Myra's fingers left goosebumps along the length of Skylar's forearm. She placed a mug of coffee in front of Skylar, and rounded the kitchen table. Skylar usually became transfixed while watching steam rise from coffee. But this morning, her gaze was focused on Myra: her tan skin, straight black hair that fell to her hips. She looked like the kind of girl you'd see on the cover of a magazine. Knowing this, Skylar wasn't sure why she hadn't thought of making their relationship official yet. Perhaps it was because they had yet to be on a real date-they spent all their time together in one of their houses. Specifically their bedrooms. Myra was such a good girl. Good in terms of the fact that she had a stable job, a close group of great friends, unshakable confidence, and knew exactly where her place in the world was. She knew who she was, and she was not afraid to be that. Bold, beautiful. Fearless. How could Skylar waste any time knowing that Myra wasn't hers? How could she be okay with letting days slip by, knowing that Myra was single, available to anyone? Shouldn't she be her girlfriend by now? Shouldn't she not want someone as great as Myra to be taken away from her?
Skylar knew the reason. It was the same reason why Myra hadn't done the same to Skylar.
She didn't want to be Myra's. Myra was great. But she didn't want her.
Myra was good company. She was a great cook, she was funny, and God, she was gorgeous. But she was a bad listener. She liked to get drunk every Friday and Saturday night, even though Skylar didn't want to. And the biggest thing of all: all she wanted to do was hook up.
Which was fine with Skylar. For now. She was content with Myra being a train simply passing through the city, and not wanting to stay for long. The truth was, Skylar didn't want her to stay long, either.
But she was a good distraction. And so was the cafe. The rest of her time was spent "sorting herself out," as Blair called it.
Skylar finished her cup of coffee, and after putting it in the sink to wash later, she followed Myra to the door. The other girl kissed her cheek lightly, telling her she'd talk to her soon, and that was it. Gone. Suddenly, Skylar was enveloped in silence. It was slightly haunting, and a little claustrophobic.
Not wanting to be confined to the vacant house, Skylar pulled on her denim jacket, which was lain not so carefully on the floor next to the welcome mat. She slipped her shoes on and left the house.
It was a cool day. The breeze swept by Skylar's body as she sauntered down the driveway that needed repainting, and turned the corner at the mailbox to stroll down the next street. She could never memorize all the houses. Despite walking down the same streets for the years that she'd been living in her own house, if you showed her a photo of the streets beside it, she would never recognize them. Maybe it was because of her memory, or maybe it was that whenever she felt the need to escape the silence of her solitude, she had something weighing heavily on her mind-so heavily that she couldn't think of or pay attention to anything else.
As she walked, her hands stuffed inside the small pockets of her jacket, and her head kept down the majority of the time, she raised her eyes as two teenagers walked alongside her. Boys, most likely in eleventh or twelfth grade. They didn't move out of Skylar's way, but instead brushed her shoulder roughly as they passed, and laughed while still in earshot. Both had had cigarettes hanging from the corners of their mouths, and the smell of smoke lingered with them, lingered with Skylar. She was on the corner of the next street, face to face with the convenience store, fighting an inner battle. She wanted to smoke so badly. It would be so easy. To cross the street-twenty steps at the most-push the door open, walk up to the counter, and ask for a pack of cigarettes. It was so easy. Chance was sitting in the palm of her hands.
She hadn't smoked in weeks. Distracted with other things. Like hurting, and being angry. Those were very distracting things. And there was the moving on from Logan, and trying not to kill herself the way her parents had killed themselves when they continued to light cigarettes.
In one second, she closed the palms of her hands, squeezing them into fists. Crushing any chance, any temptation she had. She would not let herself pick up a lighter again.
Before she could convince herself otherwise, she turned left. This was the street where she usually walked straight, into the convenience store, and then turned right, walking towards Blair's apartment or the bar. But tonight she wanted to head far in the opposite direction. She wanted to venture into foreign ground.
