twenty-two
“Why are all your bones sticking out?”
That’s the first thing I tell her when I’m finally able to detangle my lips from hers and my hands from her hair.
It was not my most intelligent moment there, it’s true. But it shocks me, how much weight she has lost. Was no one feeding her while I was away? I try to push the sudden fury down.
She shrugs.
“Don’t you shrug at me. I lost my mind over you all summer, I lost—” I gasp and crush her against my chest. That is over now. “I can’t lose you again. I won’t survive.”
“Yes, you said that already,” she observes. Gosh, I missed her abrupt way to putting things. It’s just not the same over text.
“You’ve lost weight.” I repeat.
“So have you.”
She is probably right. “I have lost my damn mind,” I murmur. “Wait, why are you smiling?”
“Because it’s not as if your mind was worth anything to begin with.”
I throw my head back laughing, and then, suddenly, quickly, I bend down and kiss her. I’ve grown a head taller and I have to bend down lower than before. She has grown too. Everything is new. Her body has curves that weren’t there before, and her shape is new and…
And I need to control myself. I promise myself that I am going to cut my own hand off before it does things it’s not allowed to do.
“I won’t be apart from you ever again, do you hear?” I say. “No matter what happens this year. I need to take you home to meet my mom, and I need to meet your dad too.” She shivers at this, but I am determined. “I’m not living through that hell again, I mean it, Eden. This needs to be out in the open. I’ll be eighteen soon. I need to be able to drive back here from Harvard as often as possible.”
“I thought you promised your grandpa you’d go to Yale.”
“I am not leaving you,” I shake my head. “That was… it was before I met you. Now I’ll just take the early acceptance at Harvard, and I’ll be four hours away from you.”
She pulls away. “I won’t—I’m not worth making your decisions for, Isaiah. No girl should be. It’s not…”
I interrupt her.
“Whatever you’re about to say, stop saying it right now.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide, and I don’t care how scary I look right now. I am scary. Scary and desperate. “I’m sorry. Let’s just sit here for a while, ok?” I try to calm down. “I haven’t nearly kissed you enough yet.”
So we continue doing what we have been doing for the past hour. Melting in each other’s arms.
…
In the months that follow, I fall completely behind in my lessons, but I don’t even notice. My teenage hormone-riddled body is single-minded. All I want is to be with her, and once I am with her, she has my full attention.
When I am in class, I think about her, and when I am in my room, about to fall asleep, I text her. Nothing else holds my interest. My professors try to tell me that the race is not over just because I got in early, that I can still apply to Yale to have options, and that I have to keep my grades up if I actually want to get in anywhere, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Then one day, Eden asks me how on earth I am able to spend so much time with her and still be on top of my homework. I go all red and give her some stupid excuse that she effortlessly sees through. She insists that I bring my lessons to the woods, so I do.
And, what’s more, I start studying again. She makes me .
It takes me less than a week to catch up with the other students, but she doesn’t let me off the hook.
“If it’s so easy for you to get A’s,” she says, “I don’t see why you can’t keep it up.”
I sigh deeply, but I see what she means. I can’t get lazy just because I’m happy.
I’m happy.
Look at that.
…
By the time the next spring comes around, Eden is almost seventeen and I am well on my way to graduate with honors, and, thanks to her, I haven’t given up on my music either. If anything, I have been composing little melodies, which, to be honest, fulfills me more than studying ever will.
I wake up every day and I don’t have to fight for survival. Instead, I am beginning to get used to this light, happy feeling that’s fluttering inside my heart. It still hasn’t settled. It’s still struggling to win against the darkness, but for the very first time in months, I am acquainted with something new: Hope.
It's strange. It’s new. It’s addictive. It’s dangerous.
And then, out of nowhere, it happens.
…
She is paler than usual that hot day in May.
She doesn’t get up and run to meet me. She has grown into a beautiful woman, and I don’t know if it’s her eyes, her lips, her hair or the way she moves, but everything about her, everything she does, even just sitting there, existing, is driving me to distraction.
At first I’m relieved that she doesn’t get up. I can at least try to pretend that I am in control of my own body around her today—even though I am not .
I approach her and reach for her arm greedily, easily, as I have done for the better part of the last two years, and that’s when I realize that something is wrong. She doesn’t turn around. She is too still, too curled up. Her chin is touching her knees, and I am transported back into the dark days of last year .
“No!” the sound that comes out of me is guttural.
