He's Come Undone (10 page)

~ Ellie ~

I was still waiting to feel better.

Not happening. I spent two days applying for jobs, the last one at a place called Mean Waitress. The girl who interviewed me, someone named Rose, recognized me right off and thought the actress thing could work in my favor.

“You have to be mean,” she explained. “But the right kind of mean. Like funny mean.”

“I can do that,” I told her.

But as I waited for a bus outside Mean Waitress I wasn’t sure, because right now funny was about the last thing I was feeling. I wondered if there was a place I could work called Sad Waitress.

So far, I hadn’t heard anything from the girls about the potential lawsuit. I figured they’d decided to spill it all to Julian instead. That was my punishment. The only consolation was knowing I hadn’t hurt him since he hadn’t cared about me in the first place. I was the only one hurting here.

The bus pulled up and I stepped inside, scanned my metro pass app, and took a seat as we pulled away from the curb. Thirty minutes later I was home.

I wanted to crawl into bed. Instead, I decided to clean my room, an event that involved the stirring up of dust and sneezing. As I was shaking out the jacket I’d worn the night I’d brought Julian home with me, something dropped and rolled across the floor.

A brown prescription bottle. Recognizing it, I picked it up and re-read the label.

I knew a bit about anti-depressants, but I wasn’t familiar with this one. With my phone, I did a search for the medication. Turned out it was something fairly new and pretty strong. The kind of drug someone moved to once the standard stuff quit working.

I checked the dosage. He was taking near the maximum, and there were all kind of warnings about stopping it.

Do not stop taking this medication without talking to your doctor about a tapered dosage.
Stopping abruptly could cause episodes of insomnia, confusion, or hallucination, as well as more serious cardiovascular events.

I sent Julian a text telling him I’d found his pills. He hadn’t replied to any of my other texts, those of apology, but I hoped he’d read and respond to the medication one.

When he didn’t, I looked up his schedule. He’d be in the Salinger class in an hour. I stuffed the pill bottle in my messenger bag, slung the bag over my head and across my chest, and hurried outside to my bike, arriving on campus in plenty of time.

Julian wasn’t there.

And Salinger was his favorite subject. I waited until the class was over, then approached the TA. “I’m looking for Julian Dye.”

Instructors typically didn’t pay attention to who attended and who didn’t, not with a huge enrollment like this, but I was hoping Julian would have stood out because of his Salinger obsession. “Do you happen to know why he wasn’t in class today?”

The assistant slipped his laptop into his black case and zipped the zipper. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “He missed Tuesday’s class too, and he had a paper due he didn’t turn in.”

One he’d told me about. One he’d been excited about writing. “Okay, thanks.”

“Hey, you’re the YouTube girl, right?”

I frowned.

“That was awesome. I’ll bet I’ve watched it twenty times.”

* * *

I hated to admit it, but I’d broken down and memorized Julian’s address. I knew the general area, but until now I’d avoided trying to actually find his house. His place ended up being not far from the “Witch’s Hat” water tower, a water tower that of course looked like a witch’s hat.

The day had gone from sunny to windy and cold, and by the time I found the house I was pretty sure my nose was red and my lips were blue.

I hadn’t lived in Minnesota long, but I recognized the building as typical of the area. The narrow stucco was off-white with green trim, with two doors on the front porch, each with an address. Julian’s was the one on the right.

As the sound of freeway traffic roared from beyond a massive wooden wall that was supposed to muffle that stuff, I pushed the bell and waited, my heart pounding.

The door was finally answered by a girl. Well, not really a girl, a young woman, with straight black hair, pale skin, and light blue eyes. Long legs in faded jeans, white sweater with sleeves pushed up above her elbows. She was gorgeous, and I was pretty sure she was Julian’s sister.

“Is Julian home?” I asked.

She eyed me with suspicion while she braced one hand high on the door, the other on her hip.

“Will he be home soon?” I added to my question.

“I have no idea.” She continued to stare at me, her eyes taking in everything from the top of my head down to my black tights and scuffed brown boots. Then I saw the change come over her as she said with realization: “You’re the YouTube girl.”

I somehow kept from rolling my eyes. “Yeah.” I nodded the kind of nod that wasn’t agreement but more an admission of something you don’t want to admit.

“Evangeline Barlow.”

“Unfortunately.”

“The video was great. I’ll bet I’ve watched it twenty times.”

