Someone to Stay Page 13

  Why?

  Lying back down, he reached for his phone, the brightness causing him to squint as he stared at the screen. Crime and Punishment lay on the bed next to his pillow, the cover bent from where he had rolled over on it. He was momentarily confused until he remembered: he had tried to read some more earlier but got tired and set it down, forgetting about it as he fell asleep. He remembered the mockingly remorseful way Cassie had apologized to him when he told her he was reading the book; the thought of her made him smile weakly despite himself.

  Cassie...

  Resting his phone against his chest, he drew his hands up, rubbing his eyes roughly, seeing stars behind his lids. He wanted to see her again. He knew logically that he would see her just tomorrow afternoon, or, technically, this afternoon since it was already Sunday, but he wanted to see her now. Alexa’s words still echoed through his head - I feel sorry for her. They’d stung him, yes, and a small part of him wondered just how merited Alexa’s sentiment actually was. And then there was that evil, insidious part of him relentlessly whispered that Alexa was right to feel that way because the elephant in the room was that in less than five weeks, he was going to leave.

  He picked up his phone again, making a decision without thinking about it. Pulling up his texts, he messaged her, Are you awake?

  It was only after he hit the send button that he hoped it wouldn’t wake her if she was asleep. He didn’t exactly know her sleeping habits, but he remembered that morning she was up very early, the day they made plans to hike. It felt like a long time ago, but it was only a little over a week ago.

  His phone beeped, and he saw the response: Yes. What’s up? You okay?

  Instead of wasting time typing out a response, he hit the call button and held the phone up to his ear. She answered in the middle of the first ring.

  “Hey,” she said, quietly. He closed his eyes, imagining that she was next to him and not miles from him, wondering what it would feel like to reach over and touch her.

  “Hey,” he said back, the fantasy gone when he opened his eyes again. “I can’t sleep.”

  He heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “Me neither. It’s just one of those nights.”

  “Is anything the matter?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  An idea struck him, and he sat up in bed.

  “What do you say we take a walk?”

  “Oh - uh, sure, we could. Like around my neighborhood?”

  “Yes. I’d like to see you, Cassie.”

  There was a small pause; he heard rustling he couldn’t identify but then she said, “Okay. I’ll meet you outside my house in about twenty minutes?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  They hung up, and Jake got out of bed, searching for a pair of jeans and the shirt he’d thrown against the chair earlier in the evening. He pulled them on quickly, holding back a smile.

  10.

  The night was warm but not anywhere near as humid as it was during the day, and Jake quietly shut the car door, seeing Cassie sitting on the front porch step, shrouded in darkness. He made his way over to her as she stood up, her face coming into view, a small smile spread across it.

  It felt like the most natural thing in the world to reach out and pull his arms around her, bringing her as close as reasonably possible. He felt her exhale against him, face pressed against his chest, and he raised a hand against the back of her head, fingers lightly digging into her hair, reveling in the silkiness of it.

  “I’m glad to see you,” she said after a moment, and she disentangled herself, stepping back to look at him.

  He wanted to kiss her - he stopped himself from doing so. Eyes darting from her lips to her eyes, he swallowed.

  “And I’m glad to see you as well. Come. Let’s walk.”

  She nodded and they set off down the dark street. Jake could smell the river, even though they were a couple blocks from it, its gritty scent lingering in the air. There were no cars at all as they walked, reminding him just how small of a town they were actually in. After a moment or two, he felt her hand slip into his, fingers intertwining, swaying as they stepped. He smiled.

  “So,” she said after a minute. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Her tone wasn’t pushy, but he could tell she was worried. He gave her hand a small squeeze and said, “Not until you tell me what’s wrong first.”

  She laughed quietly, and they rounded a corner, another dark street with only one streetlight. “I recall asking first.”

  He smirked at her persistence. “Alright. I...I had a bad dream.”

  “What was it about?”

  “The details are fuzzy. My sister was in it. She was...talking to me. But I can’t remember anything else.”

  Cassie was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were of the crickets and their footsteps.

  “What was...she like? Your sister.”

  Her question was timid, as if she were afraid to ask. Jake cleared his throat before answering.

  “Honestly...I don’t remember her as well as I’d like. She was...outgoing. She helped me with homework, sometimes. She and mum used to fight about this boyfriend she had. He was at the funeral.”

  The memory came to him startlingly clear: Dale, he remembered suddenly, stiff as a board as he stood in the pew, hair slicked back, glossy in the light. As a child, Jake remembered watching him with mild curiosity. As an adult, Jake realized now, nothing would have prepared Dale to see Emma that way. He’d walked out as soon as the service was done; Jake never saw him again.

  “Do you miss her?”

  Cassie’s question broke through his thoughts, caused him to falter. His immediate, knee-jerk reaction was to say, Yes, of course. He opened his mouth, willing himself to say that exact thing, but the words refused to come out that way.

  “To be honest, I stopped thinking about her in any real sense a long time ago.”

