Chapter 46
DENALI
THE CHOCLAVA ADVENTURE
My classwork was set up in front of me, but I put everything in my backpack to make room for the script. I was very, very careful with it. I felt like one of those archeologists, digging up a new artifact, aware of the history and importance of this moment.
“Did she serve you divorce papers?” Nick drawled and the guys snickered around the table.
“Why don’t you email Tomasini?” I suggested.
“Ugh. Go back to reading your alimony agreement.”
The guys chuckled but their voices faded as I settled in my chair and began to read.
The script wasn’t what I was expecting. I was surprised to discover what it revolved around—it was Hersch’s last hospital visit in Colorado, but it started off funny. I caught myself chuckling as my eyes skipped down the dialogue portions.
At the hospital, there were strict rules on what outside foods could be brought in. Even though Hersch was dying, the staff didn’t care how much he complained. No fatty foods, no heavy sugars, no choclava.
So Zariah and I came up with a solution. During Hersch’s hospital visits, we did everything to sneak choclava into his rooms. We broke in through the window, hid containers of choclava in our hoodies, coming up with elaborate delivery plans to hide it.
The script began with her and I stuffing containers of choclava in the lining of our pants. We were corny fifteen-year-olds, high-fiving over our crime.
It was written like an adventure, told through “Raya’s” eyes. Little details sung to me. Zariah’s character zipping up my jacket, kissing me on the bus, grabbing my hand to race with me down the stairwell—it was obvious how we felt about each other.
How she felt about me.
The scene changed to “Henry’s” room. He was as grumpy as ever, rolling his eyes at our gleeful crimes to bring his contraband. The three of us played cards, the last game we’d ever play, and after the nurse left, I was set to watch the door. Appointed as the guard while “Henry” ate his choclava.
Then…the tone changed.
Raya told him the staff had questions. None of the nurses could understand what was happening with them—Henry was clearly wasting away in his hospital bed and there was no family to be seen beside this gawky fifteen-year-old girl who refused to answer questions without him present.
There were suspicions that Raya was left alone at home. She had been warned that if a legal guardian didn’t appear, Henry’s nurse was going to report this to the police.
At first, he tried arguing with Raya. He belittled her concerns until his voice became pleading.
My pulse slowed as I read their exchange.
I could only imagine it from Zariah’s perspective.
In real life, Hersch’s muscles had atrophied so much, it’d been hard to look at him.
He was so skinny. On the page, he grabbed her hand, begging her to keep her silence, his words slurring because he couldn’t control his mouth anymore.
Henry told Raya that he loved her a dozen times, the words repeating over each other in desperation.
If their family knew how far his disease had progressed, that truly meant the end.
Raya had a choice to make. Adhere to her grandfather’s wishes, someone she loved so dearly, or try to help him get better, both hopeless options.
There was no cure for motor neuron disease—there was no ‘getting better.’ And Henry threatened to never speak to her again if she called her parents.
How could that be put on a kid’s shoulders?
My breath caught in my throat as I read the script.
Raya finally left Henry’s hospital room, hurrying to brush the tears away, and my character was beside the door—me. I was there. This was the part where I was supposed to hug her, dry her tears, do something. But “Derek” grabbed her hand and asked if she remembered what time the bus came.
“That’s it?” I whispered, breaking from the script. I went back to an earlier page, scanning the words. Stunned, I stared. “That can’t be it.”
It was. The dialogue continued. Raya tried to tell Derek what had happened in the hospital room, but words skipped between them like a ball hitting a brick wall.
It was obvious he wasn’t listening. Or maybe he was, but he just didn’t care.
Raya was making a life-or-death decision and Derek was obviously trying to change the topic.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered.
Our characters returned to the apartment, and Derek filled the dishwasher, cleaned up the take-out bags, made the bed, all while Raya’s inner turmoil whirled on the page. She tried to hug me, to get comfort.
Derek brushed her aside, talking about the house they’d buy when he joined the military.
Of all the fucking things to talk about—how the fuck could he talk about that? It was cruel to discuss a distant, hopeful future, because that future obviously didn’t include her grandfather.
I stared down at another exchange, my stomach clenching.
RAYA
I love you so much.
DEREK
(affectionate)
I’m going to keep you.
Not ‘I love you too’ or ‘you mean so much to me’ or something—fucking anything else. I willed the words to change, because I couldn’t have fucking said that. It was dismissive, it was amused, it was something you say to a trophy or a fucking dog.
Oh, fuck.
I loved Zariah but I also loved having a girlfriend to drink beers with and have sex with. None of the guys my age had that, and I was smug with the satisfaction. Even my bullies knew I was getting laid regularly and they couldn’t take that away from me.
My possessiveness leaked through the words—nobody could take her away from me. Because it wasn’t just Zariah I was afraid of losing. It was our summer together—it was her, isolated and alone, separated from her family. I was afraid I couldn’t keep her all to myself.
Hersch’s incoming death wasn’t something I took seriously because the benefits of having Zariah outweighed his incoming death.
Jesus Christ.
I felt sick. I could taste bile rising in my throat.
The script continued, a boomerang to the last choclava adventure, but there was a hidden tension underneath it, a train about to go off the rails. Everything seemed to fly at Raya at once and it was horrible to read. Things spiraled out of control.
Derek forgot to charge her phone when she asked him to. When Raya was upset, he blew her off. She pushed the issue, and Derek demanded to know who else she wanted to talk to. Why she wanted her phone so bad—why did she want to talk to someone who wasn’t him?
Fuck.
Oh, god. That happened.
