An Unstill Life (25 page)

Chapter Thirty

W
e were late and had to circle the streets around the school several times before finding a parking space almost four blocks away.

“C’mon. The whole thing will be over before we get there.” Bianca locked the car and pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. I couldn’t believe she wasn’t wearing a coat. Even with mine on, I could feel the cold snaking up my legs to bury itself under my dress. She took my hand, and without talking, we ducked our heads into the wind and made our way toward the school.

We stopped in the shadows beneath the oak tree, watching pulsing colored light trickle through the windows high up the gym walls. I couldn’t see in, but I could hear the thump of bass and the low rumble of voices.

“Ready?” Bianca looked at me, eyes bright with excitement.

“I guess so.” I fingered the now-soft cardboard tickets. I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready, but I was here now, and this had to be done. For Bianca and me. For Trish. For any other gay kids. For Jules. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to blink away the image of her strapped to the stretcher.

“Let’s do this, then.” Bianca tightened her hand around mine. It was a little damp, or maybe that was mine.

Tiny lanterns with candles flickering inside lit the path to the gym. We followed them to the door where a small table sat.

“Hello, and welcome to the Westfield High Winter Formal.” Jenna sat there, a burgundy velvet dress clinging to her as if painted on. Her smile seemed painted on, too. Without really looking at us, she took the tickets from my shaking hand and dropped them into the box that sat next to her. “You can hang your coats…” As she pointed toward the girls’ locker rooms, she glanced at us and froze. Swallowing hard, she stood up, a terrified look crossing her face. “You can’t be here,” she hissed.

“I bought my tickets.” I pointed at the box into which she’d just deposited them. “Just like everyone else.”

“Livvie…” She looked desperate. “It’s not me. Honestly. But Mrs. Wolfson said she’d call the cops if you guys showed up. If you go now, I won’t say anything, okay?”

“Let her. Then she can explain why she’s banned two kids from an event on public property because she’s a bigot. It’s illegal, you know.” Bianca’s words were delivered in a hard voice that sounded like Trish’s. Maybe she’d given her daughter ammunition in case the cops really did show up. Bianca wrapped her arm around my shoulders and stood there, towering above Jenna in her heels. “We came to dance, and we’re gonna dance. C’mon, Livvie.”

The arm around me exerted pressure, forcing me forward.

“Sorry.” I mumbled as we shoved Jenna out of the way and entered the gym.

“Livvie. You don’t want—” Jenna’s voice disappeared into the distance as the music engulfed us.

Bianca dragged me deep into the gym, away from the doors and the brightness of the entrance. Inside it was dim, with colored lights swirling across the walls. Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling, dropping small circles of brightness to the floor. All around us people danced and chattered. Tables and chairs lined the walls, In the middle of each crisp white cloth was a lantern like the ones outside. Kids sprawled in the seats, unrecognizable in their formal clothes. My eyes drank in the colors. Dresses of every hue and style whisked by, while boys—men—in black suits and white shirts followed.

“It’s…beautiful,” I gasped, unable to keep from staring around. The music’s colors were drowned out by this visual cacophony. It should have been overwhelming, but it wasn’t. My senses were heightened and I could taste each color as a distinct, individual flavor—this one watermelon sweet, that one dark, bitter chocolate. I spun around to see more.

Someone’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, hard, the fingers biting painfully into my skin. “I thought I made it clear that you were not to attend this event.” Mrs. Wolfson’s voice was cold enough to send goosebumps scattering across my skin.

Bianca stepped forward and pushed herself toward the principal. “We came anyway.”

Mrs. Wolfson didn’t back down. “You’re responsible then, for this dance being shut down.” She whirled around and strode across the room to the stage where a DJ stood, bouncing to the beat of the music while he flicked through a crate of vinyl records.

I watched her storm up the steps and cross to the DJ’s console in three angry strides. She slammed a finger down and the music came to an abrupt stop. Then the floodlights crashed on, bathing the gym in blinding white light. Pushing past the DJ, she grabbed his mic and clicked it on. Feedback squealed through the speakers with a noise that made me, and everyone nearby, grab hold of their ears. I squinted in the sudden brilliance, listening to the crowd’s murmur.