Sweat scratched the back of her neck. It had been so long since she felt warm walking, but with spring having arrived, and the heavy coat she wasn't sure why she wore, she felt her skin beginning to stick. She wondered briefly where the breeze that had met her and nearly rocked her off her feet had gone, and in that moment felt a rush of wind at the side of her body. If only it had been pushing at her back, or her face again, she might feel relief.
Maybe the heat was because she was thinking of things. Like gears working in her mind, sparks flashed and smoke ventured out of her ears. She spotted a vacant park bench a few metres away, and decided this would be her destination.
As Skylar approached the bench, she recalled all the times her mother and father brought her and Mack to parks. They had had picnics on park benches; quick water breaks before jumping back onto the swing and seeing who could reach the highest point; temper tantrums about going home; and most of all, Skylar had had many days where she and her mom would stop at a park bench and do nothing but talk. The silence that this bench accompanied reminded Skylar of how lonely she was. For once in her life, she longed for family. And for love.
Mack was sitting in the palm of her hand. All she needed to do was open her fist, and there he would be. Family. Her brother.
Jude was the one who brought Mack to her. Ever since Skylar met Jude, nothing but chaos had ensued in her life. And for someone who never liked chaos, she found herself a little bit addicted to Jude. A little bit addicted to chaos.
When Jude brought Mack to Skylar's front door, she was doing it for Skylar. She had the best intentions-she always had the best intentions. Jude was selfless, and she was kind, and thoughtful, and yes, she had messed up-as had Mack-but Skylar was messing up right now by not welcoming two very important, very good people, back into her life.
If she had learned anything over the years, it was that she needed to stop messing up. She needed to move on.
As Skylar stood, she felt her knees weaken. Her pulse was racing. She began walking in the direction she came, towards home, and couldn't wait to call Mack and tell him everything- couldn't wait to begin a new, and hopefully better, chapter in her life. So as she turned back onto her street, she slipped her phone into her hand. There was no need to search for Mack's phone number online. She scrolled through her call history, finding it filled mostly with Blair's name. And then there was a number that was not saved, but a number that had called her ten times nearly three months ago.
She pressed the number, and listened to it ring, and ring, and ring. Finally, an automated voice answered. And she was welcomed to the line of one of Toronto's finest rehabilitation centres, focusing on addictions.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" A female voice came through the line.
Skylar stood, staring at her driveway, frozen on the sidewalk. Like a statue. Only, statues couldn't feel their entire heart drumming against their chest, or listen to the sound of their own rapid, nervous breaths.
Her brother, Mack, an addict? So serious that he was in rehab for it?
"Hi," Skylar breathed. She held her palm over her mouth, and looked around the street, spinning in a circle, as if looking for a camera-as if this was all a joke. "Sorry, I, uh, sorry. What did you say?"
"It's alright, dear," she said. She spoke slower this time, and over the thrumming of her heartbeat, Skylar heard her ask, "What is the name of the patient you wish to speak to?"
"Mack. Mack Nolan."
"Okay, dear. The line will be transferred momentarily."
And then there was the transferring of lines, like she had said, and then there was audible breathing on the other end, but no words came out. Maybe he knew it was Skylar calling, and he was scared. Skylar hugged her left arm around her torso as she walked towards her porch. Sitting down, she felt her shoulders drop. How could she let her little brother become afraid of her?
"Mack, it's me," she said finally, all in one rushed, relieved breath.
"Skylar."
His voice. Broken, battered. Torn. How had she not realized that something was wrong the day he came to see her with Jude? She thought he was just putting on a show to convey how sorry he was. It was her job to protect him, and she had failed.
That lump in her throat. So annoying, Skylar thought, as she tried to swallow it down. When she couldn't, she spoke anyway, and let her tears fall freely.
"How long have you been in rehab?"
"Four months. Maybe more. I lost count," said Mack.
Skylar's hand fell to the centre of her chest. "How bad is it, Mack? Why didn't you say something when you came to visit?"
"Because," he grunted, "I didn't want this. Pity. I did this to myself, Skylar. I started drinking myself, and I admitted myself here. I'm fixing myself. Telling you all of that would have made you feel bad for me, and you would have forgiven me, which I don't deserve-"
"You do, though." Skylar paused, catching her breath, feeling like something had hit her in the chest. "Okay, maybe you don't deserve forgiveness. But you don't deserve to be shut out of my life. It was a mistake. A mistake that cost someone's life, unfortunately, but a mistake that we can't keep running from. It's over. It happened. We can't change that, but we can change our lives as they are now."
