Figment (4 page)

“What do you think?” he asked. “Pretty cool place, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed. I hesitated. “I haven’t been out, actually, in a while. Thanks for asking me.”

“Glad to.” A girl with a Mia Farrow haircut set down a pitcher, and Oliver poured out two glasses. He raised one to me, foam dripping over the side. “To new friends.”

“New friends,” I echoed, and I took a drink.

Up onstage, the band was doing a final sound check. “One, two,” the lead singer said into the mike. The room was more crowded now, with people standing in groups, talking, between the tables, and leaning against the glass windows at the back. Waiters crisscrossed the room, trays high above their heads, while a crowd two people deep gathered at the bar, shouting orders to the bartenders.

“So, what’s the story behind the fish tattoo?” On his right arm, a tree snaked up his wrist, with the roots extending down the back of his hand. The leaves and branches wrapped around his elbow, then disappeared under his rolled-up sleeve. On the left, a fish flexed as if swimming, each scale distinct.

“Well, this one I got after my grandfather died.” He traced the fish. “We had a goldfish together when I was growing up. Nigel. We’d feed him whenever I went over to Papa’s.
I didn’t realize until afterward that he probably wasn’t the same goldfish all those years. And the tree is one my friend Jacob and I used to have a tree house in, back when we were kids.” He grinned. “So, you can tell your mum they’re really benign. I designed them myself.”

“Do you have your sketch pad now?” I asked.

“Of course.” He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it to a blank page. “Want your portrait drawn?”

“Oh, no!” I laughed a little, crossing my arms in front of my face. “I’m not really looking so great right now.”

“Not at all.” He pulled a short, fat pencil from his pocket and sketched rapidly for a few moments, looking up at me, then back at the paper.

“Oh, is Oliver drawing you?” Elisa tucked her phone into her big canvas bag and leaned over, trying to glimpse the paper. “He’s so marvelous.”

Oliver made a few final strokes and put down his pencil. “There. Preserved forever.” He held it up.

“
Wow,” Liam said. “You made her look . . . tragic.”

I silently agreed. He’d ignored the missing hair and scars and drawn me with long, easy lines, my hair flowing like water around my shoulders, my lips curved in a slight smile. The face was thin, the cheekbones prominent. But my eyes were what stood out. They were huge, like a baby deer’s, wide-open and dark. There was something else too—an unmistakable sadness. I looked away. It was too pointed, as if a mirror was held up in front of me. A reflection I didn’t want to see. Almost unconsciously, I ran my fingers over the infinity charm in my jeans pocket.

I don’t think anyone else noticed, because Elisa turned to Maxwell and started talking about some film festival she’d been to recently, and Liam got up from the table, saying he had to use the loo.

I stared down at the table, avoiding eye contact with Oliver. In a minute, an ink-stained hand touched mine briefly. I looked up.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said, his voice low.

“No, it’s okay,” I managed. The band up front saved me from further conversation with an energetic twang of banjos. The crowd cheered, and I sat back in my chair, struggling to conceal the wave of emotion Oliver’s drawing had evoked. I’d been so utterly ordinary until two weeks ago, so wrapped up in my daily problems. It was like the accident had lifted a curtain and shown me a world that had been there the whole time. With one twist of the steering wheel, I was hobbling on a crutch, my body aching, living across the world without Davis, playing a cat-and-mouse game with my parents.

All around us, people were nodding their heads to the music, happily swaying back and forth, sweating in the close air, quaffing their drinks. Only I was separate, like a veil had dropped between me and them.

“So, how did you and Oliver meet?” Elisa was leaning close, whispering into my ear conspiratorially.

I looked at her with surprise, then glanced quickly at Oliver. He was talking to Maxwell, pointing to something onstage.

“Um, we’re neighbors. We met in the courtyard near my apartment, but we’re not together like that,” I said, taking care to keep my voice low and using the background noise as a cover.

But Elisa must not have caught my words. “He’s such a love and really kind of lonely, you know. He hasn’t been dating since he broke up with this girl, Maryam, last year.”

Her moist breath puffed against my face, smelling of olives.

“We’re not together, okay?” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. Elisa drew back, blinking.

“Sorry.” I cleared my throat, then tried a smile. “I should probably slow down.” I indicated my empty beer glass.

She nodded readily. “Oh, sure. You want some food? I’m going to get something. The burgers here are fantastic.”

I shook my head, and she rose from her chair. I watched her weave through the closely packed tables.
Nice work, Zoe.

Up on the stage, the singer, who sported a rather Amish-like bowl cut, leaned in close to the microphone. “Good evening, all!”

The chattered died down, and a few people cheered.

“Welcome to the Enterprise. We’re Gentle Sarah!”

He stepped back, taking in the applause, and nodded to the rest of the band. “One and two and—”

The drums crashed, and, instantly, a stab of pain shot through my head. It drove me back against the hard chair. The splintering crash of the car hitting the guardrail, glass raining down over my face, the lifting sensation as we went airborne—

“Zoe? Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to see Oliver leaning across the table. “Do you have a headache?” he asked.

I realized I was clutching my head. I lowered my hands. “No, no . . .” A lie. My head was pounding now. This was all so wrong. A mistake. I never should have come. My throat tightened, and I felt tears prick under my eyelids.
Christ, I do not need to cry here.
I pushed back my chair with a scrape and fumbled for my crutch, knocking it under the table in my hurry. “I think I should go—I feel kind of sick. Too much beer.” I tried a weak laugh that I’m sure didn’t fool anyone.

