Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) (12 page)

“Emily, I’m sure no one will judge you. If you want to go have fun with this Lucas boy, and he knows that’s all it is, then go have it. You, of all people, should know that you only live once. If you’re going to have regrets, let them be about what you have done, not about what you haven’t. That’s always been my motto.”

“That’s your professional opinion, is it?” I smirk.

“Heck no! My professional opinion is for you to go to your parents and Blair, and voice your concerns.”

“Great, thanks,” I huff, coming to a stand again as she gathers her paperwork, ready to leave.

“Let me know how your date goes,” she says, stepping out the door and waving her goodbyes to my parents through the window. I ponder over her words as I walk back to my room. I don’t want to tell anyone about Lucas, yet; I like that just for now, this is my own. Everything about my life for the last few years has been scrutinized. My body by doctors, my mind by therapists … the thought of actually having a secret causes a fizz of excitement in my stomach. If only I could ward off the surge of guilt that threatens to still it.

My mom and dad have a dinner planned with one of Dad’s work colleagues and are leaving early to beat traffic and get to the restaurant on time. I mentally high-five the powers above. Not having to tell them I’m going on a date means I get to keep my clandestine meeting under wraps for now. At precisely six-thirty my parents leave, but not before instructing me to call if I need them.

In the last few days and weeks my body is beginning to slow down. Simple tasks are taking me longer to complete and I’m tired more. I put a pan of soup on the burner the day before yesterday because I was hungry, but I dozed off while I was sitting at the kitchen island waiting for it to heat and didn’t wake until the smoke detectors started blaring. Mom came hurdling through to the kitchen in sheer panic noticed what I’d done and opened all the windows and doors to let out the thick smog that had formed. She looked depressed and defeated, although I could tell she was trying hard to conceal it. She’s been reading through the pamphlets that Carla gave her the last time she visited. They’re kind of a ‘
what to expect when you’re expecting death’
. I’ve thought about reading them myself, but I decided I’d rather not know.

I’m slicking on another layer of mascara when the doorbell chimes. I look at my watch; he’s ten minutes late. His tardiness makes me smile. Not because I have a weird fetish for being left waiting, but because I saw his car pull up fifteen minutes ago. I watched him from the bathroom window for a few minutes, wondering why he wasn’t getting out the car. I figured he must be on a hands free call or something, so I went back to applying my make up. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t starting to wonder if he’d had second thoughts and was going to drive away.

“You’re late,” I admonish in a playful tone as he stands at my doorway looking nothing short of edible.

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he says as his eyes do an excruciatingly long scan of my whole body, setting my face ablaze. “You look beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in and kissing my cheek in greeting. The gesture is friendly rather than flirtatious or sexual, and I feel instantly at ease. He moves back and bites down on the corner of his lip, dragging his teeth over the metal ring that adorns it. I’m not sure he’s even aware that he’s doing it, and I wonder if it’s a nervous habit.

Either way, it’s hot.

If there is a prize for the best first date in the history of first dates, then I’m unequivocally certain that we’ve just taken the title. It wasn’t the prerequisite dinner and movie, which I loved because really, who wants the awkward pre-dinner chatter that ends up feeling more like an interview? Just when you think you’ve been saved as the server brings your meals, you’re faced with a new quandary: how the hell to not eat weird in front of each other as you struggle with the appropriate amount to devour. All the while trying to avoid,

a. Looking like a heifer.

b. Looking like a high-maintenance douche that won’t eat anything other than salad because carbs are evil.

Then there’s the completely unsociable forced silence a movie theater provides. Yeah, I’m beyond impressed that he thought outside the box for our date.

I climbed into his truck and he drove us straight to the grocery store, two minutes down the road. He pulled up, helped me out of the car, then retrieved forty dollars from his wallet and passed me a twenty-dollar bill. I’m not sure what the expression on my face looked like, but he seemed to find it amusing. He proceeded to tell me we were splitting up for fifteen minutes, and our challenge was to run through the store and pick out goodies for the other person. Anything goes, but we couldn’t spend more than twenty dollars each.

I flew through the store like a crazy person, grabbing random items like chocolates, soda, and the ugliest six-dollar sleeveless T-shirt known to man, with a picture of a wolf on it. I stopped in the news aisle and grabbed the cheapest top shelf porn mag I could see. The elderly female cashier rang through my items, looking at me with complete disdain as she asked for my ID to approve the porn. I pulled it from my purse with a wide grin as she looked from me to the small rectangular card and back again. I think she may have even rubbed the tiny cross pendant hanging from her wrinkled neck at one point, no doubt praying silently for my depraved soul. I should have been embarrassed, uncomfortable at least, but I was having too much fun to care.

I exited the store out of breath and strode over to Lucas, swinging my loot as he rested against the hood of his dark blue truck watching me.

He looked at his watch. “You’re cutting it close. You only had a minute left before being disqualified,” he warned, taking a step towards me and holding out his hand for my bag. He placed it in the truck beside his own and then opened my door for me. We drove across town with me badgering him about where he was taking me and why I couldn’t look in the bag he’d bought for me. Patience has never been my strong point and he relished the fact that being kept in the dark was beginning to piss me off. He finally pulled up outside the entrance to the small children’s play park, left deserted with the swings swaying eerily in the early evening Santa Ana breeze. I waited as he grabbed our bags, telling me we’d arrived.