“I can’t say the same.”

She laughed, and I relaxed a little.

“Julian said you rescued him that night.”

“I think he would have been okay. And he actually rescued me to begin with. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No. He doesn’t tell me a whole lot.” Worry lines formed between her eyes as she seemed to concentrate on something in her head. Then she brought me back into focus and said, “Would you like to come in? Maybe have a cup of tea? You look cold.”

She had that right.

It was definitely weird stepping into Julian’s house. A cozy place, with refinished floors and dark woodwork. Art prints and plants and a bright area rug.

“I’m Valerie,” she said as I followed her tall frame through the house.

I didn’t tell her I already knew her name.

In the kitchen, I sat down at a heavy oak table while Valerie heated water for tea. “Is it just you and Julian who live here?” I asked. I didn’t want to say it, but it was a little unusual for a guy to live with his sister his first year of college.

“Just the two of us.”

“And your parents. Julian said they live out east.”

The tea bags she was holding scattered to the floor. She followed them down, dropping to her knees, gathering them up and dumping them in a pile on the table. “Did Julian tell you that?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

She pulled in a deep breath and lowered herself into the chair opposite me.

“I can see you care about Julian, so I’m going to tell you something because I doubt he will. Evangeline, our parents are dead.”

That was unexpected. While my brain stumbled, my mouth moved, saying words that people said in situations like this. “I’m so sorry.”

“Julian would freak if he knew I told you this, but I’m worried about him. Like really worried.” She gave me a fixed look. She had the most mesmerizing eyes. There was something so striking about blue eyes and black hair. “Our parents were murdered.”

I might have let out a gasp. I think maybe I did.

“Julian found them.” She pulled her gaze away and began sifting through the tea bags, found one, opened it, cleared her throat. “And, um… he kind of lost it for a while. I hate to say this, but I had to have him committed.”

Could this get any worse?

“It was awful. But then—” She pulled in a trembling breath. “He started running and he got better. A lot better. We moved here to get away from it all, but I’m not sure that was a good idea.”

I felt a little light-headed, and I couldn’t fully process what she was telling me. I tried, and there were things I wanted to ask, but how did you ask someone the details of something like this?

A sound cut through my tangled thoughts, a sound I finally recognized as a key in the backdoor. That was followed by a knob turning. And then there was Julian, stepping into the kitchen wearing a black sweatshirt, the hood half-hiding his face as he dropped a backpack on the floor, looked up, saw me sitting at the kitchen table, my hands laced around a coffee mug, and froze.

The room went silent. Across the table, Valerie stiffened as she tried to figure out the reason behind the sudden tension.

At the door, Julian pushed his hood back, revealing his entire face.

He looked horrible.

So pale, with dark circles under his eyes. Deep gouges in his cheeks telling me he’d lost weight in the days since I’d last seen him.

I ached, and I didn’t know if it was because of what I’d just learned about him, the way he looked, or the way he was staring at me. With such hatred.

He finally pulled his gaze away, directing it at his sister, and I couldn’t detect a whole lot of change in the hostility of his expression. “What’s she doing here?”

“It’s not Valerie’s fault.” I grabbed my messenger bag, frantically digging until I found the prescription bottle, pulled it out, and put it in the center of the table. “I found this at my place.” I was talking fast, never taking my eyes off him, waiting for his expression to soften. Hoping it would soften. It didn’t. “I thought you might need it. Thought it was probably important.”

He took a step to the side, opened the door wide, then said, “Get the fuck out of here.”

“Julian!” That came from Valerie.

He repeated his command, this time louder and with more anger. “Get the fuck out of here!” And then he screamed. “GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

He was right. I didn’t belong in his house.

I grabbed my messenger bag and shot off the chair, aiming for the rectangle of light and grass—the outdoors. Never looking at Valerie, never making eye contact with Julian, my bag clutched under my arm, I ran out the door. I raced around the house, picked up my bike from the front yard, jumped on it, slung my bag over my head, missed the pedal which came up and hit me in the shin, found the pedal, and took off, down the sidewalk and into the street, everything a blur as I centered myself between the white lines in the bike lane and kept pedaling.

It wasn’t Julian’s words that had cut me so deep, but his face. The loathing in his eyes. The hatred. I hadn’t expected the hatred.