She flinches.
She hasn’t done that in months. Since last year, actually. I forgot. I forgot how it was last year. How every little thing scared her, how closed off she was, how I fought to get her to stay. It’s been so good between us that I forgot.
“What’s wrong? Don’t… don’t be in pain.”
She doesn’t reply or turn around.
“Tell me, whatever it is. Tell me, Eden.” I sink to my knees in front of her.
She shakes her head and cold sweat drenches me. “I can’t,” she says. “I can’t.”
“Eden, look at me, come on. I’m having a heart attack here. What’s wrong, baby, what happened? Are you ok?”
She lifts a hand to keep me away. I am having difficulty breathing at this point. She won’t allow me to touch her.
She has never not allowed me to touch her, not even last year.
She turns around and looks at me then, and I wish she hadn’t. I recoil, nearly stumbling. She doesn’t look like herself. She is empty. Her eyes… there is no soul there. I can’t explain it any better. It is like she is gone; she is no longer here, with me.
“Remember when we talked about telling our families about each other?” she asks.
I nod.
I have told everyone and their mother about her, but I haven’t actually introduced her to any of my friends or family. She hasn’t wanted it. She always gets tense whenever I mention going public with our relationship, and so I stopped asking her. She won’t let me even tell anyone her name. Not even to my mom. But I still can’t shut up about her. Everyone I know is mad at me for annoying them with stories about ‘my perfect, invisible girlfriend’—a direct quote from James. I don’t care that they tease me and doubt her existence. She is not ready, and I’m not pressing her.
I decided that I would wait for years if she needs it.
But now… What’s happened now?
What on earth could have caused her to—
“Well, today, I did tell someone about you,” she says, turning her back to me, long hair swishing as she stands up and walks away.
She lets her hair down now. Has done for months. The minute she is in the forest, she undoes her braid, and I can’t get enough of running my fingers through it or playing with the strands. But right now, it’s a curtain she’s hiding behind .
“I finally told my dad about you.” Her breath catches. “He… he said I can’t see you anymore. I can’t be with you.”
“What? Why?” It takes me three efforts to get the words out. There are razorblades in my throat.
“Because,” she says, her back still to me. “He didn’t give me any reasons—and he doesn’t have to. I trust him, Isaiah. If he says I can’t be with you, then I can’t. He knows what’s best for me. I’m so sorry. It’s breaking my heart.”
“Wait, what is breaking your heart? I don’t get it. You’re not going to stop seeing me, are you?”
She doesn’t reply.
“ Are you ?” it nearly comes out as a scream.
No, this can’t be happening.
“What about me?” I say, trying to keep breathing. A fat tear splashes on my upper lip, quickly followed by another. I didn’t even notice the sobs interrupting my words. “Do you not trust me ? Do you… do you not love me?”
She stays silent, sort of vacant. She doesn’t cry. Just stands there, emotionless, staring at a tree. The sun’s rays bathe the top of her head, giving her hair a strange, reddish tint.
“It’s his decision,” she says finally. “I’m so sorry.”
I know what’s happened. She has given up. She is not fighting. She is not even trying . I recognize the look of someone who’s had the fight drained out of them—and that’s exactly how she looks.
I want to shake her by the shoulders until she wakes up.
Why is she standing there like that? So passive? Why isn’t she raging, crying, fighting for us? For me?
“ His decision?” I sputter. “What about yours?” Shock and grief are quickly giving way to pain and fury.
Maybe this is a nightmare.
Maybe I died in my sleep and this is hell.
This is unreal. It simply can’t be happening, not in any universe. Eden wouldn’t do this to me. My Eden would never do a thing like that.
It can’t be happening, I think fiercely , not out of the blue, like this. Not to us. Not to a girl like her, not to a boy like me. Not to two kids like us, who have been through hell and back, who have made each other what we are.
But it is happening. Eden is already walking away, saying quietly, in a subdued, robotic voice:
“I… I have to go. ”
“No!” I shout, panicking so much that I nearly lose my footing as I run after her. “Eden, please, please, Eden. Ede—” suddenly, there is not enough air in me to finish speaking her name.
The terror I hear in my own voice scares me.
I fall to my knees, then quickly pick myself up and go after her again.
My legs are shaking so hard I feel like I’m about to fall again.
“Let’s talk about this, ok?” I shout after her. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. We’ll work it out. Just say you want me, in spite of everything. That’s all that matters. Eden!”
