What Remains (10 page)

I push forward, running my hands, Cal's hands, under Spence's shirt and the feel of his skin makes me feel like I'm drunk and the room begins to spin. Spence's breath is coming in short gasps that are pulling me in deeper and deeper. I want to make him want me. Really want me until he can't hold back any more.

I want to keep going, to keep pushing, to see how far Spence will let me go, but at the same time I know that this is going to end somewhere. Suddenly I wish it wasn't Cal's body that was housing my heart. Because that means I'll have to stop before we get into territory that will seriously fuck Cal up, no pun intended. As it is, I can tell he's barely holding it together.

I wish I didn't give a shit about Cal, but I do. I care about him as much as I care about Spence, and caring about someone that much makes you responsible for them in a way. And I finally realize why they were always there when I needed them. They felt responsible not because I was the world's biggest train wreck, but just because, improbable as it might have been, they loved me.

I pull back slightly. Cal inhales and his eyes are closed now because I don't want to see if Spence is looking at him in horror or with something closer to the look he gave me when we were up in my room that night. That pure and almost ridiculously loving look that no one else has ever given me. It's that look I'm dying to see again, but terrified of at the same time because I've spent too many years convincing myself that I was unlovable and that's made dying easier.

But I can't help it, this not knowing, or perhaps that's Cal who can't help it and his eyes open. Spence looks … angelic and perfect. The white shirt under his gray sweater is bringing out the blue in his eyes, which are literally sparkling. They say that people's eyes sparkle, but I've never seen eyes actually light up like Spence's, like they're reflecting fireworks going on inside him. And he's looking through Cal to me.

“Liz?” he asks, looking both sad and amazed.

I nod. I want to reply. I want to tell him so much, but I can't make Cal's voice work and while he isn't fighting me, he isn't helping much.

I pull back slightly and Cal opens his mouth.

“She's … ” I say and then can't say anything else. I'm feeling too much, none of which I understand and I'm more than happy to crawl back away inside my mind and let Lizzie have control over my body, only that isn't really how it is. Like it or not, I'm still here with her.

Lizzie doesn't want this to stop. And for once, I have no idea what Spencer wants. Or perhaps that's a lie. Perhaps I do and just don't have a damned clue how to deal with it.

Either way, Spencer nods and leans towards me, his breath warm on my neck. My vision narrows, making me feel like I'm falling down a long dark tunnel. And it would scare the hell out of me if it weren't for Spencer, his hands on my arms, holding me here, making it okay.

Thirteen

Some mornings you wake up and it's like the skies part and everything gets clear and sunny and suddenly makes sense.

This isn't one of those mornings.

My head is pounding, my scars are itching like crazy, and my lips … holy crap, my lips feel raw and bruised. Just to make it worse, Dr. Collins is expecting me for my weekly appointment and he isn't going to care how fractured and screwed up I'm feeling.

Right now I want something I usually don't. I want to be alone. I want to sink into silence and try to make sense of what happened last night. But of course I'm not alone. I'm not sure I'm ever going to be alone again. And Lizzie is shooting bursts of adrenaline-fueled joy through me. She won't even back off and let me be tormented by the fact that I made out with my best friend.

I keep telling myself that she isn't deliberately trying to torture me. She's wired and manic. No change from how she always was where Spencer was concerned. Only now I'm stuck in the middle in a way I never was before and really, I want no part of it.

I can't outrun Lizzie, but I'm trying to avoid everyone else. I've already convinced Mom to let me use her car. It doesn't make sense for her to drive me to the hospital and sit there while they're running all of their tests. Plus I miss the sense of freedom that comes with driving. I had to promise to call her when I get there. I had to promise to take all side roads. I had to basically beg and plead like a little kid before she gave in.

But now that I'm in the car, I just sit here. My brain knows what it's meant to do: put my seat belt on, adjust my mirrors, put the key in the ignition, turn it, take the car out of park, drive. But my body is rebelling. Tense. Shaking. Sweat is already pouring down the back of my neck, soaking the collar of my shirt.

It's just driving. I've done it a thousand times, but my hands can't seem to get the seat belt into the little metal slot. I hear Spencer's voice in my head telling me to breathe, to take one thing at a time, that everything will be okay. I'm happy and surprised to find that, even after last night, thinking of him helps some. At least enough that I can get the seat belt on, the mirrors moved, and the key in the ignition.

I turn on the radio and am assaulted by classical music because this is, after all, my mom's car and she likes to listen to classical on her way to court. I reach over to change it, but can't imagine what I would want to hear. My already-pounding head can't deal with the thought of my usual rock stations. Sports channels are going to depress me and make me remember everything I've lost. There's classic rock, but that will make me think of Lizzie and all the other things I've lost.

