Chapter Eleven
3 Years, 30 Weeks, 0 Days
Jack tries to convince me he’ll do everything he can to block Nameless from contacting me again via email. But I know it won’t work. Jack’s okay at the whole computer tracking thing, but Nameless is much, much better. He always has been. He used to spend entire weekends working away at strands of hugely difficult codes. Sometimes he’d shrug off our dates at his house to practice. He was good because he practiced, and all that practice ended in him becoming talented. The computer science teacher at our school wouldn’t shut up about him.
If Nameless can get access to a video in a federal vault, then he can get to me. If he knows about the video, he knows about Jack, probably through Wren. Not that Wren would ever tell him purposely. Maybe he let it slip. Or maybe Nameless just tracked me all the way here and somehow found out about Jack through the school’s computers. People talked about our war on the beat-up old Macs in the computer lab, I’m sure. Or maybe—
My stomach sinks, and the wonderful crème brûlée taste goes sour in my mouth.
Maybe Nameless had my email hacked all along, and he read my emails to Kayla about Jack.
“Wipe your old hard drive, just in case,” Jack says. “Get a new email address and change the passwords on everything.”
“He’ll just break in again.”
“He won’t,” Jack says sternly. “He won’t. I won’t let that happen.”
“He’s been watching me this whole time.” I laugh. “I was so stupid. I thought I got away from him for good.”
“You will. You can. You just can’t give up. Work with me, okay? We’ll fix this together.”
“It’s no good.” I roll over. “He’s gonna torment me for my entire life. He’s always gonna be here, just like this stupid—this stupid fucking scar—”
I wrap it in the sheet so I don’t have to look at it. Jack walks over and unwraps it, pulling it to his lips.
“Listen to me, Isis. He won’t be with you forever. Someday, you’ll force him to leave, and he will, and you’ll be happier for it. The memories won’t go away, but they’ll become less clear as you make more.”
I flinch. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“I want to help you make more, if that’s all right with you.”
“What about…Sophia?”
“She’ll always be a part of my life, and I’ll always support her. But I know now who I want. The truth is here, right now, staring me in the face and sitting on a hotel bed, wearing my shirt and looking ridiculously cute.”
My face heats like a brushfire. Jack stands.
“Let’s get some sleep. We can worry uselessly tomorrow. Have you told your mom where you are?”
“Shit,” I hiss. “I gotta call her. It might be one of those nights.”
“Those nights?”
“She relapses sometimes. The memories come back to haunt her and she freaks out and can’t sleep unless I’m there.”
“Jesus, Isis, how long has this been going on?”
“Ever since we moved here to get away from Leo,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a huge deal,” he insists. “Your mom can’t sleep without you sometimes? That’s a huge burden on you.”
“It’s not!” I protest. “Look, I just do what I can to help her, okay? She’s my mom. I love her. She needs me.”
“You need yourself. You can’t be there for her forever.”
His words ring true, reminiscent of what Aunt Beth said to me. But then I remember Mom’s tears at the trial.
“I can try,” I snipe.
“Isis, this isn’t healthy. She needs to get help—”
“She’s getting help. But it’s not enough.”
Jack closes his mouth, a frown forming on his lips. In the sudden quiet, I dial Mom. She sounds good. She ordered Chinese takeout for us, but when I tell her I’m spending the night at a friend’s, the forced happy in her voice throws me off.
“Oh! That’s great. Which friend?”
“Kayla,” I lie. “I can give you her phone number.”
“Sure, that’d be great. Should I call her parents and say hello?”
“Her parents are…out of town.”
Mom clucks her tongue. “Are you two drinking?”
“It’s just one bottle of wine,” I agree. “I’m sorry—”
“No, no, honey.” Mom laughs. “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. You deserve to relax. God knows you deserve to have fun with your friends after everything I’ve put you through. Just promise me you won’t drive anywhere or get in a car driven by someone drunk, and that you’ll be home by noon tomorrow.”