“What the hell?”

“Shit, that’s bright!”

“What’s going on?”

Indignant questions punctuated the dull grey background noise.

“Attention everyone!” Mrs. Wolfson’s voice pounded through the speakers in a scarlet roar. “I’m declaring this dance over.”

The swell of conversation grew louder, and the principal tapped the microphone with a finger, making thudding noises to silence the crowd.

“Two inconsiderate individuals took it upon themselves to flagrantly disobey the rules. Therefore, I am forced to shut this down.” She fixed her eyes on Bianca and me, the stare so deliberate that every other eye in the place followed.

Bianca held me tight against her side, head held high. I tried to emulate her, but inside I quivered, the weight of hatred pointed toward us more than I could shoulder.

“That sucks!” The voice shattered the silence. “Just kick them out.”

A low murmur rippled through the crowd, heads nodding and shoulders shrugging. Someone stepped forward as if to grab us and bodily hurl us from the gym. Bianca’s eyes narrowed as he approached, and it would not have surprised me if a snarl exploded from her lips. He reached for her arm, but before he could touch her, I shoved his hand away.

“Don’t touch her.” I didn’t recognize the low growl as being my own voice.

Startled, the boy took a step backward before being shunted forward again by one of his friends. Uncertainty slowed his approach as he faced my glare.

“Let them stay. They’re not hurting anyone.” A louder murmur met this one, accompanied by more head nodding. The boy slunk back into the crowd, clearly grateful for the momentary distraction.

Mrs. Wolfson coughed into the microphone as if to remind us of her presence. “Rules are rules.”

“Screw your rules.” There was that growl again. I felt the blood racing to my head, could hear it in heavy thumps against the side of my skull.

Voices joined in, a chant that boiled through the air, blood red and dangerous. “Screw the rules! Screw the rules!”

I looked up at Bianca and saw wonder on her face. I didn’t know what to do, whether I should join in the chant or just stand where I was, rooted to the spot. People closed in around us, their voices loud in my ears. Someone took my hand. It was Mel, and she led me through the crowd. I grabbed Bianca’s arm, clinging to it the way a drowning person clings to a piece of flotsam. Kids scattered this way and that, scurrying to the edges of the room as Mel guided Bianca and I toward the stage. Mrs. Wolfson spat angry words into the microphone, but they could no longer be heard above the chorus shouting their screw-the-rules slogan.

“This is incredible,” someone whispered into my ear from behind. Turning my head, I saw Hannah, her mane of auburn hair threaded with tiny flowers. “I’m with you all the way, Livvie.”

Hannah? I raised my eyes and saw the line of people trailing after us, hundreds of them, fists pumping in the air as they marched and shouted their support. Teachers and parents darted this way and that, making hesitant movements toward the mob, but no one actually stopped it.

Mel, with Eddie next to her, pushed me up the steps to the stage. I looked back at her, panic welling in my chest.

She nodded her head toward the center of the stage and raised her voice. “Screw the rules!” she shrieked. I felt exposed up there on the stage, Bianca’s hand clutched in mine. She squeezed it and gave me a nudge, propelling me forward. I reached the microphone and stared at Mrs. Wolfson. Her face was twisted in anger, and I could feel the disgust pouring off her in waves. The chanting lessened in volume then silenced completely. The anger leaped from my gut, overwhelming any other emotion. It devoured my fear and unease. It decimated my grief and worry and dropped a red veil over everything. I held out my hand. For a long moment, I stood there, Mrs. Wolfson frozen in my gaze.

“Burn in Hell, lesbos.” The shout came from the far side of the room. Mrs. Wolfson whirled in that direction, and as she did, I pounced on the mic, snatching it away before the principal could realize what had happened.

“Hey!” My voice rang out through the room, clear and brilliant blue against the harshness of the lights. It matched my dress. “This is my girlfriend.” I dragged Bianca forward to stand at the front of the stage. “We were told we couldn’t come to this dance together.” Bianca stood so close to me I could feel the heat of her skin against mine. I wondered if she could feel the way I trembled, fury filling every cell of my body. “Now, I don’t know about you, but that reeks of discrimination to me.”