I turn the radio off, but I never drive without music so the silence actually makes me even more uncomfortable. I flip it back to classical, turn it down, and put my hand on the gear shift while I stare at the letters P and D. Only inches make up the difference between sitting here, safe in my parents' driveway, and actually moving, driving, controlling this metallic monster that can get me from point A to point B.

I used to think of a car as being a means to an end: a moving house that took me from one place to another. Now it's something new. Now it's a loaded gun in my hand.

“Seriously, I don't mind,” Spencer says, hands on the wheel of his car. He looks like he's about to go onstage; all ironed and pulled together. In fact, he looks so relaxed it makes me wonder if I imagined everything last night.

But I know better, and the way Lizzie's heart is galloping in my chest isn't leaving any room for doubt. I slink down in the passenger's seat. “Can we not talk about it?”

He looks in the rear-view mirror and backs us down the drive. “How many times have you driven me to school or home from rehearsal? Just think of it as my evening up the score.”

“Thanks. Really. I just need to get a handle on things.” After I say it, I realize how many ways my comment can be taken, and I'm praying that he knows that I'm talking about driving and not about anything that may or may not have happened in The Cave.

If I'm embarrassed about having to ask him to drive me to my appointment then I'm mortified about whatever the hell it was that happened after school. This morning is the first time that I've ever hesitated to call Spencer about anything. And I know it wasn't because my parents had already left and I didn't want to impose on him for a ride, or because my hands were shaking so hard I thought I was going to drop the phone.

“If it'll help, we can go to the mall after your appointment and you can putter around the lot there and get used to driving again. I'm free until rehearsal at three,” Spencer offers.

It's an offer that means a lot. Spencer never lets anyone drive Sweeney, so I nod and try to focus on what should be a simple thought: driving. Driving with him in the car, wondering if that would be easier or if I'd just be afraid of hurting him too. Wondering if I can really sit in a car with him and not think about yesterday. About our lips … and his hands …

I feel hot and cold and dizzy like I'm going to be sick. I'm tired from fighting like hell against Lizzie wanting to replay, again and again, that half hour in The Cave that felt like it lasted for a year. Against her wanting to remember how easy it was to fall into his arms and feel safe, and at the same time buzzing like, for the first time, I was aware of nerve endings I never knew I had.

I look down to see that my hands are clutching at the armrest and that I'm sitting so far over, there's almost room for another person between us in the front seat of Spencer's little Golf.

Spencer must notice it too because when I look up, he catches my eye. “Look, about last night … ” he starts quietly.

I put my hands over my eyes and rub them, trying to wipe the memories out of my head. I glance at the speedometer and try to calculate whether I'd survive jumping out of the moving car. It seems unlikely. My luck isn't exactly good these days. “I'm sorry,” I whisper, keeping my eyes straight ahead. “I'm just … ”

The words get stuck in my throat, choking me to the point that I can barely breathe. I roll down the window and try to gulp in as much air as my lungs can hold.

All I hear is the deafening sound of blood rushing through my head and the hum of the engine as we lurch over to the side of the road. I'd almost welcome a meeting with the guardrail.

Spencer pulls down a side street and it takes him a minute to turn the ignition off, but then he does and pulls his leg up onto the seat, twisting so that he's facing me.

“Okay, so I get why you bolted last night. I really do,” he says. He blushes slightly and fiddles with his shoelaces. My stomach twists.

“Yeats … ” I begin, even though I have nothing at all to say, which Spencer must know because he just barrels on.

“I tried to call you last night. A couple of times.”

I nod. I ended up hiding my phone under a pile of dirty clothes. The light of the screen cast eerie shadows through my blue T-shirt every time it went off. I still haven't listened to the messages. I knew they'd make me feel worse.

I can't even look at him now, although I feel his eyes lying heavy on me.

“I didn't want things to get like this between us,” he says. “Awkward.”

I nod again and look out the window desperate for a star to wish on. I'd wish for this to all be over. I'd wish for us to be like we've always been and to forget this ever happened. But it's morning and it's fitting that all I can see are clouds.

Spencer reaches out and tugs on my sleeve. “Are you okay?”

I force myself to look at him and the concern on his face makes me feel worse. I
want
to be okay. I think about what he said in The Cave about having already lost Lizzie and about not wanting to lose me too. I don't want to take another friend away from him. I'm tired and confused and this whole thing sucks, but the one thing I know for sure, the only thing that I don't have to question, is that losing Spencer would completely kill me.

I shrug. I know I should say something; I just can't bring my mouth to move.

