Between the Lives

chapter SIX


Roxbury, Saturday



If Ethan had been frosty to me in the drugstore, he was positively arctic after we left. I let him suffer the awkward silence I had no intention of fixing. It was clear he didn’t want to be doing this any more than I did.

‘You at college?’ he asked finally.

‘Graduating senior school,’ I answered, avoiding eye contact. I didn’t want to encourage small talk with this guy.

‘Graduation, huh? Big plans for the future?’

I rolled my eyes. Like he cared. ‘I suppose. I’m looking forward to finishing school and some new possibilities.’

‘Oh?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘And what are those?’

I shrugged, confused by his interest. ‘I’m not exactly sure yet, but I like the idea of a future I can take one day at a time and, I don’t know, live each day to the fullest, I guess.’

He nodded, his gaze moving down to my cast. ‘So what’d you do?’

I cringed, shaking my head at myself. ‘Tripped on the subway steps.’

‘It happens.’

‘Not to me it doesn’t,’ I said without thinking.

He gave me an odd look.

‘I mean, I just … I’ve never broken anything before.’

He was still staring at me curiously, but thank god we hit the dry-cleaners and he stopped asking questions. He didn’t speak again until we were back out of the shop when he insisted on carrying the white coats wrapped in plastic.

‘Thanks,’ I said, trying to stop my gaze travelling below his rolled-up shirt sleeves where his forearms flexed as he gripped the hangers. He wasn’t super built or anything – if anything he was lean – but everything was just … annoyingly nice to look at.

I cleared my throat. ‘So you work at the clinic then? You a doctor or something?’

He didn’t look like the doctor type – dark jeans, black shirt rolled up to his elbows, and overgrown dark hair curling at the ends – but you never knew.

‘Or something,’ he said wryly, shooting me a look as if he knew exactly where I’d pegged him. ‘Your mom owns the drugstore?’

We went into Starbucks – thankfully no queue – and I ordered Mom and Denise their usual caramel lattes. ‘Nup. They just manage it.’

‘Surprised I’ve never seen you before. I used to go there every week.’

I remembered what Denise had said about the Monday scripts. ‘I’m at school on Mondays. For one more week anyway.’

Ethan nodded. After I’d paid for the coffees I turned and caught him staring at me with the same odd look on his face before he quickly glanced away.

‘Here, I’ll carry one,’ he offered.

I loaded one on top of the other and lifted them easily in my good hand. ‘I’ve got it,’ I said, heading for the door.

As we neared the drugstore I tried not to pick up the pace. I knew that if he was going to say something it would be now. But we made it all the way inside without so much as a: ‘I read your notebook. That’s some messed up stuff in there.’ And once the coffees had been handed out and dry-cleaning hung on the rack, Ethan collected his pile of drugs, loaded them in his bag and left with barely a nod in my direction.

I busied myself restacking shelves and made a point of not thinking about Ethan – every single time his curvy lips and muscly forearms crept their way into my mind.

Mom let me go just before two, which was perfect timing to make my appointment. I headed straight for the hairdressers, forbidden excitement bubbling up inside almost as much as the fear that I was about to make a very big mistake. And pay for it … in another world.

‘What do you want to do?’ the hairdresser asked, chewing on gum and holding out my long dreary hair.

I swallowed, watching in the mirror as her fingers combed through my hair. ‘Can you just make it look good? You can cut off as much as you want, and colour it too. Darker.’

She looked at me like I was an unwrapped Christmas present. ‘I can do anything?’

I hesitated. ‘As long as you didn’t know me and hate me in a past life, yeah. I … I’ve never coloured my hair and it’s always been really long. I want a change and I figure you know what you’re doing, right? Just …’ I looked at myself in the mirror, taking in my miniskirt, fraying tank top and boots. ‘Make it suit me.’

She smiled. ‘I’ve got you covered, hon. Sit back and relax.’

So I did.



Mrs Jefferies delivered Maddie home right on 6 p.m. When I opened our front door, Maddie’s eyes lit up and she started jumping up and down on the spot.

I couldn’t help the goofy grin on my face.

