Expel (6 page)

Chapter 9

Just One Taste

At the hospital, the ornery nurses let me know by way of their aggressive snarls, their barking reprimands, that it’s past visiting hours—that I can’t see Gage. I wait until they distract themselves by way of a newly discovered box of chocolate I bought at the gift shop and covertly landed on their desk before sneaking in.

Logan volunteered to wait in the truck to give Gage and me some much-needed privacy, which I totally appreciate. I let him know I wouldn’t have minded if he went in and said hello, hung out, but he insisted.
 

“Hi,” I whisper. A thin vanilla blanket conforms perfectly over his body giving the illusion he’s a marble statue from the chest down.

Gage smiles, his eyes are open just barely, exposing bloodshot bruises with blue sirens dotting the middle. He leans up looking very much like his old self.

I round out the bed and crawl beside him.

Gage takes a breath, sans the tubes. He lowers the volume on the basketball game and pats me over. He looks sleepy, but radiates his love for me, expresses it with every cell of his body.

“Throat hurts,” he rasps out the words, brushing his lips over my cheek with a minty kiss. His skin holds the sharp scent of soap, his hair still wet from the shower. God, I hope it was a shower, not some buxom bombshell of a nurse helping him with a sponge bath.

“I won’t stay long.” I scoot in tight next to him.

Please, stay long—all night in fact.
He kneads into my bare arm with his fingers, traces a line up to my shoulder before letting his hand fall back onto the bed from fatigue
. I can’t speak
.

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to,” I press out a soft smile. “Logan is back.”

My dad told me. Said he’s real happy to be here
.

“Yeah, well, I guess death does that to a person. He’s all hopped up on life now.”

Thank you
.

“Don’t thank me yet.” I glance over at a pair of small metal scissors next to the comb and toothbrush on the end table. I pick them up and slit a small line up the side of my wrist, a safe distance from the blue veins that protrude from my skin like roadways on a map. A fragile seam of blood rises to the surface, cresting until it forms a wave of crimson over my pale flesh.

“Skyla,” his voice breaks my name in two equal parts.
No
, he protests, closing his lids as if holding back tears.

“Yes. I want you home, healed and healthy. I want to go to Rockaway Point with you, roll around on the black sand and log some serious time under that coral tree.”

You remember?
His dimples go off like sirens.

“Are you kidding? I’ve grafted every one of the memories we’ve created over my heart. I remember everything about you and me.” I trace out his features with the pad of my finger. “And I want to go snorkeling with you again, watch as you make the butterfly room light up—find a hotel room that we can call our own.”

His brows twitch in amusement. He sears me with a seductive look without trying.

“So, if you want to get cracking on any of those good things you’re going to need to get better, fast.” I hold my wrist up to him like an offering.

He takes my hand and gently pushes my flesh up against his mouth, seals his lips over the wound and kisses it. Gage closes his eyes and indulges in a few good drags. It feels sensual, sexual in nature—desire coupled with pain.

“I thought you were dead,” I whisper, my voice warbling on the verge of tears. “Logan took me away to the Transfer then he disappeared. I thought I’d never get back to you.”

I’m not dead.
A shadow digs into his left cheek.
I must have dreamed a thousand dreams about you these past two weeks.
The curve of a naughty smile brims on his lips.

“All things delicious, I suspect.”

I dreamed of a future with you. We were in school, private college, on a neighboring island. It was just you and me.
He strokes the side of my face with the back of his hand, washes his eyes over me with a mixture of sadness and anticipation.

“You think it was a vision?” I soak in his sad earnest gaze. I love the way he makes me feel when he absorbs me through those powerful lenses, like he’s appreciating an exotic painting from afar wondering what it would be like to crawl inside the canvas— a starving man hovering over a hot meal and all he’s allowed to do is take in the aroma.

 
I know some of them were. We are magic, Skyla. We have everything to live for
. His features harden, his mind draws a wall of concrete so high and thick, I could never penetrate into that deep abyss.

“You saw something else?”

Nothing new. Just affirmations of things I’ve seen before
.

“Anything you’d like to share?” I take a slow drawn breath—already I know the answer.

I’m tired, Skyla
.

“I can cut my finger,” I offer.

He shakes his head, picks up my finger and kisses it before replacing it into the safety of his own warm hand.

I’d split my entire body in half if I thought it would make Gage better.

He looks up at me with surprise, breaks out into a slow spreading smile.

I know you would, Skyla. That’s why I love you.
  

***

The next morning I’m beyond exhausted. I drive the Mustang to school—the Mustang that has a distinct Gage shaped dent in the fender from trying to snuff the life out of both Oliver boys at once. I thought maybe I could forgive the orange chunk of metal for being a part of the malfeasance that took place that night, especially since I know for darn sure it wasn’t the poor car’s fault, but truthfully I hate it just a little bit for being responsible even if it was on a rudimentary level.