A rumble of voices filled the room, swelling and falling like the tide.

“And now, because we came anyway, Mrs. Wolfson’s going to shut us down. Well, you know what I say? Screw that. It’s a free country. We’re free to love who we want to love, and that should include being able to come to a school dance. So, Mr. DJ, crank out those tunes.”

The DJ crept out of the shadows where he’d been hiding and clapped his hands over his head. Ignoring Mrs. Wolfson’s shouted instructions, he fumbled through the albums until he found what he was looking for.

“Go on,” I whispered, prodding Bianca in the back. “We have to dance.”

I slid off the stage and reached up to take Bianca’s hand, helping her down onto the floor too. The crowd moved outward, giving us space. I looked up at Mel whose grin was wide enough to take over her face. I smiled back, then stepped forward as the first notes of “We’re Not Going to Take It” blasted through the speakers. It wasn’t a slow dance song, but I didn’t care. I held my girlfriend against me, and we danced. I don’t know how we danced. My limbs were so weak I felt as if Bianca’s arms around me were the only things holding me up. My heartbeat still drummed through me, even as the anger faded. Did I really do that? Me? New Livvie had some attitude.

The music changed. The anthemic rhythm grew softer, the notes melodious as they drifted around me. Pastel colors threaded their way between Bianca and me. I drew her closer, my arms around her waist as we swayed with the rhythm. My head rested on her chest, and I could hear the slow heavy beat of her heart. My own heart soared. This was heaven. Nothing had prepared me for the perfection of this moment. All around us other people danced, their shadows cutting across ours. Every now and again someone would murmur something as they drifted by.

“Good work,” one whispered.

“Way to fight back,” said another.

“Rot in hell, sinners.” I didn’t bother to look at the person who spat that one. There would always be haters.

I let myself relax into Bianca a real smile tugging at my lips. An elephant-sized weight had lifted off my heart, and I felt like if I tried, I could fly.

Another song came on, this one brighter and bouncier. The mood in the room changed, became more manic as kids bopped and bounced along with the bright primary colors. My feet moved on their own, tapping out the beat, leading Bianca on a tour around the gym.

Something vibrated against my thigh, and I froze. My phone. I couldn’t hear the tone, but the insistent buzzing from the little purse I had slung over my shoulder was enough to alert me to the incoming message. I stopped dancing and ducked into an alcove near the main doors to check it.

i need u

Three words. Six letters. But it was enough to sweep the happiness and joy from my heart. I staggered a little, grabbing for the wall to keep from crumpling to my knees. Not now. Please, not now. In my hand the phone burred again.

i need u

“Livvie?” Bianca’s hand cupped my face and tilted it toward her. “Are you okay? What’s the matter?”

I just stared at her. My hands shook so much I almost dropped the phone, which still hummed against my palm.

“Let’s go outside.” Bianca whisked me through the doors and out into the night. Goosebumps appeared on my bare arms as soon as I stepped outside. I needed my coat. The wind slapped at me, tearing hair loose from the pins that struggled to contain it. Shivering, I tried to move closer to Bianca.

“You look like you saw a ghost!” She pulled me to her, running her hands up and down my arms in an attempt to warm me. “What is it, baby?”

“I…I…have to go to home.” I looked up at her, drowning in the concern pooling in her eyes. “Jules…” I couldn’t say anything more. The bowling ball was back in my throat, choking off any sound before it could escape.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” Bianca kept her arms around me as she strode toward the car. I nodded, stumbling along beside her. I wasn’t cold anymore. Just numb.

i need u

The phone repeated its horrific message over and over again, but I couldn’t force myself to reply.

“Please.” I collapsed into the passenger seat. “Please hurry.”

Chapter Thirty-One

B
ianca drove like a fiend. Her eyes didn’t move from the windscreen in front of her. She didn’t speak, and I was glad for it. I needed to think, but I couldn’t think. My mind was a chaotic mess.

I watched her, shoulders hunched, mouth set in a firm line of concentration.

