Matter of Truth, A (5 page)

I resisted getting a cell phone for the first two months I
lived in Anchorage, but Ginny and Frieda browbeat me into ownership after one
night that had me trekking home alone in the dark and snow due to a broken down
bus. Will railed at me, going over every excuse in the book about how important
a cell phone is nowadays, how women on their own in big cities is not a good
idea, especially at night (for which I accused him of blatant sexism), but it
was Ginny and Frieda who dragged me to the store and practically pinned me down
to a kiosk until I selected one.

My old phone, the one I left behind, was a top-of-the-line
Dwarven smartphone. I loved that thing. But I left it behind, like I did with
everything else, knowing that if I had it, it would be too much of a temptation
for me to give up.

My new phone is a pay-and-go model. It’s not fancy by any
means. It serves its purpose and I guess that’s what counts. Only, sometimes,
it taunts me, like it’s doing now. I’ve been clutching the phone for the better
part of an hour, repeatedly typing a certain number I know by heart, only to
delete it each time my finger even contemplates hitting send.

Some days are harder than others. Today is a really, really
tough day. It’s my birthday (not that I’ve admitted it to anyone, though—Will
and Cameron think it’s still another month away), and I miss Jonah so much that
I’d give every last cent I have to hear his voice. Magically, it’d be easy,
really. I could make myself a little machine and see him. Or hear him. Even
easier, I could simply call and hang up, wrong number-like. Or disguise my
voice and then hang up. He’d never be able to trace me to a random phone call
from Alaska, because he has no idea I’d ever wanted to come here. It’d be
nothing more than a three second call to him.

There’s a strong fear that if I see him, though, let alone
hear his voice, all my resolves would crumble and I’d be once more begging for
forgiveness. And where would that get me? Us? For all I know, he’s doing great
nowadays. Every time I turn on the news, I search him out. Is that protest
march in Washington due to him? That rebellion in Tibet? The fundraising
efforts going around to help rebuild the East Coast, so recently devastated by
a storm? The community rallying around the little girl with a bucket list and
less than a year to live? Pride swells in my chest, as bittersweet as it is,
whenever I visualize him out there doing his job and doing it well.

I think about Kellan, too—gods, everyday. But in these last
five months I’ve noticed something. I love Kellan. I miss him so much I
physically ache . . . but it’s nothing compared to the withdrawal Jonah’s
absence is putting me through. I don’t dream about Kellan the way I do with his
brother, don’t wake up with his name on my lips and tears in my eyes because
the crushing agony of his absence in my life overwhelms me.

I don’t get it. I really don’t. I share Connections to both
of them. Love both of them desperately. Is it because Jonah and I shared dreams
for so many years? Or were living together before I left? Is it because I’d
gotten used to not having Kellan in my life?

But I tore my life apart over Kellan, didn’t I? Destroyed
everything I had with Jonah? And yet, for five months now, I’ve drowned in just
how hard it’s been to let Jonah go.

Minutes later, functioning on autopilot, I’m on a bus across
town, until, nearly an hour later, I find myself on the outskirts of Anchorage.
It takes another hour before I locate a payphone. Thanks to cell phones,
they’re hard to find in the wild. I’m an idiot, because this is the stupidest,
riskiest thing I could possibly do, but I keep telling myself it’ll be just
this one call. I just need to hear him say one thing. Just hello. It’ll be
enough to help me get through the coming months. Maybe it’ll recharge me and my
resolves rather than weaken me—because I’ll know I did the right thing if he
sounds happy, that everything I’ve done and gone through will be worth it.

My hands tremble when I pick up the receiver. I force myself
to take a breath before I clean the black plastic with an alcohol wipe. I drop
my coins twice before I get them into the phone. My heart jackhammers in my
chest, but, as nervous as I am, I’m bursting with excitement, too.

One word. I’ll take just one word. He’ll say hello, maybe
once, at the most twice, and then he’ll hang up. I won’t say anything in
return. Better yet, if I’m lucky, I’ll get his voice mail. I’ll get a whole
bunch of words then.

Each button is pressed slowly. The call will go fast; it
needs to tide me over for months. The ringing in my ear competes with the
thundering in my chest. His phone is ringing. Gods, I’m going to pass out. My
breathing, my heart—everything is fast and hard right now. I’ve got to get
myself under control. Can’t have him think I’m some deep breathing stalker or
anything. Can’t raise any of his flags.

Two rings.

Three.

