Torn (17 page)

12

COLE

He thrashed in his sleep, feverish and sweating. Images of Davis's frightened face flashed through his mind: the hopelessness in her eyes as she struggled to break the straps that held her to a narrow hospital bed. He reached for her, but every time he did, the straps held her tighter, until they were pressing into her skin, cutting off her blood flow. Cole tried to break the heavy, leather straps, and then he was in the Olympiads arena, tugging at them with Davis on stage in front of hundreds of people, and through it all Mari shouted, “Pull yourself together! Cole, be strong! Cole!” Her face was loud, real-seeming, and he fought to free Davis, but the voice was too immediate and distracting.

“Wake up, Cole!” Mari shouted, and Cole jolted awake, nailing his head on the top of the bunk he'd made himself in their old barn. “Must've been a doozy,” she commented, eyeing him with concern. Cole nodded, breathing heavily. It had been two nights since he started staying in the barn rather than returning to the Slants, but he was still disoriented.

Since the incident with Vera, he and Mari had been treating one another with tentative kindness. It was as if they'd reached some sort of understanding—a mutual respect. They'd seen each other naked, with their guards down, when they were helping Vera—and both of them had approved. Part of him was glad Worsley had told him to stay away, stating it would be safer for both him and Vera that way—the anxiety of the trip home each night had taken its toll. Even though he felt less on guard in the Open Country, his dreams were more troubled than ever. Probably, he thought, because he felt ineffectual so far away. He grimaced, pushing the thought from his mind. He was here to train. To get stronger. So he could make a difference. He had to remember that.

He reached for the thin handkerchief Mari extended, and wiped the sweat from his upper back and brow. “Pull yourself together,” she told him, an echo from his dream. “We're going out for testing. You need to challenge your senses in the dark. It's the only way for them to develop. And Cole … put a shirt on.”

Cole cleared his throat, feeling his face heat. He was glad it was too dark for her to see too much … except, apparently, his shirtless torso.

“Okay. Just give me a minute,” he told her.

After Mari left, Cole struggled to do exactly what she'd asked—pull himself together—but he was still shaken from the nightmare. It had felt so
real.
Davis had needed him, and he wasn't able to get to her quickly enough.

When he pulled on his sweatpants and stumbled outside, feeling around in the dark to get his bearings, Mari was already waiting for him. It wasn't a clear night; there was barely even any moonlight to illuminate the landscape. The cold night breeze caused goose bumps to rise on his skin, and Cole shivered. The darkness was oppressive. He wondered if hell was as dark and barren as this.

“You're wearing these,” Mari told him, securing two small pouches to the sides of his sneakers.

“What for?”

“We're going to race through the forest. And every time you fall, you're going to put stones in those sacks. There are stones all over the forest; it won't be hard for us to find them.”

Cole felt his mouth lifting in a wry smile. This was the kind of training he liked.

“What makes you think I'll be putting any weight in those sacks?” he asked, his question a challenge.

“What makes you think you'll be the one adding the weight?”

Cole grinned, but Mari had already spun away from him and begun to move toward the woods.

“Hey! Wait up,” he called after her, taking off toward the sound of her movements. If he'd thought it was dark before, the woods catapulted him into a black abyss. For the first several steps, Cole merely stumbled toward the crunching noise Mari's shoes made against the piles of leaves on the ground. That was the trick, he realized. There was no way he could get ahead as long as he followed her, and he had to follow her in order not to get them both lost. His eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting, and he began to enjoy himself as he darted after Mari—who was as swift as she was tiny. Then his foot caught a branch and he fell, skidding across rocks and twigs and rolling right into a tree.

“Here.” Mari was on him almost instantly—what was she, magic?—and extended her hand, offering him four rocks the size of Ping-Pong balls, which she'd apparently scooped up without him noticing in the darkness.

“How am I supposed to run with those?”

She shrugged. “That's your problem. Hurry up.” Then she was off again and Cole muttered in frustration as he tried to stuff the stones into the pouches connected to his shoes. When he stood up, he was technically about four pounds heavier. But he hadn't felt so light in a while. The thrill of competition mixed with the clear, brisk night air was exhilarating. He took off after Mari; she was insanely fast, so he'd have to really work to catch up.