‘Binie, you look so cool!’ she wailed, hugging me tight.

‘Thanks, Mads,’ I said, wriggling out of her hold. I was usually happy to have her attached to me, but today, with all the thoughts I’d been pretending not to think, her affection left me feeling ashamed.

I waved to Mrs Jefferies, who was still in her car, and took Maddie inside. She continued to ooh and ahh over my shaggy, almost-black, styled cut which gave me more edge than I’d ever dreamed possible.

I’d stopped by Thrifty Tunes on the way home and Capri almost fell over herself before teasing that Davis would now never leave me alone. I’d just laughed and soaked it in. I’d never had a makeover before and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was loving it.

With Maddie pawing over my hair, in between drawing on my cast and telling me it was so, so pretty, it made it easier to keep up the act. Helped me not consider just how much of a problem I’d have on my hands if, come midnight, I Shifted to Wellesley – and back into Dex’s arms – with short, shaggy black hair.

By the time Maddie had finished drawing a family of bunnies I set about making us dinner, figuring Mom would work late. As for Dad, he’d taken one look at my hair when I’d walked in the door, picked up his keys, and said he’d be back later.

I hadn’t been surprised. I knew he wouldn’t like it. Of course, that didn’t mean some part of me hadn’t held out hope – and wasn’t hurt. But I’d sensed he’d wanted to launch into one of his ‘we don’t do all this work for you to go around looking like a tramp’ lectures, so at least silence was better than that. And gone were the days when he could drag me back to the hairdresser and demand she fix it. He’d probably just come home drunk and crash. He didn’t get drunk that often – only when one of us disappointed him by not ‘being our best’. Hypocritical, much?

After our macaroni and cheese, Dad stumbled in right on cue, went straight into his and Mom’s room and shut the door, leaving behind a waft of bourbon. I distracted Maddie until the banging around stopped. Despite my parents’ flaws, they never took anything out on Maddie. She was the sun. For us all.

By the time Mom got home I’d read Alice in Wonderland cover to cover, twice, and just managed to convince Maddie to stay in her bed and go to sleep. Mom looked at my hair and sighed.

‘Well, it’s definitely different.’

Her way of saying she didn’t like it. She sighed again, looking towards her closed bedroom door.

‘I take it your father has seen?’

I nodded, looking at my feet. ‘He’s crashed for the night.’

Mother’s intuition finally kicked in and her look softened. ‘It’s such a big change, Sabine. I’m just not used to it.’ She smiled weakly. ‘But the cut is already growing on me.’ Translation: the colour isn’t.

‘It’s fine. Not everyone has to like it, just me, right?’ I said, not waiting for her response. ‘There’s leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.’

Mom shook her head, her exhaustion obvious. ‘No, thanks. Straight to bed for me tonight.’

It was the reply I’d been hoping for. ‘Me too.’

As soon as Mom was in her room, I slipped into the bathroom and closed the door. I took my time organising everything, needing it to be just right. Maybe delaying a little too. I couldn’t decide what kind of blade to use, so I grabbed a pair of scissors and a shaver and wrapped them up in a towel along with everything else. It took a few trips, but when I was finally back in my room I wedged a textbook under the door. The last thing I needed was for Maddie to barge in on me.

I placed most of the items on my bed, then took the roll of toilet paper and put it, along with a bowl of warm water, on my bedside table. I paused a number of times to remind myself to breathe, but once I had everything arranged and was sitting on the towel there was no reason left to delay.

First thing – I ran a lighter flame over the blades.

It was slow going to start. Scissors weren’t a good idea. I’d misjudged just how hard it would be. Forcing myself to make the cut was bad enough – using almost-blunt scissors was impossible. By the time I’d hacked away at my thigh for a while, sucking in sharp breaths each time I tried to make a quick cut, I had to accept the scissors weren’t creating enough impact.

But I couldn’t give up. I needed to be sure.