“Cal, we've been best friends forever and I don't want anything to mess that up. I probably should have stopped things. I mean, you took me by surprise, but that's no excuse. I know how screwed up things have been for you lately. How screwed up they'd have to be for you to … ”

A low groan escapes my lips. I'd give almost anything not to have to talk about this. Spencer, on the other hand, is on a roll.

“And I should probably feel guilty for not really being sorry it happened. I mean, I admit for a long time I kind of used to wonder … ”

My head snaps back hard against the window. “You used to wonder what?” I ask, trying to figure out what the hell that combination of words mean.

A heavy silence hangs in the car. “Yeah. Okay.” He breathes out the words in a resigned puff of air, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt like he's getting ready to go into battle. “What do want me to say, Cal? I mean, we've been best friends longer than I've even been sure I was gay. And it isn't like you're an ogre or anything, quite the opposite.”

My mouth is hanging open and I'm pretty sure I'm staring at Spencer like he's an alien who was accidently beamed into the car. I can't think of a single word to say in response to his confession.

Spencer leans forward and links his hands around his bent knee. “I know you're freaked out and I'm truly sorry for that. I really am. You have to believe me. But I'm not going to lie and say that it was horrible, because it wasn't. In fact, it was actually … ” Now he's grinning and I'm pretty sure he only stops because if I look as green as I'm feeling, he's worried about my puking on Sweeney's sparkling-clean upholstery.

I swallow so loudly I'm sure he can hear it, and then say “fine,” which I know means nothing when your best friend has just told you he didn't mind you and the girl living in your body—your heart—mauling him in the school theater.

A small smile holds up one side of his mouth. Nothing ever seems to embarrass him for long, which, I guess, is something I've always envied about Spencer Yeats. I can't ever hope to be that comfortable in my own skin.

My head is buzzing like a box of bees. My feelings and Lizzie's are so jumbled that I can't really tell them apart. Just like yesterday.

“Lizzie.” I stop and take a few deep breaths. I mean, if Spencer can tell me all this stuff, then maybe, just maybe I can too and he won't think I'm nuts. Maybe. Or maybe it would be worse.

A shadow crosses his face. He reaches up and plays with the air conditioner, readjusting the vents until I have to force my hands under my legs to resist the urge to stop him.

“What's it like?” he finally asks.

“What's what like?”

“Having part of Lizzie inside you like that? I mean, for a minute it was like she was there or something.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “You probably think I'm unhinged for even saying that, right?”

“Yeah, totally off your rocker. It's not her, just a mess of tissue. Just veins, muscle, and blood,” I mumble. I feel like a traitor to Lizzie for saying it and I'm not sure why she isn't yelling at me in my head; why she's been so quiet through this whole ridiculous conversation.

Spencer folds his arms tight against his chest like he's ready to defend her. “Really?”

I turn my head towards the windshield again so that I don't have to face him. A little girl is chasing a purple ball into the street. Her hair is in braids with ribbons bouncing up and down as she runs and for some reason that makes me miss Lizzie even more.

“No, not really,” I admit. “No, it's way more fucked
up than that. I can't explain it to you. I wish I could. I
just … ” I shake my head. I just what? I don't even know. “Can things with us not be fucked up too?” I plead.

Spencer reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. “They aren't. I mean, they can be however we want them to be.”

That sums up the real difference between the two of us. Spencer always seems like a sun that everyone else revolves around, able to bend the world to fit what he needs. I'm like some desolate planet that things keep crashing into without permission, leaving marks that can't be repaired.

“Yeah?” I ask. My muscles clench and for a minute, I'm afraid he's going to say no, that he's joking and that we're as fucked up as everything else seems to be.

But then he nods and says “yeah,” and smiles, really smiles, and I'm amazed at how much better that makes me feel. He turns around and starts the car up and pulls us back onto Main.

“Just promise me one thing,” he says with a serious expression.

I hesitate because given everything we've been talking about, I'm a little nervous about what he's going to come out with. But, I remind myself, it's not Lizzie, it's Spencer. He'd never do anything to hurt me. “Sure, what?”

“When you finally manage to kiss Ally, don't tell her if you enjoyed kissing me more. I don't think she'd take it that well.”

For a second it feels like my blood freezes and Lizzie's heart stops. But then I watch Spencer dissolve in laughter. His laugh is so infectious I can't help but join him. I don't even remember the last time I've really laughed, and it feels so good that I almost convince myself that it's possible for him to be right. That maybe, at least between us, everything is okay.

Things at the hospital go well too, so maybe it's really possible for me to move on. My test results are good enough that I'm only going to have to come back every other week for the next month. Then once a month for the rest of the year to have a line put into my neck and tiny pieces of Lizzie's heart removed to be examined to make sure my body isn't attacking it.