effect of my current mood was that I also couldn’t feel the insane discomfort Lucas’s presence so close to my dirty hamper and unflattering photos would usually have created.

“I thought we were going out,” I said as he handed me my napkin and plate.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Lucas replied as he sat down next to me.

When he’d piled his own plate high with food and I still hadn’t served myself—I think I’d also missed a couple of questions he’d asked me—Lucas put down his plate and turned to face me on the couch. He had such kind eyes. That was what you noticed when you were teetering on the edge of the bridge, about to go over—the people who looked on you with kindness and the ones who turned away.

Lucas brushed a strand of hair off of my cheek. I wondered idly if I’d even brushed my hair that day.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, and forced myself to sit up straight, to pick something to eat, to speak and move and live.

It was a quiet meal, but not a strained one. Lucas seemed to sense that I wasn’t in the mood for our usual repartee and didn’t question it, which meant more to me than I could say. My most talkative moment came when the cat popped out from under the couch and rubbed himself against Lucas’s legs, and I told Lucas I’d decided to name the cat Turner after my favourite artist, Joseph Turner.

“I guess he’s really yours, if nobody’s claimed him by now,” Lucas said.

“He’s yours, too,” I insisted. “You helped rescue him.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to come over all the time,” Lucas said with a grin, “to visit him.”

I almost managed a smile back.

Lucas chatted a little about his roommate Eric’s awful girlfriend—she’d stolen his credit card and maxed it out, twice—and his classes, keeping the topics to things I didn’t have to respond to with much more than a laugh or a “Really?” He made it easy for me.

When we finished eating, he put in a movie so I wouldn’t have to talk at all. We both leaned back on the couch under the same blanket and I put my head on his shoulder.

And that was easy, too.





10





“Maybe it’s not too late to call him and cancel,” Anita said. Even I could hear the desperation in her voice, and I wasn’t even really listening. I was gripping my head so hard I thought my skull might cave in from the pressure—it made listening a lesser concern.

“Chicks don’t cancel on Lucas,” a male voice said. “That shit just doesn’t happen.”

“Shut up, Matt!” Emily cried. “You are not helping. Why are you even here?”