Always and Forever (8 page)

“They told me the tests were inconclusive.” He watched me carefully, searching my face for any trace of a lie. “They said you'd have to go back to see the doctor in a few weeks. Have them run again to know anything for sure.”

My entire being sagged with relief at those words. I'd be a normal girl for a few more weeks. I could end all this by then. I was absolutely certain of it.

“I don't believe them.” Ben scowled.

“You don't have to,” I snapped, abruptly and irrationally angry with him. How dare he cut into my time? How dare he force all this on me? I shoved up to my feet and marched over to the cabinets, rifling through the contents for no reason other than to keep my hands busy, or else I'd strangle my brother. Mom and Dad wouldn't appreciate having to bury two children.

“Mia,” he began, jumping to his feet to follow me, “what I meant-”

“I know what you meant!” I slammed the cupboard door closed and whirled on him. “These last few years have just been killing you haven't they, Ben? Me being healthy is so hard to bear. You'd rather me be sick and constantly hovering at death's door, wouldn't you? It's just easier that way, isn't it?” He gasped. Horror stole the color from his face, and his mouth dropped open, but I ignored his distress, too intent on inflicting pain. “When I was sick before, you had the run of it all. You did whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted because Mom and Dad were too busy dealing with me than to argue with you. It was like they'd just handed you the keys to the candy store, and you miss it. Don't you?
Don't you?
”

His tears were falling in earnest now. He shook his head, vehemently. “No, Mia,” he hurried to reassure me. “No, I—”

“Save it,” I snarled. I turned back to the cabinet. Opened it. Slammed it shut once more. “We're out of peaches. Damn it.” Not looking his way, I stomped over to the back door, yanked it open. “I'm going down to the basement.”

“Let me get the peaches,” he offered, his voice cracked, shattered glass. “You hate the basement.”

“I hate this house,” I screamed at him. “I hate this fucking life!”

Before he could say anymore, before he could stop me with pleading apologies and reassurances that I didn't need or want, I flew out of the house and slammed the door behind me. I stomped the few steps to the cellar doors. Feeling bite of cold snow sliding up and over my bare feet, it occurred to me that I probably should've grabbed a coat and shoes before going outside. Oh, well. I was already out here. No sense in going back now.

Like most other homes in the neighborhood, we had what my parents always called a “Michigan basement”. Anyone else might have
just called it a storm cellar. The main entrance was on the outside of the house, and its intended use was as a bunker during the summer storm season when tornadoes tore through the area on a regular basis. Nothing more than a glorified pit, the basement had earthen walls and steps going down into it that were so steep you had to focus on not losing your balance when you climbed them or else you might fall and crack your body in half.

I'd always been terrified of the basement and never went down there unless absolutely necessary. Now, I threw the doors opened and skidded down the stairs with no fear of the dark, dank space. At the bottom, I switched on the light. After an endless moment, the bare bulb in the center of the low-ceilinged room flickered to life.

I blew out a loud sigh and grabbed two jars of the peaches Mrs. Patel and I had canned over the summer. I turned to leave the cellar.

And, stopped.

Here was the answer to all my problems. A wide grin spread across my face as I stared at the steep wooden stairs that would take me out of the basement. The stairs that often scared me as a child because there was no hand rail, no nothing to hold onto in case I lost my balance.

Now, their presence incited relief and comfort instead of nervousness and fear. They offered the perfect escape.

I turned back to the shelves and pulled down more jars. Peaches, pears, pickles, and salsa. I loaded myself down with as much extra weight as I could carry. It was simple. It was brilliant. Why hadn't I thought of this last night?

Staring at the stairs, I mentally calculated how high up I'd have to go before I could be assured that a tumble back down would result in a broken neck. In death. The jars, of course, were just additional insurance. They'd drop in the fall, and if I was really lucky, I'd fall on top of a few really large shards. You know…just in case the fall didn't kill me. The blood loss would.

It was perfect.

