Last Summer (9 page)

Crossing my fingers.

~~~

“Don’t touch her!”

The words pull me out of my sleep. My first
thought:
Oh, God, my dad’s back
. I jump out of bed and turn
on my light. Glancing around my room, I don’t see anything. Logan
repeats himself, and that’s when I realize he’s having a
nightmare.

“Don’t touch her! Don’t fucking touch her, I
said!”

“Logan, sweetie,” I murmur, gently tugging
on his upper arm. “Logan, it’s me . . . Chloe. You’re
dreaming.”

He breathes rapidly in and out of his nose,
like he’s hyperventilating, and he’s not waking up. If my mom hears
him, she won’t hesitate to throw him out, and then we’ll be back at
square one. So, I do the only thing that pops into my mind: I kiss
him.

He struggles at first, but then his body
relaxes. I pull back when his eyelids open.

“Chloe,” he whispers.

“You were having a nightmare.”

He wraps one arm around my waist and drags
me on top of him. I bury my face in his neck, sighing contentedly.
Slowly, he runs his hands underneath my shirt, across my ribs, and
back down. A moderate fire swells where his fingers stroke; it
filters deep into my stomach, settling at the bottom.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” he says.

“What were you dreaming about?”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.
“You.”

Ten
•
Chloe

I
can’t believe we
slept together last night. Okay, not
slept together
, slept
together. We kept it clean. The fact that my mom didn’t check on me
was a relief, too. When we woke this morning, Mom was nowhere to be
found. I washed the rest of Logan’s clothes, and then we ate
breakfast, deciding we’ll take a jog, maybe do a little swimming.
Later, we’ll come back here, shower, and crash.

“Can I be honest with you?” Logan asks
between breaths. We’ve been jogging next to the lake for the past
ten minutes.

“I would hope so,” I respond, squinting at
the early-morning sun intensifying on the horizon.

“Okay,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “I
don’t know if this is going to work.”

I stop running. “Don’t tell me you’re
backing out, especially after your episode yesterday. Logan, you
know what drugs have done to you. You’ve lost your family, friends,
potential football career . . . the list goes on and on. Yet you
still want
more
, as if you haven’t hurt yourself and those
you love enough already.”

He glances away, resting his hands atop his
head, jaw flexing and relaxing. “Have you ever wanted something so
badly, but you just
know
it’s not good for you?”

“Yes,” I mumble, thinking about how many
boys I’ve had crushes on, only to have them break my heart by
rejection. In the end, something inside told me they weren’t the
person I thought they were.

“Well, that’s how I feel about heroin.”
So that’s his drug of choice.
Until now, he had only
mentioned an addiction to morphine, but I remember hearing that
heroin is derived from morphine. Makes sense, because of his
football injuries. “And I know this is probably over your head,” he
continues, “but this is what matters to me, because for over six
months now, I haven’t known anything else.”

“I’m listening,” I say, urging him to get
this off his chest, especially if this means he’ll come to terms
with the fact that he has a serious problem. Because, right now, it
sounds like he’s trying to back out of this treatment plan. And if
that’s the case, I don’t think I’ll stick around for him much
longer. This can’t be a toss-up; I can’t go back and forth. He
either wants my help or he doesn’t. It’s as simple as that.

His hands fall beside him, and he can’t
stand still, pacing in circles, hands shifting from his hips to his
sides again and again. “Okay, this may sound cheesy, but it’s the
only way I can tell you so that it makes sense.”

He waits for my . . . approval, I guess? I
nod.

“Heroin is like my girl. She can be a
complete bitch, but when we’re good, we’re really fucking good.
Unnaturally, of course. I’m completely attached to her, and she’s
my obsession.” He glances my way. “Does this make any sense?”

“Yeah, keep going.”

“So, when she was taken from me—”

I hold up one finger. “Um, correction: she
wasn’t
taken
from you. You freely gave her away. I’m not
into thievery, just so we’re clear.”

