13. If You Leave
CHAPTER 13
If You Leave
KEY
Twelve Years Ago
“Y ou have to go to the hospital,” I say insistently.
Dusty shakes her head. “Don’t be stupid. I’m fine.”
But the bruising on her stomach disappearing up under her shirt is dark and angry and my blood boils at the sight of it. “You can’t even catch your breath. What happened?”
Pushing me away weakly, her nostrils flare. “I said I’m fine, Key!”
My fists clench, and I have to take a deep breath to keep myself from shouting and slamming my fist through the wall. “Did your dad do?—”
“For fuck’s sake,” she shouts, pulling at her hair. “Why can’t you just let it go? You don’t always have to be the big hero.”
I blink. “I wasn’t—” My jaw swings open like a broken door, unable to figure out how to respond as I watch her stumble and collapse onto the worn couch. A cloud of dust flies up into the air as she drops, the particles glittering around her head in the sunlight. “I’m not trying to be a hero.”
Her eyes softly close and her head falls back on the couch. “I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry.” She turns her head toward me and tugs her lips up into a small smile. “I promise, I’m fine. Okay?”
Even though her legs are still covered in yellowing bruises from the past few weeks, and she takes short quick breaths to avoid expanding her lungs too much because it hurts, I don’t want to upset her any more than I already have. So I nod. “Okay.”
She smiles for real and pats the couch seat next to her. “Come on, then. You promised me more songs.”
I pull at the back of my neck and mumble, “I wrote a few down for you.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” I grab the pile of papers from my backpack and the guitar from the side of the couch before sitting down. “They’ll be hard to read,” I blurt.
With a shake of her head, she rests her hand on my knee. “It’s never hard to read the things you write.”
If only everyone thought that way. If only everyone didn’t think I was stupid because I struggle to read and write. If only someone had an explanation for why my brain works the way it does. But she’s always understood me. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.
“It’s the craziest thing, but I just can’t stop writing,” I admit. “The songs just roll out of me.”
“It’s this place,” she says reverently, looking around. “This is where we can be the real us. We don’t have to hide.”
I look around and realize just how true that is. The past six weeks here with her have been some of the greatest of my life. And while I’ve had to get more creative in telling my parents where I’m spending my time, every lie I’ve told to be with her has been worth it.
Handing her the papers, I place the guitar across my lap and adjust the pitch of the strings until they’re perfect. My stomach does somersaults while she looks through them, wondering if she’ll think what I’ve written is lame. But at least I know for sure she won’t laugh at me. She would never do that.
“Sing me this one,” she says, holding up a page with a water stain on it.
My cheeks heat when I see the title on the page.
“Uh . . . maybe not that one.”
“Why not?” she asks, reading through the lyrics. “‘Neon Crush’ . . . ooh, does Key have a crush on someone?”
“I—no! I don’t have a?—”
“Is she a girl from school?” she teases.
My collar tightens around my neck. “No, she’s not?—”
“Oh, so there is a girl!” She punches her fist into the air.
I snatch for the page but she holds it out of reach. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Does she know you like her?” she asks. “Why haven’t you told me about her?”
I shake my head. “No! She’s not—I haven’t—I . . .” I let out a shuddering breath and bury my face behind the body of the guitar to calm myself down. I can hardly breathe, my blood pulsing in my ears. Just breathe . . . in and out.
I flinch as I feel the subtle pressure of her hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” she says softly, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just teasing.”
I nod against the guitar, not daring to look up yet. “I know.”
“It’s cool if you like someone,” she continues. “It’s also cool if you don’t. I’ll still be your friend.”
With one eye open, I look up under my arm to where she peers over at me. If only I could tell her that the reason songs have been pouring out of me lately is because of her. How she’s all I can think about when we’re apart. How, since she kissed me all those weeks ago, I’ve hoped every day she might do it again.