“Hello?”

The butterflies in my chest break free. My ribs open up, my
skin parts, and that muscle in my chest flies right on out. Jonah! Jonah’s
answered and he’s said hello! He sounds . . . well, not happy, but tired. Which
could be work or—

Elation morphs into searing pain.
I miss him
. I ache
for him so much right now that it takes me physically biting my tongue until it
bleeds so I don’t answer him back.

If I could, I’d say:
I love you I’m sorry I miss you I
want you I made a mistake I wish you nothing but happiness are you happy please
tell me you’re happy that everything I’ve put us through is worth it you
deserve so much more than a broken girl like me are you happy Jonah do you miss
me have you moved on is your life good please tell me that this has all been
worth it please please please—

“Hello?”

Everything around me hazes. I can’t see my surroundings. Why
is it I always break down in payphone booths?

A dial tone fills my ear.

“Zoe! What in the hell do you think
you’re doing?”

Will yanks the bottle out of my hand. I swipe at it, but
he’s so fast right now, he’s blurry.

“Mine,” I tell him. Only, I think it was his whiskey, or his
dad’s, but he did say, when I moved in, “What’s mine is yours.” Or maybe he
said, “What’s mine is mostly yours. Hands off the whiskey,” but I can’t
remember if he actually said that one or not. So technically, that’s my bottle
of whiskey and I need it back.

“How many shots did you have?” He shakes the bottle in front
of my face. “Because it looks like you drank NEARLY A THIRD OF A BRAND NEW
BOTTLE OF WHISKEY!”

“YES I DID.” I can give as good as I get.

“That’s it. We need to go to the hospital. Get your damn
coat on!”

I drop back onto the couch. “Not sick. No need.” I kick my
feet up on the coffee table, knocking over a glass. Oops. “Hospitals can’t
piece together Humpty Dumptys, Will-eeee-am!” I laugh, because I sound like
Cameron when I say it like that.

“What?” One of his hands yanks through his hair before
tugging on his ear. His blonde is nice. Pretty. Doesn’t look trashy like my
fake blonde.

“I like your hair,” I tell him. “It’s pretty.”

“Fuck my hair!” He disappears and reappears, my coat
replacing the whiskey in his hand. Where’s the booze? “Get up. We’re going.”

“Not sick,” I remind him, struggling to stand up. “Healthy
as a . . .” Huh. “What’s healthy? Apple?” I snap my fingers. Ew, they’re a
little sticky. “Hog. No! Horse. I’m a horse. I keep on running, like the Pony
Express.” I pat my chest. Jog in place. “See? Not sick. It’d be easier if I
were. Sick, I mean. If I could only get sick.” I pick up speed. “I tried to
break one of the Connections tonight, you know. Thought it could help me be
whole.” I stop jogging; it shames me I’m winded. “Didn’t work. Isn’t that
ironic? A Connection makes me whole and broken all at the same time.” I jab at
his chest. “It. Bloody. SUCKS.”

And then I laugh, because now I sound like him.
Bloody,
bloody, bloody
. And then I’m sad again because of what I did.

“What the fuck are you prattling on about? You think you’re
fine? Think again! You bloody well won’t be after they pump your stomach at the
hospital!” He grabs me and shoves my arms into the coat. “Whatever possessed
you to drink so much alcohol?”

I stumble as he drags me out the door. “I called him.
Thought I could handle it, but I can’t.” There’s no way to swallow the burning
lump in my throat. “Thought it’d help. Just wanted to hear something,
especially today. Just—it’s hard. So hard. I’m trying.”

He waits until he’s got us in the car and on the road before
he asks, quieter now, “Whom did you call?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “Was a mistake. Tried to break
the Connections—at least one, you know? Only made it worse. Hurts more now.” It
does. So. Much.

He digs around, like he’s looking for my phone. I don’t have
my phone. It’s back home. No, wait, he’s got my purse and my phone, and he’s
got the phone out and—

“Cell phones and driving do not mix,” I inform him
haughtily.

Will doesn’t answer me. He does something with my phone and
then tosses it back into my purse. I grab the bag and hold it close to my
chest. I think I’m going to puke. Something burns in my throat. “Who’d you call?”
he barks. “Who fucking did this to you?”

Yep. Vomit. So gross, it’s all over my legs. Worse yet, it’s
warm and smells bad.

I close my eyes and let my head sink back against that
thingy at the top of car seats. I swear I’m floating. Floating is so much
better than sinking.

