In the Stillness (11 page)

Not here. Not again.

* * *
 

I was wandering around the same market, then. Alone, de-stressing after getting my ass in gear and pulling my grades back up to Dean’s List level. I reveled in the life Northampton provided. Tosha talked a lot about moving here after graduation, and I hoped she would.

With Fiona Apple blasting through my earbuds, I was glad I put my cell phone on vibrate as I thanked the barista for my coffee. I headed to the stairs and pulled out my phone. It wasn’t “unavailable,” meaning it wasn’t Ryker, but it was a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hello?” I left one earbud in, Fiona still singing in my ear.

“Hello, Natalie?” A woman’s voice I didn’t quite recognize came through the other end.

I turned off my first generation iPod—one that cost my parents a fortune—and pulled out the other earbud. “This is.”

Her voice was unsteady. “Natalie, this Julia. . . Ryker’s mom.”

I’m glad I made it to the stairs, because I was sitting down anyway. Luckily, they caught me. My pulse raced more thoughts per second through my head than I’d ever experienced before. News reports scrolled through my visual memory. I thought the worst; I thought the best. I thought
why wouldn’t his dad be calling me?
That meant it had to be bad. Ryker’s dad was his emergency contact, since he lived with him in Amherst. Julia lived somewhere else . . . Colorado? Wyoming? Something . . .
 

“Hi Julia . . .” I tried to sound nonchalant.
 

The longest silence in existence followed.

“Julia? Hello?”

She sniffed, and my heart leaped through my throat. I was dizzy and felt like all my nerves were buzzing on high voltage.

“Julia, what happened? You’re scaring me.” People slowed a little as they walked by me, staring for a second before going about their lives, as mine was seconds away from falling apart.

“It’s Lucas—” sobs cut her voice short.

You can feel relief and horror at the same time. It’s awful. A rabbit hole for which there is no bottom.
 

“Oh my god . . . no.” I put my head on my knees and started openly sobbing.

Her voice broke through my tears. “I don’t know all of the details, but there was some firefight. Ryker pulled him out—it was too late—Ryker was shot, too, Natalie.”

“
What?
” I was loud. A woman knelt next to me, placed her hand on my back, and asked if I was okay. She stayed next to me while I listened to Julia.

“He’s on his way to Germany, I think. His dad’s been on the phone all day trying to get details. He asked if I’d call you. From what we know so far, he’s okay, Natalie. He’s going to be okay.”

“Okay. What do I . . .” Words were useless. Nothing touched what I was questioning, what I was feeling.
 

Did she say Lucas was dead?

“I’ll let Bill know that I called you. He’ll call you with more information.”

“I’m so sorry, Julia.” I managed to get it together enough to recognize I was speaking with the mother of a boy who was shot.

I clicked “End” and let the phone slide out of my hands. As it tumbled down the stairs, I wailed. I wonder how many people saw me that day, and what they thought.
 

I still don’t know how Tosha got to me. Maybe I told that woman her name, and she went through my phone and called the last number I dialed. Either way, Tosha lifted me off those stairs an hour later and drove me back to our dorm room.
 

When we got to my room she got out my pajamas.

“You’ll be more comfortable in these,” she said as she walked back to my bed. I don’t remember telling her about Ryker or Lucas, but I must have.
 

I was staring through space as she helped me take off my shirt. I don’t think I’d blinked in a half hour. Suddenly, Tosha’s hand was around my left arm. I slowly raised my eyes to hers—she looked horrified as she stared at faded red cuts. Some of them would be scars. I couldn’t stop after that last phone call with Ryker. I tried. But I couldn’t. Now, I couldn’t hide it.

“Jesus, Natalie, what the hell happened?”

I bawled my eyes out as I released the last several months of my internal hell onto Tosha. She held my head against her shoulder as I cried; recounting the first time I cut all the way through to the last time.

“Do you want me to call someone?” she asked. “Do you need help?”

I sat up and shook my head. “No. Ryker’s on his way home. Everything will be fine, now. Please don’t tell anyone, especially him. It’ll all be good, now . . .”

Stupid girl.

* * *
 

Running through the parking garage connected to Thorne’s, I find my car, get in, and race home. It’s after seven.
Shit.
I didn’t intend on staying out this late, I hope Eric isn’t mad.

“Hey,” I whisper as I walk into the apartment. Luckily, he got the boys to bed on time.
 

“Hey you.” He smiles and walks over to me, grabbing my face and hitting me with a passionate kiss.

“Mmm,” I moan onto his lips. Everything else aside, this man is one
hell
of a kisser.
 

I back him onto the couch, where I straddle him as he sits. I keep our lips together; it keeps the past at bay.
 

“Oh, Natalie . . .” he whispers as I grind onto him, forcing my tongue into his mouth a second later.
 

His hands reach for the waistband of my skirt, but I bat them away. Instead, I slip off my panties and unzip his jeans, keeping my skirt on. Covering my legs.

 
He finds this hot. I find it necessary.
 

I kiss his ear as I whisper, “I love you, Eric. I’m so proud of you.” I grab him, steadying his movements as I slide effortlessly onto him.

“Jesus, Nat, you feel amazing.”

Don’t call me Nat.

It does feel good to have him inside me. To be outside of my head for five damn minutes of the day. I can’t pretend, though. I can’t push these suddenly ever present images of Ryker and the future I never got to have out of my head. I close my eyes tighter, begging Ryker to leave my brain. When I open them again, I find Eric staring at me with fear in his eyes. When I wasn’t paying attention he ran his hands up my thighs, lifting my skirt over my hips. Exposing everything.

I pull my skirt down, slide off him, and try to run to the bedroom. He grabs my wrist and forces me back onto the couch.