“I promise.” My heart lifts. “I swear to you, I’ll be safe.”
“I know you will, sweetie. You’re the best daughter a mom could ask for.”
“You, too. Not that you’re a daughter. Even though you are. I’m sure Grandma thought you were the best daughter ever, bless her wrinkly, dementia-addled soul.”
Mom chuckles. “Sleep well, you.”
We hang up. Jack is watching me with an appraising gaze.
“What?” I ask defensively. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What are you going to do for college?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you plan to stay here.”
“You were planning to stay here for Sophia,” I retort. “But all of a sudden you’re going to Harvard?”
“Sophia asked me to go,” he says tiredly. “I’m coming back to visit her every month. Besides, a Harvard degree will get me a much better job—one with enough money to cover her costs for a long time.”
“You talk about my relationship with my mom not being healthy, but you and Sophia are no different.”
His handsome face twists, but after a moment it lightens.
“I despise your logic,” he says. “But sometimes it’s right. I’m a hypocrite.”
“And a fathead,” I say. “But I forgive you.”
His exhale is laced with a laugh. “Let’s get some rest.”
He turns out the light and takes a spare blanket from the closet, draping it over the couch and lying on it. I snuggle under the blankets and try not to feel guilty. I can’t fall asleep at all. It’s a repeat of what happened at Avery’s house, but this time, I’m not drunk, and I’m not as scared. It’s just the darkness gnawing away at me. Nameless feels like he’s everywhere. And I’d give anything, do anything, to chase him away and feel safe again.
“It’s cold,” I say. I hear Jack roll over.
“Do you want another blanket?”
“No, um.” I swallow. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, second only to my first-grade spelling bee in which I spelled “fabulous” wrong, and third to when I had my first period ever and bled through my pants and onto the metal foldout chair during band class and had to attach the chair to my bottom as I walked sideways to the bathroom so no one would see the damage. I gained a whole new respect for crabs and their walking style. Shit’s straight difficult.
“Can you—” I try to raise my voice, but it cracks. “Can you—please— I’m usually not this bad at talking.” I laugh. “This is so stupid. I’m sorry. Never mind.”
I roll over and pull the blankets over my head so he won’t hear me whispering curses at myself. But then I feel a weight on the other side of the bed, and my lungs rapidly decide they want to burst.
Jack’s voice is close. “This?”
I pull the blankets off my head and nod, too furiously. Too eagerly. Jack chuckles, low and soft. With my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I see him roll and face away from me, pulling the blanket over him. His legs are just a few feet to the left, his back even closer. I’m shaking, but I pray to whatever god is listening that he can’t feel that through the bed. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea—that I’m afraid—and then leave. I am afraid—a deep-down, rock-solid fear burned into me by Nameless—but I’m not scared. I’m not shallowly breathing or panicky or jumping at every little thing. And that makes all the difference. It’s not chaotic fear; it’s orderly, and I know the causes for it. I can control it.
I reach out, slowly, and put my hand on his back. I feel his muscles tense under my fingers. When he doesn’t say anything, or move, I lean in and press my weight against him. He’s warm, warmer than a blanket. There’s a long pause as our breathing moves in and out of each other’s rhythm. And then finally, he speaks.
“You’re the most confusing girl I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “Not sorry.”
“Good.”
The sun barges in and sits its butt on my eyes and the world is ending and I’m blind and everything is over. And then I roll over and see Jack’s face on the pillow and then everything is really over. Permanently. Because my universe explodes.
I make small screeching noises under my breath as I try to remember how I got here, in the hotel room. It all floods back at once and I’m more than a little mad at myself for giving in and staying here without a fight. Jack cracks open one sleepy blue eye. He runs his fingers through my hair idly as he groans.
“Who gave you permission to be conscious before six, and how can I end them?”
