If I Stay (7 page)

“What makes you think that I'm not normal?” he asked. “I am normal. I'm as normal as you are.”

“So did you intend on telling me?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “Tonight, in fact. I planned on telling you tonight. Along with all of this, which is now, I suppose, unnecessary.”

We both stopped. Silent. I could feel my stomach drop to my feet like a bag filled with cement bricks.

“I'm not a liar,” he continued. “Surely you can be understanding of the fact that we hardly knew each other. I wasn't looking to woo you into bed, Gemma. I wasn't looking to win you over by bragging.”

“No, you're right. We were strangers. We're still practically strangers,” I said, not intending for my voice to sound so cold. But I was on the verge of heartbreak. “And it's not like we really slept together, anyway. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Gemma,” he said, reaching out and touching my hand. “I feel so
stupid
for not talking about this. How did it never come up?”

“Because everything happened so fast,” I answered. “Our heads were evidently elsewhere.”

“Mine still is,” he said quietly. “Gemma.”

“Ben,” I said, shaking my head. I shoved his hands away from mine. “No. Just...no.”

And then, brushing the hair from my forehead, his palm touched my cheek. His fingertips ran from the spot of skin down the slope of my neck, stopping at my shoulder. Stopping my breath and heart and everything else critical.

“Patient,” he said. “If I had to pick a word, that's what it would be.”

He released me, the softness shown only instants before now evaporated. I nodded, trying to swallow but completely unable.

“Goodbye,” I said. “Benjamin Hugo Lawson.”

Even the name was like poetry. I forced myself not to turn and look back as I stormed out the door, skidding down the hallway that was lined with Sacha's photography, my feet instinctively moving one in front of the other until I reached the Registrar's Office.

I would make it simple. I would withdraw from the course. I still had time, after all. I could switch it with something else, like Astronomy. Or World Religion. That would make this easier, wouldn't it? Just let it all go. Leave it all behind.

Then, in perfectly insufferable timing, Ben walked passed me with his eyes straight-forward, not a single glance given. He carried our secret like a sealed vial, tucked away in a spot that nobody could find. He wore nothing on his sleeve as he hummed quietly, disappearing down the halls amidst a sea of students who too had no idea. No idea that we'd been together. That he'd kissed me. That his fingers and body and maybe something I couldn't quite grasp yet had penetrated me.

That I had already totally fallen for him. Maybe not in love. I knew what love was, and I knew what it wasn't. But into something. Into infatuation. Into lust.

With my fingers still touching the doorknob, I turned away and ran down the halls without a second thought.

“So he's our Professor. So what? It's not your fault that he was so easily seduced by your Super Ginger Powers.”

He lifted his hand for a high five, and I responded weakly. Pathetically, actually. It was probably the lamest high five ever.

Brandon bit into his sandwich, picked out a string of onion, and grimaced. I groaned from across the table, my chicken Caesar wrap untouched.

“You make it seem like it's nothing. Like it's not totally unethical.”

“It's not like we're still in high school. You're twenty-two. And he's...”

I shrugged my shoulders. I had no idea. Oh, God. How could I not know?

“I'm not sure,” I mumbled. “There's a lot of things we never got to speaking about.”

“It seems like the two of you never actually got to do a
lot
of things. You didn't get into his occupation, or the fact that you're a college student. So tell me again, how did the two of you pass the time over at his hotel?”

Talking about his writing, my drawing. Books. Poetry. Stuff totally unrelated to anything actually
relevant
to the present
now
.

Sighing, I took a long sip of my Diet Coke.

“I almost dropped the class,” I told him. “But of course, right as I was standing outside the Registrar's Office, who do you think showed up?”

“Benjamin Cullen.”

I laughed a little as we gathered our things and brought them over to the giant gray trash can. Brandon set his tray down on the top of the bin, crossing his arms as we stood in the doorway, his eyebrow raised playfully.

“Actually. I think it's Benjamin Lawson, now.”

I felt my phone vibrate from inside my back pocket, and for a second my heart skipped a beat. Maybe it was him. Maybe he'd decided upon seeing me in class that he just couldn't bear to continue with the teaching position. I mean, it would make sense that he didn't actually
need
the job, really. I could only assume, by some stretch of the imagination, that he was doing well for himself. I remembered the suite, and his shoes. How he wasn't wearing sneakers.

