Life on the Level (14 page)

He laughs. A dragonfly buzzes around his head. “That the only reason?”

Nope. Then I’d get to be with you in a hundred years, too. Instead I say, “Yep.”

He looks down and yanks grass from the ground. “We can’t stay here long. Helen might think I kidnapped you.”

“Have you ever kidnapped anyone before?”

He looks mortified. “God, no.”

“Then why would she think you started now?”

“River.”

“Hutch.”

“You wanted to know why it felt like I was avoiding you.”

I roll my eyes. “It
didn’t
feel
like you were avoiding me. You were.”

“That was a dick thing to do.”

“The dickest.”

“What do you want from me, River?”

“Well, Hutch.” My butt cheeks are falling asleep from sitting cross-legged. I’d rather lie down, but that wouldn’t be any better. I fidget and look at his face and fidget some more. Isn’t that the question I keep asking myself? Isn’t that the question I can’t answer? What do I want from Chris Hutcherson?

“I don’t know.” I shrug one shoulder, sending pain across my back. “What do
you
want?”

He licks his lips. His eyes search my face for something I might not be able to give him.

“I want more than this.”

My insides feel like they’re collapsing. I feel like I’m at the top of a building, and it’s breaking apart beneath me.

“What did you expect?” I shake my head and narrow my eyes. “That first night we were together. What did you think was going to happen? Did you think we’d wake up and you’d make breakfast and I’d tell you my name? That’s not how happily-ever-afters start. It’s not like we can go to the movies or to dinner. That’s not my style, Hutch.”

“What is your style? Getting smashed and waking up with some guy you barely know, only to leave him without a word? You
left
me, River.”

If I pretend Hutch is an opponent at a poker table, then I can keep a straight face. I push away the dull pain in my heart. I push away the sting of his words and focus on his eyes, the pleading in his voice. He wants more from me. I don’t know how to begin.

“You have a problem with the way I live my life? You didn’t seem to mind when you were fucking me.”

He looks away, frustrated. “Why do you talk like that?”

“Because that’s who I am! You have to know that. I’m not some broken little girl waiting for Prince Charming to ride in and fix her life.”

“I’m not trying to fix you.”

“You are a counselor at my
rehab
center. That is literally what you’re trying to do.”

He sighs, and the beauty of what this moment could have been is broken. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Then stop telling me the things that are wrong with me. I know who I am, and I can’t pretend to be someone else for you.”

“This was a mistake.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.”

We sit in a painful silence. I hurt from the inside out. My tear ducts sting, but I won’t cry.

“Answer me this,” he says. “Why did you kiss me in the woods?”

I replay the kiss in my head. Kissing Hutch for a second time was like breathing after drowning.

“Because I wanted to,” I say.

“So we’re fighting because I want you and you want me. But I want more than you want.”

“You want,” I argue, “someone sane and put together. Someone like Jillian or Helen or that secretary girl who looks at you like you’re a Christmas present she wants to unwrap. You want something that I can’t give you. Something I don’t know how to give. My daddy taught me how to win, not how to be somebody’s prize.”

“The world isn’t a poker table, River.”

“How would you know? You’ve lived your whole life in one safe little corner of the world. Fuck you. You’re not one to get self-righteous with me.” I shove him, but he barely budges.

He reaches for my hand, and I pull it away. He gets on his knees, taking up my whole view. He holds his hands to the sides of my face, like he’s afraid to hurt me. I shut my eyes. It’s hard to be reasonable with him looking at me like this.

“Fuck you too. Stop telling me what I want. I want you, River. I want
you
.”

“You won’t want me after you’ve heard everything I have to say. Isn’t that why you stayed away? Because you heard me tell that story about Kiernan?”

“No,” he says. “I tried to stay away because if I’m not careful, I’ll walk right up to you and kiss you every moment I can find. I’ll spend every activity trying to make sure you’re okay. If I spend each night at the facility, I’ll find myself walking the halls in the middle of the night to get to your door.”

“And I’d let you in.”

