If I Stay (21 page)

I stared, and Brandon stared, and neither of us could really say anything.

Which brings me to the second instance after my father and the very important lawyer.

“Toby?” I gasped. Brandon didn't budge, his face still frozen. “I thought you were in Europe?”

“Yeah. I know. It ends earlier than the traditional semester,” he answered, just looking at me.

It was so strange, seeing him there. He looked the same, in his green button-down and washed out jeans, his worn Chuck Taylors. A pair of sunglasses was tucked into the opening of his shirt so that they hung by his chest. His auburn hair was wind-swept, his eyes still the same shade of marble blue. A million emotions flooded through me, and I turned to Brandon.

“No,” he said before I could even speak. “I'm not leaving you in here alone with this douche-canoe.”

“Hi, Brandon.” Toby said dryly. Brandon barely gave him a nod.

“Come on,” I said. “I just need a minute with him, please. Please?”

After some hesitation, Brandon finally left, glaring at Toby as he trudged to the doorway while making a point to leave the door open slightly.

“What do you want, Toby?” I asked.

Toby came over, sitting himself down on the side of the bed much like he would when we were in his bedroom, or mine. The hospital bed in that tiny room felt like a vessel, suddenly transporting myself into one of the old places that I used to know but hadn't known for so long. Not in a way that made me want him, of course. But in a way that without question succeeded in stirring me up.

“I heard that you were here, and I just needed to see you.” he said. “I was worried, Gems. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, I really haven't.”

Brandon nudged open the door with his foot, poking his head in with a look of nose-wrinkled disdain.

“Is that why you never called or got in touch – or, oh – probably banged about a
dozen
European chicks during that little Find Yourself overseas escapade?”

Toby swallowed, turning back to me and trying to reach for my hand. I pulled away quickly, clenching my fingers into fists.

“Gems, I'm so sorry.” he said. “You really have no idea how much being away from you has changed me. I'm different, Gemma. I know that I made mistakes...”

“Mistakes? Toby.” I couldn't even process what exactly was happening. “Toby, a mistake is forgetting your keys, or accidentally locking yourself out of your car, or forgetting to write down something important. Not sleeping around on someone that you're supposed to be committed to. We were supposed to be
together
.”

He didn't say much, and it didn't surprise me. I'm not really sure, even to this day, what he thought was going to happen. It was hard to not think about the fact that I'd spent three years with the boy in front of me, who sat so quietly and gently like he wasn't someone that was capable of doing so much hurt. Like he was someone that only ever said nice things, and did nice things, and everything was peaches and cream. I couldn't help but think about the sweeter moments, of course. The dates and the times where he'd hold my hand without crushing it, where he'd remember my favorite songs, or occasionally bought me candies and little gifts. But the sweeter times, I knew, would always be polluted with something sour.

I wasn't stupid.

I thought about Ben, and my art, and what he'd said just the night before about being together, and about having sunlight.

That's what I wanted. More than anything.

“That's it.” Brandon pushed the door in, and was now flat-out standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. “This is seriously the most incredibly awkward situation ever. You need to leave.”

“Brandon, could you just give us a minute?” Toby asked. This obviously only succeeded in pissing off Brandon even more than he already was.

“Why?” Brandon asked. “Why do you need a minute? You're reprehensible, Toby. You are a sad excuse for a human being.”

“Oh, and you're perfect?”

“I'm not a giant asshole, if that's what you mean. I didn't cheat on my girlfriend a million times, if that's what you mean.”

Just then, the nurse came by, a tight smile on her face as she declared in that moment of stillness between myself, Toby, and Brandon that I was free to go home. I don't think I was ever so happy to see a wheelchair in my life.

Brandon, my Wing Man, gently helped place me down in the chair, grabbing my bag as the nurse wheeled me out of the room in such a simple and exhilarating moment of liberation.

Toby trailed behind, and Brandon didn't back down, either.

“Gemma, can I see you later?”

“Absolutely not,” Brandon wasn't even looking at him at this point. “Why would she want to see you? You're repulsive. You're disgusting.”

We reached the car, and Brandon carefully helped me inside. As the nurse disappeared along with the wheelchair, Toby gave his last-ditch effort and grabbed my hands, a pained look in his eyes that I could tell was sincere, even if it didn't hit me in the same way it would have so long ago.

“Gemma, I still love you. Please just know that, okay?”

Brandon stood next to him, eyes narrowed.