“What the
fuck
is that.” He tries to lift my skirt again, but I slap his hand.

“Nothing, Eric. Leave it alone.” I’m caught. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m caught.

Eric leans forward and smashes the heels of his hands into his eyes. “How could I be so stupid,” he whispers to himself.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you went to Lucas’s grave, out drinking with Tosha without telling me . . . are you seeing that Ryker guy behind my back? Is he why you’re doing this?”

Reaching back as far as I can, I slap Eric across the face with all the force I can muster. “You’re a fucking bastard. This isn’t about Lucas, or Ryker, or Tosha. It’s about
you.
It’s about
us.
We’re fucking broken, Eric, and I feel trapped. You’re the reason I
do this.
”
 
I stand with my half-lie and walk toward the hallway. He doesn’t stop me this time.
 

“Do I need to call your mom or something?” He’s genuinely concerned. He
would
call my mother. That scares the shit out of me.

I turn slowly, keeping my fear in check. “If you call my mother about this, Eric, you’ll never see your boys again. I’ll make damn sure of it.”
 

I don’t wait to watch his face melt into pain before I continue to the bedroom and slam the door behind me.

What. The fuck. Now?

Chapter 13

I didn’t sleep at all last night. I sat cross-legged on my bed, waiting for Eric to come in and call my bluff. For him to fight. Something.
 

Shit.

Sneaking quietly past the boys’ room, I find Eric sleeping on the couch as I start the coffee.
 

“We need to talk about last night.” I jump at his voice. He clearly wasn’t sleeping.

“I don’t really know what there is to talk about.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Natalie?” Eric whispers as he walks toward me. He never swears.

“You’re an asshole. I’ve been living in my own personal hell for the last six months, and the first time you notice anything is off you blame it on my ex-boyfriend? Not only do you accuse me of cheating, but you understand me so little that you think, somehow, he’s the reason I cut myself?”
 

Eric’s eyes fill with tears. “I love you, Natalie. I don’t want you hurting yourself-”

“And I don’t want to feel the way I’m feeling. I don’t want to live this life we’re living. Only one of us can win here, Eric.” I push the “start” button on the coffee maker. Eric wraps his arms around my waist; I wiggle free.

“What?” he asks.

“I don’t want you to touch me. A hug isn’t going to fix this. I don’t even know if I want it to be fixed.”

“What do you mean you don’t know if you want it fixed? You want to cut yourself?”
 

I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I can’t believe I was so reckless as to let my husband find out I’ve been cutting. Shouldn’t I be more ashamed of the cutting than the fact that he found out?
 

I sigh. “No, Eric, I don’t want to keep cutting.” I force myself to say it, even though I don’t totally believe it. “What I’m not sure of,” I continue, “is us.”

Just then, the boys open their bedroom door and race down the hallway screaming “Daddy!” because he’s never home when they wake up these days.

“Hey guys!” Eric turns up his daddy-charm and sinks to the floor as the boys crash into his body. I’d be that cheerful with them, too, if I only saw them a few days a week. “Okay, monsters, why don’t you sit down in the chair and Daddy will turn on the TV. I’ve gotta talk to Mommy for a sec, okay?”

I’m already in the bedroom when Eric starts down the hall.

Crossing my arms defensively in front of me, I ask, “What?”
 

“Do you want to leave me, Natalie?” he whispers as he closes the door behind him.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, looking down at his bare feet. “It was an awful thing you said. About Ryker—”

His tone instantly fills with malice as he cuts me off, “You think you can use my children as a threat against me?”

“It’s not a threat, Eric.” I meet his eyes and refuse to look away. He doesn’t intimidate me, but I don’t like the seriousness in his eyes.

 
“Well,” he continues, “I’d like you to tell me what court in their right mind would give custody to an unemployed mother who cuts herself for fun.”

I know he regrets it as soon as he says it; his eyes give him away every single time. The fact that it was even in his heart to say it, though, is enough to send me into a blind rage. Rage and fear that I haven’t felt for a long time.

* * *

Lucas’s funeral was the worst thing I’ve ever been to in my life. Ryker was still in the hospital—supposed to be released soon—so Tosha went with me, and we stood with Ryker’s dad.

God, it was awful.
 

People my age were standing in sobbing clusters, and it was all I could do not to throw up. When the soldiers handed Lucas’s parents the flag from his coffin, I swear I thought I was going to pass out. My knees buckled a little, until I felt Ryker’s dad’s arm hook around my waist. He held me steady and kissed the top of my head. I felt sick and relieved at the same time. Ryker was going to come home. It wasn’t his funeral. But, it was his best friend’s and he was missing it. He saw him die.

It was a fight to get my parents to “let” me go to Lucas’s funeral in the first place. The semester was over and I was taking finals. My mom thought that going to a funeral would ruin my semester. Well, it was already ruined, given that someone I considered a friend was sent home from the war in pieces. And, screw her. The bigger fight, however, came a week after the funeral, when they called to discuss what day they’d help me move my stuff home.
 

“I’m staying here this summer,” I balked petulantly.

“I don’t think so, young lady,” my dad answered. I could tell I was on speakerphone because I heard my mom start talking in the background.

“I stayed here last summer, Dad. I took classes and did an internship to help build my student portfolio. I’ll be doing the same thing this summer.” Panic started to rise through my body.

“Natalie, this year has been an emotional one for you. You need to come home this summer to regroup.”
 

“Ryker will be home soon!” I shouted. “I’m not leaving until I see him. Dad. He was shot, his best friend died, and I’m not going to have him come home and me not be here!” My voice shrieked into a cry that I no longer tried to conceal.