“Zoe White, you keep your goddamn eyes open right now! You
will not pass out on me in this car, do you hear me?”

I let myself float away.

Will is pissed off. That much is certain, as evidenced by
the door slamming behind us, not to mention the string of curses in addition to
the biting lecture he’d unleashed on me on the way home from the hospital.
Plus, there was the blistering lecture I received from an increasingly
difficult to understand Cameron Dane in the early hours of the morning. I guess
it’s a thing for both him and Will. The more upset they are, the harder they
are to understand with their Glaswegian accents. But, the point is, if I’d ever
doubted Cameron’s fatherly inclinations toward me, they were illuminated in stark
detail this morning. I’d scared him. Hurt myself. Hurt him. Hurt Will. Hadn’t
thought of others. What if something had happened? Most importantly, I wasn’t
allowed to do it again.

I’ve got to say, disappointing a caring parent is brutal on
the heart. I actually broke down and sobbed for the first time in nearly six
months after he strode out of my little curtained cubby of a room, certain I’d
failed him in every way. And then I had to listen to him yell at Will in the
hallway, and Will yell back, and it amazed me to realize that they weren’t
shouting because they blamed or were mad at one another or were mad, but
because they were worried. And upset. And it was because of me.

Which made me sob all the more.
They care about me.

Would my parents have done the same? No—my parents didn’t
even come to see me in the hospital after I’d nearly died after an Elders’
attack. They’d been too busy with their careers. If they knew I’d had alcohol
poisoning, and of course were still speaking to me, there’s no doubt I would’ve
only received a lecture via phone. Except, instead of the one in which Cameron
practically grounded me (an adult) until I’m thirty, I would’ve heard something
along the lines of, “Stop embarrassing us.”

Cameron and Will, though—they’d stayed with me all night.
When the nurses tried to kick them out, Cameron told them I was his daughter
and he had every right to be with me if I wanted him there. He immediately
demanded that a friend of his who worked in the hospital come see me
personally. In my weakened, vomit-y state, I could swear the dude was part-Elf,
but I figured I was just imagining things. Will filled out my admission
paperwork. They took turns holding back my hair as I threw up everything in my
stomach, and then some. Cameron listened to his friend’s diagnosis and
after-care like my very life depended on it, and, shaking with rage and worry,
vowed I would follow each instruction to the letter.

He’s at work right now. He didn’t want to go, but Will
eventually convinced him to go, insisting my butt wouldn’t leave the couch
longer than to go the bathroom the entire day.

The moment we’re through the door, Will barks, “Alcohol
poisoning is not funny!”

I’m not laughing, but as he’s on edge, I decide to wade
carefully into this mess of my own making. “I know, Will.” My smile is weak.
“At least they didn’t have to pump my stomach. Thank goodness for small favors,
right?”

This was the wrong thing to say, because his eyes go so wide
I fear they’ll pop right out. “Oh yes. Thank goodness! You only had to spend
the night hooked up to IVs whilst vomiting up the contents of your stomach. How
lucky you were.”

I bite my lip, unsure as what to say. But I do know this: he
deserves an explanation. “Can we sit down?”

He nods and stalks over to the couch; I perch on the coffee
table so we face one another. “First off, thank you for what you did for me.
What both you and your dad did.”

Some of the anger eases off his handsome face. “Zoe.” He
takes my hands. “In the last half year, we’ve become family. Screw blood.” He
squeezes my hands gently despite the vehemence in his voice. “We are
family
.
Which means you’re daft if you think I’m going to just sit back and watch you
try to drown yourself, even if it’s what you think you want.”

Bits of my hair stick to my face when I nod, but I don’t
want to let go of his hands long enough to wipe them away. “I know. And I thank
you for that, because I love you, too.”

He scoffs, but I know it pleases him. He loves me just as
much as I love him, even if he’s not one to say those three words out loud.

“Last night . . .” I shake my head. “Yesterday. I did
something stupid yesterday.”

“You called someone.”

I blink in surprise.

He rolls his eyes. “You told me that last night.” He sobers.
“I checked your phone, but the last call in your log was to me. Zo, what’s
going on? I know you’re unhappy, that somebody broke your heart, but I figured
I’d wait until you felt safe telling me. But now . . . Fuck this. I’m not
tiptoeing around you anymore. Tell me what drove you to nearly kill yourself
last night.”