Checking the alert, it was only a voicemail. Someone had called out sick, and they wanted me to work. Which was something to do tonight, I guess. And it's not like Brandon and I were rich. We needed the money. The electric bill was due soon, and from experience we could attest that eating pizza by candlelight quickly got old.

“Everything about this just feels so wrong,” I muttered, storming through the door. Brandon followed, looping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me close. Which was nice, really. Not just because it was freezing and the air was somehow managing to bite at my skin from beneath my sweater and coat, but because Brandon always smelled so warm and comforting. Like clean laundry and cinnamon from the gum he always chewed, the wad rolling around in his mouth in an obnoxious way that only I and a few select others (not including Sacha) could adore.

“Whatever,” Brandon smirked. “You like him. I know you do. And judging by how he was looking at you, I'd say the feeling is mutual. I'll leave it at that.”

SEVEN

One of the few positive aspects of working in retail was that typically, on weekday afternoons, the only real customers that come around are parents and older folk. The teens that litter the changing room stalls with bathing suits (even in the freaking winter) and mini-skirts are still shackled to their designated school-hours. As are the younger children, whose parents never seem to care when they push all my carefully-folded shirts off from the shelves like I totally didn't spend hours working on each display. Which meant today, at least for a little while, I had a small amount of downtime before the expected evening shoppers – which included the teenagers and their penchant for never picking up their things and putting them back – would arrive in fleets of skin-tight jeans and wide, noxious smirks.

It was all enough to make jumping off a bridge look tempting.

After everything was back in place, and the shelves around my designated area (which was Little Miss that afternoon, roughly translating into the elementary-aged girls) I decided to take my fifteen and walked into the break room, hunkering down at one of the several computers that were technically designated for work orientations. However, they were mostly used for surfing Facebook.

Maybe it was slightly stalkerish of me to want to research Ben, but I couldn't help it. It was just one of those things that was eating away at me like fire licks through a sheet of paper. I didn't really know who he was, but I had to figure a few things out. At the very least, I wanted to know about this book.

So I went to Google, my fingers initially frozen atop the keys, and typed his name in:
Benjamin Hugo Lawson
.

About a million different links popped up. The first was a news article entitled:
Adrift Man Finds Meaning Through Literature
, which looked promising. But when I clicked on it, I was only permitted to read the first two lines before a pop up appeared telling me that I needed to SUBSCRIBE before getting to read the rest. Infuriated, I immediately went back to the search results.

Seriously, why does the internet have to ruin your life forever?

The next link led to a website, which listed all of Ben's three book titles. Along with
Sideways
, I noted that there were two other works. One was entitled
Key to Me
(a book of poetry) and the other was
Dreamer: A Series of Short Stories
. It also appeared, from the looks of the entry, that
Sideways
was being optioned for film.

And to think I had no idea about any of this. Any of it. Anything at all.

I blew out a slow breath, went back, and browsed through a few of the other links. Nothing gave away much, except for a few blog entries that had made similar remarks about Ben coming from a troubled upbringing and finding a new life for himself through the written word – things I would have never imagined given his apparent success
now
. His two masters degrees, his clean-cut appearance, and how when he spoke it was mostly low and soft. Not aggressive. Not like someone who had been hardened by years of apparent suffering.

“Gems,” I felt a tap on my shoulder. One of my coworkers, a nice older lady by the name of Leandra, was all smiles. “You closing tonight?”

“Nope,” I answered, deciding to exit out of my research and log off. My fifteen minutes of salvation were nearly up, anyway. “Just here till' six. Thank God.”

“Oh, you're lucky. I haven't even clocked in and I'm already exhausted.”

“So goes the life of retail.”

We both laughed, and I returned to my post in the dressing room for the duration of my last few hours that were spent flipping through a water-damaged copy of Better Homes and Gardens. Thinking about Ben and trying not grind my teeth as a group of teen girls walked in, giggling, each arm carrying the entire stock of On Sale swimsuit apparel. I gave them each a room number and listened as they tried on the suits, dipped into each other’s room, and the snapping sound of photographs being taken made me contemplate swallowing the contents of the Windex bottle beside me.

