Skinned (19 page)

“You’re wrong,” I said.

“Tell yourself that if it helps.”

“What do you even care?” I asked. Auden squeezed my hand.

“I don’t. But I can’t stand waste.” Without warning Jude’s hand shot out and gripped our wrists, tight enough that I couldn’t pull away. “And you’re wasting your time, pretending that the two of you are the same.” Something flashed in his other hand. The gray metal of a knife. “Don’t believe me?” Jude’s grasp tightened. He dragged the edge of the blade across my palm, then Auden’s.

Auden gasped. Blood beaded up along the narrow cut, then dripped across his skin, thin red rivulets trickling from his hand to mine.

I didn’t bleed. The knife had barely punctured the artificial flesh, and the shallow scratch was already disappearing as the material wove itself back together. Self-healing. Whatever pain there’d been in the moment was already gone.

Jude let go.

A moment later, so did Auden.

“You can pretend all you want,” Jude said, looking only at me, talking only to me. “But you’ll never be the same.”

Auden walked me to my door. We had driven home in silence.

“I’m sorry that was so…I’m sorry I made you go,” he said as we stood on the stoop. I wasn’t ready to go inside.

“No. I’m glad we did.”

“Liar.” We both laughed, which helped, but only a little.

Auden rested his hand on my arm. “Lia, what that guy said, it’s not true.”

“No. I know.” I ducked my head. He rubbed his hand in small circles along my arm, which was still wet. “He’s crazy. They all are.”

“Especially him,” Auden said with a wide-eyed grimace that made me laugh again, harder this time.

“Thanks for coming with me. Really. I’m glad we went. At least now I know. And”—it was the kind of thing I usually hated to admit, but for some reason I didn’t mind admitting it to him—“I couldn’t have done it alone.”

“Like I would have let you.”

I gave his chest a light shove. “Like you could have stopped me.”

“He was right about one thing, you know,” Auden said quietly. “You are strong.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I hugged him. His arms closed around me. I shut my eyes and pressed my face against his chest, imagining I could hear his heartbeat. Imagining I could hear mine.

“What’s this for?” he asked, his voice muffled. I wasn’t sure if it was because my ear was against his coat or his lips were against my hair.

“For nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I held on.

But I opened my eyes. And over his shoulder, I raised my hand to where I could see it, still spattered with Auden’s blood.

“Lia, there’s kind of something I’ve been wanting to—”

“I should go inside,” I said, letting go.

He backed away, and locked his hands behind his back. “Right. Well, good night.”

Auden left quickly, but I didn’t go inside, not that night. I’d learned my lesson about taking care of myself, and I’d been following a normal schedule—an
org
schedule, Jude probably would have said, his lip curling in disgust—shutting down for at least six hours every night. But not that night.

That night I sat outside, leaning against the front door, eyes open, wide awake as the reddish glow of night faded to the pinkish glow of a rising sun, remembering the thunder of the water, wondering what might have happened if I’d had the nerve.

If I had jumped.

I
hate it,” I told Auden as we walked to class. The hallway was mostly empty, but not empty enough.

“What?”

“The way they all stare at me.”

“No one’s—”

“Spare me,” I said.

“Okay. They’re staring. But at least they notice you,” he said. “Would you rather be invisible?”

I didn’t want to tell him that he
wasn’t
invisible, that all those people he hated were perfectly aware of his existence. They just chose to ignore it. “Let’s blow this off,” I suggested.

Auden looked doubtful. “And go where?”

“Who cares? Anywhere but here.”

“We only have a couple more hours to get through…”

Since when did a couple hours of hell qualify as
only?
“Whatever. You stay. I’m going.” I turned on my heel and headed quickly down the hall, but not so quickly that he couldn’t catch up, which he did after a couple steps. He always did.

“You win,” he said. “Where to?”

“Out.” I pushed through the door at the end of the hall, wishing I could smell the March air. It no longer got much warmer as winter shifted to spring, but there was still something different in the air, something sweeter—fresher. Or maybe that’s just how I like to remember it. “Then we’ll come up with something.”

But we wouldn’t.

The exit we’d chosen was tucked at the end of a mostly unused corridor and opened into the alley behind the school, usually packed with delivery trucks, repair units, garbage compactors, and the steady trickle of students who’d elected to seek their education elsewhere for the day and preferred to do so without getting caught. But that afternoon it was empty except for a couple groping each other against the brick wall, her tongue shoved into his mouth, her back to the wall with her shirt creeping up to expose a bare, flat middle while his hands pawed her skin, snaking beneath her skirt. His fingers found her neck, her arms, her abs, her hair; hungry, grasping, needing, she sighed, he groaned, they breathed for each other. I couldn’t see their faces.

I didn’t need to.

