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I nod.
His eyes linger on me—warm, trusting eyes—then he focuses on the screen. I crush Bamsy against my chest. I’m awful for deceiving him. He bought me those wonderful comics and all I’m doing is tricking him into thinking I’m a complete, free woman. I’m bound to my mom legally, so she can come get me at any time and no one can stop her. Brody won’t want to be with a woman who is legally a child. Or a woman who can’t climax.
I curl into a ball on the recliner and focus on the movie, running my fingers over Bamsy’s soft texture for comfort. An hour later, two cars crash into each other after an intense race. A man is thrown through the windshield and bleeds out on the ground. Amber gasps and covers her mouth.
“Shit,” Brody mutters and searches for the remote. As quick as he can, he exits out of the movie.
Amber lowers her shaky hands. “It’s…okay. It just startled me. Let’s finish it.”
“I was thinking comedy,” Brody offers, scrolling through other movies.
Amber is firm. “No. I’m okay. Just skip ahead. I want to finish.” She doesn’t look okay, but both of us know it’s impossible to argue with her.
Brody sets his jaw and resumes the movie a few minutes ahead. I ask Brody to switch places with me so he’s in the recliner and I’m on the couch. Once I’m next to Amber, I make her hug Bamsy and then I guide her down so her head is in my lap. I hum a melody and stroke her hair. My mom did this for me when I was a kid. I love when my hair is caressed by someone I trust—it gives me all kinds of tingles—and I trusted my mom back then. If it comforted me, I figure it will comfort Amber.
She cries softly on my thighs.
Brody watches me more than he does the rest of the movie.
Chapter Twelve
Paige
AFTER THE MOVIE, I PASS ON spending the night with Brody. I tell him I need my space sometimes, especially when my skin is more sensitive. He understands and kisses me good night. He’s always so understanding. It makes my heart ache.
I thank him for the comics because I don’t yet know how to tell him I can’t accept his gift. He says, “Of course. Happy to contribute to your new collection.” Then he kisses me again. My heart aches more.
I lay in bed for a long time listening to the crickets outside my window. Cricket music. I wish I could make music with my legs, something I’ve fantasized about since I was little. I dreamed of being the only woman in the world with cricket legs, so no one would care that I don’t use my throat to form words. A superhero. I would hop long distances to chase bad guys, and the music from my legs would immobilize them. Sometimes I would make music so beautiful they’d fall asleep. Other times, my notes would make their ears bleed.
My tactic would depend on the person. Some bad guys are actually good guys who only are misguided, so I would be nicer to them.
I sit up to look out the window. Frank is awake. I can see him in his living room, rocking in his recliner and watching TV. He’s always awake at night. I think the only time he sleeps is after he drinks in the morning.
I can’t believe it’s been a year since Amber and I became best friends. Before that, we talked online when I watched her cam show and bugged her for advice about how to orgasm. We didn’t become real friends until one particular night. This night. One year ago.
She didn’t look right during her show. First, she was completely naked. You’re not supposed to get naked right away if you want guys to give you money. You save the goods for private chats. Her words were also slurred and her eyes sleepy. She kept talking about life being stupid because everyone dies. You spend all this time learning skills and building things and improving yourself, only to die. Then she swallowed a bunch of pills with several gulps of vodka and passed out.
I had her address because she invited me over once. She was a strange woman on the internet, so I never went, but I kept the address. Seeing her that night on her cam show left me unsettled. I couldn’t shake the feeling. Her stream was still live as she laid on her bed unconscious, and it didn’t feel right not to check on her. I slipped from my window even though I knew there would be consequences. I paid for a cab with money I hid for emergencies, and when I found her apartment, I broke a window to get in. She wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard I shook her, so I used RTT to message 9-1-1 for an ambulance.
I felt so brave that night. So capable. Going to a new place and sitting with her in the hospital was a sensory nightmare—I kept having meltdowns in the bathroom—but I did it. I helped her. She didn’t understand why I cared or why I had helped.
She was hurting, and that was reason enough.
Once she was released, I called my mom to pick me up at the hospital because I was out of money for a cab home. My face and arms were bruised and bloody the next day. That man boarded my window, and I was locked in my room for two weeks. But I was brave, and I’d do it again to save Amber, no matter the consequences.
I turn from the window, from the crickets. My body doesn’t want to sleep, so I go to the living room to pace and listen to music. The house is too stuffy, so I move outside for fresh air. The night is peaceful, and the neighborhood is quiet except for a dog barking in the distance. As I’m getting ready to sit on the porch and chew my hair for relaxation, I notice a shadow in Amber’s car. Tiny lights on the dashboard glow blue and red, but the engine is off.
My bare feet crunch over the gravel until I can peer into the car better. Amber sits on the driver’s side, gripping the steering wheel. I tap on the passenger window, and she flinches. When her wide eyes realize it’s me, she clutches her chest and unlocks the door.
As I climb in, she says in a whisper, “Jesus, Paige.” It’s not her normal melodic voice. It’s the single note at the end of a song that fades into oblivion.
I don’t respond. There are several pills in the cup holder next to a tiny bottle of whiskey. My stomach clenches and every muscle in my body readies for battle. Why doesn’t she get it? Brody and I both gave her as much love and support as we could this entire week because we don’t want her being unsafe. If she’s sad, that’s okay, but why won’t she talk to me? To him? To anyone?
I need her to understand. I scoop the pills into my palm.
Amber gasps. “What are you—”
I dump every single one into my mouth.
