The Other Side(57)

On the other hand, it is an extreme measure. And knowing Nina as well as I do, I offer a hushed caution, Don’t take it.

As the fear begins to morph and twist her thoughts, I can already see that my caution is warranted. Don’t take it, Nina! I yell. Please, don’t take it!

I’m still begging when she extends her hand and he shakily hands it off. Don’t do this, Nina!

And then I turn my attention to Toby. Don’t do this, Toby! Take it back! Take it back! Take it back!

Stuffing his hand back into the backpack, he pulls out a clear plastic baggie with six bullets inside and hands it over without a word.

She takes the bullets with her other hand. “Thanks.” She means it.

Shit, I think while I take a momentary pause in my rant. And I dive back in, Nina, you can’t do this! You have your entire life ahead of you!

Toby hugs her like he did yesterday, but then he whispers something he’s never said out loud before, “I love you.”

The tears are streaming silently when she hugs him back, but she says nothing. Instead, Nina holds on tight and tries to return the sentiment with the pressure of her hold. She’s never said it out loud either. They’ve never been the sort of family who says stuff like that.

When he releases her, he looks her dead in the eye for ten seconds like he wants to say more. Or like he wants to pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and carry her out of here kicking and screaming.

In the end, he decides to say nothing and walks out the door.

While I’m screaming until I’m blue in the face, Don’t go, Toby! Don’t do this! Nina is different! This is different! Nina is different!





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Present, May 1987

Toby



Alice is sitting next to me in English. I didn’t have the heart to say anything when she sat down. Neither did she apparently, she just looks sad. Not like she’s disappointed in me, just sad. I haven’t heard from her since I missed her show Saturday night and Taber saw my disaster firsthand. I’m assuming she’s pissed and agrees that I’m a bad idea.

The silence stretches on.

And the connection between us snaps.

I clipped it.

Mentally I clipped it.

With shaky hands.

And an aching heart.

Because confident and catastrophic can’t coexist.

One will destroy the other.

I am the destroyer.

I am catastrophic.

And I don’t have many days left.

We’re quiet the rest of class while I dwell on it.

I clear my throat when the bell rings.

I can’t do this.

Her nearness, her scent, her Alice-ness is agonizing.

What was I thinking?

Gathering my books from the table, I hastily stuff them in my backpack. I’m sweating like a fiend. Mentally, I’m already out the door and down the hall running away from her as I stand from my chair, but I can’t walk away without saying something. Even though the heaviness of misery and self-loathing feels like it’s crawling up my throat and I’m about to be sick.

“I’ll see you around, Alice.” It sounds like goodbye and not the kind of goodbye that means you’ll see the other person in a few hours. Or even in a few days. It sounds like the kind of goodbye that’s indelible.

Standing, she slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her cane from where it’s propped up against the desk. “You okay, Toby?” she whispers. She’s concerned. About me. She knows I’m off. More than normal.

Clearing my throat again, trying to keep the bile at bay, I answer as steadily as I can, “Yeah. Fine.”

“Well, I’m not. And I know you’re lying. We should talk.” She sounds and looks on the verge of tears.

I can’t handle sad Alice and knowing that I’m the reason for it. So I walk away.

By the time I make it to the hallway the masses are a blur of color and motion through the helplessness filling my eyes and perching on my bottom lashes ready to tumble free. Head down, I swipe at them with the cuff of my sweatshirt. Get your shit together! is a blaring command from within, but it’s muffled by the quieter, but intimately bossier, You’re nothing. You’re nothing. You’re nothing, on repeat.

“I know,” I whisper in response to both. I’m standing in the last toilet stall now, behind the barrier of metal that I often use to divide my tears and breakdowns from their eyes. I can usually purge it quickly, the stone in my throat that comes with the wet cheeks and runny nose loosens and settles in my stomach where I carry it around unnoticed. But not this morning. The bombardment grows until my self-hate takes over every thought. Nina drifts in, the most angelic image of torture imaginable, her smiling face from my memories distorted by a coat of blood red. The color of death. And then the images that haunt my nightmares begin an unbidden slideshow to torment.

Nina.

My hands compress her rib cage begging for a miracle.

Nina.

My breath forced from my mouth to hers failing to inflate her lungs.

Nina.

Her frail body lying atop a pool of blood.

Nina.

Nina.

Nina.



I can’t do this.

I can’t do life.

Without her.

Like my mom said…