“She’s—” I couldn’t say it. The word sat on the end of my tongue like a cyanide pill. If I said it, the poison would release and flood my body. And I wasn’t ready for that.

Bianca reached over to touch the back of my neck. Her hand was warm, and her fingers found all the knots and whorls. I groaned as she kneaded at one. I arched into it, focusing on the momentary pleasure.

The comforting fingers disappeared when she whipped the car around the corner and into a parking space just down from my house. It had barely stopped when I threw myself out and slammed the door behind me. I scurried down the street. Bianca followed, the gunfire sound of her heels loud in the silence of the night.

My feet ached in the ill-fitting shoes. I wanted to take them off and let my toes spread against the freezing ground. I needed to run, to hurry. The phone in my hand still gave periodic throbs. She needed me. Bad.

I kept hurrying on toward the porch light that I’d left burning when the ambulance left.

My heart filled my throat and made it hard to breathe. A dark, empty pit opened in my gut, swallowing any last remaining scraps of joy. Breathing heavily, I stood in front of the steps in the glare of a streetlight, aniseed coating my tongue as my dress rippled and shone. It was time. Oh, God. It was really happening. My feet sank into the cold ground, became a part of it. I couldn’t move.

“Are you going in?” Bianca stepped into the light, her skin milky in the reflected glare.

I nodded. I couldn’t do this alone. I had to do it alone. I couldn’t let Bianca be a part of my crime. “I don’t think you should come with me.”

“Oh…” Hurt bled from the word but she tried to hide it as she turned away. I wanted to go after her, wanted to tell her everything. I didn’t though. I tugged my feet from the liquid-feeling ground and climbed the stairs to step through the front door. I paused in the doorway, watching as Bianca made her way back to the car. She paused as she got in, looking up at me with questions in her eyes. I shook my head and blew her a kiss, hoping it would be enough. She gave her head a tiny shake but climbed in. A second later, her headlights swept across the dark street and she was gone. I stood there a moment longer, listening until I could no longer hear the dull orange sound of her engine before I entered the house and closed the door.

The light was still on in the foyer too, and I couldn’t bear the brightness. I kicked off my shoes, releasing feet that screamed with pain. I ignored it though.

“Mom?” I called, peering up the staircase into the gloom at the top. “Mom?”

There was no answer, just a heavy, throbbing silence that dropped a red veil across everything. She had to be here. Where else could she be? The clock on the wall ticked loudly and I glanced up at it. Almost midnight. The witching hour. A shiver rattled up my spine.

I pushed open the door to the living room, taking a deep breath that filled my throat with a cloying medicinal smell. I stood just inside the doorway for what felt like forever, my mind absorbing every detail of the scene before me: the bed by the windows, the low hiss of the oxygen forcing its way into unwilling lungs, crumpled sheets, and on them, Jules’s claw-like hand, still clutching the phone.

Jules.

My eyes refused to move away from that mummified hand. I studied the gaunt fingers topped by yellowing nails. Heavy blue veins threaded across the back, skin straining to contain them. It was an old person’s hand, not something that could belong to my sister. She moved her thumb, the small gesture slow and painful. I watched her depress a button on the keypad and a second later my phone jangled in my palm.

“Livvie.” Jules’s eyes flickered a little but didn’t open. I kept my gaze fixed on her face. Although it wasn’t Jules’s face. Not the face I knew. Not even the face I’d looked down at on the ambulance stretcher. In just a few hours Jules had become unrecognizable, her face a death mask.

“Jules?” I leaned over her and almost choked on the stench that drifted from her body. It was a raw, earthy smell, threaded with harsh chemicals. It clung to my nostrils and coated my tongue, but I pushed it out of my mind. I ran my fingers down the side of her face. “Jules, it’s me.”

Her eyes flickered again, and for a brief moment they opened. They met mine and stayed there for an instant before traveling down to the dress. When they closed again, her mouth collapsed into a tiny smile. Her hand relaxed its grip on the phone that slid from the bed and thudded to the floor. I bent to pick it up then stopped. She didn’t need it anymore. I let my own phone slide from my hand.