“I seriously can't listen to this bullshit any longer. Move your hands unless you'd prefer them crushed. Which I'll be happy to do, you know, because there's a hospital right behind you. But what you should probably do, Toby, is go to one of those vintage stores that you love so much and find yourself a fucking personality. Or some sanity, because you're pretty much the biggest lunatic alive. It seriously blows my mind how much of a lunatic you are. So, step aside or I'll just shut the door on your hands. Your choice.”

Toby quietly stepped aside, and Brandon shut the door, and I sat in amazement and a little bit of shock as Brandon got in next to me, closed his door, and sighed heavily.

“Are you alright, Gems?” he asked. “Like, really alright?”

We pulled out of the parking lot, and I watched as Toby slowly faded from my vision, and perhaps the strangest part of it all was that out of every range of feelings that my literally broken body could feel, I felt strong. I felt okay. I felt free.

“I really, honestly, truly am,” I said. “Is it weird to think that I needed that?”

“Well, I feel pretty good myself.” Brandon smirked, trying his very best to turn the corners carefully as possible. “Do you need me to slow down at all?”

“I'm good. I promise,” I told him.

“Well, you're about to be a lot better, trust me.” he said, motioning to the backseat. I turned, and spotted a wheelchair. “There's a surprise waiting for you back home.”

“Does it really involve a wheelchair?”

“Something like that,” Brandon grinned, and we pulled up the apartment. “My dad gave it to me for you to use until you heal up. He said walking with broken ribs is second to suffocating.”

I was able to get myself out of the car, and walking would have been a possibility even despite the pain that came with every step. But I was grateful for the wheelchair, and beyond grateful for simple luxury of elevators.

However, I knew something was amiss when we passed our floor, and I looked up at Brandon who even in his knowing smile refused to say a word.

“What's on the roof?” I asked. We never went up to the roof unless it was warmer, and that was usually just to have a few drinks and watch the sun set over the city. I held onto the arm rests, my hands tightening as the elevator doors opened and Brandon gently pushed me out, demanding that I keep my eyes closed.

“Can I open them now?” I asked, just vaguely confused. It was then that someone spoke:

“Yes, you may.”

But it wasn't Brandon. And immediately, my heart sang and skipped with such a deeply-rooted shock that I could have touched the sky.

It was Ben.

I snapped open my eyes, and there he was. He stood right beside me, lit up even though it was evening, and even though the sun had long since set. Around him were candles, what seemed like hundreds, and vases upon vases of Sunflowers.

“How did you know?” I gasped, covering my mouth. Ben smiled, kissing my free hand gently.

“Well, I wasn't alone,” he said.

Brandon
, I thought. Or really, I knew. 
I am so lucky in so many, many ways
.

Ben wheeled me over to the edge of the roof, and we both looked out towards the city that was dusted with light and life, all of it so far away that we would never be able to make out the number of figures or windows. I smiled, thinking about how great it felt to be back, to be here, to have something like this. To have someone like Ben beside me.

“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket. Holding out my hands, he dropped a small but surprisingly heavy box. “It's old, so be careful.”

I slowly pulled back the tissue paper, like the paper itself was something precious. The box was worn, too, and reaching inside I slid out the object. Or another box, rather. Not just any box, but something heavy and cold and intricately crafted.

“A music box?” I breathed.

It was shaped like a butterfly, red with golden veins inside the wings. Very elegant and almost steam-punk. I ran my hands over every curve and crevice, opening the box and listening as
Music of the Night
started to play. The most incredible part, though, was that I could see the gears turning through a little glass window.

“It belonged to my mother,” Ben said. “I've had it for ages, and from the moment I saw you, standing there, in that room...I wanted for you to have it.”

He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“After seeing you in the hospital, I just couldn't make myself wait anymore. What if you hadn't made it out?”

“I don't even want to think about that,” I told him.

“I'm not perfect,” he said. “I know that. I've screwed up so many times in so many seasons of my life. But you, you are something special, Gemma.”

I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding. Ben knelt down, taking both of my hands, and softly, he said: “I just can't make myself wait anymore.”

That. That was when I knew. Looking into his eyes, while he knelt there on the ground, holding my hands that were just slightly trembling like he had that night at the bar. Like he'd trembled when he was standing outside, looking down at me in the winter's bone-like chill.

I took a deep breath, and for one of the first times in my young life, I told myself:

Be brave.

“I love you,” I whispered.