Running after her, Cole felt primal, as if part of a pack. After that first fall, he'd begun lifting his feet higher and taking longer strides, and although his muscles were burning, he was flying. The more sure-footed he became, the faster he moved. The darkness worked its way around them until it was just him and Mari and the impact of their feet against the ground and their breathing. Cole surged ahead, gaining momentum as adrenaline kicked in. He felt anonymous—not Gen, not Prior—just like any other wild creature, running to survive and fueled by passion.

When the woods broke to reveal the pond behind Mari's home, Cole could sense that the murky black water was the finish line. He picked up his pace, moving past her inch by inch. Just when he thought he'd left her in the dust, her hands gripped his waist and she vaulted her body weight into him, knocking him down.

“It's not over yet,” she told him, locking her legs in his and rolling him into the water. When they hit the surface of the pond, Cole gasped. The water momentarily paralyzed him, and Mari released her grip. She pushed away, bracing her arms against his chest. Then she swam toward the bank and pulled herself from the water. “I think we know who won,” she called out in a playful tone. But Cole bristled. She
had
won. He still wasn't good enough. He followed her to the shore, where she knelt, picking sprigs of peppermint in the dark.

“Here,” she said, noticing him next to her. “For Vera.” She handed him a bunch of peppermint.

“No,” he told her. “No. Don't act like it's okay. You won. I'm still not good enough for the Olympiads. Don't act like this whole thing isn't a waste, despite everything you've done. I'm horrible.” The words were causing him to unravel—everything he'd been holding in, tightly controlled, for months. Trying to stay strong, trying to keep it together, to focus on the plan. The plan was horseshit. “I'm helpless,” he blurted, “and horrible. I'm going to lose this thing and let down everyone I care about. My time's not good enough for the Olympiads. It's just not. I've pushed myself so hard. It's all for nothing. And Davis—” Here his voice cracked. He couldn't look at Mari. Could hardly face himself. “She would never even have been taken away if it wasn't for me.”

He sank to the ground, resting his forehead on his knees, trying to force the emotion down—all the regret and the impossibility and the walls, always walls, rising up higher than before to keep him from ever getting to the other side, until he almost stopped believing there
was
another side. But the tide within him refused to be held down. It writhed through him, becoming one choking sob, and then another. He hadn't even known these tears were in him, but they had been, welling in his chest, for weeks, maybe months. He felt Mari's hand on his back but he couldn't look up.

“I can't fix this,” he choked out into his knees. Finally, he pulled his head up, harshly wiping the wet from his face. He let out a breath. “No one can, Mari. I can't win the Olympiads. I can't find Davis. I just can't do this.”

“Cole—”

He shook his head, cutting her off. “I ruin everything—everyone who gets close to me. My mom has suffered. Michelle. If you know anything about survival, you should know to get the hell away while you can.”

“That's not true,” Mari began.

He looked at her then—at her strong, stubborn jaw and innocent eyes. He half smiled. “Maybe I'm not meant for love. Maybe I'm just meant for fighting.”

Mari punched him in the arm. “Snap out of it, Cole. I know you've been through a lot. But none of that is true.” She crossed her arms. “It's normal to grieve. You're putting so much pressure on yourself to fix everything. You're right—you're fucking up along the way. But so does everybody. The people you hurt will forgive you, because they love you. I forgive you for being such an ass to me for so long.” She smiled gently. “All you can do is try your best. And…” she hesitated, as if gathering her thoughts. “We've had our bumps. But you've shown me what it is to commit everything to someone else, even without any promises, without knowing whether you'll see that person again. That takes incredible courage. You have no idea how much I … admire that. How much I wish I had something like that to fight for.”

Mari's words cut deep into him, releasing some of the pressure he'd felt for months. She knelt beside him, pulling him into an awkward hug. “It's okay,” she told him. “It seems like it isn't, right now, but everything will be okay. Sometimes things are too broken to fix. But you're not there yet—especially not with me.”