"I'm trying to change."
Skylar closed her eyes. "Me too, Mack."
"Please tell me you want me back in your life."
"I do."
"And that's your decision?"
Skylar opened her eyes again, and tilted her head upwards. The sky was growing darker, a storm approaching. The wind was picking up. But she didn't feel right leaving the cool air and the cold porch underneath her for the warmth and comfort of her own home, while Mack suffered alone, uncomfortable, and sick at an institution.
"It is." Her bottom lip trembled just before she said, "I love you, Mack."
"I love you too, Skylar."
"You're going to get better and get out of there and then you're going to come and live with me," Skylar announced.
Mack's tone lifted a little, and Skylar imagined the light smile on his face as he said, "Okay. That's a good plan."
And then there was silence, filled with comprehension. All the tension between them was gone. The rope they'd each been tugging in opposite directions loosened, their ends going slack in their hands. They cut the rope.
"There's someone else you need to call."
Skylar already knew, but she asked, just because she wanted to smile at the name.
"Don't let her go, Skylar."
Skylar knew Mack didn't mean this in reference to him taking Logan away from her. He meant this as a way of saying don't mess this up, too.
Jude was way too important to let slip through her fingers.
Voices don't sound the same over the phone. She couldn't see those blue eyes, and feel them cutting into her like ice through the phone. Skylar knocked on Jude's apartment door. She had gotten the address from Blair without any questions, but she knew she was in for an interrogation the next time they spoke.
The building was across the street from Blair's. Just by looking at the outside of it, she knew it was much cheaper. It was brown bricks, faded from years of sunlight. The balconies were missing railings, the windows were shattered in some rooms. She hoped this place was safe for Jude. She hoped this place was making her happy.
Jude lived on the tenth and tallest floor of the apartment building. Skylar had never been keen of elevators, and as she rose towards Jude, she felt her anxiety spread across her body like a heat wave. Suddenly the elevator felt like a sauna, and when the doors finally clambered open at the tenth floor, she rushed out of the lift and into the hallway.
10-13.
Ten: the month Skylar was born.
Thirteen: the day Logan died.
Skylar shook her head as she stumbled down the dark hallway, thinking it was pointless to try and make sense of numbers like these. The only connection she had to 10-13 was that it was the room Jude lived in.
Standing in front of a door had never been so nerve wracking. Skylar wondered briefly if this is how Jude, or Mack, felt on the day they showed up at her door. She suddenly sympathized with them immensely. But this thought didn't provide her any comfort-it was just a reminder of Jude's existence, which only spurred the butterflies that were already flying recklessly within her stomach.
She knocked. After about thirty agonizing seconds, the door opened. The chain lock was still on, and through the sliver of open door, Skylar saw Jude. She saw the other girl shock, and then register what she was seeing. A second later, the door was closed again. The chain slid out of the lock, and then Jude was there in front of Skylar, with a sheepish smile. She was happy to see Skylar, but didn't want her to know. And she didn't want to get her hopes up.
Maybe Skylar was just there to yell at her again. Or to remind Jude that she hated her.
But instead, Skylar said, "I'm sorry."
Jude's heart sank. Was this it? Was Skylar the type of person to show up at your door to officially end a friendship? She didn't think so, but then she reminded herself that Skylar was quite the mystery. She was lucky to know anything about Skylar.
"I needed some time to myself to figure out what I wanted." Skylar smiled at Jude. The smaller girl registered it slowly, bookmarking it in her mind. It was one of the only genuine smiles she had ever seen on Skylar's face. She wanted to remember what it looked like, and how she felt when she saw it.
"And what do you want?" Jude asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.
Skylar ran her tongue over her bottom lip. She never broke eye contact with Jude. After a minute of silence, in which both girls could feel themselves pulling each other in, wanting to tie a string to each of their hearts and tug as if their life depended on it, Skylar said, "You."