Immediately, his eyes locked with mine.

“What?” he asked.

“I love you,” I repeated, taking a deep breath. “I love you like Orpheus loves Eurydice or the moon loves the sun or Holden Caulfield loves shooting people in his People Shooting Hat. I love you like when I was little, and my mom used to sing me this song that Aubrey Hepburn sang in this film that I can't remember the name of. Moon River, the song was. I loved that song so much, Ben...”

I took another breath.

“...but I love you more.”

If he would have, I'm sure he would have hugged me. But because he couldn't, he simply kissed my hands. Over and over again, resting his head on my lap, which was the only real place that wouldn't have hurt, and I ran my hands through his rich, brown hair.

“I love you, too.” he finally said. “Like Tristan loves Yvaine or Gatsby loves Daisy or that crazy cracked-out Cuckoo Bird loves Cocoa Puffs.”

“Could you say that just one more time?” I asked. “I just need to hear it again.”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I love you like in that song Phillip Glass conducted, where the autistic man reads a poem about two lovers sitting on a park bench. One of the lovers, a man named John, proclaims that he loves his fair lady more than the moon or the stars, or as much as the grains of sand on a beach are countless. I love you even more than that.”

I couldn't help but shed a few tears, overcome by the emotions and my propensity towards the weepies. He ran his hands down my face, wiping the tears away, and I reached up to wipe away the few that he had shed, too.

“Would you do something for me, then?” he asked. “Would you stay in McMansion?”

“With you?” I asked. “Or just while you're gone?”

“With me, without me. Just tell me that you'll stay. I need to know that you'll have a safe place to go to after you graduate, if nothing else. I want you to have some sort of home. But beyond that, Gemma, I just want you.”

He kissed me, and if there was one thing I was capable of doing in my wheelchair-bound state, I could kiss him back. Ben's lips were eager, tender, and he kept his nose against mine as I said, barely able to contain my glee.

“Yes,” I told him. “I couldn't imagine things any other way.”

TWENTY

I'd be flat out lying if I said that I wasn't over-the-moon for weeks on end after Ben had dropped the big three-word confession: that he loved me. Love, love, love. Oh, love is such sweet sorrow and the likes.

It was official: I was quoting Shakespeare. And if my broken ribs didn't make me feel like I wanted to die every time I tried to walk at a normal pace, I would have been skipping around and dancing. I was still doing this in my head, of course, but on the outside I definitely looked like the girl who had been hit by a car. In fact, sometimes getting up in the morning felt like a painfully (literally) futile endeavor.

First, there was the whole actually needing to get up part, which felt impossible not just because of the fact that laying down to sleep just resulted in a solid eight hours of frantically repeating to myself:
don't roll over, don't roll over, don't roll
over...but because aside from the obvious fatigue, showering and touching myself remotely around that area made me want to cry.

Sneezing or coughing was the pits of hell, too. Once, while en route to Ben's class, I sneezed and it hurt so badly that I went down crumbling in a stream of tears. Everyone was staring, and when I wheeled myself into the classroom my face was still red and puffy and flush with embarrassment. It didn't help that I hadn't had a reasonable night's sleep since leaving the hospital.

Ben handed me a package of tissues that he'd found in his desk, smiling a smile that I could only identify, soft and tender and empathetic as he said:

“Gemma, if you'd like, you can put your head down and rest.”

He reached out and touched my shoulder gently, his eyes crinkling in the corners. I wanted to touch his hand, I wanted to tell him I loved him. And it killed me even more than the physical pain I was feeling that I couldn't. We were in that small, damned space where we had to hide and had to maintain that facade of near stoicism. So I found a spot on the floor-level, setting my books down on the desk and watching Ben as he sat at his own, grading papers right up until the minute class started. He wore a red shirt and black tie, and the same serious expression that always seemed to come over him when he wasn't preoccupied doing something he enjoyed – or when he was around me. It made me smile, of all things, and eventually I balled up my sweatshirt, buried my face in it, and let myself sleep without feeling much too badly about it.

I mean, it wasn't some sort of Favorite Perk, that much I knew. Everyone could see that I was kind of a wreck. Besides, I'd got hit by a car and had a scar on my head (happily, at least the stitches had been removed) that made me sometimes wonder if I'd be getting an acceptance letter to Hogwarts in the post.

