If I Lie
Page 51
Then Carey climbed through my window and dropped to the floor. He didn’t drop so much as he collapsed in a heap on the floor. Shocked, I tossed away the pillow I’d been hugging and sat up.
“Carey?”
He didn’t answer, but he lay there gasping with an arm draped over his face. I scooted off the bed and crawled toward him. When I reached for his elbow he rolled toward me, and I inhaled when I saw the blood. At first glance, he was covered in it. His face, his shirt, his hair.
I tried to stand, and he tugged on my hand.
“No! Don’t tell anyone!”
I understood he meant my father. “He’s not here. I need the first-aid kit. I’ll be right back.”
He let me go and I ran through my house, skidding through the hall in my slippers before I kicked them off. In seconds I was back, ripping the lid off the white plastic case.
“What happened, Carey?”
My voice sounded oddly calm, as I went about mopping up the blood with a wet towel I’d brought with me.
He winced. “My fault. I knew better.” He groaned when I pulled off his shirt.
With few words, he told me how he’d gone to meet a friend at Joe’s, a bar two towns over with a reputation for looking the other way when carding underage Marines. He’d gone to meet Ben.
Ben, I thought. Finally, he had a name. The guy Carey had fallen for.
Carey had tried to end it, believing their relationship had no future. Not with them both about to be deployed. Not when they could both get discharged if they were caught. Ben had kissed him in the parking lot. A good-bye kiss before he drove away.
Except they hadn’t been alone. Several Marines saw the whole thing. They’d beat the shit out of Carey and left him bleeding in the parking lot. They’d said they didn’t want a fag in their battalion. He might put the moves on them over there, and they didn’t want a homo sneaking onto their cots at night.
I listened to all of this, and I wanted to hit Carey. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scratch my nails down his face and call him a thousand names. Instead, I yanked my hands back the second I’d taped the last bandage, not wanting to touch him.
When he finished speaking, I packed up the first-aid kit, setting aside the used bandages for the trash. A raised welt darkened Carey’s left cheekbone, the skin alternating shades of pink and red that would later turn blue and purple. A cut hid just below his hairline. Judging from the glass I’d pulled out of it with tweezers, someone had smashed a bottle over his head.
The room grew eerily quiet as we stared at each other. If he was outted, his career was over.
“Quinn?” he asked, sounding uncertain and scared.
“I don’t want to hear any more about him.” I couldn’t even say his name—Ben’s name—out loud. “Why the hell would you come here? Why didn’t you go to Ben if he’s the one you love?”
I sounded like my father, cold rage vibrating in my voice.
“I didn’t think.” He tried to sit up, managing only to get as far as turning to lean against the wall. “You’re my best friend.”
I deflated beside him. He reached for my hand, and his palm rubbed rough and familiar against mine. He dipped his head to press his lips to my fingers. A tender gesture, but one without passion. For a moment I wished everything could be like it had been. Uncomplicated. Simple. Expected. But we’d gone too far. Done things we couldn’t take back.
“I don’t know what to do, Quinn. Please help me. I’ve fucked everything up. Tell me what to do. I need you.”
He started sobbing, his shoulders shaking. My cold heart cracked. He’d held me every time I ran to him. No questions. No judgments. Just solace and friendship and warmth. I wrapped an arm around him and he twisted, falling into my lap.
My entire life, no one had ever said they needed me. My parents certainly didn’t need me. Blake? Maybe he wanted me, but he didn’t need me. As I held Carey, I had only one choice. At least, only one choice I could live with.
“We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
I didn’t know how I’d regret those words.
* * *
The next day, we drove one town over to attend our football team’s summer scrimmage. We arrived as a couple, with Carey’s arm looped over my shoulders. We joked about his bruises, saying he’d fallen while we were hiking, too caught up in me to notice where he was going. Nobody questioned the excuse or doubted we were together. Not even Blake, who looked like I’d plunged a knife into his stomach. The first chance he had, he pulled me away from Carey and cornered me under the bleachers.
“What’s going on, Q?”
“Nothing,” I answered defensively. I didn’t know how else to deal with him, except to shut him out. To make him think I was a bitch. I’d already promised Carey I wouldn’t out him to anyone, that I’d protect his secret at all costs. Of course, I couldn’t have guessed what that cost would be.
“You’re together,” he said in a flat voice.
“Yes,” I said, and he gave me such a look of hatred, I took two steps back. That seemed to push him into action, and he came at me. I expected anger, but his arms were gentle as he pulled me toward him.
“You care about me,” he said. “You couldn’t kiss me the way you did and not care about me.”
