We Told Six Lies(45)

“Really?” I said, surprised.

“No luck yet, but I’m sure I’ll get something soon.”

And then what? I thought. Then we’d spend the rest of our lives stuck here, squirreling away what little money we had for a dream we’d never reach. Money would get sucked into places we hadn’t anticipated. We’d fight, blame each other, and break up. You’d start dating a mechanic that talked about opening his own shop. I’d run into you, years later, see your swollen stomach and the tiredness on your face, and think, That could be my child. That could be my tired face I kiss good night. But I was too chickenshit to take her away.

“Maybe they’ll promote you,” you said, your spirits lifting. “You’re the best employee Steel has. If you became like Duane, you could make more money. He’s got that nice car, and he always has cash with him.”

Be like Duane? Fucking Duane?

How do you know what his car looks like?

“The cash he leaves the club with?” I ask, unable to hide the venom in my voice. “That’s just him making the deposits. Duane is an asshole.”

“Is he really that—”

“He’s an asshole,” I repeat.

I stop walking, and you squeeze my hand. “He is pretty douchey.”

I smile. “You have no idea.”

Something flashes behind your eyes. I’m trying to figure out what it is when you raise your finger and point in the distance. “A train.”

The look on your face is pure euphoria. There’s something about seeing you like this—unguarded. Exhilarated. You tried so hard to hide your true self, but I saw you, Molly. If I was sad, then you were lying at the bottom of an ocean. But you smiled when you saw that train. And you smiled every time you saw me. And so I said something I had never said before—

“I love you, Molly.”

My eyes enlarged, and my heart enlarged, and I watched, petrified, as you turned to look at me.

You didn’t speak. But the train did, releasing a long, mournful wail as it sped closer.

I saw in your eyes what you were going to say before you ever said it, but it still gutted me all the same.

“You don’t love me, Cobain,” you said with a smile that covered your pain. “Now, get off those tracks and come kiss me.”

I released your hand, and concern flashed across your face. “I do love you, Molly Bates.”

You pursed your lips, glanced at the train that seemed to pick up its pace. “Seriously, get off the tracks.”

“Tell me you understand what I’m saying,” I insisted.

You shook your head. “What do you want me to say to that? You can’t love me. We’ve known each other for two months.”

“I knew from the moment I saw you.” I looked at the train. It screamed as it sailed closer and closer. In the distance, I saw the shimmer of water on the tracks—a trick of light and metal.

“Cobain, get off the tracks.”

You tried pushing me, but I planted my feet on either side of the rails. It was stupid, but I didn’t care. I only cared that you knew how I felt. That you accepted that someone could truly love you. “Say you believe me.”

Your voice broke. “No. No. Get off the tracks. Cobain, Jesus, please move!”

You were crying, tears spilling down your face. I said, “Is it that hard to believe?”

You shook your head. Looked at the train. Looked back at me and opened your beautiful mouth. “Fine. You love me. Get down!”

The conductor saw me on the tracks and pulled the horn. Once, twice, enough times so that it shook my brain inside my skull.

“Say it like you mean it,” I demanded. “I love you. Tell me you understand. Make me believe you.”

You tried to push me again, and again I stayed rooted in place. Your eyes darted to the train, and you howled and jumped on the tracks beside me, but I pushed you off them so easily.

The train roared toward me.

My heart roared toward you.

And you screamed, finally, with your arms thrown open wide and your face full of fear, “You love me. I believe you, Cobain. You love me!”

I stepped backward off the tracks and stumbled from the force of the train barreling by.

Above the sound of the train rumbling, I heard you shouting my name from the other side of the tracks.

When the last car passed between us, you searched the area until you found me. We stood across from each other. Your chest heaved. Mine did, too.

I took one step toward you.

I took another.

And then I was running. I leaped over the tracks and grabbed you, but you were there to greet me with a cold slap across my face.

“How dare you?” you screamed.

“How dare I love you?” I said. “Because I do.”

“Fuck you,” you said, and hit me again. You started to walk away, and I watched you go, realizing I’d pushed you too far. I considered chasing after you. I stood there, wishing I could say something to make you turn around, but words were never my strong suit.

I turned to go, leaving my heart there on the tracks in case you came back for it.

I made it only a few feet before you called my name.

When I turned around, I saw you moving toward me. Slow at first, and then faster. I waited, empty chest aching, as you closed the distance between us. When your body crashed into mine, I grabbed you by the thighs. Hauled you into the air as you threw your legs around my waist. You pressed your lips to mine, and I felt the wetness on your cheeks.