Page 77 of Love and Lies

“I know.” She spoke quietly, more to herself than to me. “It only makes it harder.”

Her voice sounded so fragile, my need to touch her was almost overwhelming. But I didn’t; I kept some space between us. Because we both knew there was no solution. Even if we could have met secretly without anyone finding out about it, even if we could get around my mother’s paranoia and her parents’ overprotectiveness… what would we have then? A secret relationship, in constant fear of getting caught and being forced apart after all? No, it was better that it ended here and now, before we invested so much that there was no turning back. So we could get on with the lives we’d chosen, even if what we wanted was something very different.

“I’m so sorry, Jess,” Helena said falteringly, and I knew she’d reached the same conclusion as I had.

“Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment we looked at each other in grim agreement on all counts. And I couldn’t take it any longer, I had to go now or I’d never be able to. So I let go of the desk and made for the door. But it turned out I couldn’t control myself after all; two steps in her direction and I was at her side.

She held her breath when I got close. And although it took all my strength, I didn’t kiss her on the mouth, but pressed my lips to her forehead. “Happy birthday, Fair Helen,” I whispered. “Perhaps the stars will align for us in another life.”

I didn’t wait for a reply, or any kind of reaction. I turned away, pulled open the door, and stepped through it. It swung closed behind me, and I didn’t look back as I walked through the hallway as quickly as possible. It broke my heart to leave Helena alone, but I had no choice. We both had to look forward or the whole thing would break us. I knew it, and she was smart enough to know it as well.

I strode back into the restaurant, trying to get my heart rate and my anguish under control. Without much success—there was a storm raging inside me, below the surface. But I’d learned to hide it. I’d become a pro at that over the last few years.

Sam was still at our table and looked up as I reached her.

“Is something wrong? You were away a long time.”

“Yes, I know, sorry about that.” I smiled casually. “It’s all sorted now, though, and we can finally talk about your whiskey.”

“Sure?” Her eyes narrowed. She was sussing me out thoroughly, and I hoped she didn’t realize how agitated I was.

I pulled myself together. “Dead sure.” Whatever she wanted to discuss with me, it would be a distraction. And I really needed a distraction right now. Especially knowing that Helena was at that moment heading back to her nightmare date a few tables away. I forced myself not to watch her until she disappeared from view, fixing my gaze on Samara opposite me instead. “Please. Tell me how I can help.”

The apartment was dark, the windows only occasionally illuminating for a moment when a car drove past outside on the street. That wasn’t what had been keeping me awake, though, ever since I’d gone to bed a couple of hours ago—alone. I’d considered seeking out a certain kind of distraction with Samara, but only for a second, before the thought made me feel grubby and I’d said good night. As clear as the boundaries were between us, using her to forget about Helena wasn’t an option. Aside from the fact I’d never get Helena off my mind that way, anyway.

Exhausted, I sat up and ran a hand through my hair, trying to get rid of the claustrophobia, the helplessness, the loneliness. They had been my constant companions since I’d gotten back, like the relentless throbbing of a scar that wouldn’t heal. But on days like this, it all felt so close, so real, it was like I couldn’t breathe.

I’d made my peace with the fact that I wasn’t going to let anyone get close to me for a few years so I could survive New York City and then get out of here again. But then Helena had happened. She’d found her way into my heart—and now I was expected to just forget her. And why? Because our siblings had loved each other, and since they died, our families hated each other more than ever. It was a metaphor for New York; this was New York City to a tee. The place was a huge black hole where everything good was immediately destroyed. Where power reigned supreme, money was next in line, and humanity, compassion, and love had no part to play. That had rarely been clearer to me than it was today. And I badly needed to get out of there before I suffocated.

I got out of bed, went downstairs, threw on some clothes, grabbed my car keys, and left the apartment as quickly as I could. My pickup was parked directly outside; I got in and started the engine. Just five minutes later I was merging onto West Street and heading south toward Brooklyn. The radio was playing some sad song; I turned it off, preferring silence. Forty-five minutes of silence, until I reached my destination.

Rockaway was empty, as expected, when I came to a stop in the parking lot and got out of my pickup. It was too early in the year for the surfers who camped out here for days at a time—anyone who surfed in the colder months tended to head home as quickly as possible afterward. And no one was ever out here at four a.m. anyway.