“Why are you touching me?” I whisper. “Is it really that fun? Because most people say it feels squishy and gross.”
He laughs and puts his hands over his eyes, stretching like a freshly woken cat who likes to arch its back.
“What do you want for breakfast? I can run out and get something, or we can call in. Checkout isn’t until one.”
“There was a café I saw on my way in last night. Looked really swanky and smelled permanently like bacon. You should go there. While I sneak out the window.”
“I think we should go together.”
“Hear me out on this one: What if we don’t stay near each other for extended periods of time?”
He rolls over and leans on his elbows, playing with a strand of my purple hair.
“That’s an incredibly contradictory statement considering what you did last night.”
“I touched your back! Stop making it sound sexual!” I gasp. “Did I just say sexual? Out loud? Without stuttering? Praise Jesus. Wait, does Jesus like people having sex? I keep forgetting who likes what.”
“I like you,” Jack murmurs. I elegantly fall off the bed. There’s a silence, and then I peek my head over the mattress and raise my hand.
“Uh, hello? Me here. I would preferably not like to be given a heart attack before I reach legal drinking age.”
“Did that really surprise you that badly?” Jack smirks. He pauses. “I like you.”
“Ah!” I put my arms up to shield myself.
“I like you.”
“Stop!”
“Oh, this will be fun.”
“I will kill you slowly,” I retort, but he’s already up and pulling on his pants. I set my entire facial region on fire involuntarily when I realize he slept in boxers. Next to me. And in the split second before he pulled his pants on there was a distinct bulge, and I am dying, this is what dying is, you burn up and then the ashes blow away and someone gets them in their eye and they walk around with a red eye all day and their coworkers think it’s pinkeye when really it’s just your dead carbon—
“Isis. Shhh.”
“You shhhh!” I hiss. “I’m having a seventeenth-life crisis here upon seeing a man’s junk for the first time.”
He pulls on his jacket and grabs his wallet off the nightstand.
“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
He shuts the door, and I’m alone. Alone but with him waiting for me downstairs. In a fancy hotel. For breakfast at a café. I pinch my feet and yelp when I don’t wake up. There aren’t any hidden cameras I can see, but then again if I could see them they wouldn’t be very good hidden cameras now would they? I don’t think this is a setup, at least. It’s an impossible little dream probably, cooked up by my waking subconscious, but for now I’ll let it slide. For now I’ll go along with it. I slept in the same bed as Jack Hunter, my nemesis, my rival, and now apparently something a little more than my friend.
And I felt safe.
Over breakfast at the café, Jack and I talk logistics. He’ll keep an eye on Nameless’s IP, and I’ll do a thorough cleansing of my computer. When we’re standing in the parking lot with bellies full of bacon and toast, we linger. I shuffle my feet. I have no idea what to do. How is a girl supposed to say good-bye to a boy she slept with but didn’t really sleep with? Is there a handbook for this shit? Should I write one real quick and mail it to my past self? Does publishing even work that fast?
Before I can agonize any longer, Jack reaches his hand out and pats my head.
“You’ll be okay driving home?”
“Duh.” I feel miffed that he’d pat me like a child, but also weird and glowy on the inside in places I don’t even wanna think about. “I’m like a NASCAR driver. Minus the millions of dollars.”
“Shame, really. Imagine how many more people you could annoy if you were a millionaire.”
“At least ten whole people. And their grandmas.”
“Ah yes, the time-honored Blake tradition of annoying grandmas.”
“All it takes is like, a dirty pan and a cat without a furry pink sweater on it.”
“Say hi to your mother for me.”
“You, too. Um. If she still remembers me. Actually, don’t, it’s fine, I didn’t exactly make the best impression when I went over there—”
“She remembers,” Jack insists. “She thinks you’re sweet.”
“Hah. Must’ve met my doppelgänger. The one who doesn’t exist anywhere ever.”
