Page 53 of Undone

Only that didn’t happen.

I was still the weird kid. People whispered and stared. Toren and I were outcasts, and it was only okay because he made sure that it was. There were times I’d thought someone wanted to be my friend, but it was always a lie or a joke. And I’d wanted, for a while, to return back to that house that had once been like a prison.

Maybe that’s why I’m here again, with my father, after flunking out. Maybe I’m only capable of moving in cycles and never moving forward.

And I’m here now. Back to square one.

Stuck in an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that seems to come out of nowhere and is always successful at devouring me whole. It’s like I’ve been chewed up and spit out, when really, I’m just frozen. Even changing clothes feels like the heaviest of tasks.

My fingers feel numb, staring at my closet. Frozen.

Why is this happening? Why can’t I do better? Be better?

Stomach rolling, I grab my phone and call the only number I have memorized, shocked when there isn’t an immediate dial tone. I haven’t tried calling him before now.

Suddenly the idea of him not answering is just as terrifying as him answering. So I hang up. Immediately.

I text Toren instead, waiting only moments before my phone is ringing—a video call.

Tucking my hair back, I make sure it’s soft and behind my ears, checking my face in the small mirror atop my dresser.

I answer.

“Hello?”

Golden eyes run over every inch of me they can see.

“What the hell, Lil?” Lil, the soft name like a drug unfurling my muscles.

But I’m distracted, by him, the same way I always am.

His russet skin is glowing even through the phone. He looks like a painting. Like the colors of Avenue of Poplars in Autumn made into a person—swirling gold and red-brown, the black of the dense wood as interwoven as his hair. He’s more beautiful than any painting I’ve seen, but I also feel almost desperate to paint him.

And yet, not. Because I know it won’t be right, that I won’t make it him enough to please even myself.

I stow the thought away, tucked into the darker recesses of my mind where all those things reside. Lilac sheets and tracing black shapes on light brown skin. Freshly bitten lips and the rush of wind through a motorcycle helmet. The sound of an old vinyl record skipping and a low moan in my ear.

Settle, Lily. You can take me. Just breathe—

“You scared the shit out of me,” Toren groans, interrupting the sound of his own voice in my head.

My brow furrows. “What? Why?”

“You texted me Help, Lily. With no context or anything. I was fucking worried.”

My brow furrows. “I do need help. I have . . . a thing.”

I shuffle my feet as I sink my hip against my dresser. Is that casual enough?

“On Valentine’s Day?” he asks, lips pursed, his tone now all condescension and mocking. A tone I know well. It makes my entire body feel flush. “Do you have a Valentine coming over to cuddle you?”

He’s teasing me.

“What if I do?” I relish the way his body seems to grow in size at my smart-aleck comment. I can feel his anger like it’s my own, no matter how much he wants to deny it. “Not that it’s your business.”

“Right,” he whispers, almost to himself, looking away. He’s in a house I don’t recognize and it’s loud—only for a moment before he makes his way into another room and shuts out muffled noise.

My stomach somersaults again, the gymnastics of this push and pull with him almost too much to take. Still, I stand firm and step back, eyes darting over my shoulder at my dresser.