“Okay, fine. I gave her up. But the point is
she left. She’s gone, and I can’t do anything about it. I almost
feel like my insides are crumbling into tiny pieces, like aged
buildings before they finally collapse. My heart feels like it’s
been ripped from my chest, only to be replaced again every time I
look at you.” That really gets my attention. I jerk my head toward
him, but he’s oblivious to what he just said, I think. “And now
that she’s gone forever, I miss her. I don’t know if I made the
right choice. So, naturally, I’m torn.”

“You
know
you did the right thing,
but you also have the itch to use again. I get it.”

He bares his teeth. “And damn it, I feel
like I want to murder somebody right now, maybe even take a few
hostages. I feel like crying and screaming at the same time. I’m so
conflicted. My brain is in chaos.”

I close the distance between us and wrap my
arms around his waist, laying my cheek against his chest. “You’re
going to be all right,” I say. “I promise I’ll help you get through
your wild emotions.”

He sighs and encircles me with his arms.
“Seriously, if you hadn’t come along when you did, I might be dead
right now.” Then, faintly, he adds, “I might be in Jake’s
place.”

“Let’s not think about that, all right?” I
mumble against his shirt. “Let’s think happy thoughts, like
gradually getting you involved with your family again. That’s my
next plan of action.”

He chuckles, and the sound rumbles against
my ear. “So that’s next on the to-do list?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And after that?”

Peering up at him, I answer, “Haven’t gotten
that far yet, but I’m working on it.”

Logan gets this roguish look on his face as
he gazes out at the lake. “I know what we can do next,” he
says.

Before I can ask what he’s talking about, he
picks me up and slings me over his shoulder. I squeal and yell,
“Put me down!” even though I know it’s useless. He wades through
the shallow part of the lake’s edge, and then, when the water level
is up to his waist, he tosses me like a ping-pong ball in a beer
pong match, easily and effectively, liquid splashing all around me
as I hit the surface.

“Logan!” I screech as I come up for air.
“How could you?”

“What?” He shrugs. “It’s already hot out.
That shit back there was getting too intense, so I decided to cool
us down.” His grin is so wide, his cheeks probably hurt.

“Oh, that’s it,” I say, splashing my way
over to him and dunking his head.

We play fight, dipping each other, lurking
underwater so the other doesn’t know where we’ll pop up next.
Pretending we’re Olympic swimmers, we practice our backstrokes, and
then float atop the water, allowing the lake to carry us where it
sees fit.

Logan and I swim until our muscles ache and
our stomachs grumble from lack of food. Drenched, we walk back to
the lake house, where I’m sure my mom has returned from wherever
she decided to go earlier. I take one glance at Logan and realize
his face is pale—not what it should be after being in the sun all
morning.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He lifts his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t
feel well.”

“It looks like the blood has drained from
your face.” I circle his waist with my arm. He leans on me a
little, but not so I’m supporting his full weight. “You’re probably
exhausted. I mean, we didn’t sleep at all last night, and we’ve
been swimming. Your body’s not used to it.”

“Probably,” he says.

I release him when we reach the house so he
can climb up to my window. Mom’s eating a sandwich and chips in the
living room, while flipping through channels.

“Hey, baby,” she says. “I got groceries this
morning, so we have plenty of snacks.”

“Cool.” I dart past her and up the
stairs.

“Chloe,” she presses, “why are you soaking
wet?”

Think, Mom. Why else?
“I went
swimming.”

She pauses. “Are you okay, honey? I’m really
worried about you.”

I lean against the banister and sigh. “I’m
fine. Why?”

“You spend all your time locked up in your
room. It doesn’t seem normal. You weren’t that way before you
father . . .” she trails off.

“Mom! I’m fine, okay? This has nothing to do
with Dad. I’m just bored out of my mind and don’t want to deal with
either of you until the divorce is finalized.”

She stops chewing, holding a chip in
mid-air. “Your father and I won’t start the paperwork until we
return home. As far as I know, he’s gone back, so it’s just us. I
thought we might enjoy the lake house one last time.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, um, sorry. I
didn’t mean—”

She waves me off. “You didn’t mean anything
by it, I know. Now, go on and do whatever it is you’re doing in
your room. I still don’t know if I should be worried or not.”