I’d prepared myself for this. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. You saw what you wanted to.”
“Carey?”
He didn’t answer, but he lay there gasping with an arm draped over his face. I scooted off the bed and crawled toward him. When I reached for his elbow he rolled toward me, and I inhaled when I saw the blood. At first glance, he was covered in it. His face, his shirt, his hair.
I tried to stand, and he tugged on my hand.
“No! Don’t tell anyone!”
I understood he meant my father. “He’s not here. I need the first-aid kit. I’ll be right back.”
He let me go and I ran through my house, skidding through the hall in my slippers before I kicked them off. In seconds I was back, ripping the lid off the white plastic case.
“What happened, Carey?”
My voice sounded oddly calm, as I went about mopping up the blood with a wet towel I’d brought with me.
He winced. “My fault. I knew better.” He groaned when I pulled off his shirt.
With few words, he told me how he’d gone to meet a friend at Joe’s, a bar two towns over with a reputation for looking the other way when carding underage Marines. He’d gone to meet Ben.
Ben, I thought. Finally, he had a name. The guy Carey had fallen for.
Carey had tried to end it, believing their relationship had no future. Not with them both about to be deployed. Not when they could both get discharged if they were caught. Ben had kissed him in the parking lot. A good-bye kiss before he drove away.
Except they hadn’t been alone. Several Marines saw the whole thing. They’d beat the shit out of Carey and left him bleeding in the parking lot. They’d said they didn’t want a fag in their battalion. He might put the moves on them over there, and they didn’t want a homo sneaking onto their cots at night.
I listened to all of this, and I wanted to hit Carey. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scratch my nails down his face and call him a thousand names. Instead, I yanked my hands back the second I’d taped the last bandage, not wanting to touch him.
When he finished speaking, I packed up the first-aid kit, setting aside the used bandages for the trash. A raised welt darkened Carey’s left cheekbone, the skin alternating shades of pink and red that would later turn blue and purple. A cut hid just below his hairline. Judging from the glass I’d pulled out of it with tweezers, someone had smashed a bottle over his head.
The room grew eerily quiet as we stared at each other. If he was outted, his career was over.
“Quinn?” he asked, sounding uncertain and scared.
“I don’t want to hear any more about him.” I couldn’t even say his name—Ben’s name—out loud. “Why the hell would you come here? Why didn’t you go to Ben if he’s the one you love?”
I sounded like my father, cold rage vibrating in my voice.
“I didn’t think.” He tried to sit up, managing only to get as far as turning to lean against the wall. “You’re my best friend.”
I deflated beside him. He reached for my hand, and his palm rubbed rough and familiar against mine. He dipped his head to press his lips to my fingers. A tender gesture, but one without passion. For a moment I wished everything could be like it had been. Uncomplicated. Simple. Expected. But we’d gone too far. Done things we couldn’t take back.
“I don’t know what to do, Quinn. Please help me. I’ve fucked everything up. Tell me what to do. I need you.”
He started sobbing, his shoulders shaking. My cold heart cracked. He’d held me every time I ran to him. No questions. No judgments. Just solace and friendship and warmth. I wrapped an arm around him and he twisted, falling into my lap.
My entire life, no one had ever said they needed me. My parents certainly didn’t need me. Blake? Maybe he wanted me, but he didn’t need me. As I held Carey, I had only one choice. At least, only one choice I could live with.
“We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
I didn’t know how I’d regret those words.
* * *
The next day, we drove one town over to attend our football team’s summer scrimmage. We arrived as a couple, with Carey’s arm looped over my shoulders. We joked about his bruises, saying he’d fallen while we were hiking, too caught up in me to notice where he was going. Nobody questioned the excuse or doubted we were together. Not even Blake, who looked like I’d plunged a knife into his stomach. The first chance he had, he pulled me away from Carey and cornered me under the bleachers.
“What’s going on, Q?”
“Nothing,” I answered defensively. I didn’t know how else to deal with him, except to shut him out. To make him think I was a bitch. I’d already promised Carey I wouldn’t out him to anyone, that I’d protect his secret at all costs. Of course, I couldn’t have guessed what that cost would be.
“You’re together,” he said in a flat voice.
“Yes,” I said, and he gave me such a look of hatred, I took two steps back. That seemed to push him into action, and he came at me. I expected anger, but his arms were gentle as he pulled me toward him.
“You care about me,” he said. “You couldn’t kiss me the way you did and not care about me.”
I’d prepared myself for this. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. You saw what you wanted to.”
