If I Stay (19 page)

“I just find it ironic,” Sacha finished. “That you would write something like that about my short story, Professor Lawson, when you wrote an entire novel about a man who was angry at the world. Who ran away because of his anger, even, and did a lot of horrible things. I'd say that's
using writing as a weapon, don't you?”

He sat down at his seat, looking scared as baby lamb. Like he'd only just realized the exact thing that he'd done, which was confront Ben about an assignment. A stupid, freaking assignment. In front of the entire class.

In front of me.

Ben only smiled, though. As if he appreciated every single word that had come from Sacha's mouth.

“You know, you're quite right, Sacha,” Ben said. “If there's one thing I really respect about you, it's your passion. You're right. My book definitely is an excellent example about how the written word can be used as a weapon. I suppose my main concern, for future consideration, is to simply be wary about your potential audience when you're writing something that might eventually be shared with other eyes or ears.”

Sacha nodded, and Ben quickly added:

“Class, please give Sacha a round of applause. I certainly think it took some courage to stand up and confront the professor in such a raw manner.”

Everyone clapped, including myself, and Sacha slowly fell down into his seat with a nervous smile sweeping over his lips. When Ben dismissed the class, Sacha quickly dove out of the room, and Brandon looked at me like his head was spinning.

“Jesus,” he mumbled. “I think you should probably talk to him.”

“I think you're probably right.”

“I'll give him one thing, that took some balls.”

I waited for everyone to clear the room before taking my sweet time down each of the steps. When I finally reached Ben's desk, he looked embarrassed.

“I'm not angry at you or anything,” I said quietly. “But I need you to get something straight: I do
not
need you to defend me in my friendships.”

It was such a strange thing, saying something that felt so harsh to him. Ben was so sweet, so kind, and so giving. I hated speaking to him like that, especially since he'd never been anything but gentle and tender with me. Still, there was Sacha to consider. My best friend.

I couldn't not speak up for him.

From the small window that really only granted a small bit of glass to look through, I could see that he was waiting. I looked at Ben, feeling a mix of emotions but mostly a momentary rush of confusion and suck.

“We'll talk later,” I promised him, giving him an attempted but otherwise pathetically weak smile. Opening the door, Sacha looked over at me, his face completely flush.

“I'm such an asshole, Gemma,” he said after I'd closed the door. “I'm so sorry. I just made the biggest fool of myself in there, and now, I'm just...”

I responded the only way I knew how: I hugged him as hard as I could.

“Sacha, I get it,” I told him. “I mean, of course it hurt. But it's not like I didn't hurt you all those years by going back to Toby. I hurt you, and Brandon – and hell, I hurt my family. I hurt everyone. Including myself. And goddamn, Sacha...”

I sighed. Heavy and shuddering.

“We're getting ready to graduate. Everything is a mess of emotion right now. But I'll be damned if I let a stupid, crumpled assignment put a damper on our friendship.”

His face softened, his eyes partially hidden beneath shaggy bangs. Perhaps it was for the best.

“Do you mean that?”

“With every bit of my admittedly slightly-wounded heart.”

“I do deserve that, I suppose.”

We laughed, even though it wasn't exactly funny or anything. Sometimes it's all you can really do.

“I'll bug you later,” he told me. I smiled, waving and watching as he disappeared around the corner. If the next crop of students hadn't already been trickling into the classroom, I would gone back in and tried to smooth over this rough patch with Ben. I stood around while everyone got settled into their seats, feeling only slightly better. But that's still something, at least. And as Ben walked over to close the door, he looked at me, and I looked at him, and he said:

“I'm genuinely sorry, Gemma. Please tell me that we can talk later?”

I nodded.

“You know where to find me.”

He closed the door, and I made the quick walk to the studio, unavoidably noting the still-hanging portraits of myself that remained on the hallway walls. Pieces of Sacha still everywhere around me, until I was finally safe in the studio with only my pencils and paper. The simple, organic goodness that is the sounds of lead scratching against grain.

When Ben finally came, I'd nearly finished. Only this drawing wasn't of him. It wasn't of Brandon or Sacha, or anyone I knew. It was of myself, or at least, my best attempt at drawing myself. I didn't quite like it, but when Ben saw it, he naturally smiled.

“It's lovely.” He said, his fingers tracing over a corner of the paper. “Gemma, I'm sorry.”

“I already told you that I wasn't terribly angry,” I told him. He pulled a chair over, sitting down on it backwards so that he could rest his arms on the top-rail.

“You need to know that deep down, I did write what I wrote with the most professional intentions.”

I looked down, my shoulders sinking.