“Definitely
not
,” I say, but the
truth is she’ll freak if she finds Logan in my room, or hanging out
at my window. In their minds, my parents have kept this clean
persona of me, as I’m sure most parents do until their children
reach a certain age, but that doesn’t mean I’m Ms. Goodie Two
Shoes. And if she knew what I’ve
really
been doing, well, I
may never see the light of day again.

“I’m still holding you to that rain check
for a movie,” she calls behind me as I walk down the hallway toward
my bedroom. I don’t respond.

After I open the window for Logan, I grab a
couple of towels so we can dry off.

“Do you want to take a shower first?” I ask,
motioning with my head toward the bathroom.

“Nah. You can go.”

“You sure? You still look pretty pale.”

He shakes his head.

“All right,” I say awkwardly, although, to
be honest, I have no idea why this moment is uncomfortable. Maybe
because we’re discussing a shower? Maybe because I have to dig
through my bra and underwear drawer in front of him? All I know is
I’ve never done this with any boy before. Then again, Logan isn’t
just any boy.

As I lay my clothes out on the closed toilet
lid, Logan says, “Door stays open.”

I twist my head to glare at him. “What?
Why?”

“You’ve seen me naked. Now, it’s my turn to
see you.”

My jaw drops. “That’s not fair. I didn’t ask
to see you naked.”

Amused, he crosses his arms as he leans
against the wall. “You told me to strip off my dirty clothes so you
could wash them. I’m pretty sure that counts.”

Rolling my eyes, I reply, “I didn’t mean it
like
that
; I only meant for you to get them off of you so I
could be nice and help you out, like a Good Samaritan.”

He tries not to smile. “Same thing.”

Abruptly, Logan’s face pales out. He cups
his hand over his mouth and makes a mad dash to the bathroom,
throwing my clothes off the toilet lid and propping it open. He
vomits until I doubt he has anything left in his system and all
that’s coming up is stomach acid. I rush downstairs and grab a soda
and crackers, hurriedly bringing it back and setting it on the
bathroom countertop.

“Okay, showers can wait,” I say.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice echoing in
the toilet bowl.

“No, you’re not. This must be some side
effect of the drugs, or you’ve started the withdrawal process.”

“I said I’m fine!”

It’s pointless to argue with him when he’s
like this. I know it’s not really him
per se
, but the other
side of Logan. The mean side. The side that hates the world for the
way he’s been treated. All I can do is be there for him, let him
know he’s not alone.

“I brought you some crackers and a drink,” I
tell him. “They should help your stomach feel a little better.”

He waves me off. “I don’t need them.”

God, his mood swings are worse than a girl
who’s PMSing.
Be easy on him, Chloe. He doesn’t realize what
he’s saying.
If only that were true. I’m ninety-nine percent
certain that Logan is fully aware of the words coming out of his
mouth. I’d hate to have to punch him again.

“Well, if you change your mind . . .” I
leave him with that as I settle on my bed and turn on the TV.

He pukes a few more times, but nothing comes
up; he’s basically dry heaving at this point. Logan finally stands
and turns on the faucet, utilizing the cold water to splash his
flushed face. Using a hand towel to wipe off the excess water, he
takes a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. I hate watching
him. I hate feeling like I’m borderline creeper. There’s just
something that’s fascinating about a person who looks at their
reflection. What are they contemplating? Is he reminiscing about
how he got to this point, about everything that’s led him to the
right here, right now?

Part of me thinks,
I’ll never know
.
The other part of me thinks,
He’ll tell you, eventually. Give it
time.
Except, time is what we don’t have at the moment; we’re
stuck in an hourglass, and the sand is vanishing bit by bit.

Eleven
•
Logan

M
y eyeballs feel
like they’re about to pop out of my head. I’ve thrown up before,
but this is totally different. This feels like my guts are going to
slide out of my throat and into the toilet. And, of all things, I
had to puke in front of Chloe. I had to wreck the flirting and
teasing and what was turning into one of the best days I’ve had in
a really, really long time. I ruined it. All of it. I’m so fucking
disgusted with myself, I might puke again.