I blinked and looked into Keith’s frightened eyes. My sides heaved. I released a strange moan of anguish, the cry of a wounded animal.
His soft words coaxed me out from under the secretary. I dropped the glass and flopped forward onto the Oriental rug like a dead fish. Keith rolled me over and pressed a napkin to my throat, which felt very warm and sticky. Then he put both arms around me and held me in his lap. I shut my eyes. His heart thumped through his T-shirt. He smelled ripe with sweat and fear, but everything, all of him, soothed me until I ached to be absorbed into his body, like one of those vanishing twins. At last, Keith said, “They’re all gone, okay? I told them to leave you alone. Why don’t we sit down? I’ll get a bandage for the cut.”
I followed him to the living room on shaky legs, surveying the mess in the dining room as I walked. What had I done? What would happen to me? This wasn’t like the carnival parking lot. I had no means of escape. I moaned again. Keith settled me onto the love seat, flipped on a floor lamp, and examined my neck. His shirt was streaked with blood.
“The cuts aren’t too deep. I’ll be right back,” he said. “Do you need anything?”
I sniffled. “Some—some orange juice.”
He nodded. When he returned, he had a first aid kit and the glass of juice.
“Lean back into the light,” he said, and I did. The Bactine he put on stung, but I stayed very still. A funny feeling came over me as he cleaned me and positioned the bandage and tape. The feeling started at the top of my head and worked its way down, a gauzy tingling that spread across my face and stitched up the holes in my heart, my arms, my belly. It felt good. A radiating warmth born from his touch. His concern.
At last Keith sat back. He pulled me to sitting. “They’re barely more than scratches. Nothing bad. You’re lucky.”
I nodded. Relief flooded into his eyes, I saw it, but with the funny warm feeling gone, I felt nothing. Keith sat beside me and touched my hand and asked me what was wrong. That did it. The floodgates opened. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop. I told him everything, a great endless rush of complaints. I told him about my misery, how I was lonely, how I was jealous of Charlie, how I knew people didn’t like me, how I didn’t like me, no, no, not one bit. After a while, my head began to swim, a slippery sliding in and out of reality. I looked at the empty juice glass, then back at Keith. This was not a new feeling. I forced my mouth to move. “Phenergan?”
His face drooped with guilt. “Xanax, too, okay, so don’t be scared. You won’t remember anything.”
Drugs hit me hard. Always. I started to drool and shake. Keith wrapped me in his arms again, very tight, and whispered, “I had to. I’m sorry. I told them it wouldn’t be as bad if I did it. Please forgive me.”
chapter
twenty-one
matter
“I know what you’re waiting for.” Lex lies on his left side with his elbow digging into the tent’s nylon floor. His other hand plays with a pack of Marlboros, but he doesn’t light up. He knows I hate cigarettes. A camping lantern hanging from a plastic hook shoots a clammy glow across his face, but above us both the tent ceiling has a cutaway that opens to the sky. I sit cross-legged and stare out at the stars. The moon hides. It’s crab-crawled around the side of the mountain and I’d have to step back outside to see it.
“Yes,” I say. I don’t have the strength to lie or play games.
“Why tonight?” he asks.
“The moon is full.”
“Yeah. I get that. But you—it, it hasn’t happened before, has it?”
I hesitate. “N-no.”
“No? Or you don’t know.”
“No,” I say. “I haven’t changed.” My voice is firm and Lex nods, seeming to take my response at face value, but in truth, I’m not really all that sure. I mean, there’s that guy who was killed in the woods. I still haven’t heard any update on the autopsy report. If it turns out he died during the last full moon, well, maybe I did that instead of this unknown wild animal. Maybe I just don’t remember. That’s the problem with being estranged from my family, practically disowned. No one can answer my questions or tell me what to expect. I’m alone and I don’t understand myself. My throat tightens. I wish I had my older brother. I wish I could talk to him, but I have to push that away. Wishes like that are selfish.
I’m selfish.
“Can I ask you something, Win?” Lex whispers.
“Sure.”
“The night you told me about your family…”
“What about it?” I ask.
“You said it was your brother who explained it to you?”
“Yes.”
“Why him?”
“He was older than me. I think it was his, you know, job to teach me.”
“Why not your father?”
My back curls and the hairs on my forearms rise.
“It was my brother’s job,” I repeat.
“So you were close with your brother?”
“Of course.”
“But he never, you know?”
“No. He never changed. He was only fourteen. He didn’t get to.”