When it was (finally) all over, I threw my street clothes back on in the bathroom and headed on over to Sacha's house. It was a nice drive, and with Brandon's iPod I at least had a decent music selection. Which meant, being me, I spent the entire twenty minute drive listening to Lady Gaga's
Bad Romance
.

And Justin Bieber's
Baby
.

I may have also sung the chorus at the top of my lungs, waving my arms around like one of those Wacky Inflatable Arm Man things at every red light. Either way, it wasn't the same without Brandon singing the rap part, and it's safe to say that by the time I reached Sacha's driveway, I was sufficiently both loving and hating myself.

Sacha had sworn off living in the dorms, given the fact that he
was
a Philosophy major who was also taking out student loans. As opposed to living in the college-community, or even with Brandon and I in a shared apartment, he opted to live at home with his mother and younger brother. Which I thought, truthfully, was a very smart thing to do. As for Brandon? I still think he's a little upset over Sacha not taking him up on his very compelling offer.

“Bunk beds,” he had said, grinning like an idiot. “Just imagine it.”

I could see it already, all Step Brothers style, with Brandon running around yelling how they had so much more room for activities. But Sacha declined, and Brandon spent the next few hours insisting that he “didn't want Sacha as a roommate, anyway” even when the scowl on his face screamed otherwise.

Keeping the car running for the sake of warmth, I slid (literally on a patch of black ice) over to front steps, clambered up, and knocked on the door. Sacha's little brother answered, a puzzled look on his face as he held a fistful of those green plastic army men and asked:

“Are you Sacha's girlfriend?”

“No, Travis. It's Gems, remember?”

Travis was about seven years old, and probably one of the cutest kids ever. He stepped aside, letting me and leading me into the living room where he'd constructed a building block castle surrounded by more of the green plastic army men and also some super hero action figures.

“Do you wanna play?” he asked.

My heart broke a little, given the fact that I was only waiting around for Sacha – and my car was running.

“I'm sorry, Trav. I can't tonight. But maybe one day soon we can hang out and have a grand adventure. How does that sound?”

“Can we have pizza, too?”

“Pizza sounds perfect.”

As Travis was still beaming, overjoyed at the prospect of pizza and adventure, Sacha's mother emerged from the bathroom wearing a bathrobe, her hair up in a loose bun. She looked disheveled, tired. When she saw me, her face flushed in embarrassment and maybe just a little annoyance. Not that I blamed her. Maybe I should have just waited out in the car and shot Sacha a text.

“Sacha's in his bedroom, Gems. You're welcome to go on up.”

Thankfully I didn't need to, as Sacha hopped down the last of the steps upon hearing his mother's voice. Looking totally mortified, might I add.

“I hope Travis isn't bugging you,” he said. I shook my head.

“No way. Trav is awesome.”

I knelt down and gave him a high five. He really was such a sweet little kid, and nearly looked identical to Sacha. They both had the same wide, green eyes and tawny brown hair that fell in waves around their face. It made me feel sort of bad, the thought of leaving him here to play by himself.

“Gems told me that we could have pizza and an adventure soon,” he said. I nodded enthusiastically, tousling his hair. Sacha looked less than pleased. Not at Travis, of course – but his mother, who stood with a cigarette extended between two quivering fingers.

“Sounds fun,” he said, his coat draped over an arm and a
for the love of God let's get out of here
look written across his slanted mouth. I gave a quick wave to Travis and their mother, and in half a second both Sacha and I were sitting in my thankfully warm car, listening to the sweet sounds of ice breaking beneath my shitty tires. Sacha sighed in relief, pressing his hands against the heater vents.

“So where are we going?” he asked. “And how was work?”

“Work sucked. I figured we'd go to the book store and maybe grab dinner if you want.”

“Book store?” he asked. “What for?”

I thought about the crumpled receipt paper that was stuffed in my pocket. Ben's book,
Sideways
, scrawled in smudged Sharpie ink.

“I sort of want to check out Professor Lawson's book,” was the answer that finally sounded suitable. Though it felt weird (and kind of sexy) to be calling Ben by such a formal title.  “It's kind of cool that he's a writer, huh?”