Jack smiles. It’s not a bright smile, like the one I’d seen him give Sophia in the hospital once. But it’s warm and without ice, and that’s all I can ask for, really.
“You have my number,” he says.
“Yup. I’ll text if there’re issues. Tissues. Not tissues, tissues are disgusting and so are issues.”
He starts to walk away. I want to say a thousand dumb things at once—thank you, and I’m sorry you chose a shithead like me, and you deserve better, and drive safe, and be safe, and sleep well and eat well, but all the words and feelings come up in a jumbled mess and dissipate into the air as I open my mouth to say nothing at all and close it again.
“YOU WHAT?”
I hold the phone away from my ear to preserve my future hearing for eighty years to come.
“Slept. In the uh, same bed,” I whisper.
“YOU HAD SEX WITH JACK HUNTER?”
“Jesus, Kayla, no, stop shouting, it’s indecent.”
“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S INDECENT—SLEEPING WITH JACK HUNTER!”
“We didn’t sleep together, dork! Do I look stupid enough to ever touch that bag of germs?”
Kayla finally takes a breath. “That’s true. You can’t even say ‘dick’ without vomiting in your mouth a little. And sometimes on desks. And small children.”
“That was one time, and that kid totally walked into the flight path of my vomit. It’s not my fault if he had no grasp of liquid physics.”
“But you totally slept in the same bed and, like, hello, isn’t that at least second base? Second and a half base?”
“Uh, like a second moon base?”
“Ugh, no! Never mind, I’m not gonna explain really outdated sex terms to you.”
“For the last time! There was no sect…ional things going on, okay? I would never do that with your ex. Ever.”
“I would. With your ex. If you had one. If he was smoking hot. If you gave me your sure-as-hell approval, obviously. Which I totally give you, by the way, because, duh—it’s Jack Hunter! Someone in this school has to bed him before he gets to Hollywood or model-land or whatever and contracts a bunch of icky diseases!”
“You are insane.”
“Omigod! Did I tell you?”
“That you’re insane? Already figured it out, thanks.”
“No, dummy! Wren asked me to prom!”
I feel my mouth drop open. “The one with glasses?”
“Uh, duh, what other Wren do you know?”
“Was he…was he drooling or shuffling or moaning about brains?”
“Ew, no! He was in his right mind and I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t a zombie, okay? Is it so weird that someone would want to take me to prom?”
“No, it’s just— Wren isn’t exactly bold?”
“I know!” she squeals. “Which is like, the biggest compliment, if he got all gung ho to ask me and stuff, right?”
“Yeah. Are you gonna say yes?”
“I already did!”
“What happened to him being a nerd king?”
“He’s a slightly…cooler nerd king now? I mean, I just— We’ve had woodshop together and it’s been really fun, we made this birdhouse and it came out really cute, and I cut my finger on the band saw a little, and he got really concerned and took me to the nurse’s and—”
“You like him.”
Kayla chokes on nothing. “I-I do not! Like him! I just happen to want to go to senior prom! And he’s cute enough! And he’s nice!”
“He doesn’t drive.”
“That’s fine! I do! And anyway I’m totally gonna ask Daddy for a limo, and you and Jack are definitely invited.”
“Uh, thanks? But me and Jack aren’t a thing.”
“You slept in the same bed.”
“Yes?”
“You’re a thing,” she asserts. “I’ll see you on Monday!”
I sigh and hang up. Having friends is great. Having friends determine your romantic status is not so great. Yeah, Jack and I slept in the same bed. And he touched my hair. And smiled a lot. And he was warm, and—
I run into the bathroom and grace my head with a cold shower. Mom’s surprised to see my wet hair when I drive up to her shrink’s.
“Did…did something happen?”
“Jesus blessed me with his holy water.”
“Oh?”
“Took a shower. How was your session?”
She laughs. “It was…it was all right. We talked about you, mostly, and Stanford.”
“Oh yeah?” My voice pitches up. “Cool.”