Oliver leaned over, picking my crutch off the sticky floor scattered with flattened cigarette butts. “Shall I just walk you out?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

The air outside the pub was cool and blessedly quiet after the hot crush inside. We stood for a few moments, me swaying on my crutch, my leg throbbing like a giant abscessed tooth. Oliver stuffed his hands into his pockets and gazed down the street. Beside us, white light spilled from the front windows of a fish-and-chips shop. The air smelled of frying oil, an odor that made me suddenly homesick for Salt and Pepper, the diner Davis and I ate at practically every Friday night.

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Oliver. Your friends seem really nice and everything.” I indicated my leg. “I’m just not really in the party mood, I guess.”

“No worries. Maybe we can hang out later this week.” He paused. “Hey, let me get you a cab, okay?”

“No, I’ll be okay.” All I wanted was to be alone. “I can find my way back. You go have fun.”

“Okay. See you.” He waved as he disappeared back into the Enterprise.

With relief, I hobbled down the street toward the Tube station. As I sat on the empty train rattling back toward the flat, I leaned on the white plastic wall behind me and stared at Davis’s face in my head all the way home.

The big high-ceilinged Tube station was utterly empty when I got off at my stop. The sound of my footsteps echoed off the tiled walls as I slowly made my way toward the escalators. Step, drag. Step, drag. I wasn’t used to the emptiness. Perfectly safe, of course. Brightly lit. Something slammed closed behind me, and I glanced sharply over my shoulder. Nothing there. Step, drag. Step, drag. Almost to the escalator. Rustling behind me. I looked back and caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing into a doorway set into the wall. My breath caught, and I forced myself toward the escalator faster.
Stop freaking out. You’re imagining things.
My leg protested.
Come on.
Step, drag. Step, drag.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped out onto the sidewalk at the top of the escalator. Even the nighttime street was better than that long, empty tunnel.

The dark shape of our building loomed ahead, and I hurried toward it. All I wanted was a hot shower, one of my pain pills, and my bed. I could see the red awning over the entrance now, and the warm yellow light of the lobby.

Then I glimpsed it again—a figure loitering in the shadows just beside the entrance. I inhaled, my pulse accelerating. Was someone following me? As I watched, the figure slipped into the bushes to the right of the walkway. I fixed my eyes on the glass doors ahead as I approached the entrance. Just get inside the building. Fast.

A hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. I screamed, my crutch clattering to the ground, and a strong arm pulled me roughly into the shrubs. I whirled around, sucking in air, ready to scream again, when I saw the face looming over me.

Davis.

I choked on the scream that was halfway out of my mouth and inhaled a big, shuddering breath. “Is that you?”

His hands clutched my shoulders. His eyes, that unmistakable ice-blue, stared into mine. “Yeah. It’s me.”

“Oh my God.” Joy welled up in me, and I threw my arms around his neck as he pressed his lips to mine. Every sensation was driven from my head but the feel of his mouth, the scratch of his cheek against mine.

Finally, he pulled away, but he kept his arms wrapped around me, his chin resting on the top of my head.

“What are you doing here?” I wanted to laugh and cry and lie down all at the same time. “I can’t believe it!” I buried my face in the front of his T-shirt. He smelled the same—clean laundry, warm skin, pine soap. I felt like I’d come home.

“I had to see you. I’ve been calling and calling.” He lifted my chin with his finger and searched my face. “You look thinner.” He touched the side of my head gently and ran his fingers through my hair. “Is all this from
. . . ?”

I nodded. “It’s been so awful, Davis.” My voice cracked, but, for once, I didn’t hide my tears. He was the only person I didn’t have to be brave in front of. “How did you find me?”

“I went by Becca’s yesterday.”

I nodded and tried to say something else, but sobs overwhelmed me. He held me while I cried, and when the tears had finally slowed to a trickle, he picked up a backpack at his feet, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and led me around the side of the building. “Here, let’s sit.” He eased me down onto a splintery wooden bench half-hidden in the bushes.

We huddled close together, my head against his chest, our thighs pressing together.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“Swam.” He twined his fingers with mine, lifted my hand, and kissed the back, watching my face.

I squeezed his hand back. “You know what I mean.”

“It wasn’t hard. I just hopped on the red-eye at LaGuardia.” He turned my hand over and kissed the soft inside of my wrist. His firm lips on my skin sent delicious shivers crawling down my neck.

I closed my eyes as his mouth traveled farther up my arm. “How did you pay for it?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Credit card I found.”

“Davis.” I meant it as a rebuke, but it came out as a sigh. I leaned against him and let him kiss my arm all the way up to my shoulder. His lips traveled to my neck and then my mouth again.

“I don’t care.” He raised his head, his eyes suddenly hard. “Your parents have you on lockdown. You think I was just going to sit at home while you were all the way over here, hurt and alone?”

I smiled. “No. That doesn’t sound like you.” Something pinged in my mind, and I leaned closer to search his face. “Do you have any scars from the accident? You look fine.”

“I’m okay now.” He paused. “But there’s this . . .” He took my fingers and pressed them to his scalp. Gently, I traced the bumpy line of stitches under his hair that led from his temple clear around his skull.

I inhaled. “Davis
. . .”

He took my hand away and
held it in his. “They patched me up.” He kissed my fingertips.

I snuggled in closer to him, working my way under his arm until my head was resting on his chest. “How long can you stay? Forever?”

“Hey, why not?” He rubbed my shoulder. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Oh God.” Reality hit me with a thud.

“What?”

“Where are you going to stay? Do you have any money?”

“No on that one.” Davis stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How about with you? I’ll just prance into the apartment. ‘Hi, it’s me, the evil, banished boyfriend. Mind if I sleep with—oops, sleep in your daughter’s bed for a few nights?’”

“Right. Jesus. Where are we going to put you?”

“Do you have a sleeping bag? I can bed down here.” He indicated the shrubs surrounding us.