“Was I thinking of you? Of course. I didn't want you to get hurt. It's difficult for me as a professor and writer to tell a student that they should hold back. But I must have some regard for the well-being of my students. And if I read something that I feel might potentially hurt another person, I certainly must acknowledge it. This isn't just you. It's anyone. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” I answered. “It's just difficult between him and me right now. You were right all along in his having feelings for me.”

“It might take some time, but trust in my saying that he'll be fine.”

“Eventually, perhaps.” I said. “Although there is a minor hypocrisy in your mentioning a concern for the well-being of your students.”

Ben smiled, taking my hands. Of course, I didn't pull away.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked. “Should we drop this charade and go our separate ways?”

There was a joking lightness in his tone, but even then, I wanted nothing more than to shut it down immediately. I didn't want us to walk away from each other, even if the nature of our temporary state was, in some way or another, unethical.

“It's just hard to be certain of anything when it's still all up in the air.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You know what I mean,” I said to him. “It's not like I'm your girlfriend. You could leave for LA this summer and do whatever you want, whether or not I decide to stay in McMansion for the duration of your trip. Technically, you're a free man.”

He looked at me, stunned and silent.

“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly. “For me to be your boyfriend.”

The old, more timid Gemma wouldn't have said a word. But I was tired, honestly, of dancing
around what I really wanted. It was April, May was near. And I knew where I stood. I knew, beyond that, where my heart stood.

“Yes,” I told him. “I want this to be more than just a secret, romantic friendship.”

Ben's hands tightened around mine, his eyes wide and smile even wider. Of all things, I did not expect for him to look so over-the moon.

“But we can't,” I told him. “Not now, at least.”

“Well...” he paused, his brow furrowing. “What would you say to one month and a promise that I'll be here, waiting for you.”

It felt so secretly fun to hold his hands from underneath the table, the two of us looking at each other like a couple of teenage kids all over again. There was a sincere, almost innocent glee to it all that would have kept me going for days if my life ran off the fumes of Joy.

“Because I want you to be mine, too,” he added.

“So that's a promise?” I asked.

I never saw him smile wider, I don't think, than I did that afternoon.

“I swear on everything that matters the most to me. I swear on my writing,” he promised.

When the coast was clear, we hugged, and Ben snuck a quick kiss on my forehead. As he left for his next class (my latest drawing rolled up and under his arm) I left and finished the rest of my obligatory classes. Every single part of me was dancing, my insides whirling in a dizzy swirl of sheer, unadulterated happiness than not even Sacha's little stint in class could have dampened. As I steered out the building and down the path to my next class, I couldn't help but think about exactly how little time a month actually was, and how long it was likely to last. I'd never wanted time to speed up more quickly.

Sighing, I stopped at the foot of the road, waiting for my signal to cross and enjoying the first glimpses of warmth that Spring was carrying along in the breeze. As the light turned, I ran across the road, the building doors in my line of vision as I contemplated if this was indeed what bliss felt like. Nothing could tear me down right then, it seemed.

Not even the sound of screams, or wailing tires, or my body as it hit the pavement.

And that's all I remember, really, before I fell into the enveloping darkness.

EIGHTEEN

At first, my gradual slip back into consciousness was really just a stream of distant, dancing lights. I couldn't really see anything, and the few images that did happen to catch my eye were nothing but a blur. Like upon the impact of my head against the street, I'd managed to lose my vision. Or have it stolen, rather. To lose something could possibly give this idea that I had acted lazily, and in this laziness, had somehow misplaced my sight. But the accident wasn't my fault. At all. A car had sped straight through the red light, seemingly unaware that I was crossing the road at the exact same time.

I guess they had him in custody. Although I would only later discover this after waking up.

While I would much prefer saying that it was the sweetly-soft sound of Ben's voice that I'd awoken to, it wasn't. It wasn't his, or anybody that was even remotely close to the realm of Loved Ones. It was the sound of the incessant
beep, beep, beep
of the IV that ran from a long, clear tube and into my wrist. The first sound that registered as human vocals was unfamiliar, and when I slowly opened my eyes, I was able (just barely) to make out the image of teal-colored scrubs covering the frame of a nurse tending to the bandages on my arm. I tried to get a better look at her, to force my eyes into focus like Sacha could do so effortlessly with his camera. But it was met with little triumph, the loose-fitting cloth to my ill-working eyes only covered, in any other description, a smeared picture. Skewed and wavering along with the bout of dizziness that had swept over me, like a piece of artwork.

I closed my eyes, and tried to speak.

“Ah...” Because
help
hadn't quite come into my head, and even though I could hear my mother talking to one of the doctors, her shadow moving as she stood separated from me by only a curtain, the given name, mom, was completely lost to me. I could only recognize her voice, and nothing more.

When she drew back the curtain, tears immediately starting flowing.

“Oh, thank God. You're awake. Oh, sweetheart...”

