An Unstill Life (12 page)

I held my breath again.

“Open the door!” I recognized the voice now. Bianca. “Come on. Open up. Now.”

I didn’t move.

Her face appeared above the wall of the stall, and I jumped. I tugged at my jeans, but they were soaked with blood and stuck to my skin. She stood above me, eyes wide as she took in the scene. She glanced from me to the bloody piece of mirror on the floor. “Open the door. Now.”

Her voice left no room for argument. It was hard and serious as death. With shaking fingers, I turned the latch. Her face disappeared from where it hung like a disapproving moon.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” She dragged me from the stall. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I just stared at her. What had I been thinking? I didn’t remember thinking. I’d just acted. I dropped my eyes and saw the bloody runnels I’d drawn across my hip, the chewed-looking raw flesh. The pain hit me, glassy and exquisite. My legs turned liquid and dumped me to the floor.

“Come with me.” Bianca dragged me to my feet and propped me against a sink under an overhead florescent. In the unforgiving glare, the cuts looked worse. She grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser and pressed them against my wounds.

“Arrrgh!” I tried to pull away, but she held me firm, shaking me once, her face grim.

“Hold that.” She pushed my hand toward the towels, forcing me to press down on them. Fragments of the first-aid lessons we’d had at school drifted into my mind. Pressure on the wound. That’s what I needed. Okay, I had that. So long as I kept my hand there.

She moved my hand away. In silence she cleaned the ragged cuts, wiping away the blood with more towels, damp this time, the water cool and soothing against my ruined flesh. Her hands were small, soft, and much gentler than I would have imagined. She opened her bag and pulled out a small first-aid kit that she tossed into an unused sink. The bleeding slowed and she pressed a large gauze pad over my hip, adding another before securing them with a roll of clear tape. Her hands were caked in my blood, and she rinsed them in the sink. I watched the scarlet rivers swirl down the drain. My mouth filled with the putrid taste of it, the film coating my teeth in a layer of grit.

“I’m sorry.” The sound of my voice made me jump. It shook.

She turned, wiping her hands on a piece of blood-spotted towel. “You should be.”

“I am… You didn’t need to see that.” I shook my head, clearing the image of what had just happened from my mind. It didn’t feel real. I couldn’t have done that. But the throbbing in my hip told me otherwise. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being here?” It wasn’t really a question. “For this?” I gestured at the bandages on my hip. I wondered why she was so well prepared, how she’d dealt with this without any of the hysteria I knew my friends would have brought to the scene.

“What’s this all about?” Bianca leaned back against the sinks, her eyes scouring the room. I followed them, seeing the blood in droplets and pools all over the floor. I needed to clean up. I couldn’t leave the place looking like this. I reached for a wad of towels and scrubbed at the floor, smearing the blood across the tiles, painting them an ugly pink color that tasted sour enough to make me gag.

“Look, I get it if you don’t want to talk about it.” Bianca knelt next to me, a crumpled ball of towels in her hands, too. “But it might help.”

I stopped. Straightening up, I looked at her. Really looked at her. Could I tell her? The bitterness of my self-hatred flooded my tongue along with the peppery taste of anger. No. She’d hate me. She’d look at me differently. I wondered why I cared. It’s not like Bianca Mattheson was my friend. Or was she?

I bent and swiped at the floor again, the rustle of paper against tile creating the first soothing color I’d had all day, a pale lemony yellow. I drank it in, letting it wash through me like balm.

Then I opened my mouth to talk.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he best thing about Bianca was she let me talk, words pouring in a sick olive torrent from my lips to litter the floor. She didn’t say much, but just spilling the poison that had been gnawing at me lifted weight from my heart. Knowing someone shared my secret, and didn’t hate me for it, gave me strength.

“Wow,” Bianca muttered, unfolding herself from the now-clean tiles. “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t crack sooner. You sure have a lot going on, huh?”