“Dusty, I . . .” But the words won’t come, and suddenly there’s a clamor in my head of every awful thing that my parents have said about Dusty and her family. And that I’m lying to them just so I can spend time with her. How I shouldn’t be kissing any girl without her parents’ permission. Bile rises in my throat. God is watching everything I’m doing and knows everything I’m thinking, and I’m abruptly overcome with such shame that my throat tightens. “There’s no girl,” I mutter.
“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. “Oh!” At my lack of understanding she waves her hand. “I’m sorry, I thought you were . . . but if you’re into boys, that’s cool. I won’t tell.”
My mouth drops open. “Wait, what?”
“I mean, I can understand why you’re so panicked about it. I doubt your parents would let you live if you ever told them you’re gay.”
Horror strikes me through the chest. “I’m not gay!”
“It’s okay if you are,” she continues.
My fists clench. “Dusty, I’m definitely not gay.”
“You’re very good at hiding it. I never would have guessed.” She frowns. “Oh god, and I kissed you. I’m so sorry, if I had known it would make you uncomfortable?—”
“Dusty?” I interrupt.
“Yeah?”
Before I can stop myself, I’m grasping her face between my palms and pressing my lips to hers. She freezes, and I quickly peek at her face, thinking that maybe she’s horrified. But her eyes are closed, her long lashes resting against her freckled cheeks, and I feel like I’ve just won the Olympic gold medal when she relaxes, my jeans tightening alarmingly fast as she breathes a sigh against my lips.
I pull away and watch in fascination as her eyelids flutter open. Her lips are cherry red, and all I can think about is pressing them back to mine.
“Key?”
“I’m definitely not gay,” I insist breathlessly.
Her eyes scan my face before they drop to my mouth and I swallow hard.
“I believe you,” she whispers.
I back up, taking a deep breath. “Good.”
She looks away, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and I turn while I attempt to deflate the blood-hungry bulge in my pants. After a few painfully awkward moments of silence, she rolls back her shoulders, pouts her lips, and bats her eyelashes. “So, about those songs . . .”
How can I possibly say no? “Okay, but just one.”
She grins, and the tightness in my throat eases. “It doesn’t have to be ‘Neon Crush’.”
I huff out a breath and place the guitar over my lap again. “Yes, it does.”
I start to strum the guitar, and her head sways a little to the tune. I don’t need the paper to know every word, every chord, every key change. When it comes to her and music, my mind is like a vault. Memorizing every detail of her face and the songs she inspires. Her narrow, freckled nose, the subtle shimmer to her pale skin, the tiny flecks of silver in her blue eyes. And that smell—her strawberry hair. I start to sing and over the course of the song, watching from the corner of my eye as her face changes from happily watching to intense focus.
Maybe this is for the best. Summer’s almost over and I never know when she might disappear. She’s like a beautiful tornado. Touching down throughout my life with no warning and only for a brief time. Stirring up chaos and unrest but also the most excitement I’ve ever felt. Maybe I’m a tornado chaser. Maybe I always will be for her.
I never know if the time I have with her will be the last. At least this way . . . she’ll know.
My heart is pounding by the time I strum the last chord, and the two of us sit silently in the cabin after the music fades out. I peek up at her to find her eyes downcast and her hands wringing in her lap.
“Dusty?”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.
I frown when I see the tear trickle down her cheek.
“She must be an amazing girl,” she continues. “The one you wrote that about.”
I may never know where my bravery comes from, but I reach forward to wipe the tear from her cheek, her wet eyes looking up into mine. “She is.”
She shakes her head. “You think that . . . but it’s not true.”
“It’s true to me.”
A breathy laugh rushes out of her. “She should feel very lucky to have you care about her this way.”
“She’s the most important person in the whole world to me.”
Dusty’s blue eyes dart over my face. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
She smiles and her face glows. “You are too.”