He presses his lips to my forehead. He kisses my nose. He kisses my lips. I open my eyes. I can see the struggle on his face.

“How can you want all those things?” I ask. “You don’t even know me. If you did, you’d run for the hills.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a lot better at hiking than you.”

I punch him in the chest, and he laughs. That hurt me way more than it hurt him, but at least we’re both smiling again.

“I wish I’d met you so much sooner,” I whisper.

“Would you have left in the morning?” His smile is devilish, and daring me to contradict him.

The thing he wants to hear is “no.” But, honestly, I’m not sure. I left because I didn’t want to get attached, but I can feel how everything inside me wants to reach for him. Meanwhile, the only thing keeping us apart is me (and the whole patient/counselor thing doesn’t help). Giving your heart to someone is the worst thing you can do. It’s like betting it all on a high card.

“We should go,” I say.

He nods. I can tell he’s hurt, but he isn’t going to pressure me. He scoops me up and takes me back to the car. We’ve already been gone for too long.

When we get back to HCRC, I go right to our infirmary. Hutch places my flowers on my new beside table. He waits for the nurse to check me in. It makes me nervous that he’s staying so close. He’s paying too much attention. He’s straddling the border the way an adrenaline junkie might, seeing how far he can go before getting caught.

He pulls my curtain divider. Lingers.

“We’re not done yet,” I whisper.

“I know. I don’t think I’ll ever be done with you.”

That night all I can think about is Hutch. What does “I’ll never be done with you” even mean? The second thing on my mind is the pain in my body when Helen comes in.

“You scared us back there.” Helen sits at the side of my bed, brandishing a dinner tray. The Tuesday night special is a sandwich and apple juice, with a brownie for dessert.

I forgot how hungry I was.

“You know what would go well with this fantastic dinner?” I ask sweetly.

“We can’t give you painkillers, River.”

I grumble, but dive right into my sandwich.

“I wanted to apologize for the day of the hiking trip.”

“That was, like, a week ago,” I tell her with my mouth full. “You have apology issues. You might want to talk to someone about that. I know a couple of shrinks, if you’re interested.”

“It’s a good thing that concussion didn’t hurt your sense of humor.”

“I know. I was really worried about that. And I accept your apology. I get it. You have to be on the lookout for dangerous behavior and all that.”

“Coming to a place like this isn’t easy,” she says. She leans back into the chair. I kind of want her to leave. I want to be alone and replay my conversation with Hutch over and over again. “Sometimes people who feel like they’re alone in the world feel like there’s nothing left to live for.”

“I’m not alone, doc. I’ve got family. Not blood family, but still, family.” Besides, my mom is blood and she’s as good as dead to me.

She looks down at her lap. She doesn’t seem to mind my terrible table manners.

“I lost a girl a few months ago. A patient. She was this bright, shiny thing. She was in here for drug abuse.”

“What kind?”

“Everything except for meth.”

“A girl’s gotta have standards, doc.”

Her laughter is mixed with sadness. “She was a budding country singer, but she didn’t have good people around her. She crashed her car and did terrible damage to her hand. There went her music career, and all the people who pretended to love her.”

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Because you remind me of her.”

My appetite goes away. “Do you pick on me or do you give these pep talks to everyone?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m picking on you, but I do want you to understand that there’s a difference between getting well and pretending that you’re well. Being here means you have to be present.”

“I am present,” I protest.

She arches her eyebrow, challenging me to admit otherwise. “Part of you is still resisting admitting you have a problem. You don’t share in group therapy. You can take your time, but the point is to get to the root of what’s in that pretty head of yours.”

“Ransom’s a total rat,” I say. But I know that she’s right.

“It’s his job to report back to me. We all want to see you get well, River. No pretending. No holding back. We’re here for you.”

“When I got here I wasn’t sure I belonged with everyone here.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“I know I want to get help. I know I still make little bets with myself because it’s a compulsion, a tic, like ripping up receipts or tapping my foot or biting my nails. It’s ingrained in me. I don’t know if that’s ever going to stop. I know I miss the nightlife and partying and that rush that comes with dozens of little chips and the uncertainty in the turn of a card. I miss it. But I haven’t left this place, and there’s no one keeping me here but me.”

