20
VIGINTI
The ocean crashes against the shore, the mist spraying against me as I lounge against one of the rocks in the inlet. It’s low tide, so I can linger here for hours before high tides comes back in to cover all of the exposed pools.
All I want to do is daydream about Dare. To fixate on the fact that he fantasizes about me naked.
But I can’t. Not right now. Because in my jacket pocket, my fingers rest on the tattered leather cover of Finn’s journal. After realizing last night that Finn is even more troubled than I realized, I know I’ve got to figure it out.
So when he and my dad went out to work on the fence, I took his journal. It’s something I had to do because he’s obviously not going to tell me himself. He’ll think it’s lost… and I’ll have to go along with that. It makes me feel dirty, and awful for lying to him, because I know how much his writing means to him.
But he’s just going to have to write in something else.
I’ve got to do whatever it takes to protect him from himself.
My breath hitches in my chest as I pull the book out. Because the last time I read it, it scared me for weeks.
His hidden thoughts terrified me then, and they’ll terrify me now.
Regardless, I open the cover with shaking fingers.
And then I’m still.
Absolutely, completely still.
A folded paper is inside the front cover, but I can already see what it is.
Dare’s drawing of me.
When did Finn get it? In the middle of the night?
Unable to breathe, unable to feel, I unfold the paper carefully and then my heart spasms.
MINE is scrawled across the beautiful sketch. Everywhere. Big letters, small letters, in-between letters. Scrawling bold writing.
MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
All I know is that my fingers are trembling and my heart is spasming and what the hell is going on?
Finn crept out of my bed, down to Dare’s house, and stole this picture in the middle of the night. Hell, he might’ve even been watching me the whole time and that’s how he knew it even existed.
Chills run down my back, causing me to shiver and shiver and shiver.
Why?
What is wrong with my brother?
Forcing myself to focus, I flip through the pages of his journal because this is where I’ll find answers. There’s a tarot card hidden in the pages, which is odd, but I tuck it back in and fly through the pages until I get to where I’d left off the last time I’d read it. The writing is bold and heavy, which is odd since Finn’s fingers and arms are light as a feather, scrawny and thin.
My chest constricts as I read his words. They’re written in all different sizes, in scratches and scrawls, the scribbles of the insane.
Nocte liber sum Nocte liber sum
By night I am free.
Alea iacta est The die has been cast. The die has been cast.
The die has been f*cking cast.
Serva me, servabo te. Save me and I will save you.
Save me.
Save me.
Save me.
The entire page is more of the same, desperate Latin phrases and random words. And of course the weird symbol. I don’t even bother trying to interpret that. My brother loves cryptic symbols and scribbles them all over the place. I don’t even blink until I come to the bottom of the page, where there are stick figures with their faces scratched out. Two of them, a man and a woman. The woman has flaming red hair.
Me.
I swallow hard and slam the book shut, staring out to sea, willing my mind to forget what I just read.
What does he need saved from?
Insanity?
Save me and I will save you. From what?
Do I need saved, too? Is that why he scratched my eyes out?
A lump forms in my throat, heavy and hot and acrid.
I can’t do this. I knew it would be insane in his journal, I just didn’t know how much. And I just…can’t do it today. I need a break from the crazy.
Because my brother is crawling into my bed and scribbling MINE across an intimate, nude sketch of me. If anyone else were to see it, they’d think he was truly sick, maybe even sexually depraved. That’s not the case. I know that because we’re two halves of a whole. We’re connected and because of that, he feels like he owns me. Like I’m his. Like he’s mine.
My thoughts are swirling together and nothing makes sense and I don’t know what to do.
I can’t think about it right now.
It’s too much.
It’s too much.
I pull out the little bag with the lighter, and then I light the drawing on fire, because no one can ever see it. If they do, they’ll lock Finn away because they won’t understand.
I can’t let that happen.
I watch it burn, I watch the corners curl and turn black, then I let it go up in flames, the ashes blowing away into the ocean.
And then I tuck the journal in my pocket and walk through the rain (when did it start raining?) to the house. The stones on the trail are wet and I slip a few times, scraping my hands, but I still don’t hurry.
The rain is cleansing.
Maybe it’ll wash away the crazy.
Because I don’t know what to do about it anymore.
Maybe Finn has gotten to a place where I can’t fix him anymore.
The thought terrifies me, paralyzes me, and I find that I’m rooted to the ground outside of the Carriage House, my feet enmeshed in the ground, unable to move, unable to carry me one step further.
The rain soaks me and my hair is dripping. My teeth start to chatter, but still I can’t move. The panic, the desire to run far from my home, cements my feet to the ground. It’s insane, but I still can’t move. My feet are stones, too heavy to lift.
