Far From You

22

A YEAR AND A HALF AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

“What do you think of Kyle Miller?” Mina asks. We’re making the hour-and-a-half drive to Chico, where Trev’s working on his bachelor’s in business. Mina likes to drag me with her on these monthly trips. I never put up much of a fight because it’s usually nice to see Trev. Mina had wanted to leave early, so I haven’t had a chance to take anything extra and it’s making me jittery. I wish I hadn’t said I’d drive, but I hate being the passenger, especially for long distances.

We pass by another roadside fruit stand, a crooked sign marked CLOSED FOR WINTER teetering in the wind. Miles and miles of walnut and olive orchards whiz by us on both sides, the branches stark and black against the pale gray sky. Tractors rust in the empty fields, along with the faded FOR SALE signs on the wire fences that have been hanging there forever.

“Soph?”

“Huh?”

“Stop zoning out. Kyle Miller? What do you think?”

“I’m driving. And why are we talking about Kyle Miller?” I don’t know why I’m playing dumb. When Mina gets bored, she toys with boys.

“I dunno. He’s sweet. He used to bring us brownies when you were in the hospital.”

“I thought his mom made those.”

“No, Kyle did. Adam told me. Kyle bakes. He just doesn’t broadcast it.”

“Okay, the brownies were good. But he’s not smart or anything.” I wonder if that’s the point. That he won’t be smart enough to notice. I’m always worried Trev will.

“Kyle’s not dumb,” she says. “And he’s got those big brown eyes. They’re like chocolate.”

“Oh, come on,” I snap, too on edge to hide my annoyance. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna start dating him just because he looks at you like he wants to be your love slave.”

She shrugs. “I’m bored. I need some excitement. This year has been blah. Trev’s gone, Mom’s got her charities. Not to mention the biggest thing to happen in school all year was homecoming court.”

“The look on Chrissy’s face when Amber hit her over the head with the scepter was worth the week in detention.”

Mina snickers. “You’re the one who broke her crown.”

I don’t bother to hide my grin. “I didn’t mean to step on it! That float was totally unstable. And I was already at a disadvantage.”

“Uh-huh, I believe you, Soph,” Mina says. “Homecoming was fun. Detention, not so much. But I don’t want fun. Or detention. I want something interesting to happen. Like when Jackie Dennings disappeared.”

“Don’t wish that! That’s twisted.”

“Abductions and unsolved cases generally are,” Mina says.

“Please tell me you aren’t getting into that again. The first time was creepy enough.”

“I’m not being creepy. Something bad happened to her.”

“Stop being so morbid,” I scold. “Maybe she ran away.”

“Or maybe she’s dead.”

My phone trills, and Mina picks it up, turning the alarm off. “Pill time?”

“Yeah. Hand me my case?”

She grabs it from my purse but doesn’t give it to me. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, turning the case over and over, the pills clacking together inside.

“What?” I ask.

“Sophie.” That’s all she says. One word, but she can infuse it with such frustration, such worry.

We are experts in each other. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been dodging the inevitable confrontation, because if she asks me outright, she’ll know my answer’s a lie.

“I’m fine,” I say, with as much truth as I can muster. “I just need my pills.” My skin crawls under her scrutiny. I’m sure she can look right through me, see the drugs floating through my system.

I focus on the road.

She tilts the case back and forth in her hand. “I didn’t realize they still had you on so many.”

“Yeah, well, they do.” It’s like I’m on the edge of a cliff that’s crumbling, the ground beneath my feet breaking free, slipping from me. I keep glancing at the case in her hand. She’s not handing it over.

What am I going to do if she doesn’t?

“Maybe you should think about getting off them. Do a tapering thing or something. It’s been forever, and that stuff isn’t good for you.”

“I think my doctors would probably disagree.” I can’t keep the edge out of my voice, the warning. Won’t she just drop it already?

But she won’t. She hears the warning and breezes past it, because that’s the way Mina is.

“Seriously, Soph. You’ve been acting like…” She huffs out a breath. She won’t say it out loud. She’s afraid to. “I’m worried about you. And you won’t talk to me.”

“It’s nothing you’d understand.” She can’t. She came out of the accident with a broken arm and a few bruises. I’d come out with metal for bones and a dependence on pain pills that had morphed into a hunger I couldn’t—didn’t want to—ignore.

“Why don’t you try explaining it to me, then?”

“No,” I say. “Mina, drop it. Okay? Just give me my pills. The rest stop’s coming up.”

She chews on her lip. “Fine.” She tosses the case into my lap and folds her arms, staring out the window at the rows of bare trees that blur by faster as I press hard on the gas.

We drive the rest of the way in silence.