And I didn’t forget to charge her phone at all. I did that shit on purpose. Because I didn’t want to lose any of my minutes with her, especially if she wanted to talk to her parents, so I purposely unplugged the charger.
Shame coursed through me. I raked a hand through my hair, clenching the strands between my fingers to focus on the pain.
The day just kept falling apart for Raya. The new choclava delivery was discovered by a doctor who forced them to dump it in the garbage. A nurse pulled her aside to plead with Raya to call her parents. And when Raya begged Henry to see reason, he shouted nonsense at her.
Everything was piling on top of Raya until she couldn’t breathe—I couldn’t breathe reading it.
The climax split the script at its seams. Everything collapsed.
She had to do something. Something had to happen.
Shaking, Raya broke into the nurse’s break room and admitted she needed a phone to call her parents.
The actual phone conversation wasn’t written word for word, but the illusion was shattered.
She wasn’t on an adventure to defy the hospital staff and bring her grandpa dessert—she was a kid caught in a trap who couldn’t escape.
Raya stumbled to the waiting room and crawled into Derek’s lap to cry.
He hugged her back, but didn’t bother to ask what happened, he remained blissfully unaware.
But I’d been unaware the entire time, this wasn’t anything new.
The police lights filled the waiting room and the script was done.
It was the last time I saw Zariah in Colorado.
With a hard breath, I jerked to a standing position, the table almost tipping over again.
“Fuck, Denali!” Fridge swore. “Why do you keep knocking shit over?!”
“Can you watch my stuff?” I asked, hurrying to slide papers in the envelope, careful not to wrinkle them.
“Yeah, sure,” Elijah said. “Where are you—Denali?”
I bolted with the script, shoving it under my shirt when I saw the drizzling rain outside. The rain dampened my clothes but heightened my senses, bringing my focus to the here and now as I sprinted to Gianna’s.
The restaurant was packed with people vying to get out of the rain. I spotted Tallulah and Zariah at a booth with ripped seats, typing at their laptops. I couldn’t believe how nonchalant Zariah was after writing that. After ripping out my heart with only words on a page.
She must’ve felt me watching her. Her eyes slid to mine, and she froze, her hands hovering over the keys.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered when I got close.
I pulled out the script from under my shirt. “I read it.”
“I don’t have to submit it,” she said quickly before pushing out of her seat. Tallulah glanced between us, curious, as Zariah’s golden skin darkened with the blush. She grabbed her jacket. “Tallulah, sorry, can you—?”
“Zariah, I’m so sorry—”
“Let’s go outside—” Zariah took me by the hand, and we almost made it to the door, but I was afraid she wouldn’t understand.
I stopped her, bringing her closer. She had to understand how I felt while I read the script. I found a quiet place away from the tables to talk, then blurted out what I needed to say.
“Jesus Christ, if I was you, I’d fucking hate me. I’m so sorry, Zariah, I’m so sorry.” I gestured towards the script. “That was fucked up. And I didn’t charge your phone on purpose—you were right! Which isn’t part of the big picture—just reading that—I hate me. I’m so sorry—”
“Then I can’t send it,” flew out of her.
“Zariah—”
“I don’t hate you.” She quickly shook her head. “I never did—”
“I didn’t read that thinking you hated me,” tumbled out of my mouth. “I felt loved.”
Her eyes widened, lips parting. “What?”
“I felt loved,” I repeated, shoving down the embarrassment.
Talking about this shit was too much but I had to tell her how much the script made me feel.
It flooded my senses, it stunned me so deep, I could feel its mark.
“I was a huge fucking asshole to you. I can’t believe you didn’t fucking hit me or lock me out or—I can’t fucking believe you put up with that.
And I’m so sorry for how I acted. But reading that?
Reading everything—I never felt like you hated me, Zariah. I felt loved.”
Her eyes were so wide. “Oh.”
“I felt so fucking much reading that, I felt everything. And that’s what I never wanted to connect with,” I said quietly.
“I always thought none of what happened meant anything to you but that’s an excuse.
It made it easy to blame you for leaving.
The truth was, I wasn’t there for you how I was supposed to be.
I didn’t treat you how you were supposed to be treated.
I never thought about what you must’ve been going through.
I’m so sorry. You deserved so much better and I’m so sorry. ”
Zariah threw her arms over my neck, hugging me. I pulled her closer, squeezing her tight.
“I felt so fucking much, baby. You did so good,” I whispered. “I was happy at the choclava stuff, and sad about Hersch, and angry that everything was put on you, and I felt pain that it happened, and ashamed—I’m so fucking embarrassed, and I should be—what the fuck was I thinking? I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not going to send it,” she promised.
“No, you don’t understand.” I pulled her away from me, taking her chin between my fingers. “I felt so much. If your professor doesn’t feel anything, I don’t know what to say. You have to send it.”
“It’s so personal—”
“I know. That’s why you need to send it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure about anything.”
Zariah touched the side of my face, bringing me down to her, hugging me again. “You felt loved in the script because that was so easy for me to tap into,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. “I love you.”
I froze, still holding on to her. “What?”
“I love you.”
I leaned away from her to stare into her face, to see if she was being serious, but her soft expression reaffirmed everything she said. Gently, she pulled me back to her. I was breathing so heavily it was embarrassing but I couldn’t catch my breath.
How could she love me after that?
“I love you,” she repeated, her voice a murmur. “I fell in love with you all over again.”
I squeezed her so tight, I had to loosen my grip to keep from bruising her. Leaning back, I captured her lips for a kiss. I had no idea how she could love me, but I wouldn’t waste it.
“I never stopped loving you,” I said quietly. “But I promise, I’m going to spend every day doing it better than the first time.”