I am grasping at straws now, hardly knowing what I am saying. She starts running away in earnest now, getting lost among the trees in the blink of an eye, and I scramble to catch up with her. My whole body is shaking so much it’s hard to stay upright, let alone run.
But I finally reach her and take her arm, force her to stop and look at me. Her face… oh God, her face. It is drained of blood. Not a hint of color on her lips. That’s when I get really, truly scared. Those big brown eyes of hers, huge pools of honey, stand out on her colorless face. They are glassy, empty of feeling.
“Eden,” I say in a broken voice. My chest constricts and everything goes black for a second. I almost fall right there, on the leaves at her feet. I brace an arm against a tree. The harsh edges of the bark dig into my skin. My knuckles are white. “Eden. Tell me what to do to make this better. Don’t hurt, please. Please.”
“He says,” she says robotically, as if it has been rehearsed beforehand, “that I have to think about my future. I’m destined to take over his company, and I can’t… I can’t be with someone like you.”
Like me? Is she talking about wealth? That I’m not a millionaire like her dad? Wait, that makes no sense; I have already gotten into several colleges.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Say you want me , I beg her silently. Say that’s all you want and we’ll figure the rest out.
“My dad doesn’t think… He doesn’t want me to be with you. He doesn’t think we should…” She is having a hard time forming the words, and I am so angry and panicked I want nothing more than to hold her until the truth comes out.
But she doesn’t want that, does she? That’s what she has been saying.
“What do you think, Eden?” I ask again quietly .
Maybe my pain will wake her up, bring her back to me. But it doesn’t. She can’t see it. For once, she doesn’t recognize my despair. She is drowning in her own.
“I… I agree,” she says tonelessly.
I don’t believe this. I feel like tearing out my hair. I don’t think I have ever been so angry and in so much pain until now. I think I am about to lose my mind.
“You’re choosing him!” I fling it to her like a curse. I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Is it because of his millions?”
Hurt crosses her face like I slapped her and I wish I hadn’t said it.
“I’m sorry—sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.” I rub my chest. Why does it feel like I’m being stabbed there, repeatedly? “It… it hurts,” I manage to get out.
“I know.” Eden’s voice is a ghost of her real one. “It hurts me too.” She’s gone again, looking vacant and cold.
“Then don’t do it!” I scream, but she doesn’t react at all. “Don’t do it, for God’s sake!”
At the mention of God, she shivers and I reach for her, unthinking. She takes a step back, nearly tripping over a root, but steadies herself. She looks terrified of me, as if my touch with scorch her or my stare will turn her to ashes.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispers. “Or I won’t be able to leave.”
“Then don’t leave ,” I yell, all the pain pouring out of me like a wave. Spit comes out. Tears. Snot. Pieces of my shattering heart. “Don’t leave me here. Please, Eden. Please, my moon and stars. Stay here with me, and we’ll get through this. Didn’t we say we could do anything together? Please don’t run away like that. Please don’t go where I can’t find you. I know your father is important to you, but he can’t make this decision for you. Don’t you see? You’ll be eighteen in a year, for God’s sake.”
“It’s my decision as well,” she repeats in that dead voice. “I agree with him.”
I step back.
I wish she had slapped me instead; it would have hurt less.
“You agree? I don’t accept that. You’re my girl. I know you. That’s not you in there. Eden, what’s happening? I’m losing my mind. Make this stop. Please. Please.”
I keep repeating it until all sound stops coming out of my lips. I keep forming the words, still trying to reach her, to penetrate this wall that has suddenly, inexplicably risen between us.
Nothing is working .
I don’t realize I am running after her as she weaves through the trees like an elf, disappearing from sight, until my knees finally give out. I fall hard to the ground with a sickening crash, shaking as if I have a fever.
…
Years later, I will read every article I can get my hands on. I will read about her, about what she went through.
I will read about the psychology of an abducted child, how they are made to feel guilty. How they have been manipulated into bending to the will of their abuser. How she was treated like a thing, brainwashed, tortured, borne down until the experts—damn them—concluded that she couldn’t have had any free will of her own.
But back there, that horrible day in the woods, all I felt was abandoned.
So angry I could destroy the whole school in one fell scoop.
Betrayed down to my bones.
But that wasn’t the most betrayed I would ever feel.
It could get worse. It would.
I would feel more betrayed.
The next day, to be exact.