Just looking out the windshield forces me to see that night take place like a transparency overlaid on top of the world. Logan and Gage with their statue white faces—the look of horror on Gage that I had seen once before by way of Marshall’s visionary kisses.

During second period it takes all of my effort to keep myself conscious.

“Ms. Messenger, are you here to acquire numeric knowledge or drift in a dream?” Marshall knocks on his desk to further rally my attention.

“Dream—I mean learn,” I say, straightening in my seat. I stay alert long enough to observe as he cascades a repetitive cloud of numbers and letters across the board in a nonsensical sequence, try to listen as he thunders through his explanation.

“Problems one through five,” he instructs the class before seating himself on the edge of his desk. Marshall watches me, his lingering gaze drifts to my right, and he closes his eyes.

Oh, Skyla
, he says it full with disappointment.

I arch my brows at him before indulging in the inevitable and putting my head down onto the desk.

If he’s not elaborating I’m not biting—that’s the thing with Marshall, he always wants a bite. The more flesh to dig his teeth into, the better.

Long night?

 
I give a quick thumbs up. Actually that’s not why I’m tired. I didn’t stay out too late at the hospital, partially because Logan was waiting in the parking lot. I was up all night listening to Mia and Melissa lob insults at one another through our paper-thin walls. Usually I’m immune to their midnight murmurings, but once their lexicon became vitriolic—laced with bitch and asshole, then, of course, I perked up to attention. I’ve made a mental note that the walls are akin to tattletales for the next time Gage comes over. I bet the girls have been logging each time he sneaks into my bedroom and are holding onto that info for some supreme form of blackmail. Anyway, they hate each other now. And apparently my mother is pretty high on Melissa’s shit-list because, once again, she addressed her as
Lizbitch
during breakfast and no one said squat. If that’s what Mom and Tad are letting fly around Landon manner, I’d like to come up with my own version of abasement and humiliation tailor made for Taddy dearest.

Rumor has it an archeological dig at the Edinger estate is in your future.
Marshall shifts.
Care to trade in soggy soil for some time at the ranch? Say the word. I’ll have it arranged within the hour
.

“Price is too high,” I say, lifting my head just a notch.

Crap. I just said that out-freaking-loud.

The bell drills its high-pitched wail into my skull, rattles my brain around until foaming at the mouth feels like a real possibility. People are too busy shoving books into their backpacks to properly dissect my newfound verbal insanity, and, I suppose for this, I should be thankful.

A dark figure hovers over me, shadows the world on the other side of my eyelids. I open groggily to find Chloe in all her dark splendor, sharp and beautiful as a rusted out tack. You need a Tetanus shot just to give her a hug.

“I hear Gage is well.” Chloe offers her signature scowl.

The lights flicker as thunder erupts outside, corrugates the classroom with its howling roar.

“What in the hell are you doing here?” For a moment I consider the fact I’m having a bad dream, some kind of hallucination that you’re rewarded with after not enough sleep. I’m shocked to see her standing on West Paragon’s soil as though she were never kicked out in the first place.

“The sword wasn’t mine. I was able to prove there was no way I lugged that thing to school, nor did I plan on stabbing you in the gut with it. I’ve been back for a solid week.” She glances up at Marshall and gives the slight curve of a smile.

No sulking
, Marshall reprimands, pretending to clear the clutter off his desk.
You know full well you didn’t fulfill your end of the agreement
.

Sometimes I really hate Marshall. I should teach them both a lesson and do my best rendition of a batshit ape—lob furniture around and accidently fracture Chloe’s spinal cord, rip her vertebrae out one by one just for the fun of it. I could always plead insanity. I’ve practically got Dr. Booth in my back pocket. I think.

“Yeah, well, Gage is better.” I pull my stuff together and stand. “You were driving the car that night, weren’t you?”

Her smile dissipates. “You think I would do that to my dear friend Gage? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“The kind that killed my father, killed Ethan, killed Emerson.” I pull back a finger as I log each name. “Yes, Chloe, I do think you’re that kind of monster. A murderous monster who happens to be lost in a perpetual jealous rage over the fact the boy you love doesn’t love you back. Get over it.” I cinch my backpack over my shoulder. “But then you’re incapable of getting over it, aren’t you?”

Her features contort as I speed out the door.

Logan holds up a hand and high fives me in the hall on my way towards the stairwell. I should tell Logan that Gage wants to see him, tell him how much better Gage is after just one taste of my Celestra fortified goodness. I pivot on my heels and catch Logan pulling Chloe off into an alcove. My stomach does a hard roll, burns hot with its own version of a jealous rage.