Love Songs & Other Lies(64)
“Then say something.”
But I can’t. There isn’t anything I can say that will make this better, because the truth is just as ugly as the lie. I don’t deserve you; I don’t deserve anyone. I should let you go.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she says.
I feel the tiniest bit hopeful, but all I see in her eyes is resignation, defeat.
“If you’re not ready, you don’t have to. But until you are, this”—she waves her finger between us—“can’t happen. I deserve better than this.”
“I’m fucked up, Vee.” I don’t even know how to explain it, but maybe if I can, I could fix this. “That’s just who I am now.”
“Maybe you are,” she says. “But I love you, and nobody ever said you had to be fucked up by yourself.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “But you have to let me in.”
“I want to. I can, maybe … eventually.”
She nods. “I guess we’ll worry about it when it eventually happens, then.” She’s staring at the corner of the room, where I have a picture of us tacked up on the wall. She had made fun of my bare walls, so one day I printed a bunch of photos of us and stuck them to the wall with thumbtacks. She laughed, but then said it was tacky, and took them all down. Except for that one. We’re lying on the beach, and the tops of our heads are cut off. We’re supposed to be kissing, but we both started laughing, so we look like we’re just smiling at each other with our faces pressed together. We look happy.
She has one hand on the doorknob, and before I can think of an explanation, she’s leaving. And as the door closes, all I can think is, This house is burning around me too. And she said she loved me.
*
I’m exhausted after Vee leaves, and at the same time, I’m filled with a sort of nervous, anxious energy. I feel like I just ran a race or was punched in the gut. Everything hurts in a way I haven’t felt in a long time, and I only know one person who understands this amount of pain.
Cam:
Sorry
For everything
Sienna:
Stop it
I’m sorry for showing up. I shouldn’t have
I’m sorry about Vee
Cam:
Not your fault
I haven’t told her. I can’t talk about it
Sienna:
I get that
Cam:
I know
Sienna:
Just breathe, Cam
The words repeat in my mind, over and over: just breathe, just breathe, just breathe. As I collapse against my bed, I can feel the heaviness of the day washing over me. Pinning me down.
*
I’m lying on the stone, a few feet from Sienna, and I’m not sure what’s broken. The jump was so much farther than I’d expected. Maybe it’s all broken. The pain is radiating down my left side, stabbing through my shoulder, throbbing in my wrist. I gasp for air, and feel another sharp jab to my chest. I can feel the heat of the flames. It’s uncomfortable, almost unbearable, like having your legs too close to a campfire, but a thousand times worse. Leaning to my right, I push myself up carefully. My legs feel okay. Bruised, maybe, but nothing broken. I hold my left arm to my side as I make my way to Sienna’s crumpled body.
She’s slumped to one side, her leg twisted unnaturally. I don’t know if a full minute has passed since she jumped. If five have passed since we woke up. Everything feels surreal. I sink to the ground next to her, still cradling my left side. She looks delicate, fragile; broken and unfixable.
“Sienna, we need to move.” The heat is rolling off the house in waves, the smoke stinging my eyes. “Can you stand?” I reach my right hand down to her, wincing as I release my grasp on my left side, but we have to move. She’s sobbing, her shoulders and chest heaving, but I can’t actually hear her over the noise of the flames and the sirens and the lapping of the river, which is choppy. It’s like watching the television on mute. She shakes her head, over and over. I’m hunched down, trying to slip my arm under hers, when I see movement. Mr. Anderson is running from the river, missing the dark-rimmed glasses that usually sit on his plump face. He’s older than my parents, with black hair quickly fading to gray, and a round, friendly face. His cheeks are always red, but now they look almost sunburnt.
He waves me toward the water. “Get on the boat, I’ll get her!” He’s beside me, carefully lifting her up into his arms, as her screams pierce the air. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe—” Sienna fell, and maybe we shouldn’t move her. I think about everything I’ve heard about emergencies—wait for the ambulance, a stretcher. Don’t move them. But I don’t know what else to do. We can’t leave her here, we’re too close to the house. There’s burning debris and ash falling around us, swirling in the air like toxic snowflakes. A portion of the roof is collapsing in on itself at one corner of the house. Mr. Anderson makes his way to the boat with Sienna shrieking in his arms and I follow behind. I hold the boat steady as he steps on, and carefully deposits her on the bench seat in the back. She cries out again, another strangled sob of pain as her body comes to rest against the cushion. I’m in the bucket seat across from her, stroking her hair and trying to calm her. Sienna used to be friends with my sister Maggie, so I’ve known her for years, but we’ve only been dating for a few months. She’s a year older, and we don’t have much in common, really. It’s still new—and casual. I’ve never had to comfort her; I’ve never even seen her cry. I don’t know what to say to her.