I thought about what Valerie had told me, and my heart broke all over for him. My vision blurred. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, and when my nose started running I did the same, this time with my wrist. I thought the ride would distract me, but I just kept crying harder, and the sobs got louder. Joggers did double takes as I passed them. Blurred faces with gaping mouths.

I’m sure a girl frantically pedaling a bike sobbing her eyes out as she flew down the street wasn’t something they saw every day.

“Yes, I’m the YouTube girl!” I shouted with a high raise of my hand.
Here I am. It’s me.
YouTube!

~ Julian ~

The day of the marathon arrived, and I was ready to go. Not ready as in sleeping and eating right. I actually wasn’t sure when I’d last slept more than an hour. After Ellie brought my medicine by, I couldn’t touch it. I couldn’t make myself touch the bottle she’d found in her room and carried in her bag and held in her hand. When Valerie asked if I’d taken my medication, I told her I had. And I was careful to not wake her up if I left the house in the middle of the night to run.

And I was careful to make it look like I was eating, leaving bowls and plates in the sink. I was like some drug addict hiding an addiction, but Valerie committed me before and she’d do it again.

I probably should have hated her for that, but I didn’t. I figured she’d been out of her mind too, and she was worried that I’d harm myself. Harm myself. That’s what they called it.

“You’re doing this, huh?” Coach Rice asked, appearing out of nowhere as runners shook out their legs and prepared for the start of the race. I don’t know why he decided to show up after the hard time he’d given me about running a marathon.

I unzipped my sweatshirt and slipped it off. Handed it to him. “Yeah.”

“Then do it to win,” he told me. “I don’t care if you cramp up. I don’t care if you’re puking. I don’t care if you shit your pants or break a damn leg, just keep going. You hear me? You crawl to the finish line if you have to.”

Still an ass.

I was near the middle of the pack, and even though it wasn’t a university event I’d chosen to wear gray shorts and a maroon-and-gold T-shirt. School colors.

The starter pistol fired and we were off. A blur of faces watched us go, people cheering, hands clapping, arms waving against a blue sky. Somewhere in there I caught a glimpse of a face I didn’t want to see, or maybe I just imagined it. Burgundy hair and black glasses. Standing behind the crowd-control tape and back a few layers of people.

I pulled out in front, something I don’t normally do because I’m all about pacing myself. But I wanted to get away from her, from Ellie. I couldn’t bear the thought of her standing there watching me. Had she gotten her bonus? Yeah, I’ll bet she had. And then I wondered: Was it all a lie? Her love of Salinger? Her love of Doctor Who? Her love of Hitchcock and Lynch?

Yes.

Nothing was real.

They’d done it because of how I’d treated them. Those girls. I understood that now. Given me some of my own medicine. And I could see I’d been wrong treating them the way I’d treated them. I could blame it on misunderstanding, on not getting it, but deep down I think I knew I was being an ass. Deep down I knew I deserved what they’d done.

And now, thinking about it as the cold air of the early morning hit my face and chilled skin not yet warmed by the run, I laughed. I actually laughed out loud as the soles of my running shoes slapped the pavement.

This montage of snapshots kept going through my head, all of Ellie in different scenes, some with her blond hair, some brown. Smiling at me. Giving me shy glances. Pretending disinterest.

Yes! That too. I’d forgotten about that. How she wouldn’t give me her number, and how she didn’t want to go out. All part of the plan. Jesus.

I ran.

I ran because I had no choice. Because if I stopped I’d fall into a black pit.

Somewhere along the way, somewhere along the barrier that held people back, Coach Rice was there, shouting at me, ducking under the ribbon, running beside me. What was he saying? Whatever it was, he was damn happy. Like happier than I’ve ever seen him.

“You’re way ahead of your best time!” Those words finally came through the cotton in my head.

I really didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to run.

“Smooth it out,” he shouted, “or you’ll crash and burn. You’re eight miles in. You need to pull back and start pacing yourself.”

He gave me this go-team gesture of two fisted hands in the air, big grin on his face as he dropped away or I pulled away. Maybe that was it. Maybe the asshole just couldn’t keep up with me. But I knew he’d hop in his car and be waiting at the next checkpoint.

And he was. Cheering me on. Still smiling.

“Sixteen miles!” he shouted.

My vision shrunk, and the only clear spot was out front, everything peripheral was some acid-induced blur. A paper cup appeared in the sweet spot. I shoved the hand away, water splashing on my bare chest. Somewhere along the way I’d stripped off my shirt.