The party Trev takes us to later that night is crowded. The apartment’s too warm with bodies, the smell of beer mealy in the air. I lose Mina in the crowd about twenty minutes in, but we’ve barely spoken since we argued in the car, so it doesn’t really matter.

That’s what I keep telling myself.

The music’s awful, some top-forty hit blasting so loud it makes my head ache. I want nothing more than to get out of here, walk to Trev’s apartment, lie down on his couch, close my eyes, and fade out for a few hours.

I weave my way through the crowd, narrowly avoiding an ass grab by some frat boy wearing his baseball cap turned sideways. I sidestep him and slip out onto the empty balcony. Fishing a few pills out of my pocket, I down them with what’s left of my vodka.

It’s cold outside, but quieter, with the rumble of the crowd and the thump of the music muffled. Buzzed from the vodka, I press my elbows against the railing, waiting for the foggy feeling of the high to smooth all the sharp edges away.

The balcony door opens and closes. “There you are,” Trev says. “Mina’s looking for you.”

“It’s nice out here,” I say.

Trev walks up next to me and leans against the railing. “It’s freezing.” Taking off his coat, he drapes it over my shoulders. The smell of pine and wood glue curls around me.

“Thanks,” I say, but I don’t gather the edges of his coat against me. I can’t lose myself in him like I do with her.

“You two fighting?” Trev asks.

“A little.”

“You know, it’s easiest to forgive her for whatever she did. She’ll just bug you until you do.”

“Why do you think it’s her fault?”

Trev smiles. “Come on, Soph. It’s you. You don’t do anything wrong.”

I shiver, thinking about the extra drugs stashed all over my room. About the lines I snorted this morning before we drove here. About the pills I just took. About all the pills I pop, off schedule, like secret candy. “It’s not her fault. It’s nothing. It’ll be fine.”

I hug myself. The Oxy is starting to kick in, that numb, floaty feeling mixing with the buzz of the alcohol, and I nearly drop the cup.

Trev frowns and takes it from me, setting it on the ground. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, bringing you two. I don’t want to give your mom more reasons to hate me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” I mutter, even though we both know it’s a token, that I’m lying. “And I can hold my own. Mina’s the bad drunk.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Trev’s easy smile unravels the tightness in my chest that’s been there since Mina confronted me in the car. He’s only trying to help; he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t see me the way Mina does.

I face him and lean back against the balcony railing. The movement makes his coat slip off my shoulders, and the light from the apartment illuminates my skin. I’m wearing a shirt cut so low you can see the edge of my scar if you’re at the right angle. I tug at the neckline automatically, but it’s useless. Trev’s eyes flicker down, turning serious and studying, blatantly staring.

His smile disappears and he closes the space between us in a step. His hand cups my shoulder, pulling me forward. I feel, rather than see, his coat puddle to the ground. The fabric hits the back of my legs on the way down, and I wish that I’d wrapped myself in it.

“Trev?” I question, and my voice wavers. I’ve mixed too many pills with vodka; this isn’t a good idea. He’s way too close.

“Soph.” His thumb presses over the line of the scar that cuts my chest in uneven halves, physical in a way he’s never, ever been with me. He has to be drunk—he’d never do this sober; he’s always so careful about touching me.

“God, Sophie.” He sucks his cheeks in, biting at them. “This is where…”

His hand flattens against me, covering the worst of it. His palm curves in the space between my breasts, his callused fingertips resting lightly on the scar, rising and falling with each breath I take.

My heart thuds, pounding beneath my skin, greedy for the contact.

“I don’t know why you forgave me,” he says, words thick with emotion and beer.

“I was the moron who didn’t put on my seat belt,” I say, like I’ve said every time he’s brought this up.

“I was so scared when you didn’t wake up,” Trev says. “I should’ve known better. Mina did. She kept saying you were too stubborn to leave us.”

He looks up, all that pain out in the open, and when I meet his gaze, his fingers twitch, like he wants to curl them, to drag them across my skin, make something beautiful out of the wreckage.

I know suddenly, surely, that if I don’t look away, he’s going to kiss me. It’s in the way he holds himself, the way he shifts from foot to foot and rubs the hem of my top between the fingers of his free hand like he’s trying to memorize the feel of it. It’s something intrinsically Trev: focused, honest, safe. It splits me in two: one part wants to kiss him—the other wants to run.

I almost wish he’d do it. It’s not like I haven’t wondered. Haven’t caught him looking at me.

It’s not like I don’t know how he feels about me.

But that last thought makes me look down. I step away, and for a second I’m afraid he won’t let go, but then he does; of course he does.

“I need some water,” I say, and I hurry inside as a part of me, the honest part, breathes a sigh of relief.