She knelt down, taking my hand in hers and holding it to her cheek. Lifting my arm, there was a small amount of pain – but nothing unbearable. And because I really couldn't speak, I simply tried my best to focus on her. To let her know that I was alright with my open eyes and small attempt at making some kind of noise.

I let my heavy lids fall once again, resting for just a moment or two before pulling myself back, and meeting my surroundings with much clearer sights. My mother was still on her knees, looking up at me, her face so full of complete gratitude for something so simple as my open eyes and parted lips as I told her, my words still quite jumbled.

“I love you.”

The tears kept falling. One, two, three, and then they were countless. There was a sudden pain that shot throughout my body when I attempted, slowly, to sit up – and my mother's immediate gentle tone directed me to lay back down. Turning my head, I saw that there was an almost remote-looking object that remained next to me, and my mother said:

“That's for the pain, darling. Would you like me to press it for you? Do you need the nurse?”

I was able to press it for myself, however, and without a fraction of pause there was no pain. None at all. My entire being was flooded with some potent concoction that I swear could have sucked away the pain of a limb torn off by Zombies.

“I like this era, because there's strong pain medicine and stuff. I can't feel anything anymore.”

“Relax, Gemma,” my mother coaxed. “Why don't you rest again?”

If had I been more aware, more attentive and less weighed-down by the pain and drug-cocktail that was slowly seeping into my bloodstream, I would have fought it. But I didn't. I couldn't. With my mother's hand still holding mine, I let myself go once again and managed to sleep peacefully for at least a few hours, until the beeping of my IV started up.

Hospitals, I realized, weren't really meant for people to actually rest.

Mom was in the hallway when I looked out through the doorway, her and my father both talking to someone – a nurse or another doctor, I assumed – and I was left to my solitary lonesome. Adjusting my covers, I tried to sit up again, only to immediately fall back down. The pressure on my ribs was unbearable, sending another wave of pain shooting straight through me. I winced, my breath shallow as I reached over, fumbled for the bed remote, and was able to at least elevate myself a little bit.

When my mother heard my rustling, she turned and smiled.

“Oh, Ben. She's awake.”

Ben
. For a span of time more brief than the snap of a finger, my brain short-circuited. I had no idea who the man behind the one-syllable name was until my mother stepped aside, and there he stood. Ben was talking to my father, and mid-sentence his eyes fell upon me. They widened, his lips parting, the look on his face unspeakably shaken. After a few brief words to my parents, he came inside, sitting down on the chair next to my bed.

“I don't think I've ever been so happy to see anyone awake,” his said quietly. Extending my arm to the best of my ability, I brushed my fingers against his. He smiled.

“Everything hurts,” I mumbled, each word still heavy on my tongue. As I took in a breath, I grimaced at throbbing sensation that ran like a river trail down the side of my face. Using my fingertips, I brushed my hair back and touched what felt like a long bandage. I knew, even in my groggy condition, that there were stitches underneath. “How many?”

“Eleven,” he answered. “And three fractured ribs. It's remarkable, though, that you escaped any broken limbs.”

“So I shouldn't feel so horrible?”

I swear, it hurt to even
breathe
. As I tried to take another breath, even a small one, the tears started welling up and falling down my cheeks. Ben brushed them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I'd say that a few tears wouldn't be so terrible,” he told me, standing. “Listen, I'm going to go get some coffee, but I'll be back, okay?”

“Please don't go,” I begged weakly. He smiled.

“You have visitors,” he said. “And I don't believe it's proper for me to monopolize your time, particularly with family and friends waiting to see you. But I'll be back. I promise.”

I didn't want him to leave, but I knew that protesting would do no good. The throbbing beneath my bandages and skin coupled with whatever the nurse had injected into my IV was enough to make me nauseous, though I tried my best to ease it with ice chips.

When Sacha and Brandon appeared, it was hard for me to keep myself in bed. Sacha appeared totally spooked, while Brandon simply looked somber. Somber was something I'd never seen him wear before, although when he tried his best to grin, I felt slightly better.

“You're sure wearing that hospital garb, Gems.” Brandon said. “How's that bandage feel?”

“How about the three broken ribs?” I joked, forcing myself not to laugh. It would have near killed me. “The stitches, strangely, seem to pale in comparison.”

While Sacha remained at the foot of my bed, Brandon set down a small teddy bear on the side table. He recounted how after the accident, everyone was freaking out.

“It was a mad house,” he swore. “Total chaos.”

“It's true,” Sacha verified. “Brandon actually isn't vastly over-exaggerating for once.”

Brandon frowned, his eyes skimming over the various equipment that littered the room. If it was anyone else but me – or, honestly – if I wasn't in such a state, and was in a hospital room for something less serious – he would have been playing with everything. The temptation was obvious.

“So you're going to be alright?” Brandon asked quietly. I nodded.