“Now?”

She nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“You promised,” is all she said.

“I know.” I bit down on my lip, hard. The waxy taste of lipstick coated my tongue. “Where’s Mom?”

“Out…” She gasped for air. “I told…her…I’d…go…Mexico. Tomorrow… She went…shopping. All night…drugstore.” Sinking into the pillow, her chest convulsed.

I turned away. I couldn’t look at her. She’d planned it so well, so perfectly. How like Jules. And how like Mom to cling to her insane scrap of hope. I couldn’t decide if that was lucky for me or not.

“Please, Livvie.” Jules’s eyes pulsed open and clung to mine. “I want it,” she murmured, and I knew she was telling the truth. Her eyes were clear. She pulled out the razors I’d given her and fumbled with the plastic wrapping. I watched, desperate to help her, but terrified too. She finally got the plastic off and lay there, gasping. I pulled the oxygen mask back down over her mouth and nose, hoping that might do her some good.

I snatched my hand away. She was trying to die. She was about to kill herself. And I was still standing here, doing things to help her live.

Jules almost dropped the package of loose razors as she pried open the top. Three separate blades spilled out and lay on the sheets. They looked so small and ineffectual lying there. How could something so little be lethal?

“Are you sure?” I gathered up the blades and tucked them back into the box. “Is there another way?” I glanced at the trolley standing by her bed, at the vials and bottles. Surely there was a better way to do this. A cleaner one. A less painful one.

“Livvie.” Jules’s hand closed around my arm. “I want to.”

Tears burned behind my eyes as I nodded. She pulled out a single blade and held it over her wrist. The skin was so thin I could read the roadmap of her veins through it. She ran the razor over her flesh, following the blue lines from her elbow to her palm. I looked away, not wanting to see her skin split and her blood spill.

“Livvie… Help.” Jules’s whisper held a note of panic.

I looked back and saw that she’d managed only to scratch a fine line across her forearm. She tried again, her skin dimpling under the pressure, but not coming apart. She didn’t have the strength to slice through it.

I backed away. Just a step, but it was enough.

“Please, Livvie?” Her voice was stronger now, her eyes wild with desperation. “Please? You promised to help.”

I had. But I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.

“Mom… She’ll be back soon.” Jules looked at the clock by the door. “Please, Livvie. Please.”

How long did we have? I didn’t know if Jules had texted me before Mom left or after. She could be back at any moment. Would we have enough time? How long did it take to die? I stepped back toward the bed, and then retreated again. My heart jackhammered against my ribs. I’d promised. I had to do it. Jules had always kept her promises to me. Even ones she never realized she’d made.

I shut my eyes as I edged closer to the bed again and rested my hand over Jules’s. Small muscles leaped beneath skin that felt almost papery to the touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she drew her hand downward again, this time with the added pressure of mine guiding the blade. “Thank you.”

She repeated the motion on the other side, still murmuring her thanks. I couldn’t force my eyes open, couldn’t watch what my own hand was doing.

Her fingers relaxed beneath mine. Warm wetness tickled my knuckles, and my eyes snapped open, my hand jerking instinctively away. Blood spilled across the sheets, turning them crimson. There was so much blood! I gasped. More blood pulsed from the long gashes opened across Jules’s forearms, each heartbeat pushing a fresh stream from her body. How could she have so much blood? How much more might there be?

I took her hand again as her eyelids slid down. Her fingers were slick and sticky with blood, but I didn’t care. “Bye, Jules,” I whispered. “I love you.” I bent and kissed her cheek, holding my breath this time to keep the smell from choking me. I wondered if it hurt. Her face was not contorted with pain, but relaxed, a small smile playing about her lips. How long would it take her to die? I let my gaze drift to the clock. Mom could be back any moment. She would not have wanted to go out and leave Jules alone for long. I looked back to Jules, watching the small movements the sheet made as she breathed in and out. In and out. In and…

I held my breath. Was that it? Was it over? I leaned forward, holding my ear close to Jules’s mouth. Nothing. Silence. No warm breath against my cheek. She was dead.