Oh, it hurts so much to realize this is what he and his dad
must’ve thought I’d done. “I didn’t try to kill myself. It was more . . . I
wanted to forget. To stop hurting.” I take a deep breath, only to find Will
watching me with immense concern. “I . . .” The words are hard to get out,
especially as there’s no way I can tell him about how, in desperation, I’d
actually attempted to break the Connections I have. I’d figured . . . I’d
closed the door between me and my Conscience. Why couldn’t I do so with a
Connection? It seemed simple at first—I visualized erasing those ties, but I
ended up basically stabbing my heart about a hundred times before ripping it
right out of my chest.

In the end, the Connections remained, and I had to find
myself something to drink because I hated myself even all the more.

“You can trust me,” Will is saying, bringing my attention
back to him.

“I know. It’s just . . .” Another deep breath. Time to open
up a bit about what I can, even if it’ll hurt. Even if all of this changes how
he feels about me. I can’t keep lying to all the people I care about in my
life, or shutting down and pretending everything is fine when it’s not. “I
called my . . .” Connection. Soul mate. The person I’ve loved since I was four.
“Fiancé.”

Will rears back. “Your
what
?”

I feel myself weaken, but I need to be honest with him.
Will’s been so good to me, and I’ve hidden so much in return. There have got to
be pieces of truth I can tell him without putting his life in danger. “Probably
ex, considering I’m here and he’s . . . where he is, but . . .” Viper tight,
pain constricts my breathing. “I needed to hear his voice yesterday.”

What a way to celebrate my twentieth birthday.

I stand up and pace the room. Then I go on to tell Will that
I drove across town to find a payphone and that all I heard was the one word,
twice, and it broke me. I don’t tell him why Jonah and I aren’t together, other
than to say things were complicated (which is truly an understatement) and that
us being apart was for the best all around, since he deserved better than me.

“You love him.”

Another understatement. I nod, chewing on the inside of my
lip.

“Does he know where you are?”

I shake my head. I’ve drawn blood.

Will’s quiet for a long moment. “Did he physically hurt
you?”

“OH MY GODS, WILL! NO!”

I try not to smack my forehead, realizing my slip of tongue.
Gods, I’m a mess.

He tugs my hands until I sit next to him on his couch. Then
he folds me in his arms until I’m surrounded by his safety and warmth. It feels
really good, being held like this. Like he really is my brother, and he loves
me, and wants to protect me. I haven’t been held by anyone in a long time. I
want to cry, want to rail about the injustices of it all, of how Fate sucks and
how I hate it, but in the end, I take the remote control Will hands me and turn
on the television. We watch the hockey game he taped last night in silence, his
arms around me, my heart aching.

When I was younger, and resentful,
and scared of what I am, I used to fantasize about running away. I imagined
hundreds of places to go to, and of who I’d become once arriving. But I always
believed it was done in vain, because I’d never be allowed to escape being a
Creator.

And yet, here I am. Gone from everything I know.

It’s so cold out here that parts of me are numb. Rather than
being bothered by this sensation, I revel in it. Numb is good. When I’m numb,
I’m not in agony. And the pain that follows numbness—the kind of prickling
hotness from being too cold—is preferable to the kind I live with on a daily basis.

Kellan was right after all. All those times he tried to
literally break his bones, go into shock so he could escape our Connection—I
thought he was crazy. But he was right. Anything is better than the pain that
an unfulfilled Connection can wreak upon a Magical’s soul. Even still, I can’t
believe I was desperate enough to try to break the bonds I have with him or
Jonah.

I’ve borrowed Will’s truck and driven as far as I can get
outside of Anchorage until all I see is dark skies and stars and cold. This is
part of the beauty of Alaska; so much of it is still wild, still free and
untouched by human and Magical hands. I like this area, like how it makes me
feel. I’ve been constantly chasing the Northern Lights; sometimes I thought if
I could see them just once, it’d be a sign.

I’m finally rewarded, nearly half a year after moving to
Alaska. The Aurora Borealis is streaked across the sky tonight, yellow and
green ribbons that dance across my vision. They’re so unbelievably dazzling
that when I lay back in the snow, arms and legs out in angel formation, my
breath is wicked away. Ice crystals cling to the fringe of hair sticking out
from underneath my beanie cap and to the nape of my scarfless neck.

I am small.

I am irrelevant.

I am not even a speck of sand in a vast beach of worlds, no
matter what anyone says.

The next morning, I make a decision.

I’m going to college.