The rules had changed. At least, that’s what I was starting to believe. Ever since I’d woken up in Wellesley minus one broken arm, I’d been thinking. Reminiscing over all the times I’d imagined what it would be like if the physical didn’t cross over. I remembered how Casey Tulin slit her wrists in Junior Year, and while everyone else was mourning I was daydreaming. If the physical didn’t cross over … maybe I could …

I didn’t agree with Casey’s decision, but my situation was entirely different. I’ve always felt deep down that by having two lives they somehow cancelled each other out. That maybe the end of one life could mean the start of my first real one.

That’s all I’d ever dreamed of.

I’d cried myself to sleep for so many years. Confused, distraught, not knowing why I was different from everyone else. Not knowing why I wasn’t enough in either one of my worlds. Not knowing who I am …

If there was a chance … If I could make it so there was only one of me …

I growled in frustration and dropped the scissors. They weren’t doing anything substantial.

I moved on to the razor blade, warm tears slipping down my cheeks. I started with my right thigh again, selecting the same area. My hands trembled, but I managed to get a few clean swipes of the blade across my skin. The result wasn’t exactly what I’d planned. Using a disposable razor only allowed for a surface cut: three in my case – triple blade. What it did do was cause a lot of blood. It seemed like as soon as I wadded the toilet paper and covered the cut, it was already drenched.

More tears flowed. I wanted to stop, to figure out another way. But I knew there wasn’t one. I needed to know if the blood theory worked; if what happened to my body in this world was only going to affect this body and not my other. Knowing this might be the key to a future I actually wanted.

I took a few deep breaths and waited for the bleeding on my leg to slow. Then I covered the cuts with plasters and slipped into a pair of sweat pants.

I opened my bedroom door a crack. No light. The house was silent. I let the door swing just wide enough for me to slip out without it creaking. My heart thumped in my chest as I made my way downstairs. I felt like every step, every breath, was so loud that at any second Mom or Dad would come rushing out of their room and catch me in the act.

In the end, it took a while to find what I was looking for. Someone had put it away in the wrong drawer. By the time I’d placed it carefully under the side elastic of my underwear and shuffled back to my room, I’d built up a light sweat of pure panic. It was twenty minutes before my hands stopped shaking and the churning in my gut settled down.

Once I’d steadied myself, I concentrated my efforts on the base of my ribs, hoping it was the right choice. I figured it was one of the safest, most discreet areas. Until I knew more I didn’t want to go making a terrible mistake.

You see … I didn’t want to die.

It was the exact opposite.

I wanted to live.

I used the lighter to burn off the edge of the filleting knife I’d just lifted from the kitchen. It wasn’t the biggest – but oh, it was the sharpest.

To my surprise, it made everything a lot easier. After a couple of false starts I managed to talk my hand into holding the knife with enough pressure to make a decent cut.

‘Shit,’ I said over and over as I tried to clean up. I used the warm water and toilet paper. Kept up the pressure until the bleeding slowed and then applied the antiseptic cream I’d five-fingered from the drugstore before putting on a few big plasters. Afterwards, I paced around my room, which meant four small steps in each direction. It wasn’t much of a workout, but it gave me time to think.

‘Shit.’

I sat back down on the towel, pulled off my T-shirt and picked up the knife again. Today wasn’t the day to be half-assed.

‘One more,’ I whispered, nodding myself on as I placed the blade on the back of my upper arm. I tried to swipe the knife across in one quick movement, but I chickened out mid-slice, releasing the pressure, and barely scratched the surface.

‘Shit.’ I shook out my trembling hand before repositioning the knife for another go. Once the blade was in the right spot I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and pulled it across my arm with no intention of going back for a third go.

I didn’t need to.

It took a while for the bleeding to slow down. Half an hour after I’d bandaged it up, it had bled through and I had to start the dressing process again. I suspected this one could have done with a few stitches, but that was definitely not going to happen.

Eventually the bleeding settled and I put everything away, hiding it in the bottom of my closet. I got into bed to count down the minutes.

There was no way to stop the panic. I had to run down to the bathroom twice to throw up. Partly at knowing what I’d just done to myself, partly the same sickness I always felt this close to midnight – and in very large part because I had not, for one moment, forgotten what would be waiting for me the second I went through the Shift.

But there was still one more thing to do.

At twenty minutes to midnight, I swallowed five laxatives.