The front door of the Carriage House is suddenly thrown open, and Dare darts out, jogging down the cobblestone path.
Without a word, he covers my head with a jacket as he pulls me into his home. His t-shirt is black, his shorts are black, his eyes are black as he rubs my arm with a towel, pushing me into a living room chair.
“What are you doing out in the rain, Calla?” he asks, his hands massaging my arms through the terry cloth. I lean into him, my forehead pressing against his muscle, against his solidity.
I love his solidity.
He’s strong and real, unmovable.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I just… I didn’t want to go home, I guess.”
Dare pauses, gazing down at me, a hundred things wavering in his eyes. “Any reason why not?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just a feeling.”
A sudden overwhelming feeling. The funeral home felt ominous and huge and I couldn’t go there, not with Finn’s issues hanging over my head, not with my mother gone forever.
“We’ve been looking for you,” he continues, eyeing me, rubbing the cold off my skin.
“You have?” I ask, confused. “But I haven’t been gone very long.”
He pauses, and I think I see concern in his eyes, but he quickly conceals it.
“You’ve been gone since this morning,” he says calmly.
Isn’t it still morning?
I look at the clock on his wall.
Six p.m.
My heart pounds, loud and heavy, as I look again.
It’s still six p.m.
How can that be possible? I was so immersed in worrying about Finn that I lost hours of time?
“I think I might be going crazy like my brother,” I blurt out, my cold hands grabbing at Dare’s warm ones. His eyes soften and he stops, his hands so warm and dry and strong.
“You’re not,” he assures me. “You’ve just had a lot to deal with. Anyone would struggle. Trust me.”
Anyone would lose several hours out of their day and not even realize it?
“Did you?” I demand. “When your parents died, did you struggle?”
“Of course,” Dare assures me, cupping my hands now, enveloping them in his own. “Everyone does. And you have more to deal with than the average person. Calla, you’re surrounded by death here. The funeral home, your mom… it’s hard. Let’s just put it that way.”
He sits next to me, and I inhale him, breathing in the scent of man and rain and security and want.
I want him.
That’s what I know.
The more I’m around him, the more I want him. I want his assuredness, his sexiness, his shoulders, his hips. I want his comfort, I want his voice, I want all of him.
More than anything I’ve ever wanted.
I reach a cold hand up, tracing his jawline once again, the way I did the other night. This time, though, he doesn’t stop my hand. He doesn’t stop my fingers from running across his lips, feeling the softness that lingers there.
The electricity feels like it’s going to snap in the air, and electrocute me with the intensity, but it doesn’t. It just creates a current that runs from me to Dare and back again, lighting me up, making me tingle in places I’ve never felt before.
I swallow hard.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, looking hungrily into his eyes. He blinks, then stares, his mouth tightening.
“I shouldn’t,” he answers, low and husky.
“Do it anyway,” I reply, hoping, praying, holding my breath.
Then he does.
He lowers his beautiful face and his lips come down on mine, soft, firm, real. I sigh into his mouth, into the spearmint breath that absorbs my own, into the thing I’ve been wanting for weeks.
He feels so comfortable, so exciting, so natural to me. Kissing him is like taking a breath. It gives me life.
He pulls away abruptly, though, leaving my heart pounding and my breath broken, and then he stands up.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, taking the towel into the kitchen. I leap to my feet and chase him.
“Why not?” I demand. “I’m eighteen and I know exactly what I want.”
I want you.
But he’s already shaking his head. “You don’t know what you want,” he tells me regretfully. “Because you’re upset, and you’ve got more to deal with than most people ever will. It’s not a good time for this. It’s not fair of me to take advantage of you right now.”
“You’re not—“ I start to say, but he puts a long finger against my lips.
“I am,” he says firmly. “I can’t do that. Not today.”
But he doesn’t say never.
I stand still, my breathing harsh and ragged. Then I turn and walk away, humiliated with the rejection, but buoyed by it, too.
Because he didn’t say never.
He didn’t say never because he draws me at night and so I know he thinks about me too.
I walk out the door into the rain, ignoring the way he calls after me. I walk straight to my house, straight to my room, and after dropping my clothes and Finn’s journal onto the floor, I step into the shower.
The hot water floods my senses, blocking out the memory of his smell.
I envision his hands holding my own, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
He thinks that’s he’s not what I need, but he’s exactly what I need.
He distracts me from my pain. From my worry. From my fear.
But even as I have the thought, the truth of what he said slams into me.
It’s not a good time right now.
It’s not a good time because he doesn’t want to be a distraction.
He deserves to be a focus.
And in my current state, I can’t focus on anything, except for maybe saving my brother from insanity. Dare deserves more than that.