“It would be so wonderful for you, honey. And with your dad willing to help with the costs—you could really do it. You’d meet so many new people and learn so many amazing things.”
“Yeah. And they’ve got these awesome foreign exchange programs.” I pull onto the highway. “I’ve been looking at this one in Belgium; it’s like, four months, so one semester, but you live with a host family right in the city and there’s all this cultural exchange stuff in your program, like going out to the countryside and visiting France for a week, and it sounds so—”
I stop when I see Mom raise her hand to her face out of the corner of my eye.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
“I’m sorry.” She sniffs, laughing. “I’m fine. Really, I’m okay.”
“Are you crying?”
“I’m fine, sweetie! I-I’m—”
Her crying gets louder. She’s shaking, her shoulders quivering and her hands quaking as she desperately tries to hide her face from me.
“Mom!” I pull over onto the shoulder and put the car in park, lacing my arm around her. “Mom, are you okay? What’s wrong? Tell me, please.”
“N-No,” she whimpers. “I’m being selfish. I’m sorry. Please, just drive us home.”
“No! Not until you tell me what’s making you cry like this!”
She sobs into my shoulder, every echo of her pain tearing a hole in my heart. I shouldn’t have gotten so excited about Stanford. It probably hurts her just to hear me talk about going away so far.
“I don’t want you to go,” she cries. “Please, stay here. I need you here.”
I wince and shut my eyes. I pull her closer to me, her trench coat enveloping both of us.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say softly. “Mom, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
“No! I want you to go.” She looks up, eyes panicked and red. “But I don’t want you to go. I know you have to. You have to grow and learn and fly on your own. But I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I’m sorry. Please, go. Please do whatever you want. Just…just promise me you’ll come back and visit sometimes, all right?”
“Mom, I’m not going—”
“You are!” Her expression suddenly turns furious. “You are, don’t listen to me! Don’t hold yourself back for me. I want you to go to Stanford.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Yes you do, Isis. I know you do. And you’re giving it up for me, and I can’t have that. You need people as smart as you, sweetie. You need challenges, and you’ll get that at Stanford. God, my little girl, going to Stanford. I’m so proud. So, so proud.”
She composes herself, and I start driving again, and she smiles and talks about mundane stuff like grocery shopping and what the neighbors said about her yard and how work was, but I know she isn’t done with the sorrow, because when we get home, she locks herself in her room and turns on her music. And she only does that when she doesn’t want me to hear her crying.
My chest burns as I look over the Stanford brochures again. They’re a wonderful, impossible dream.
I can’t leave her. There’s no way I can leave Mom here with a good conscience. I’d be too far to help if anything happened again—and she’d be too lonely. She wouldn’t get better if I was gone; she’d only get worse. I have to be close. Very close. I have to stay with her until she’s strong enough to stand on her own two feet again, and going to Stanford won’t make that happen.
My path is clear.
My path has always been clear.
I put the brochures in my desk drawer and cover them with my old sketchbooks from elementary school. Things I don’t touch. Things I won’t touch, ever again.
My email beeps, shakes me out of my misery, and then piles more on. The email’s from the same address that sent me the picture. Nameless.
Hi, Isis!
How’ve you been? You got my pic, right? That Jack guy seems really cool. Have you guys fucked yet?
Aw, who am I kidding? You don’t gotta tell me. I’ll see you again someday. :)
I fight the urge to puke and lose, fantastically.
The darkness wells up in the bathroom. It bleeds out of my eyes and my mouth that cries with no sound. I lock the door and huddle on the floor, hugging my knees.
He’ll see me soon.
I’m not safe. I’ve never been safe.
I’ll never be safe. I’ll never be free. Jack’s wrong. He can’t do anything. He can’t help. Nameless lives inside me and always will. The darkness will always be here.
There is a nest inside me, and all it takes is a few words from the boy who raped me to bring the monsters roaring out of it.