“It is really something else,” Sacha agreed. “I mean, I think it's pretty inspiring to have a professor who's had so much success outside of teaching. Especially given his whole back story and everything.”

“Back story?” I had to stop myself from sounding too interested. I couldn't give anything away. It's not like this was Brandon, after all. Sacha had no idea. And it needed to stay that way.

“Yeah,” Sacha shrugged. “People have been saying all sorts of things. He's sort of ripped through the entire school like wildfire. I guess he had a pretty rough childhood, and then he wrote that book, and...well, the rest is history.”

I regretted immediately having done less research, and I also couldn't deny the fact that there was still so much more that I didn't know about Ben. That I wanted to know about Ben. That pulled at me, itching like a scratch beneath the skin. It was almost like he'd gotten it wrong when he'd said that I was an enigma. It was more like
he
was the enigma.

Or, possibly, we were both just mysteries to each other.

I turned into the book store parking lot, my hands trembling a little. When we finally found a spot amidst the sardine-packed cars, I turned to Sacha and helped him unclick his seat-belt. The stupid things were always jamming.

“So have people said what happened with him?” I asked quietly.

“Not much. Just bits and pieces floating around. I'm really not sure whether or not I'd believe them – but you know me. I take things with a grain of salt.” Sacha shifted back, moving his hands away from the vents. “But they were saying how he grew up in a single parent household, his mom raised him. His dad was never around. I guess he's spent most of his life flying solo.”

Wow
. If this was true...
wow
.

“Do you really think there's any substance to it?”

Sacha shrugged, and we both got out of the car. The ground beneath my feet, with each step, seemed to stretch further and further from the beckoning book store entrance.

“I think the only way of actually knowing anything is to speak with Professor Lawson himself, you know? But it's not like any of us will ever really know him well enough to get that deep. I'm guessing that whatever's going around is just eventually going to evaporate, and we'll never
really
have any idea. Besides, everyone has baggage.”

This was true. I could vouch for it personally, having dealt with the fact that my parents were no longer in love. Were they friends? Sure. And I had to admit that despite it all, I was lucky. My parents were still together, and got along for the most part. They got most of the bills paid, and occasionally they were able to go out and enjoy themselves. They certainly didn't hate each other. And I swear, sometimes, I heard them laugh.

But love? No. They weren't in love. Sacha knew it as much as I did, too. He'd seen them together. Hell, even Sacha had experience in the baggage department. His dad was always traveling for work, and his mother, despite the fact that they were relatively well-off, was a raging alcoholic who could never seem to get her shit together. Sacha worried about her all the time. He worried about Travis.

Guiltily, he worried about himself.

“Has everything been okay, Sacha?” I asked him as we pushed through the doors. Oh, the warmth felt wonderful. The smell of coffees and cakes from the side cafe was even more comforting.

“I can't really complain, Gems,” he said with a smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. And who was I kidding? Sacha never complained. He'd find happiness living in a box and surviving off of a few bread crumbs. “Everyone's alive, I'm healthy, and I'm graduating at the end of this semester. All is well.”

I gave him a hug, and we perused the aisles. Pulling out the receipt paper, I journeyed off into the Fiction section, suppressing my urge to run straight to the artwork and comics while on the hunt for Ben's book.

It was easy enough to locate, as there was actually an entire table dedicated just to that one damn book. I didn't even need to unwedge it from the shelves.

Picking it up, I glanced at the cover art – which was a minimalistic purple cover with a single black hand-print on which the title was scrawled out on. I flipped through the pages, noting that the book itself was rather heavy, then skimmed over the jacket to see what the book was about. Unfortunately, the little blurb gave next to nothing away aside from the fact that it was about, I could only guess, family dynamics. And right at the very bottom, beneath the text, was a picture of Ben. His brown-button eyes were bright, and he was dressed in the same shirt that he'd been wearing at the bar. His arms were crossed, and he was smiling just a little, which oddly enough made me feel sort of happy. Giddy, even. Like I had that one little piece of him that so many had never even seen – that so many likely never would see. Sure, we'd kind of had sex. We'd kissed. He'd held my hand, too.