I recognized the sound of him first, eager panting punctuated every so often by unprompted laughter, like a little kid, like an unexpected joy had overwhelmed him. I recognized his hands. Especially the way they crept beneath the skirt, massaging bare thigh.

It took a moment longer to identify her, although it shouldn’t have, even without her face. I knew her arms, her legs, her sighs, her lanky blond hair. I’d just never known them like this. Or maybe I didn’t want to know.

I let the door slam behind us.

They sprang apart. Walker looked up. Gasped. My sister took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

She looked like she’d been waiting for me.

I couldn’t look at them. I couldn’t look at Auden, either. I couldn’t stand the idea of him—of anyone—seeing me see
this
. I wanted to run the scene backward, slip back into the school, back to the hallway, back to class, like none of it had ever happened. Some things were better not to know.

Because once you knew, there wasn’t much choice. You had to deal.

Somehow.

“I’m sorry,” Walker said. His hand was resting on her lower back. Like he was trying to keep her steady.
Her
.

“It just happened,” he said.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said.

He was still touching her.

“I don’t know how it started,” he said.

Enough.

“
I
know.” My voice was steady. That was easy. My legs weren’t shaking. My stomach wasn’t heaving. My heart wasn’t pounding. I was steady. “You shoved your tongue into her mouth. My
sister’s
mouth. That’s how it started.”

“You’re wrong,” Zo said. And she was steady too. “I shoved my tongue into
his
mouth. That’s how it started.”

“Zo,” he said, like he was pleading. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” she said. “Aren’t you sick of this? How long were we supposed to wait?”

“How long?”
I didn’t want to know what the words meant.

I knew what the words meant.

“How long, Walker?” I asked.

He looked down. So this wasn’t the first time. “After the accident…”

I wished for a stomach, so I could throw up. But there was no way of getting it out. It was all inside of me, stuck. Rotting.

“I was upset, and she was upset, and it helped to, you know, talk. To each other. And one day, we…we just…It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“So, just to be clear. I almost
died
,” I said, still calm, still steady, “and while I was learning how to walk again, fighting to
survive
, you were back here,
fucking my little sister
?”

“We weren’t doing that.” Zo paused. “Not then.”

“This is disgusting,” I said. “You’re disgusting.”

“Lia—”

Zo put her hand on his arm, and he stopped talking. Apparently she was the boss. I’d taught her well. “I told you this would happen,” she said quietly. “Just let it go.”

“Oh, you
told
him this would happen?” I laughed bitterly. “What, that I’d have the nerve to get upset about my boyfriend screwing my sister?”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Lia. You made that clear.”

“Lucky you, right?” I spat out. “So you could ditch me and go back to the one you really wanted.” Now it made sense. Why he hadn’t wanted to touch me, why he hadn’t wanted to be with me. Why he hadn’t wanted me. Maybe it wasn’t me.

It was
her.

“We stopped for you,” he said. “I was willing to try. I told you that.”

Right. Because he pitied me.

“Give him a break,” Zo said. “You don’t know what he was willing to give up for you.”

“I guess I do know, now,” I said.
“You
.”

I didn’t ask if they actually thought they were in love. I didn’t have to. I didn’t care.

“Why?” I asked. Not Walker; he wasn’t worth it. I asked her.

“I don’t know,” she said lamely. “It just happened.” But she was lying, I knew that. Nothing “just happened” to Zo. It wasn’t the way she ran her life.

I didn’t have to push it. I could let this be like all the other times, when I just let it go, when I pretended things between us were the same as before, that she was just being Zo, nothing more, nothing less. I could keep pretending.

Except I
couldn’t
keep pretending. Not anymore.

“I mean, why do you hate me this much?”

Her expression didn’t change. “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve got a weird way of showing it.”

“What do you want from me?” Zo asked. “You want me to give him up? For
you
?”

That would be a start.

“Blood is thicker than water, right?” she said, her lip curling into a sneer.

“Well, yeah.”

“Then show me,” she said flatly.

“What?”

“Your blood.”

The anger was a flood, drowning my words.

“I can’t believe you,” I finally choked out. “Literally, I can’t believe this is happening. You’re my
sister.
How the hell can you do this to me?”

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t want you anymore. None of this is my fault.”

“It’s all your fault!” I screamed. “
You
should have been the one in that car. It should have been
you
!”

The world froze.

I’d never said it out loud before. I’d promised myself. I wouldn’t say it, I wouldn’t think it, I wouldn’t feel it. I
would not
blame her. I wouldn’t process the ifs.
If
she’d been in the car,
if
she’d died that day instead of me. I would still have my body. I would still have my boyfriend. I would still have my life.

I couldn’t take it back.