But my selfish side wants him anyway.
I slide to the floor and close my eyes, letting the water wash my tears away.
***
I don’t know how long I stayed in the shower, or how long I’ve been curled up in the window seat of my room since. All I know is that my father and Finn came home, and Finn disappeared into his room. I heard him rustling around in there.
I heard him clamoring down the stairs, yelling for me, yelling for Dad.
And now he’s coming back up, stomping angrily, bursting through my door.
“Where’s my journal?” he demands, his pale blue eyes like icicles, his thin hands clenched into fists at his sides.
For the first time in my life, I lie to my brother.
To his face.
“I don’t know,” I say simply, staring at him, not blinking. I don’t look away, because I don’t want to accidentally glance at the bottom drawer of my desk, where I have stashed his little book.
“You do, too,” he says angrily. “It was in my room, and now it’s not.”
“I don’t have it, Finn,” I tell him again. “Why are you so upset? It’ll turn up.”
After I have a chance to read it.
Finn’s face is taut and anxious and I do feel guilty for inflicting distress on him. I know what happens when he gets upset, but it’s a chance I have to take. I can’t help him unless I know what is truly bothering him. And this is the only way to find out.
“If you find it,” he says limply, turning to leave. “Don’t read it, Calla.”
I don’t answer, so he stops in his tracks, glancing back at me, his desperate gaze meeting mine. “You can’t read it, Cal.”
I can’t help but stare into his eyes, fascinated by the utter desolation I find there. The level of his despair over a simple book is staggering.
“Why do you feel so strongly about this, Finn?”
My question is simple.
But his answer is not. He turns back to me, and his face crumples and he cries.
“Because things have to happen in order, Calla. They have to. In. Order. Can’t you see? Can’t you?” His skinny shoulders shake and I pull him into my arms and my hands stroke his back as he breathes harshly against me, his chest rising and falling against my own.
“I see,” I tell him, which is another lie because I don’t.
It’s minutes and minutes before he steps away, before he’s gathered control of himself enough to step out of my bedroom. But the look on his face is haunting when he does, as he closes the door and the last thing I see is the despair.
God, this hurts.
But I’m his protector. If I don’t do it, no one will.
And sometimes, we have to do things we aren’t proud of to protect those we love.
So I lock my door and pull out his book, curling up once again in my window seat so I can invade his privacy.
Below me, I see Finn go outside, and pull out an ax. He takes his aggression out on the wood, chopping piece after piece, even though this is summer and we won’t need it for months. In fact, we won’t even be here when it turns cold. But my father will.
So Finn chops wood for our father, while I turn my attention to his journal.
The craziness it contains spirals and leaps on the page, and I find myself holding my breath as I read.
I’m drowning. Drowning. Drowning. Immersum immersum immersum
Calla will save me. Or I will die. Or I will die. Or I will die.
Serva me, servabo te. Save me and I will save you.
Save me.
Save me.
Save me.
Calla calla calla calla calla calla calla calla
I will save you calla. Calla calla calla.
I tear my eyes away from the painful words, wrenching them away, because once again, just like always, Finn calls out for me when he’s afraid.
Even in written words on the pages of his journal.
He thinks I’m the only one who can save him and I have to agree.
But he also thinks he needs to save me, which is slightly ridiculous.
I’m the only one who understands. I’m the only one who knows. And I can’t tell anyone, because if I do, my father will have no choice but to send Finn to a mental institution, and I know enough to know that he’d never get out. They’d keep him.
So I have to save him without telling anyone.
And the only way to do that, is to read his innermost thoughts. All of them.
I shift my gaze out the window, into the rain, and I’m startled to find Finn gone, but Dare is in his place. Jogging along the trail, up from the beach, he strides confidently and unaffected by the downpour.
In fact, when he’s on the edge of the lawns, out in front of my window, he stops abruptly.
Then his gorgeous face tilts upward and his eyes meet mine.
I stop breathing.
I stop thinking.
I just lift my hand to the glass, pressing it there, as though Dare’s hand is resting against my own. The rain runs in rivulets down the pane, around my fingers like tears, and Dare’s eyes soften. Without a word, he lifts his hand.
He holds it there, as though he’s touching me. As though he’s comforting me from things he has no knowledge of.
But what I know, is that he is comforting me.
His presence comforts me.
He knows it. That’s why he stands in the rain for several minutes more, for so long, until he’s absolutely drenched, until finally, finally, he drops his hand and continues on his way, through the rain and onto the trails.
He disappears into the canopy of trees, and then he’s gone.
Gone from me.
I realize something as I linger with Finn’s crazy thoughts in my lap.
I’ve never felt quite so alone before.