“Thank you,” he said, roughly wiping his eyes again with his T-shirt. “I'm so lucky to have you.” He meant it. Beyond the training, she'd become a friend. He saw it now; it was so obvious.

“I'm lucky to have you, too,” she told him, pulling back. “You need to realize it. Now,” she said, her voice brusque, “pull yourself together, buddy. You have another friend to visit. Maybe you should take these peppermint leaves over to Vera before the sun comes up. I think she'd probably like them. It'll give you some alone time. To clear your head.”

Cole looked up at her, his eyes searching. He'd never done that before—broken down in front of anyone. He wasn't sure he'd ever gone there at all. But Mari's eyes were kind and forgiving, and a feeling of tenderness built within him. She wanted him to be strong, and believed he could be. He
could.

“Sure,” he said to her.

“Better get going,” she said, nodding in the direction of the Slants. “Stay safe. We'll finish training tomorrow. I'm going to get some shut-eye.” She hugged him again, then turned back toward the house without looking back.

 

 

“Cole!” Vera's face lit up in delight when he arrived forty minutes later. He'd shown up early on purpose, to avoid Worsley, and hadn't expected her to be awake at only six a.m. From the look of it, though, she'd been awake for hours. She was propped up on the bed she used in the back of the clinic—a curtained-off space formerly used for Worsley's occasional patient. Her lap was covered with the brightly striped afghan she'd knitted, and the ukulele Cole had given her was propped in the corner of the room, along with a cello. Some marigolds rested on the table next to her bed. Her face was freshly washed, though her eyes were hooded and rimmed with dark circles and it looked like it had been a while since she'd brushed her hair. Still, she looked alert, and he was happy to see it.

“I'm so glad you came,” she told him. “But why so early? Not that I'm complaining! I get so
bored
around here. It's nice to have a gentleman caller.” She winked, smiling up at him. “I'm feeling so much better, Cole. I can't tell you how much. Worsley brought me a cello, a real cello! But I'm so glad to see you. Sometimes I still have nightmares … and I'm so lonely … anyway, I'm babbling.” Her bright look had a hint of sadness around her eyes, but her gratitude was palpable. “What did you bring me? I'm so sorry about last time,” she rushed on. “I just … I was scared. I lost it. I was afraid I'd alienated you. Come sit.” She patted the side of the bed eagerly.

Under strict instructions from Worsley, Vera was supposed to lie prone as much as possible. Cole knew she must be suffering more than she made out to be. He felt a pang when he realized that he and Worsley were her only friends right now … and soon he'd need to taper off his visits.

“Number one, you'll never alienate me,” Cole said. “And number two, I brought more of your favorite.” She smiled, and he smiled in return.

“More peppermint?” She clapped her hands, and the sleeves of her shirt shifted back to reveal fresh cuts.

Cole recoiled. Had she been hurting herself again? “Vera,” he said, reaching for her arm. “Let me see.”

She yanked it back. “Those are old,” she said. “I'm not doing that anymore. I'm so much better now!”

He wasn't sure whether to believe her. “Where's Thomas?”

“He slept at his house tonight,” she told him. “I was feeling so much better and he wanted to pick up some supplies. He should be back in a few hours.”

“I hope I didn't wake you.”

“No, no,” she waved off the suggestion. “The baby makes it uncomfortable to sleep, and I get up so early anyway. I used to practice my cello at five every day anyway. And now I can again! I'm so excited, Cole. My turnaround has been wonderful. Everything is going to be wonderful. When you win the Olympiads and the baby is born and you bring Davis back, I'm going to throw us all a huge rooftop party at my parents' place.” She beamed at Cole, waiting for his reaction.

He managed to force a smile. “Okay,” he said. “That sounds nice.”

“Nice? It'll be perfect. We'll even play Spins.” She winked at him, and he again tried to smile. Something was off about her. She was disconnecting, separating herself from the reality of the situation. She might never return to Columbus, not after disgracing her family. She was so clearly in denial.