  She was silent at this, and Jake waited for her to say something, anything. He wondered what could possibly be running through her mind right now - did she think him a monster, to say such an insensitive thing, even while knowing exactly what she lost not so long ago? Or did she feel sorry for him, pity him for his detachment?

  She finally spoke. “When did you stop thinking about her?”

  Jake thought about that. It had been years, easily. Since before his career took off in any real direction; before, perhaps, he had graduated from uni. He struggled to find an exact point in time he could pinpoint, could tell her was absolutely the moment that his sister had faded away, had ceased to exist for him.

  “I don’t think there was any specific time I stopped. It was gradual. It just...got easier. Less there.”

  He thought he saw her nod, and he became aware of an open field they were walking next to; in the distance was a forlorn looking swing set: a small park. He pointed.

  “Want to take a seat for a while?”

  He saw her return his smile; she nodded.

  “Sure.”

  The walked through the dewy grass to the swing set, and they both sat on the swings, Jake clutching the chain.

  “Now it’s your turn,” he said then, looking at her.

  He could see the indecision on her face as she battled with herself over opening up again. He felt, right then, so open and raw, his emotions a strange turmoil in his mind, his heart aching for some indescribable reason. His sister, her young face, the details no longer discernible, flickered in and out; he couldn’t even remember the color of her eyes.

  What sort of person forgets something like that?

  “I can’t sleep most nights.”

  The tone of her voice was that of resignation; he frowned, not wanting to interrupt, his head exploding with questions.

  “I - I try. I try to smile, to...to act like nothing is wrong. And, you know, sometimes I think I do a good job at it. But,” her voice cracked, and Jake gripped the chain harder, his other hand balling into his knee, “None
of it changes that my dad is dead.”

  “You miss him,” Jake said. Not a question.

  Her face was expressionless, but he could see tears in her eyes. She blinked, and two fell down her cheeks; his heart lurched at the sight. “Every day.”

  And because he couldn’t say anything else, he said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Cassie sniffed and looked down at her hands, which were resting in her lap. “I was such a bitch when he was sick. I...I was so angry, at everyone. I couldn’t control what was happening. Nobody can control cancer. But I...it was so drawn out, the chemo, the radiation, the hospitalization.” She was crying fully now, rubbing her eyes, her nose. He could only watch her, a forlorn expression on his face. “I - I just wanted it to end, you know? I wanted it to be over. But for my dad - that meant being dead. And I wished that on him. I fucking hated him for what he was doing to me, to my mom. And now that he’s gone, I would give anything to have him back.”

  She didn’t say anything else after that - she cupped her hands over her face, her body wracked with silent sobs. It was difficult to watch, and, coupled with his own renewed sense of grief for Emma prickling to the surface, he felt his own eyes fill with tears that he blinked back quickly.

  Standing up, he walked in front of her, reaching for her. He gripped her arms, lightly, urging her up, and she stood, looking at him with such a heartbreaking expression he could only pull her to him, embracing her.

  “Cassie,” he said quietly, into her hair. “You know that I’m here for you.”

  He felt her nod against his chest, her fingers gripping at the fabric of his shirt.

  “I’m not normal, Jake. I’m not okay.”

  “Hm. Are any of us?” he asked, pulling her back, looking at her. Reaching out a hand, he swept her hair behind her ear, using his thumb to wipe under her eyes. “What you feel is normal. But you’ve been carrying this around for far too long. Does Sam know you feel this way? Do you talk to her about it? Or your mum?”

  Her eyes darted away, resting somewhere between his chin and his chest, her mouth a sad, straight line.

  “I don’t talk to anyone about this.”

  He remembered wondering about that - of suspecting that she didn’t talk to anyone about her father. He nudged her chin lightly with his knuckles, urging her to look up again.

  “Sam and I...” she started, a look of discomfort crossing her features. “We had a fight.”

  “About what?” Jake asked, releasing her, gesturing to the swings again.

  After she’d sat back down, she shrugged. “Sam knows that I’m still...sensitive, I guess, about some things. She said some very unkind things to me, and I sort of...went off on her.”

  “What did she say?”

  She didn’t answer him immediately; she was looking across the field to the street, eyes unseeing, her mouth a perfect frown.

  “She insinuated that I had been alone too long, that I needed someone, a man, to...” She paused, swallowed, the movement deliberate and drawn out. “To fix me.”

  “And...do you think you need fixing?”

  At this, Cassie shrugged, her frown still there. “I guess so. But, not by you. No offense. Nobody can fix me. Sam...she tried to ignore the problem, that’s why we never talked about it. Don’t get me wrong...I didn’t want to talk about it, but she never even asked. Telling someone you’re always there for them and actually being there for someone, aren’t they two different things?”

  “So, Sam wasn’t there for you, not in the way you wanted?”

  Cassie shook her head. “She was, I mean, there for me. But...none of it felt real. I don’t...I don’t know how to connect with people anymore, maybe.”

  He wanted to tell her, But you’ve connected with me.

  Instead, Jake sat back, still watching her, wondering just how deep this grief went. He wished he could fix her, he thought then, vehemently. But, the logical part of him told him that he couldn’t. He could only listen, and offer advice, and hope that he made a difference.