I reached back to the shelf and grabbed two more pint jars, just for good measure. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, I inched toward the steps. It wouldn't do any good to take my tumble on only the third or fourth step, now would it?

Deep breath, and my foot lifted to find the first step. Another one and I slowly expelled it. Another and another and another. I was halfway up. Only a few more steps to climb, and then I could let go. I could relinquish my hold on everything. On my family, my friends. On my life.

I closed my eyes, brought my foot up so that the arch rested on the edge of the tread, and pushed off.

The space of that moment lasted an eternity. I hung, suspended in mid-air, my back at an awkward angle as my arms automatically flailed out around me. Survival instinct kicked in. The jars went flying. They shattered as gravity reached out, grabbed them, and yanked them back down to earth.

I was next.

I fell back on the steps, wincing as the back of my head slammed into the sharp edge of one tread, and then I rolled, end-over-end until I landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom, amidst the sea of food and glass shards that I'd created.

For a second, I felt nothing. I tried to lift my head to see what damage I'd done, but it was filled with concrete. Everything started to blur and move. Shadows grew long, lifted and danced just at the periphery of my vision. They teased and taunted me; their long fingers of temptation begged me to join them.

I wanted to. I really did.

Still, the pain did not come, and I wondered,
Was this what death was like? Had I really done it?
I reached out to them, a giddy sense of victory sailing through me. I'd won! I'd really won. The last thoughts that floated through my head were ones of triumph.

This was my victory lap. I'd said
when
. I'd said
where
. And, I'd definitely said
how
.

T
EN

MY BODY SHOOK,
and pain lanced through me as the gray fell away, and my surroundings swam together, gelled, and everything became clear.

“Mia?” Kal called to me, shaking me. “Mia, talk to me. Come back to me.” Another shake, which wrung a low groan of pain from me, and he materialized right before my eyes. His face was a mask of terror that abruptly dissolved into relief. “Oh, thank god, Mia. Tell me you're okay. Where does it hurt? How many fingers am I holding up?” He shoved two fingers in my face as he shot questions at me like they were missiles.

Another groan crawled out of me, and I pushed his hands out of the way so I could sit up. “What happened?” I winced as the loudness of the words I uttered bounced around in my skull. What I really wanted to know was
what went wrong?
I was supposed to be dead. How could I have survived that fall? How? Why?

He pursed his lips, regarding me silently for an endless minute. “You took a header down the stairs,” he finally said. “What the hell were you thinking, carrying all those jars up at once? You're lucky you weren't killed!”

Not really.

“Kal?” I reached out and grasped his shoulders to steady myself, to keep the rest of the world from spinning. “Can you maybe hold off on the yelling until my head stops pounding?”

“Shit, Mia,” he yelped as understanding leeched into his eyes. “I have to get you to the hospital.” He leaped to his feet, pulled me up with him, and then swung me into his arms.

“No. No hospital.” Fisting my hands into his shirt to stabilize myself, I shook my head. Everything was moving just way too fast. “No hospital,” I repeated when he looked like he wanted to argue. “Just help me upstairs. Please?”

“I think you should go to the hospital,” he insisted but carried me up the stairs, through the yard, and into the house anyway. Inside the empty kitchen, Kal didn't put me down, just looked at me, a brow raised in question. From the front of the house, sounds of Ben's video games blared.

“I don't want him to know,” I whispered and cringed a little. Even that caused my head to hammer viciously.

He nodded and wordlessly carried me up to my room, through it, and into my bathroom. He perched me on the counter and stepped back to look me over. A grimace twisted his face. “I can't tell if you're injured. You're covered in salsa and peaches.” His nose twitched as he sniffed. “Do I smell pickles, too?”

“I couldn't decide which was better,” I hedged.

His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “So, let me get this straight,” he said, slowly, carefully choosing each word before he uttered it. “You went down into the basement—that you hate, by the way—to get something to eat, but once down there, you couldn't decide what you wanted more. Peaches.” He snatched a slice off my shoulder and dropped it into the sink. “Salsa.” He flicked a juicy, tomato-coated pepper from my shirt. “Or, pickles?” He made a face like he was going to be sick. “That is the weirdest breakfast I've ever heard of, Mia.”