I nodded, not sure if I could look at her now. I had to talk to Jules. That’s the one thing that had become crystal clear. But how? I couldn’t even think about doing it when Mom was around, and she was like a moth, hovering around an exposed bulb.

It was two days before I found my moment.

“I’m going to the supermarket,” Mom said, standing in the doorway of Jules’s room. “Is there anything you want?”

I froze at the top of the stairs where I’d been about to go down.

“No. I’m fine.” Jules’s voice floated along the hallway toward me, a pale green streamer wafting against the walls.

I scurried back down the corridor, ducking into my room just before Mom strode down the stairs. I hoped she wouldn’t remember I was there. I could see myself being dragged along to carry stuff, losing my opportunity to talk to my sister. But apparently, Mom’s anger was so great she couldn’t even stand to be stuck inside a car with me. She left without a word.

Jules was alone in her room, sitting up and flipping through a magazine. Her cheeks were hollow, and she hadn’t bothered to cover her balding head today. Wisps of dark hair stuck up around her scalp like a demented crown.

“Hey!” She smiled when she saw me, setting the magazine aside. “You’ve finally deigned to come see me.”

I shrugged. “It’s been kind of hard, with Mom hanging around.” I moved closer to her, trying not to notice the way her skin seemed stretched over her bones, every vein visible through it. I tried to picture her the way she was at the beginning of the summer, but this shadow-self kept superimposing itself over the image I wanted to see.

“She has been kind of like a second skin. Are you okay, Livvie?” Jules’s voice dripped honey-colored concern. “Mom told me…”

“I’m so sorry, Jules!” The words fell from my mouth in a purple gush to splash in messy puddles across the floor. Tears followed, accompanied by choking sobs. I dropped down on the bed beside her and buried my face in her shoulder. “I’m…so…sorry.”

“Oh, Livvie.” Her arm slipped around my shoulders, and she stroked my hair. “I’m not mad at you. I mean, who could have guessed that would happen? Anyway, it’s not even certain you’ll get it. I think it’s more like a precaution.”

“Did you know about the tat?”

She shook her head. “Why’d you do it?”

I wiped at my eyes, trying to regain control. I shouldn’t be crying; she was the one who had the anvil over her head. “I…I…don’t know.” I fixed my eyes on the white fringes lining the pale blue rug. “It was Mel’s idea. It was supposed to bond us or something.”

“You don’t need to mark yourself for life to bond, Livvie.” Jules stroked my cheek. “So, do I get to see it?”

I grabbed a tissue off the nightstand and blew my nose, wincing at the explosion of brown that came with the honking sound. I shook my head. The cuts I’d made were healing, but I couldn’t let Jules see the mess I’d made.

“Why not?”

“It’s in kind of a private place.” I hoped she’d leave it at that.

“Oh.” She smiled and for a second, I saw the familiar light shining behind her eyes. “Look, I know you’re upset about this, Livvie. But I don’t want you to be. I don’t want another transplant.” Jules’s words were whispered, but they stood out in bold, black letters against the white sheets.

“Really?” I kept my eyes on her face as she nodded.

“The doctor told me there’s only a small chance it will work this time. Real small. Like about five percent. It’s not worth it. I remember the last time. I couldn’t see anyone, or talk to anyone for months afterward because of the risk of infection. You were so young you probably don’t remember, but it was awful. I don’t want to go through that again. Not if there’s such a big chance it won’t help.” Jules’s eyes closed, and she panted as if she’d just run a race.

My legs went limp, and I staggered to the chair by her bed.

“Mom’s on the phone half the day trying to find another donor. She’s so sure it’s going to work.” Jules broke off and I saw tears clinging to her long, dark lashes. “I’m glad you can’t donate. It makes this easier for me. So please, don’t beat yourself up.”

I ran my hand over my still-raw hip. It was a little late for me to hear that.

“I hate this, Livvie.” She stared down at her emaciated body with disgust. “I hate it, so much.”

I nodded. “What can I do?” I locked eyes with my sister, connecting with her in a way I never thought I would again.