“Time for part two,” he mused and led me out into the dark playground.

“So, is this the part where you pull out cable ties and torture tools that you bought from the store and murder me?” I joked, though a small part of me was actually considering that might be the case. I didn’t know anything about this guy really, only that the longer I was with him, the more he intrigued me.

He laughed awkwardly before telling me that there were plenty of things he’d like permission to do to me, but torture wasn’t one of them. My head was screaming that this date was perhaps not the greatest idea. I didn’t tell him that I was a ticking bomb and could detonate at any minute. The adrenaline surging through my system at his admission was messing with my body; I didn’t know if I was panicked or turned on.

He did torture me in the park tonight. Not with cable ties and cruelty, but with kindness, fun, easy banter and comfortable silence. He tortured me with what I’ve been missing, and what I can’t have. He’d spent his twenty dollars on a disposable picnic rug, strawberries and a bunch of brightly colored daisies. We lay in the park, staring at the stars and laughing about the fact that I was the only girl in his twenty years to have ever bought him porn, and how he would wear his T-shirt to our next date. I didn’t tell him there likely wouldn’t be one, just like I didn’t mention my illness. He knows I’m sick, and I know he’s sick, but we’ve made an unconscious decision to not bring it up yet.

It’s been the best first date ever, and because of that, it’s also the worst.

I HAVEN’T TOLD a soul about my date.

I feel like I should be bragging about how awesome it was, but when Blair asked what I was up to last night, I shrugged and told her nothing special. The lie fell from my lips effortlessly. I don’t like the deceitful feeling that slides over my skin, making it prickle, but I don’t want the questions that will go with the revelation, either.

Mr. Wilde is lecturing the class on … Shit, I have no idea what, as I sit staring at my cell instead of the whiteboard. Blair’s taking notes—she’ll let me copy later.

From: Lucas

Is it too early to ask for date 2 already?

I type my reply, hit send and then wonder what the hell I was thinking.

To: Lucas

Yes! I had a great time, but there are things that you don’t know about me, and another date will just complicate things. Sorry, I really did have fun. X

Two seconds pass and my phone begins to vibrate. I quickly lift it from the desk, hoping Mr. Wilde doesn’t hear it, and wait for it to stop as Blair mouths, “Who is it?” I shake my head and she narrows her eyes before turning back to the class. The vibrating stops and the screen lights up.

From: Lucas

Answer the phone, please.

My cell begins to vibrate again and I immediately cancel the call.

To: Lucas

I’m in class, can’t answer.

From: Lucas

I do well with complicated. It’s my specialty. You should give me a try. Call me when you get a chance?

I smile despite myself. My palms are sweaty and my stomach’s in knots. He’s persistent.

To: Lucas

I’ll call you in an hour, when I’m on my lunch.

From: Lucas

I’ll be waiting ;) X

I have an overwhelming feeling that I’m about to cry. I quickly grab my bag and my chair scrapes across the floor about as stealthily as a freight train. Figures. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. The sound alerts everyone and I look up to see Mr. Wilde, poised and ready to admonish the perpetrator. His glare meets mine, and recognition that it’s me has his irritation waning. All my teachers are pretty tolerant of my coming and going as I please. I don’t think any of them wants to be the one to reprimand me, since I’m here on borrowed time. His eyes soften and he lets my interruption slide as I motion to him that I need to leave. Blair whispers her concerns, asking if I’m okay, and I nod and tell her I’ll be back before scurrying out of class.

The door closes with a dull thud and I lean against the lockers for a moment, trying to regroup. Ethan Jamison hurries past me and quickly opens his locker, grabbing a book and slamming the door closed again. I stare at his perfect profile as he shoves a hand through his dark hair; he’s agitated. I take note of his long purposeful strides, and observe the sway of his tanned arms and the way his shirt pulls tightly over his back and shoulders. I catalogue all of this within three seconds, and he doesn’t even notice me. He never has, and as I’m standing here now, I finally realize…

He never will.

The comprehension hits me with an unexpected force; it’s the minuscule push needed to tilt my axis just a fragment too far. I barrel straight over the edge, the weight of my happily-never-after pulling me down, faster and faster as my tears come quickly. I run to the bathroom—the halls blurry through my watery vision—heave open the door and throw my bag across the floor, sending its contents rolling across the tiles. I hold my breath, then let out a low, strangled, toe-curling scream and kick the trashcan as hard as I can before sinking to the floor and giving my emotions free reign.

Emotional outbursts aren’t normally my thing, especially in a public place, but the urge is just too great. I’m at school, for god’s sake! I don’t know what’s come over me, but I do know that I hate it. I don’t want to be weak, but I am. The exertion of crying is making me so short of breath that I’m panting. I used to be able to run ten kilometers without being this out of breath.

My head hurts. Come to think of it, my whole body is aching. I scan the floor, noticing my medication and cell underneath the basin where they’d rolled when I tossed my bag. I reach over and begin collecting all my crap from the grubby floor, cursing myself in the process and stop short on my hands and knees. I have a sudden moment of clarity, and the pitiful haze cloud I’m under begins to lift.
What the hell am I doing?