Jude looked down at their feet. Her mismatched socks clashed with the ugly carpet. Skylar's combat boots made her look like a soldier.
"Are you sure?"
Skylar's lips tightened, still smiling. "I can't get you off my mind, Jude. I was mad at you for driving drunk for, like, two hours. And then it was back to thinking about how pretty you are. But I'm warning you now, don't ever do that again. Ever. And thank you, about Mack."
Jude's face was hot. So, so hot. Taking a step backwards, she let her body rest against the door, an ugly yellow which hadn't been painted in years. She let her palms run against the rough surface of the wood, dragging her nails along lightly.
"Anything for you," she said. She blushed. "I'm serious, though. I'll do anything for you, Sky."
"I'm scared, Jude."
"Of what?"
Now it was Skylar's turn to avert her eyes. She felt embarrassed standing here in front of Jude, letting all her skeletons run loose. She felt naked, exposed. "This is the first time I'm trying since Logan. My heart-it's, like, caged. That sounds really cheesy, I know, but I'm so closed off with everyone, and I'm scared of opening it again, because it'll be so different, and I'm so different, and I don't know-"
The best kind of interruption. A kiss.
Jude: soft, and tentative, and slow.
Skylar: scared, and scared, and scared. And shocked. So shocked.
If the butterflies were riled up before, they were now flying like they were in the midst of a hurricane. Skylar's entire body stung with electricity. This was how it felt to be struck by lightning, she decided-minus the pain. There was no pain. She suddenly couldn't remember anything that had ever hurt her, because in this moment, she was infinitely, limitlessly, incredibly happy.
Jude pulled back first. Skylar wasn't sure how either of them had survived that.
Jude had to stand on her toes to reach Skylar's forehead. Her arms wrapped around Skylar's shoulders loosely, and their heads touched, their noses brushing. Jude kept her eyes closed, but Skylar didn't want to miss this view.
"If it matters," Jude whispered, "I'm scared too."
"Of course it matters. But why?" Jude was fearless in Skylar's eyes.
"Because. You're scared because of Logan. I'm scared because of Thom."
Skylar took her head off of Jude's, and watched the smaller girl sink flat back onto her feet, and slowly open her eyes. There was the ice, the cold blue that was so far from the warmth of her personality.
"I guess we've both fought a war," said Skylar, smiling sadly.
Jude rested her palm against Skylar's cheek, brushing her thumb just under her eye, as if she was wiping a tear. She was glad to see that none were there-not even threatening.
"My wounds have healed." Jude raised her eyebrows and asked, "Have yours?"
"I think so. And I promise, I'll never bring you any more."
"You are my favourite person."
Skylar bit her bottom lip. "You know, when I met you, I didn't know how much I was going to end up needing you. I'm glad you need me too. I think we're right for each other, Jude. I think I've always known that, I just wasn't ready for it."
"Time is the best and the worst," said Jude, and then she laughed. Shaking her head, she added, "That was awful. And I'm supposed to be a writer."
"You're a writer?"
Jude's nose wrinkled. "You never knew that? I love to write. I definitely don't want to be a bartender for the rest of my life."
Skylar laughed, tightening her grip on Jude's waist. Pulling the smaller girl closer, she reveled in the way Jude felt comfortable in her arms, the way it felt to hold someone against you, the way their bodies seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. "Neither did I, Jude, neither did I." She laughed again. "But seriously, what do you write?"
"Poetry," said Jude, suddenly becoming embarrassed, feeling herself withdraw, feeling like she was shrinking in Skylar's arms. She remembered Thom's dislike for her poetry. He never took it seriously-he belittled it for her. And in all the time he behaved this way, Jude mistook it for awkwardness. She made excuses for him: that he didn't like poetry and that he just couldn't bring himself to fake it.
But even though Skylar confessed to disliking reading, and having never enjoyed poetry, she asked Jude if she could read it. And then her eyes widened, and she asked if Jude was okay with her reading it, and Jude kissed her again, because how could you not kiss someone who acts and looks so tough, but stands here rambling on about reading poetry?