“I believe so,” I said. Brandon nodded.

“So does this mean that I can eventually make jokes about you flying through the air like a witch minus the broomstick?”

It was nearly impossible not to laugh. I had to hold my sides, but even that was agonizing.

“No, please,” I begged. “No jokes. I can't laugh. It hurts. So. Much.”

Brandon apologized profusely, and I let him press the button on my pain medication remote. Instantly, nothing really seemed to matter much anymore. After a few more minutes with Brandon, he left so that Sacha and I could have some time alone together. Which was nice, honestly. And as much as I hate to say that an accident resulting in three broken ribs could have somehow acted as a catalyst towards something good – maybe it had.

Sacha sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling at me. Not out of happiness, I knew, but sincere relief.

“I'm so glad that you're alright,” he said. “You have no idea how panicked I was when I heard what happened. It was one of those instances where there was so much havoc and so few answers that I wasn't sure whether or not you were even alive.”

“And yet here I am,” I said. Sacha shrugged.

“I am sorry,” he said. “About everything that happened earlier today.”

“It really doesn't matter,” I insisted. Motioning towards the ice chips, Sacha took the cup and spooned some into my mouth. The cold pieces eased down my throat slowly, and I was breathing easier. “As long as we're okay.”

“We are,” he said. “We're okay, Gems. We'll always be okay.”

He reached out, touching my face that I knew was likely warm and still stained from the earlier tears. I imagined my skin bruised and blotched, and I knew with an aching certainty that my bottom lip had split. I was a total wreck, and yet none of it mattered. How could it?

I was breathing, and I would live another day providing that no other catastrophes would fall onto my lap. I let Sacha hold my hands, and there was a mellow quiet between us. Neither of us spoke for what felt like a solid hour at least, before he finally said, barely a whisper:

“It's Professor Lawson, isn't it?”

I turned to him, and I knew without even giving him the out-loud response that he craved, he had the answer.

“I saw him standing outside with your parents,” Sacha explained. “And I saw how he was looking at you while you were still out cold. Brandon tried telling me that he was probably just worried, but I'm sorry, I'm not dumb. The fact that he even showed up here says a lot.”

He was right. I couldn't even dispute him on it. Sure, it's not like it was entirely unfeasible that a teacher might visit a student under circumstances such as a potentially serious accident. But in Ben's case? He was outside, talking with my parents, and I could only wonder what they'd spoken about. If my mother or father had any idea about what had gone on between the two of us. How I would possibly explain what Ben meant to me as May came closer and closer, the days quickly evaporating like the words from Sacha's lips.

But out of all things, out of all the possible reactions, Sacha smiled.

“I'm actually happy, you know.” he said. “I mean, I'm shocked, but I'm happy.”

“Really?” I asked.

Sacha nodded.

“And you know, he apologized to me in the waiting room. About the stupid paper and everything...” Sacha paused. “But I told him that everything was fine. I guess I get it. I guess...I guess it just doesn't matter. What matters is that you're alright, and we're alright, and we don't have enough time on our biological clocks for it to be worth staying pissed off about things.”

His thumb ran in nervous circles around my palm, the touch soft and comforting.

“I can leave, if you'd like,” he said. “You really shouldn't be entertaining guests.”

“No,” I said. “I'm so happy that you're here right now. You really have no idea.”

We talked for a few more minutes, about stupid little things like Darcy's hair or, better yet, Brandon's hair.

“I resent that,” Brandon said from his spot in the doorway. “All the ladies wish their boyfriends were hot. Like. Me.”

Sacha rolled his eyes, releasing my hand and standing with a quick stretch.

“We'll visit you tomorrow,” he promised. Brandon dipped into the room, giving me the gentlest hug that he could without hurting me. On his way out, he took a few pokes at the IV machine, and Sacha stopped briefly before following Brandon outside.

“And Gems,” he said. “About Ben's book. It really was great.”

“I know,” I smiled. “But I'm admittedly biased.”

Sacha laughed, shaking his head and hanging around until he finally saw my mother, after which he made his exit. When mom popped her head in, I was feeling better in a way that pharmaceutical concoctions couldn't create. I couldn't exactly sit up or anything, but I was doing alright for someone who had only previously been struck by a speeding vehicle.

Even now, I consider myself lucky that I didn't remember any of the actual event. There's nothing about trauma that promotes quick healing – it's always a slippery road. Unconsciousness, in that respect, had been bloody kind to me.

“Gemma?” she was buttoning her coat as she came in, with dad following behind. He walked over, kissing me on the forehead while avoiding the bandage. “I'm going to go grab a few things from the house. But I'll be back, alright?”

“Mom,” I told her. “You really don't have to stay the night.”

“But I do, honey.” She said. “And when you have children, someday you'll understand.”