Even Darcy was concerned, and offered to help carry my books around if I needed the help. I didn't, but it was strange and nice and all in all just really weird, even in my sincerest feelings of gratitude. It was strange to see so many people, so many strange faces, wanting to help me. But I appreciated it. Really, I did.

The whole riding in a wheelchair around campus wasn't helping much, either. But the prospect of carrying a heavy backpack was so debilitating that I sucked it up and let Brandon push me around. Which wasn't all that bad, except for the times that he pushed me too fast down the hallway while yelling “Go, go, Speed Racer!”

Thankfully, the serious pain only lasted for about a week and a half. After that, I decided to ditch the wheelchair and try to do my best in appearing able to get myself around. I let Brandon carry my book-bag, and Sacha was always there to lend me an arm, and the two of them paired together made those few weeks of class at least bearable.

Given the fact that I wasn't much help at the retail shop, and Ben's monetary gift had provided Brandon and I with more than an ample amount to get the rest of the bills tied up until school came to a close, I ended up quitting. I wish I could say that I felt bad as Brandon led me out of the store, but I didn't. I felt excited, and free, and hopeful for what lay ahead. I guess leaving the store behind felt like the nail in the coffin that was my past, and I couldn't wait to see what the future would hold.

“Are you going to quit the record store?” I asked Brandon over pretzels. He picked at his, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

“Probably soon. Probably sooner than soon.”

I nodded, thrilled beyond explanation when I was able to take a deep-ish breath without the immediate stream of tears.

“I'm going to be staying in McMansion after graduation,” I told him. Brandon's mouth gaped open, and I was thankful that it wasn't mid-pretzel bite.

“With Professor Lawson?”

“Well, he's going to be away for a month while they wrap up filming
Sideways
, but yeah. I'm not exactly ruling afterward out, too...I guess I suppose we'll see what happens.”

Though it was nearly impossible to contain what I really wanted, deep down in the deepest regions of my ever-craving youth.

“Either way, Gems. It sure sounds like things are getting pretty serious.”

I grinned. I grinned so wide that I think Brandon already knew what I was going to say before I said it.

“He told me that he loved me.”

“LOVE!” Brandon yelled, and a few people in the food court turned and stared. “I'm seriously dying right now. He loves you. Professor Lawson and Gemma Davies: Together Forever. Your life is an after-school special of the worst and best variety. Oh, dear God. I can't even handle this.”

We both laughed. Well, I laughed just a little. Laughing still kind of hurt.

“He said that you're welcome to stay with me while he's away,” I said. “And I don't exactly want you to feel like you'll be homeless or anything.”

“Homeless? Gems, I was never homeless. I have a home, you know that.” Brandon smiled, sighing a little as he crumpled up his pretzel wrapper. “But I don't think I'll have to really worry about the whole lacking a place to stay, anyway. I actually
do
need to tell you something.”

“Oh no,” I gulped. “Are you leaving me?”

“Leaving is subjective.” He glanced down, and my heart immediately sank. “But you know my uncle, the one who lives out in Seattle?”

“Yeah. I remember him vaguely from that memorable Thanksgiving I spent at your house.”.

“Well, he was able to swing me a position at the Record Label he works for. I mean, it's just...this is
such
an incredible opportunity, Gems.” I could hear the awe in his voice, totally ecstatic. “I won't just be shopping around CDs, anymore. I'll actually be in the scene for the first time ever. I'm still kind of absorbing the news. I just found this out yesterday, mind you.”

I smiled. I really tried to, at least. Make no mistake that I was happy, because I was. This was my best friend, one of my most beloved people in the whole wide world, and he had not just
some
sort of future secured for himself, but the possibility of entering into the field of something he loved. Music.

I thought about the posters, and how he was always so excited about the radio and pop music and the whole scene. This already meant so much to Brandon. And sitting there in the food court,
sharing a pretzel like it was any other outing, I couldn't not try and give him the shared glee that he so deserved.

“That's so incredible,” I said. “You have no idea how happy I am for you. I mean, I'll miss you so much, but this is everything you're ever
really
wanted. That's everything, Brandon.”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head like he still really couldn't believe it. “The only downside, I guess, is that I'm leaving the day after graduation. My mom already booked the tickets and everything. I sort of wish she'd given me more of a say, but I don't know. She was just excited about the whole thing. What could I possibly say to her?”

He reached out and held my hand, and his fingers were still as calloused as ever. I pictured him playing bass with all the up-and-coming musicians whose names I might someday see in lights. I imagined him signing the next big name in music, and telling him just how proud I was. I'd hug him forever and never let go.