This time, she leans forward and kisses me. This time, I don’t have to peek. Her kiss is gentle yet insistent and she tastes like butterscotch candy. My heart is beating so fast I wonder if it’s fatal. If I’ll die here attached to her lips, then fall down to hell. But her kiss is by far the greatest happiness of my life, so I stifle down every awful thought and kiss her back until I’m lightheaded. She’s not acting this time. She’s kissing me for real. Because she wants to, not because she’s a character in a movie or because I need to prove I’m not gay.
After what feels like an instant and forever, she pulls back, her eyes fluttering in that gorgeous way they do as she looks at me. A smile grows on her face and I can’t help but smile back.
“I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” she admits.
My eyes widen. “You have?”
“I’m not gay either,” she teases. “If we’re clarifying things.”
I grin as she twirls a strand of her red hair around her finger. She sits back against the couch but winces.
“Are you okay?”
Gingerly, she touches her side. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I really wish?—”
“Key.” A warning in one word.
With a sigh, I nod. “I’m not trying to save you or be a hero,” I start, “but if you ever need me to . . . I’ll fight for you.”
She smirks. “With these noodle arms?”
Poking me in the bicep, I laugh but grab her hands. “Seriously. I never know when I’ll see you again. What if I don’t see you because . . .” The words get caught in my throat. “Because something bad has happened to you.”
She touches my cheek. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.”
I raise my eyebrows and glance at the spot under her shirt where the bruise is. She shakes her head.
“He doesn’t mean to,” she admits. “Sometimes I just get in the way, or mouth off. He doesn’t always know his own strength when he’s been drinking.”
“Dusty—”
“And yesterday, his friend from work was over. I guess he thought I was flirting with him or something, because he tried to—” She stops. “Anyway, when I told my dad, he said I shouldn’t have been wearing that skirt.”
“He what ?” I cry.
“Then I shouted back, and he didn’t like that?—”
“Dusty!”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll keep my attitude to a minimum, okay? I won’t give him any reason to punish me.”
I cover my face with my hands. “None of those things should have ever happened. It’s not your fault. You know that right?”
She shrugs. “I know guys look. I know what they say. Can guess what they’re thinking.” She glances at me for just a second. “My mom always told me I should feel lucky. That at least I have a pretty face because I wouldn’t amount to much else.”
“That’s . . . awful.”
“It’s the truth,” she says.
“No, listen. Dusty, look at me,” I say, grabbing her hands and pulling her to face me. “You are beautiful. But you’re also so much more. You can be anything— do anything you want. Promise me you’ll remember that, even if you’re gone.”
She nods. “Promise.”
But even with her word, some dark feeling creeps its way up the back of my neck. Ominous and terrifying. “What should I do if you disappear again?”
She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder, her hand clasping mine in my lap. “Just know that I’ll always come back for you. As soon as I can. However long it takes. I won’t forget about you.”
My stomach twists. She doesn’t even try to convince me she won’t disappear.
“Would you ever forget about me?” she asks, lifting her head to glance at me with those diamond blue eyes.
I smile softly. “Of course not. Nobody could forget the girl with the red hair.”
* * *
I open my eyes in the darkness to a tapping sound on my window. I’m disoriented. What time is it? The crickets still chirp, but it’s too dark to read my clock. There’s more tapping, then . . .
I sit up in bed, focusing intently on my bedroom window where a mane of red curls frames a bloodied and bruised face. In a flash, I’m ripping back the covers and running to the window. Dusty winces while I fumble desperately with the locks until the window slides open.
“What happened?” I whisper as she climbs in. “How did you?—”
But I’m stopped in my inquiry when she wraps her hands around my neck and falls into me. I pull her gently toward me. She cries into my shoulder, and I have no idea what to do as she shakes, so I simply stroke her hair until she finally calms down enough to talk.
Leaning back, I take in her face as clearly as I can in my dark bedroom. Her left eye is bloodied and nearly swollen shut, blood dripping from her temple, and her cheek bones are bruised and scratched. There’s some marks at the top of her forehead, like someone tried to rip out her hair.