We stayed that way for a long time. I read the colors in Jules’s eyes, the green, grey, and golden brown flecks all telling me different stories.

She took a deep breath and looked down at the rose-colored comforter. “I need you to promise me something. It’s hard, Livvie, but you’re the only one I trust to do this.”

I stared at her, a slow churning beginning in my belly. I wasn’t going to like this. “What?” I managed to croak.

“Later, when it gets really bad, I need you to help me to…help me to die.” Jules looked up, her eyes clear and peaceful as they met mine.

My head whirled so crazily I thought I might fall from the chair. My throat closed. I couldn’t swallow. Jules’s words hung in the air between us, pulsing and vibrating in changing shades of pink and red. I couldn’t escape them. Even when I closed my eyes they were there, engraved against the insides of my eyelids. I’d saved her life once. Now she was asking me to end it.

Iron bands tightened around my chest, and for a moment I couldn’t draw breath. It was like drowning, the feeling of being under a wave too long, struggling for the surface but unsure you can get there in time.

“No.” I shook my head.

“Livvie?” Her hand on the back of my neck was gentle and comforting, as familiar as her voice. “It’s not going to be easy, I know. But I need you to do this for me. If this is going to happen to me, I want it to be my way, my terms. And I can’t be sure I’ll be able to do it on my own.”

She always needed to be in control. Even of this. She couldn’t force the disease to bend to her will, so she’d manipulate the rules, try to outsmart it any way she could. I couldn’t refuse her. I’d never refused her. I nodded, my head a weight atop my neck. The responsibility she’d burdened me with choked like lead around my neck.

“I knew I could count on you.” She hugged me, and I fell into her, needing the closeness. I couldn’t think about the end. I didn’t want to believe it was coming. Not soon, anyway. I couldn’t imagine my life without Jules in it. I’d be like a sailor without a compass, a miner without a light.

“I think I have to sleep now.” Jules sagged into the pillows, her face ashen.

I slid off the bed and pulled the comforter up to her chin. “Love you,” I whispered before fleeing the room.

I hurried down the hall, wanting to put some space between myself and Jules’s words. They followed me though, knocking into me as I walked. I had no idea how to live up to the promise I’d made. I’d been accusing myself of being a killer for weeks, and now I had to make it a reality. How could I do it? How would I?

My phone rang as I walked into the kitchen, the vibration against my thigh shocking me out of my thoughts.

I checked the display, but whatever I read didn’t register. “Hello?”

“Hey, Livvie.” It was Mel. “Where’ve you been?”

“Around.” I shrugged even though I knew she couldn’t see it. “What’s up?”

“Eddie came over to do homework. He just left, and I realized I hadn’t talked to you in…in ages. Are you… Are you still mad at me?”

I glanced at the clock over the stove. Nine twenty-three. How did it get that late? Homework. I hadn’t touched mine. In days. Weeks, maybe.

I ignored her question, not sure I had an answer to it. It was like talking to a stranger, not one of my best friends. “It’s been kind of tense here, you know? With Jules…”

“Oh, how is she?” Mel sounded like she was chastising herself for not asking sooner.

“Not good.” I bit down on my lip to keep it from trembling. It didn’t work, not even when my teeth drew blood. “I think she’s dying.” The word swelled in the air, the color of red wine. It couldn’t be taken back now; I couldn’t choke it back down. It pulsed there, growing until its contours pressed against the walls. It couldn’t be true. Jules could not be dying. Blackness crept out of its corner and jabbed at my gut, sharp, painful punches that left me feeling breathless and weak.

“I’m so sorry, Livvie.” Mel’s voice dragged me up from under the heft of the word. “That sucks.”

“It does,” I agreed. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about something else.” Anything else. I had to get my mind off the thing she’d tasked me with. I’d go insane otherwise.

“Okay.” Mel sounded eager, and I didn’t blame her. “Do you know Jesse Marsden?”

“Who?” I knew I’d asked for a change of subject, but this new direction disorientated me for a moment.