She smiles. “Good. Get better so you can get back on that horse.”

“You’re so awkward,” I tell her, and she leaves me alone to eat dinner. She pauses at the door. “Hutch mentioned you believe something spooked your horse. Did you see what it might’ve been?”

This is the part where I tell Helen about Taylor. If I tell her I think Taylor spooked my horse, she’ll investigate. He’ll take it out on me. Or worse, Hutch. Taylor suspects something between Hutch and me. I can feel it in my bones. I can tell her about the barn, but I don’t have any proof.

“No,” I lie. “I don’t remember anything.”

• • •

But I do remember Taylor’s face. The contempt in his eyes, the smile on his face. I lie in bed replaying my fall. Before that, the cliff. The wind in my face. Hutch’s perfect kiss by the creek. To get him off my mind, I read the cards everyone made for me.

Most of the “cards” are folded pieces of printer paper. Vilma drew me a stick figure sequence of what I looked like falling off the horse. So sweet. Maddie wrote me a poem.

There once was a girl named River

She was so wild, you shoulda seen ‘er.

She fell off of her horse

And we all felt remorse

Maybe some sleep will make her less meaner.

Cute, real cute. I’m not really mean, am I?

There are a few more drawings, and a “get well soon!!!” from Julie. The one that really shakes me is one written in marker. The letters are little more than chicken scratches, but I can read them plainly.

DONT MESS WITH ME BITCH.

First, I think, there should be a comma before “bitch.”

Then my head begins to throb. I crumple the paper in my hands. I’m shaking. I get up and lock the door from the inside, but then I realize Taylor has the keys to this whole place. I place a chair under the doorknob. If someone opens the door, I’ll hear them. Would he really hurt me inside the facility?

I lie awake for hours before I finally fall asleep. I jump at the way the wood creeks and groans, like there are ghosts prowling the halls. When I start to close my eyes I pinch myself.

SLAM.

I jump up so hard I give myself whiplash. Just what a girl with a neck sprain needs.

“What’s going on?”

Grogginess and pain pull me back against the pillow. I’m seconds away from begging for drugs. That won’t make me look like a junkie at all.

Nurse Jean walks over the fallen chair. She’s small and plump, with light brown skin and dark curls.

“Are you trying to kill me?” she asks.

No, I think. Someone is trying to kill
me
.

“Sorry. I was scared.”

She rests her hand on her hip. She purses her lips, like she doesn’t have any patience for me. She rights the chair and busies herself checking up on me.

“How long do I have to wear this thing?” I ask.

She smells like Chanel Number 5. I used to do the door at this burlesque club in the East Village, and the manager always wore it.

“A few more days. Just to be safe.”

I smile, remembering to be nicer to this nurse than I was to the other. “Thank you.”

“Has anyone made you feel unsafe?” she asks. “The door just locks.”

“This place just makes a lot of noise at night.”

“Aren’t you from New York?”

“It’s a different kind here. Did you know there are bears?”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Welcome to Montana, girlie.”

After she leaves and my heart goes back to a normal rhythm, Maddie comes in with my breakfast.

“Morning, sunshine!”

“I didn’t know you wrote poems.”

She blushes, and sets the tray down in front of me. “A little bit. I just have all these feelings, you know?”

“Feelings about me being mean?”

She shrugs, and it makes her look younger. “Not always. But you don’t have a lot of patience with me. I know I’m hard to deal with, but I’m trying.”

Suddenly, I feel sorry for not having more patience. The people here are trying just as hard as I am. Well, probably harder. They’ve been at it for longer than I have.

“I’m sorry, Maddie.” I watch her. I can’t imagine this girl, only four years younger than me, doing the things she says she’s done. Ransom was right; I’ve avoided making friends, maybe for the same reason I’m avoiding the feelings I have for Hutch. Then it hits me: Maddie is part of Taylor’s black market barn. I think of the ways my dad used to get people to do things for him. “People will believe what they want to see,” he used to say.