“Dusty—”
“I’m okay, Key,” she starts. “I know it looks bad, but I’m alive.”
“No! Look at you?—”
“He’s gone,” she states.
I raise my eyebrows. “Your dad?”
“I finally called the cops,” she continues. “They took him away, Key. He’s finally out of my life.”
“What happened?”
She closes her eyes and presses her lips together. “He . . . he found out about the cabin.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
She shrugs. “He must have been following me. I don’t know how it happened, but . . . he saw you leaving before me and?—”
I feel sick. Is this my fault?
“I think he thought we were . . .” Even under the bruising, her cheeks flush.
“Thought we were what?”
She chuckles darkly. “Doing what a teenage boy and girl might do if they’re both alone and totally not gay?”
What is she . . . “Oh—but we weren’t!”
Taking a step back, she wraps her arms around herself. “I know. But he wouldn’t listen and . . . well, he trashed the place. Dragged me home by my hair and—” She motions to her face.
My guts cramp. “If I had known, I would’ve?—”
“I know, Key. I know.”
I nod my head and rub the back of my neck. “But he’s gone now, and you’re safe. Hey, maybe you can even enroll in school,” I say, circling her wrists. “We can start high school together and maybe even be—what’s wrong?”
Even through my excitement, I notice the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” No. No, she can’t. My throat is dry. I’m choking. I can’t swallow because she’s leaving. Again. “Leaving?” I squeeze my hands, harder than I probably should, because I never want to let her go. “What are you talking about?”
She takes a deep breath. “They can’t locate my mom. And with my dad gone now . . . I’m going to move in with my aunt for a while.”
“Oh, well?—”
“In Nebraska.”
My knees buckle from under me. “Nebraska? You’re moving to Nebraska?”
My parents’ bed squeaks from down the hall and my heart gallops in my chest. I need to be careful and quiet. But she’s leaving me. What if it’s forever?
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers through tears.
“But I don’t understand. Why do you have to leave?”
“I think it’ll be good, actually. A fresh start. You know?”
“Right . . . a fresh start. Without me.”
“No!” she says, her hair swaying as she shakes her head. “No. This has nothing to do with you. Believe me, the only reason I’m upset about leaving is because of you. You’re my best friend.”
Now it’s my turn to fail at holding back tears. “You’re mine.”
A horn honks in the distance, and for the first time, I glance out the window to see a car idling in the distance. “I have to go,” she says, pulling her hands away from mine as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
“What if I just kidnapped you?” I joke, but I know it doesn’t come out sounding like one. “Kept you locked up in my closet. I’d make it comfy, of course.”
She smiles. “Just remember what I told you.” At the tilt of my head, she continues. “I’ll always come back to you. I’ll never forget you.”
I pull her against me. She gasps, and maybe I handled her too hard considering her bruised body, but if this is the last time I’m going to see her, I want her to feel the way I’ll miss her.
“Come back to me,” I whisper into her hair. “I’ll wait for you.”
The horn honks again, and I squeeze her just a little longer before letting go. When I do, I can’t even move as she walks toward the window, her fingers grasping mine for as long as they can before she’s climbing back out. My heart feels like lead, heavy and aching in my chest. Why is life so unfair?
“Psst.”
I turn and scrunch my face, willing the tears not to spill over in front of her.
“I almost forgot,” Dusty says, then ducks down below the sill before reappearing with?—
“My guitar?”
Her smile beams in the darkness. “Amazingly, it was one of the only things he didn’t break. Keep playing, okay? I want to hear all the new amazing songs you’ve written when I come back.”
She offers me one last smile, then runs off into the night.
For hours, I sit on the edge of my bed, cradling the guitar in my arms. My mind races, but nothing makes sense. She’s safe. She’s gone, but she’s safe, and after fighting against my own selfishness, wishing she really could come back to live in my closet, I need to hold up my end of the bargain. When she comes back, and she will, I need to be ready to run away to Hollywood with her so we can both make our dreams come true. Together.