Chapter Twenty-Four

Blake

 

 

We sat dripping in the front office, waiting for the cops to come.

Georgina had put her dress back on over her wet swimmers. She rummaged around in her bag. I thought she was going to call her dad or someone, but instead she pulled out her purse, and from it, that little black book of hers.

I could only gape at her as she clicked her pen and crossed out another list item.

 

 

 

 

Anger made my hands shake.

Two police walked in, led by the security guard who pointed at us with the butt of his torch. The older cop looked like he wanted to laugh. The younger one looked new to the job, and kept blushing and checking a notebook.

We got put into the back of the cop car and sent on our way. Thankfully, the security guard had let me put my trunks back on before the cops showed up, but it was still awkward and uncomfortable. I couldn’t even look at Georgina.

The cops talked to each other, laughing and making jokes at our expense, all the way to the station where Georgina and I were left in a waiting room.

But Georgina didn’t wait. She left me and went to talk to someone, then they went to talk to someone else. I didn’t even get to make a phone call because they yanked me back out and put me in the wind so fast that I didn’t have time to ask what the hell had happened.

I was free to go, and I knew Georgina was the reason.

I spent an hour pacing up and down in front of the station, getting soaked to the bone, before she finally came out, too.

Her eyes were raw and red, but her expression was bright. Calm. Even cheerful.

She walked up to me as if she had just spent the better part of the evening having tea and crumpets with a bunch of old ladies instead of having her statement taken by cops.

She took all the blame. She swore up and down that she was the one who’d cut the lock. That it was all her idea. That she’d pay any damages. That she’d instigated everything. I wondered what else she told them about her specific situation that might have tipped the balance there. My breath became fast and shaky.

“They gave me a three-hundred-dollar fine and a black mark on my rap sheet. Not bad for a day’s work.”

It was the way she said it. She didn’t give a flat flying damn that she had just been in jail, or that there might be more consequences somewhere down the road. She didn’t care about anything. She didn’t even care to wear a helmet on my bike. She was fucking suicidal, and all that mattered for her was getting one more list item ticked off.

I pointed a finger at her as violently as a gun. “How long are you going to continue like this? Pretending nothing is wrong?”

She blinked, then her face went carefully blank. “What do you mean?”

“Stop. Fucking. Lying. To me!”

The rain fell harder, hiding what I was sure were tears on her cheeks. Her hands came up. She made a helpless gesture and then crossed over her chest, like she was trying to hold herself in. “Blake …”

“I know about the cancer.”

She doubled over. It was like I had put my size-twelve foot right into her gut at full force. “How?”

“Mary.”

“She felt the lump.” Her words were hoarse and strained.

“And the scar on your breast?”

Her expression shattered. Her words were wracked with sobs. I’d never seen her cry, not like this. Like all the things she’d been holding in finally burst free.

I tried to reach for her, to say something, but she shrugged me off like I was an old coat.

Her sobs slowed and she spoke between them. “I’ve had breast cancer before. I found … I found a new lump. I’m pretty sure it’s cancer.”

“Pretty sure? You mean you don’t know? Not for sure?”

Her voice shook, and she stared away, back up the station steps. “I know.”

“Have you been to the doctor?”

“No. I can’t. I just … I can’t.” She sighed, a long, low exhalation, then finally met my gaze again. Her eyes were red-veined, and wet strands of hair made patterns across her pale cheeks.

“You do know that the rest of us still have to live here after you’re gone? That we have to live with how you’ve used us?”

Anger flashed over her features. “You chose this. You chose to do the things on my list with me. I have never forced you into anything. You don’t get to decide what I do with what remains of my life.”

I wanted to shake her. My voice raised, competing with the pelting rain. “You could be killing yourself. You could be doing all these things for no reason—acting like the end is near when there is nothing wrong. You have to get checked.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I won’t. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand?” Fury made my lips twitch. Lightning flashed. I blinked and saw Seyvia, lying in her own vomit on our bed, her skin blue. “You think you’re special? That you have a monopoly on tragedy and loss? That I haven’t lost someone I loved?”

Georgina’s head shook. “I’m sorry.”

“Every human life is a tragedy. We all die. That’s the only way our stories can end, and the only way to avoid that is running away from anything real.”

The rain thumped down harder. It was like the sky held an ocean and dumped it all out on top of us.

Georgina wiped her face and stared up at me with clear eyes. “Then this is it. This is over. We’re over.”

“You … You’re choosing to run away?” I don’t know why it shocked me. It’s what I had planned to do. It’s what I chose for so long. I’ve been running away ever since Seyvia. But this was real. What I felt for Georgina was real. I didn’t want to run from life, or death, anymore.

“I won’t see you again. This story ends here. Goodbye, Blake.”

“Don’t. Georgie, please—”

She turned and ran.