A rattling sound made me jump. A gust of foul-smelling air engulfed me. Jules’s chest rose and fell again. She was alive. She struggled to open her eyes and managed to get the lids to half-mast. Beneath them her eyeballs rolled grotesquely, allowing me to see only slivers of pale-sickly blue. Oh, God. She wasn’t dead.

I looked up at the clock again. How long had Mom been gone?

She took another breath. Her eyes rolled back into her head, leaving nothing but blank whiteness beneath the heavy lids. Her chest fell, and this time it didn’t rise again.

I let out my breath in a great whoosh. My legs gave out, and I dropped into the chair beside the bed. The room seemed suddenly too quiet, the only sound the hiss of oxygen still escaping from the tank. I reached down and turned the dial, shutting even that off. Was she dead? I stared down at my sister, waiting for her eyes to open again, for her to bounce back up and yell surprise or something.

She didn’t.

She remained still, her fingers still wrapped loosely around the razor I’d helped to guide through her veins.

I’d killed her. It was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make this eerie silence any easier to deal with. The reality of what had happened here was just beginning to creep in. Cold, sick waves crashed through my mid-section. What had I done?

I glanced at the door. I half expected policemen to burst through, to cuff me and drag me away from my sister’s corpse. I’d murdered her. Taken her life.

No.

I shook my head. It wasn’t a life. The existence she’d been confined to did not even resemble a life. Freeing her from it was not a crime.

“I did the right thing.” I said the words aloud, knowing they’d be repeated often. The words felt too light, too meaningless to transport what I needed them to mean. Like a sleepwalker, I reached down and picked my phone up off the floor.

“Hello? Ambulance? I think my sister’s dead.”

Mom walked into the room.

“What—” Mom froze in the doorway, eyes widening as she took in the scarlet sheets, the lifeless figure on the bed, and the mask pushed away from Jules’s face. She darted across the room and leaned over the bed, hands tearing at the now soggy sheets. “Julie? No, Julie. No. You can’t go yet.” She gathered Jules into her arms, hugging her with a terrifying fierceness. “Wake up, Julie.”

I turned away. I couldn’t look. Jules’s ravaged arms dangled limply and her head lolled to one side.

“No!” Mom shrieked. “No! No…” She fell onto the bed, beating the mattress with flailing, ineffectual fists.

I pushed myself out of the chair and tried to pull her away. Jules was gone. There hadn’t been much of her left before, but now she was undeniably gone. The body on the bed was a mere shell, like the ones bugs leave on fences in the summertime, like if you picked it up it would weigh nothing at all.

I reached out, my hand heavy between Mom’s shoulder blades. It shook and I wished I could still it. I knew I couldn’t though. No one could. Mom stiffened at my touch. Her whole body vibrated with tension, muscles darting and twitching beneath her skin.

“Mom, please.” I tried again. “You have to let her go.”

I looked away. This was horrible. Mom’s refusal to believe a transplant was not going to save Jules’s life had been hard to swallow, her insistence that there was some miracle cure, but this was worse. Couldn’t she see how lifeless the thing she held was? Wasn’t it cold to touch? I shivered. I didn’t want to be here anymore. The walls pressed in on me, and the smells threatened to choke me. Jules was gone. Nothing could bring her back. Not Mom’s delusions or my own quiet anguish. It was over.

“Mrs. Quinn?” This time it was a paramedic who spoke. The same tall one who had been here earlier. They must have let themselves in. Or maybe Mom had left the door open. He leaned over Mom, but she still wouldn’t look away from Jules’s lifeless face.

“Is there someone you can call?” His voice was low, hypnotic.

Call. Yeah, I should call someone. But who? It was me and Mom now. I shivered. Where was my phone? My hand scrabbled through the folds of my dress for several seconds before I remembered I didn’t have pockets. My phone lay on the floor, with the battery a few inches away. After calling the ambulance, I must have dropped it again. I didn’t remember. I bent and picked it up, my fingers brushing Jules’s that lay just beside. I glanced at the paramedic as I scooped that up too, my thumb depressing a key that brought her message back onto the screen.