Chapter 40. Micah
MICAH
She colors my black-and-white existence. Distracts my mind from all the ugliness, including the cast of characters in this bathroom with us. I’m getting better at refusing them my attention. Her presence eclipses them all.
I don’t want to let this weekend go—this unfamiliar lightness in my chest, the sparks radiating through my limbs.
This girl, this girl. She keeps me on my toes in a vigilant way.
I can’t afford to mess this up. Feels like I’m running with a snow globe: One trip-up from my Shadow People world and the glistening flakes could settle into a new pattern—one that excludes me.
I can’t let that happen.
We play in my grandparents’ cast iron clawfoot tub. Sudsy water splashes onto the floor’s ivory tiles, dampening the charcoal-colored runner next to us. The smallest things make us laugh. Until one of us gives the other the look. The one that keeps getting us into trouble.
I like the kind of trouble she brings to my flat, clinical world.
Under the bathroom’s unfiltered lighting and without the hindrance of covers, I invest in finding every freckle and birthmark on her. We’re like new lovers on an intimate expedition, afloat in the middle of the ocean. An ocean I continue to refill with hot water to keep her in here longer.
“When did you know . . . about this?” She flutters her lashes, gesturing between us, our necks resting on opposite ends of the tub.
I sprinkle water droplets from my fingers onto hers. They seep into her skin like they belong there. What if all of me liquefied and melted into her—would I finally feel whole?
I hold my thoughts and turn over her hand, voyaging up her wrist to the dewy underside of her arm.
She squirms at my touch and lets me do more.
I clench my eyes shut. “When you helped the old lady in the elevator.”
“No!” Her mouth falls open. “You acted so mean to me!”
I blink, unable to recall my actions, only hers. “I saw you doing something decent for a stranger . . . putting yourself out there. I wanted that level of kindness in my life. So pure, I guess.”
“Like a virgin?” She rolls her eyes.
“No, like a human. A better human.”
“What? You’re not a good human . . . should I be worried?” She laughs.
I break eye contact. “I’m not like you. One of those people who do the right thing when no one’s watching.”
“You make me sound like a meme. Do you think I’m a goody two-shoes or something?”
“No. I don’t know . . . I’ve just wanted to be somebody else for some time now, I guess.”
Her forehead creases. “What’s so bad about being you?”
“Everything.” I splash water in her face like she’s the prettiest girl at summer camp and I’m trying to flirt with her in the pool.
I wish I’d known her then. Before the morning I woke up, unpleasant visitors invaded my life, and everything turned sideways.
My chest tightens as I eye those intruders, currently standing to either side of her.
Brynn retaliates. More water cascades over the side of the tub.
She stops suddenly and stares off.
I do my best not to gawk at her breasts.
Her lips press together. “About tomorrow—”
“Don’t rush it.” I cup her breasts, too weak to ignore them.
She giggles and lets my hands continue what they’re doing. “I think that ship sailed.” She glances down and arches her brow.
“I meant, don’t rush our time together.”
She nods like she understands.
“I’m not looking to strip you of your memories, Brynn. I’m here for when you want to make new ones.”
“Like this weekend?”
“Like every weekend.”
She spreads her pruned fingers in front of my face, simulating a flower’s petals opening to the sun.
I kiss her head and step out of the tub, leaving runny footprints across the tiles.
Her eyes follow me.
I pull out two towels. After securing one around my hips, I gesture for her to stand. I wrap her in the other one, patting her dry.
She laughs, but I can tell she likes it.
I like caring for her. It feels good to attend to someone else for once and not be the one fussed over.
I enjoy having you near me, I want to say, but instead I just fold her into my arms.
Until our rumbling stomachs send us in search of our clothes.
Scrounging around for my shorts on the floor, I spot the notebook I kicked under the bed when I carried her in here earlier. Maybe if she knew this part of me . . .
I open it to a recent entry—a tame one—and pass it to her. “Here.”
She gasps. “Your notebook!” She glances down, her eyes and lips moving in serious concentration. “Are they lyrics?”
“No.” I go to grab it out of her hands before she stumbles upon previous passages.
She turns her back and continues to read, then spins back to me. “Who’s the girl?”
I shake my head, unable to say.
She sizes me up like she’s recalculating something. “Huh, I didn’t know you could write like this.”
“What, better than you?” I laugh.
“Better than the whole agency.”
Dressed, she leads the way downstairs, her fingers trailing the iron balusters.
My head’s halfway in the fridge when I hear drawers opening behind me and something about a pen. My throat closes up. “Wait!” I whirl around.
This is why we don’t have people over. The Woman in Black chomps on a fingernail.
“Micah, what’s all this?” Brynn raises one of the pill bottles. “I can’t even pronounce this. Are you taking all of these? There’s got to be twenty containers in here.”
I lay a hand on my chest to hold in my frantic heart. “Some for allergies, a couple for migraines.”
“So many,” she says, blinking rapidly.
“I fill six months’ worth in California. Cheaper that way.” I take her hand and lead her away from the incriminating drawer.
She stops. “You know, I think I’m going to head out.”
Her words cut me off at the knees.
“I thought we were getting something to eat.”
“It’s kind of late.”
“Late for what?”
She doesn’t clarify.
I trudge behind her to the door.
We stand facing one another in the foyer, the ceiling hovering near my head. She looks small.
Her eyes flick past my shoulder to the staircase, then back to me.
I have a million things I want to tell her. If she’d give me a damn minute.
The tight space crowds with the voices and shapes of the Shadow People.
One fills my head. Let her go, the Woman in Black repeats, growing louder, surprising me.
I glare at her, my lips shushing the air.
Brynn follows my eyes, unable to see what I see. Her gaze returns to me, and she searches my face.
My neck and head perspire. I’m too weak to ignore the rest of them when they join the Woman in Black’s chant. Let her go, they command in unison.
I shift my weight and roll my eyes, acting bored. It comes off cocky—and cold. A memory resurfaces. My actions in the elevator the morning Brynn met me, the actions of a schizophrenic who’s scared shitless and incapable of holding it together.
Brynn’s eyes search mine. Her parted lips clamp down. She backs away from me, slips through the door, and dissolves into the passing crowd on the street.