Walker put an arm around her shoulder.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said slowly, her voice cold. “But it wasn’t me. It was you.” I didn’t know what she was thinking. We were sisters, but I never knew what she was thinking. She wrapped her arm around Walker’s waist. “Let’s go,” she murmured. He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, over his shoulder as they walked away.

She never turned back.

I don’t know how I ended up on the ground. But suddenly that’s where I was, sitting with my back to the wall, only a few feet from where they’d been kissing.

Auden sat next to me. I still couldn’t look at him. Not that I wanted him to go—but I didn’t want him to stay, either. I didn’t want anything except to not know. My brain was a computer: It should have been possible to delete.

“He’s not good enough for you,” Auden said finally.

I wanted to laugh. Such a lame cliché. True—but still lame.

“And your sister…You know she didn’t mean what she said.”

“She meant it,” I said flatly. Zo had only told one lie that afternoon—that she didn’t hate me. Because obviously she did. Fine. That made us even.

“Okay, so she’s a bitch and he’s an asshole.” Auden looked hopeful. “Does that help?”

I had to laugh. “No. But thank you.”

“Do you think—No, never mind.”

“What?” I asked.

“It’s none of my business.”

“Auden, I think we’ve just established you’re the only one I’ve got. So if it’s not your business, then whose would it be?”

“I was just wondering…” He hesitated. “I mean, you’re obviously upset.”

“You noticed.”

“Is it because you still…I mean, if Walker wanted to get back together, would you…?”

“You want to know if I’m still in love with him?” I asked.

He nodded. “But like I say, it’s not really my business, so…”

“It’s fine.” I just wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m over him, I think,” I said, and it felt true. “If he was with someone else, anyone but—” I couldn’t say it out loud. Instead I lowered my head and pressed the heels of my hands over my eyes. “What he said, about being willing to try? He was. And what if he’s the only one who…What if no other guy…I mean, who would want me like this?”

His hand brushed my neck, flitted to my shoulder, then disappeared. “He’s not the only one.”

“Whatever.”

“No. Lia. I’ve been waiting to—I mean, I didn’t know how—I have to tell you—” The hand was back, resting firmly on my shoulder this time, heavy. “He’s not the only one who would. Want you. Like this.”

Shit.

“Auden, you don’t have to—”

But he wouldn’t stop.

“I know you probably don’t see me like that,” he said, talking quickly, like if he paused for breath he wouldn’t get himself going again, although I guess that was too much to ask for. “But I think you’re amazing and when I’m with you, it’s like we really understand each other, you know, and I think you’re beautiful, you’re more beautiful like this than you ever were before—”

Not now,
I thought, furious with him, furious with myself.
Not now, when I
need
you. Don’t do this.

“I know I shouldn’t say anything, I know, I always say something, I always ruin things, I should just let it happen, but I can’t let you think that no one would—because I would, I do, I just…” His entire body had gone rigid. “What do you think?”

“I’m a little…This has been a weird day for me,” I said, stalling. “You know, with—” I glanced toward the spot they’d been leaning against, where I imagined I could still see their afterimage bright against the bricks.

“I know.” He shook himself all over. “I know. It was stupid. Bad timing.”

Damn right. But, “No, it’s okay.”

“It’s
not
okay. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have thought—”

I kissed him.

Because he wanted me to. Because he
wanted
me. Because no one else did. Because he’d saved me, more than once.

Because why not?

And in the fairy tale that’s it, the end, happily ever after.

In the fairy tale they never mention the part about your tongues scraping against each other or your foreheads bumping or your nose getting bent and flattened or his tongue just sitting there in your mouth, limp and wet, and then spinning around like a pinwheel, bouncing back and forth between your fake palate and your porcelain teeth. In the fairy tale they never mention how it tastes, although to me it didn’t taste like anything at all.

I’m not saying he was a bad kisser.

I’m not saying he was great, because he wasn’t. But I’m not saying it was his fault, even though maybe it was. Or maybe it was mine.

I’m just saying it was bad.

Worse than bad. It was nothing. Like kissing my own balled-up fist, as I’d done for practice when I was a kid. I wanted not to care, to just go with it, because it would have been so easy, it would have made him happy, and it would have made me…not alone.

When our faces separated, he was smiling, his eyes glazed and dewy, his mouth half open, like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or to lunge in for another round.

“I’m sorry,” I said as gently as I could. “I can’t.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He sagged, a deflated balloon. “I should have known you would never…not with me.”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just too much right now.”

“You don’t have to say that,” he said bitterly. “I know I’m not Walker. I do have a mirror, you know. I get it.”

“It
not
you.” I wanted to touch him, to shake him. “Everything’s so…screwed up. And I’m”—I gestured down at myself, at the body—“I’m different.
We’re
different, and I don’t think the two of us…”

“Is this about what that guy said? Jude?” Auden’s fingers flickered across the bandage on his palm. “I told you, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”