“Ten miles to go!” Coach shouted. “See you at the twenty-one mile mark.”

I felt like I could run forever. Like just keeping running and never stop. I imagined the earth, all blue and white, and me, running over the top of it, going across states and oceans and countries.

“Five miles to go!”

It seemed like I’d just seen Coach Rice minutes ago, but there he was, running beside me again, panting and out of breath. “You might break some records, Dye. This might make national news.”

Of course they’d mention him, my coach. God, he sounded so excited. I almost didn’t hate him. Almost.

And then he dropped away, and I heard him shouting encouragement after me. Like I needed any. Like his words meant anything to me. Like I was running for him. I wasn’t running for him, I was running for me. I was running for Ellie. From Ellie.

What was that sound?

It took me a while to figure it out because my vision was so fucked up, but people were cheering. Standing along the road, cheering and clapping. “How much more?” I panted, hoping somebody would hear me, hoping somebody would understand what I was talking about.

“Three miles!” a guy shouted. “You’re in first place!”

Easy. Easy as hell.

From that point on, people shouted the distance to me. Two and a half, then one, then three quarters of a mile, then half a mile. The noise was deafening now, sounding like the roar of the ocean, filling my head, pumping through my veins. The sweet spot in my vision was gone, and everything was a blur.

I could vaguely make out people on their knees near the edge of the path, cameras in hand. Real cameras, not just camera phones. In front of me, stretched across the road was red finish line tape.

Finish line.

I didn’t want to finish. I wanted to keep running around that globe.

For a brief second, I almost swerved and turned around so I didn’t have to stop. But I heard someone shout my name, and recognized the voice as Valerie’s.

Love that Valerie.

Gotta finish for Valerie.

I put my arms in the air and the tape hit my chest and burst into two pieces, the ends fluttering away. The roar was like this jet engine now, like the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in my life.

I wasn’t going to stop, I hadn’t planned on stopping, but all of a sudden I felt a pain bigger than the noise. This explosion in my chest, but an explosion that came from the inside and worked its way out. Like started small and grew until it hit my ribcage. At the same time, it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I tried to pull in a breath, but couldn’t. My diaphragm wouldn’t move, and my lungs just stopped working, my body giving up.

And it was okay.

It was okay.

I dropped to my knees, clutching my chest. Once down, I rolled to my back and dug into the ground with my fingers, the pain causing fireworks in my brain.

Someone screamed my name. Valerie. Pretty sure it was Valerie.

I forced my eyes open a crack and saw swirling clouds above my head and faces leaning over me.

A white shirt. A medic badge.

A girl with black hair. My sister.

Another girl behind her. Brown hair and dark glasses. Ah, Ellie. Ellie, the heartbreaker. Behind the glasses, her eyes were full of anguish, and she had a hand pressed to her mouth. You’d almost think she liked me.

I tried to touch Valerie, but I couldn’t lift my arm. I tried to speak, to tell her it was okay, but I couldn’t talk. I wondered if I was dead. I kinda thought I was dead.

“Do something!” Valerie screamed. “Help him!”

The guy in the white shirt pulled her away. “Get back.”

Something cold touched my chest, then someone said: “Charge.”

Have you ever been electrocuted? It’s weird because if you touch a live wire you don’t feel the spark in your fingers where the connection is made, you feel it somewhere else.

I didn’t feel this in my chest. Instead, I felt the jolt in my feet. And not like a spark or anything. No, it felt like somebody hit me with a flat board.

I pulled in a breath that was the weirdest thing. This long, long wheeze that didn’t seem like it would ever stop as I refilled my lungs.

“He’s back,” the guy in the white shirt said.

“Now his heart is racing,” someone else added.

“Come on.” A command to the crew.

I was lifted to a stretcher, strapped down, and wheeled away in less than a minute. Inside the ambulance, doors shut behind us and we pulled away, sirens blaring.

“Is he going to be okay?” It was a voice I recognized as Valerie’s, but it had a quality I’d never heard in it before: hysteria.

Whoever she was talking to didn’t answer.

“Is he going to be okay?”

This time it was a cry. This time it ended in a sob.

I wanted to tell her that no matter what happened—it would be okay. This, whatever it was, however it ended, was okay. But I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t move. And then the red behind my eyelids turned black and the ambulance vanished. And now I was no longer running around the world, I was flying above it.