“Jesse Marsden. He’s on the soccer team. I think maybe he’s in your math class?”

I racked my brains before the image of a boy with a lot of reddish-brown hair came to mind. “I think so… He has curly hair, right? Not that tall?”

“Yeah! He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?” Mel’s excitement bubbled down the line. The tiny pink orbs hovered over me for an instant before imploding.

I frowned and moved toward the pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, poking at precariously piled plates. No way was I doing them. “Aren’t you going out with Eddie?”

“I am, doofus. Jesse likes you.”

I dropped the pan in my hand, and it clattered against the counter. “Me?”

“You. He wants to go out with you on Friday.”

“And you know this, how?” I moved my hand away from the phone for a second, holding it in place with my shoulder while I wiped sweat from my palm on my jeans.

“Eddie and Jesse are friends. So, do you want to double date with Eddie and me on Friday? There’s a party up at the lake.”

Another party. But at the lake it would at least be outdoors. “Uh…” I hesitated, turning the tap on and then off again a second later. A date? Wasn’t that what every girl wanted? And Jesse wasn’t a bad guy. I didn’t know him well, but that didn’t matter, did it? Anything would be better than staying here, trapped by Jules and her impossible words. “I guess so.”

“Awesome!” Mel didn’t sound like herself. “Jesse’s going to be so stoked.”

“I hope so.” The words seemed to take a long time to say. I had a date. Why wasn’t I excited?

When I got to school, I spied Hannah waiting at the lockers. I squinted around for Sam, but he wasn’t there. That was unusual these days.

I threaded my way through the overcrowded hallway. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“Guess what, Livvie?” Hannah’s voice quivered with excitement. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with it, energy surging from her.

“What?” I couldn’t hide the suspicion from my tone, but she didn’t seem to hear it.

She rose up onto the balls of her feet, her voice rising in pitch to match. “Jason Davis likes you.”

This again? Was I expected to believe this crap? That after all these years of being invisible, popular guys liked me? Or was it the way Adam “liked” me? No way was I falling for that again. I tried to remember if I’d even spoken to Jason Davis. Back when I was ten, maybe, but not since then. Not since it meant anything.

Hannah bounced again. “So? Isn’t that awesome? He’s Sam’s best friend. We can go on double dates and stuff. There’s a party on Friday. You have to come.”

This was going to be a big party. My heart sank. “I don’t know.” I tried to stall. “I kind of already said I’d go with someone else.”

“Oh.” The word plunged to the floor, dark with disappointment. “Um… So, who?”

“Jesse Marsden,” I told her. I wasn’t sure I should say that. He hadn’t actually asked me himself.

She stared at me until the bell rang, startling her. “Well, I guess we’ll see you there, then, huh?”

We moved down the hallway. “I guess,” I said.

In math, I slipped into my seat late, getting there just as the bell rang. Across the room, Jesse looked up and gave me a shy smile before turning his face back to his desk. I stole a peek at him as I dragged my books out of my backpack. I’d never paid him much attention before. His hair stood out from his head in a mass of wild curls. He looked like some kind of mad scientist or someone who’d escaped from the nineteen seventies. His T-shirt was tight across his chest, and I could see his ribs pressing against it. Hairy, twig-like legs poked out from his shorts.

He glanced up, perhaps feeling the weight of my eyes on him. I fumbled through my notebook, cheeks blazing. His eyes were brown, a dark bitter color like cocoa. They clung to me even after I turned away and tried to concentrate on solving quadratic equations.

He followed me out of class, falling into step with me as I headed for the lunchroom.

“Hi, Livvie.” His voice was a low dark orange rumble, deeper than I’d expected. My head reached a point just above his shoulder. Funny. I’d always thought he was short. All the boys seemed to have grown over the summer.

I pictured them, Sam, Eddie, Jesse, Jason, all the other boys in my classes, feet buried in the dirt, a gigantic watering can dangling over their heads. I giggled.

“What’s so funny?” He gave me a quizzical look.