The wind was raging and the waves were powerful, just as I’d hoped. I unfastened my board from the back of the truck, pulled on my wetsuit, then walked to the water’s edge, pausing a moment. The ocean was a deep black, the band of sky above it barely any less so. There was a new moon. I stood there, motionless, one hand on my board. I could hear nothing except the wind and the waves. I was quiet, though only on the outside. Inside me, everything howled with anger and despair. Frustration and loneliness. I could have screamed it all out; there was no one on the beach to hear me. But I knew it wouldn’t be enough. I’d been in a similar state before, after all, and that was before Helena had entered my life. The only thing I hadn’t tried to get this feeling in check was hard drugs. Everything else, yes: yelling, liquor, sex, running to the point of exhaustion, going to town on a punch bag. Nothing helped. Nothing, that is, except night surfing.

I needed this, needed to feel something—something other than the claustrophobia of New York and my hopelessness over Helena. Why did we have to meet in the first place? Was it some kind of twisted cosmic joke? Like—it ended badly for their siblings, let’s give it another try? And if we did have to meet, why couldn’t we have hated each other’s guts? Why did it have to be this girl that had me down so bad I was standing out here on the beach, hoping to forget her even just for a little bit, with a crazy session on the waves?

I didn’t know the answer. But I knew it was over. For good. We’d made our decision, we’d let sense win out, although it wasn’t at all my usual style. The truth was, I’d done it for her. Only for her. And now I had to find a way to be okay with that. To be okay without her.

I took a deep breath and let it out again, preparing myself for what was to come. It was insane to go surfing in the middle of the night, especially in these conditions. Recklessly—potentially fatally—insane. No one who knew anything about surfing and didn’t have a death wish would do what I was about to. It wasn’t that I was sick of living—I couldn’t afford to be. But fuck it, I needed to feel alive. To really live, not just exist. On days like this, when the desperation was overwhelming, I had to prove that I was stronger. And the only way I could do that was by going toe to toe with death, that motherfucker who’d taken everyone who ever meant anything to me, one way or another. I’d show him. He could do what he liked, but he wouldn’t get me. Not today.

I came out of my trance, grabbed my board, walked toward the pitch-black expanse in front of me, and ran into the waves. Despite the wetsuit, I felt the cold as I dove into the water and pulled myself up on my board. Even in the dark, my movements were all muscle memory—I’d been surfing since I was ten, after all. I could feel the waves without seeing them, could hear them: the quiet, friendly ones as well as the big, angry ones. This was a part of me. The part that lay in chains most of the time, while the city brought me to my knees a little more each day. The part of me that wanted Helena and couldn’t accept that we didn’t stand a chance.

I paddled out into the void, leaving the shore and New York City behind me, along with any thought and feeling. Out here, if I wasn’t fully present, even for a second, they’d be putting me in the ground. Right next to Adam and Dad.

The wave I was aiming for came closer. Paddling hard with it at my back, I braced myself, waiting for the right moment, adrenaline coursing through my body. The wave caught me, and I popped up, and into the drop.

It was huge, and fierce, just how I liked them. Water whipped my face, almost swiping me from the board, but I stayed upright, riding that fucking wave to the bitter end, defeating it before it defeated me. I didn’t stop to rest, I kept going, catching one wave after another, defying them, exacting absolutely everything from my body and mind. More than once, I almost lost my battle with the ocean, its power. But only almost. And with every victory over the sheer force battering me from every angle, I won back a tiny piece of myself.

But the longer I surfed, the more I felt the fatigue. My muscles giving in, my concentration failing. It took all my strength not to lose my footing. But I didn’t stop. I hadn’t yet reached the limit, and to get what I wanted I had to go beyond it. To cheat death, I had to get closer to it, so close I could feel it. Not in some vague way, a mere possibility—but against my skin. In my bones.

The next wave did the trick.

I wanted to turn, but couldn’t get my board around in time and lost contact, hurled into the air before I wiped out. The impact was hard, the water like concrete. I hit the surface and went under, dragged down, robbed of any sense of direction by the darkness; I felt the pressure in my lungs, resisted the urge to draw breath. I should have struggled, but I didn’t move a muscle. This was exactly what I’d been waiting for. This moment, the voice in my head, mocking me now.

It’s over. You lost!