“You have to go when you have to go,” I told him.

He smiled, and didn't let go of my hand until we reached the parking lot. Outside, I couldn't hold it in any more, and I wept in his arms as he held me, his hands in my hair and his voice as comforting as it's always been. He kissed me on my forehead, his hair a mess, his eyes still that beautiful crystal-blue that I'll always remember. Always. He was my best friend. The forever kind.

“I still stand by what I said,” Brandon reminded me. “If he hurts you, I'll kill him.”

Then he helped me into the car, we went home, and I spent the rest of the night drawing.

I didn't see Toby again in the halls, though granted, his classes had already ended overseas. He'd be at graduation, that much I was certain of – but I was feeling pretty strong despite the broken bones and the limp that now graced my walk. I wasn't afraid of seeing him.

I wasn't afraid of much anymore. But beyond that, I was too focused on all of the potential things that the future had in store to spend much time focusing on Toby.

All of my pieces for the big Arts celebration had finally come together. I'd finished all the drawings, and had brought all of the canvases to school to keep in the studio before it was time to set everything up. Sacha helped me with the larger, more cumbersome canvases. Setting them down on the floor while his eye scattered over to one that I'd propped against the back window, draped in white cloth.

“Is that a secret piece?” he asked, jokingly and yet still curious-sounding. I smiled.

“I suppose it's not such a secret,” I told him, ignoring the stirring in my stomach. “Would you like to see it?”

Sacha looked at the covered canvas for another moment, carefully considering before he said, slowly: “Yes. Sure, I'd love to.”

I carefully drew back the sheet, still holding the front of it up while trying to get a look at the drawing myself. Sacha folded his arms, his eyes skimming over the length of the artwork carefully. He swallowed, and my heart quickened. I was afraid that maybe I'd hurt him, and God, I didn't want that.

“It's Professor Lawson,” he said quietly. “Aren't you a little afraid of showcasing something like this?”

“Oddly, not so much,” I told him. “Far be it for the department to try and stint my creative outlet. I think they'll be fine. Besides, this is for fun. For us to broadcast our talent.”

“Most definitely.”

He was still eying the artwork. It wasn't some sort of formal portrait or anything. For some reason, I thought that might seem a little off-beat. Instead, I'd opted to draw him standing at a distance, only showing the back of his frame while he carried the same suitcase that I hadn't been able to
not
acknowledge since that night at the hotel. His face was turned, just barely, to the side. Enough to spot the smallest, secret smile. Subtle enough to grant a small feeling of mystery to it all. I even opted to draw the same shirt that he'd worn, the purple and neon-green checkered shirt, and I used my very best pencils.

There were other pieces, of course, but this was my favorite.

“Does this mean I get a glimpse at
your
work?” I asked him, sort of joking.

“Nope! Not until the show tonight. I know, I know. I'm such a jerk.”

We walked through the halls together, and it was nice to enjoy the pleasant, bright sunshine and gentle breeze through the open windows.

As I stood, enjoying the particular sight of a small patch of Dandelions, Sacha looped his arm around my shoulder.

“It's good to be back, Gems.” he said quietly. I caught our reflection in a small puddle of rainwater. Seeing, to my delight, that he was smiling.

“It is good to be back, isn't it?” I sighed, feeling too happy for even words. “Let's go get ready, shall we?”

My heart wouldn't stop thumping as people started rolling in, my hands plagued with an unrelenting clamminess that wouldn't give way. I kept rubbing them together, trying my best to even out my breathing. Taking three steps back to get a better look at the set-up, I was content to see that everything was hanging beautifully, each canvas perfectly straight.

Deep breaths
. My insides were rattling.
You can do this. You've worked way to let a case of the nerves ruin tonight.

I sucked in a deep breath, was met with barely any pain, and watched as Brandon strolled in with Caleb on his arm, the two of them looking totally pleased as punch. Whether or not they'd work out long-distance, I had no way of knowing. Brandon wanted to try, and I sure as heck adored his boyfriend. But like anything else, only time would tell.

“You. Are. Incredible,” Caleb even made that little sound of awe, and I blushed. “Where did you learn to draw like this?”

“Just something I picked up naturally, I guess.”

I grinned, and Brandon was still staring, tears brimming his eyes.

“Jesus, Gemma. There's a dust problem in here. Someone should have cleaned this place before letting people in.”