  “When was the last time you talked to her?” he asked.

  “It’s been almost a week.”

  “Have you thought about calling her up? Just...explaining yourself? Telling her how she made you feel, and why?”

  She shot him a quick look, expression wary. “Of course I have. But it’s not that easy.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she said, sounding a little exasperated. “It would mean I’d have to explain...everything. I don’t...I don’t think...” She broke off, eyes returning to her hands in her lap. “I don’t think I can.”

  Jake didn’t say anything at first, deciding to think about what she was saying instead for a moment. He didn’t think he’d ever known someone so withdrawn, so unable to see that her own introversion was pulling her away from her relationships, her own happiness. For the first time, he asked himself what he was getting himself into, that vicious part of him telling himself to step away. But that other part of him, the part that cared about her, snarled in defiance.

  He couldn’t fix her, no, but he could try to help her fix herself.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, of course,” he said then. “But I think it would be a good idea. If Sam is really your friend, and cares about you like I think she does, then she’d want to hear what you have to say.”

  “I’ll...I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.” Jake stood, stretching, and held his hand out to her. She took it, fingers curling around his palm as she stood as well. For a fleeting moment, they just looked at each other, uncertain what to do next. But then, his eyes landed on her mouth, and he leaned in, dipping his head, pausing, silently asking permission. She leaned up in response, meeting him halfway.

  Her lips, warm and soft, invited him in; he felt her breath against his mouth, felt her hands grip his arms. He pulled her closer, deepening the kiss, his heart thumping hurriedly in his chest, his fingers pressing into her back. She leaned in against him, her warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

  His need for control, usually so present, so demanding, snapped. He felt arousal clouding his thoughts as one of his hands reached for the back of her head, his fingers slipping through her hair. In that moment, he wanted her so much that he was unable to think of anything else - he could only think of the heat he felt and the feel of her shuddering breaths against his lips, her shaking hands against his arms.

  A small whisper in the back of his head told him to stop. That he was taking advantage, perhaps, of her weakened emotional state. It was a very hard voice to listen to - she had let out a small sound, strangled in her throat just then - but with difficulty, he slowed down, pulling his hand out of her hair and breaking the kiss.

  They were both breathing fast; her disheveled appearance, glossy eyes, and swollen lips only seemed to add to the heat circulating through him. He wanted to grab her again, to continue what they started; her face was obviously pleading for it, but he knew better than that. Instead, he took her hand.

  He barely recognized his own voice as he asked, “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

  Cassie nodded. They turned and made their way back the way they had come, an indescribable weight resting where their hands were joined.

  Cassie stared at her phone, her mind reeling, trying to make a decision.

  It was noon, and she knew Sam wouldn’t be doing anything...probably. And it was such a simple thing, really, to lift up the phone and call her, to tell her she was sorry for what she’d said. Because she knew now, indisputably, that she owed Sam an apology.

  It felt like days ago that she had sat on the swings with Jake, spilling her heart out to him about her father, telling him things she had barely even told herself, but it wasn’t even nine hours ago. It was...alarmingly freeing. She felt, after she had gotten home and crawled into bed, after another brief kiss goodbye, somehow different. Changed. Liberated, even.

  And Jake...

  Her heart sped up at the thought
of him: his grace, his eyes. That mouth, expertly landing on hers, knowing just how to make her crumble in his arms. She thought then, for the first time since he got here, that she could understand why he had received so much attention, why he had so many fans. He commanded his audience, whomever that may be at the time.

  He had taken command of her, certainly.

  And the things she said to him...

  He scanned her room, realizing for the first time how bare it truly was. All trace of her father was gone, sans Crime and Punishment peeking out from under her bed where she’d shoved it last week. Her foot hovered above it; she’d been about to shove it completely under when she decided against it. Bending over the bed, she picked it up, opening the cover and reading that message again.

  Happy birthday, kiddo. Have a great year. Since you need this for school, I figured I’d save you a trip. Love you!

  It was, maybe, the last thing she could remember her dad giving her. He gave it to her separately from everything else - everything her mom had wrapped that year, anyway. She remembered that it was wrapped in newspaper, and her dad grinned sheepishly as he handed it over.

  “It’s just a little something extra,” he’d said. Cassie had taken it, opening it, smiling at the small joke within. “Only a freshman, and already needing those weird books,” he’d added with a smile.

  She blinked the memory away, clutching the book in her hand. What wouldn’t she give to have him back? What wouldn’t she do to erase the last fourteen months of her life?

  But that’d mean erasing Jake, a voice said to her. She looked up from the book, to her bedroom door, not truly seeing. She didn’t want to erase Jake.

  In a couple of hours, he’d be picking her up for the movie. Shooting another glance at her phone, she set the book down, making a decision. She picked the phone up, and dialed Sam’s number.

  She waited for her to pick up, all the way till it landed on her voicemail, Sam’s cheerful voice in her ear telling her she couldn’t come to the phone right now.

  She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected Sam to pick up.