I just shrugged in response.

He shook his head, his lips twitching up at the corners. “I'll never understand women,” he muttered. “One minute, you're starving yourselves to look good in a bikini and the next you're gorging on the craziest things. You know my mom used to mix pickles into her mashed potatoes when she was preg—” His face went white, and his mouth dropped open. “Sweet Jesus, Mia.” His fingers dug into my arms. “Please tell me you're not pregnant. Who's is it? I'll kill him!”

My jaw dropped to the floor, and after only a moment or three of stunned silence, shrill, borderline-hysterical giggles tumbled out.

“This isn't funny,” he snapped out angrily.

“Yes,” I gasped out, choking on laughter that bubbled up from deep inside me. “Yes, it is.” At his continued glare, I straightened up, worked to control my giggles, and failed miserably. I shook my head and pried his fingers off me. “I'm not pregnant. In order to get that way, one would have to have sex. Don't you think I'd tell you if I had a boyfriend, let alone one I was doing it with? After all, you are my best friend.”

“You mean, you're not…you're still a…?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, I'm not, and yes, I am. Does that make you feel better?” I pushed him lightly, just enough to get him out of my way and hopped off the counter. “Look Kal, I—Whoa.”

The moment my feet hit the floor a wave of dizziness overtook me and knocked the breath right out of me. My hands automatically went back up, reaching for the closest stable object, which happened to be Kal.

“We need to get you to the hospital,” he said as he caught me. His arms came around me, lifted me until I was perched back on the counter.

“No, no,” I assured him. “No hospitals. I'm fine. I just got a little swoony there for a second.”

“Swoony?” he echoed, unconvinced.

“Yeah, but I'm okay now.”

“Mia.”

“Kal.”

Stalemate. We glowered at each other for a long while, neither of us willing to back down. Finally, Kal let out a beleaguered sigh. “Alright, but we need to get you cleaned up, at least. Check you for any really bad cuts.”

I nodded in agreement, knowing that if I argued with him on anything else, I'd find myself hauled out to his car and shuttled to the emergency room. Before he could even ask, I yanked my sodden shirt over my head and tossed it toward the hamper. It bounced off the wall and landed on the floor beside it.

“Mia,” he groaned, forcing his gaze off my salsa coated bra, “what are you doing?”

I shrugged and got off the counter again, this time slowly. When I stepped down, the floor didn't spin out from under me. That was a
good sign, I hoped. “You said I should get cleaned up, and I'm going to.” I turned and presented him with my back. “Just as soon as you check me out and make sure I'm not bleeding to death, I'm going to take a shower.” Just to be contrary, I tossed a smile I hoped was seductive—but was probably just silly—over my shoulder at him and batted my eyes. “Want to join me?”

His cheeks instantly bloomed with color and his eyes darkened to almost black. “Not funny,” he grumbled.

I threw back my head and laughed heartily. Not a good idea. My brain shrieked back at me and begged me to stop all the unnecessary head movements.

Muttering under his breath, he rummaged around in the linen closet and then turned on the faucet. Then, he pressed the warm, damp cloth to my back, slowly easing it along my skin and wiped away the coat of salsa and peach/pickle juice mixture.

The moment his hands were on me, my skin grew warm and heated up to the point of boiling. And not just on my back—although that was the hottest. Within moments, I was on fire and all coherent thought left me. I wanted to lean into him, revel in the feel of his hands on my bare skin, slide my own palms along his. What would he do if I turned around, shoved up on tip-toes and pressed my lips against his? Would he kiss me back? Or, would he push me away, shocked and just a little offended that I'd do something like that?

A yelp jumped off my tongue and yanked me back to the present. I felt the sting in my lower back just seconds before Kal leaned in close and snaked his arm around my front to show me his prize.

“You're damned lucky you weren't hurt worse, Mia,” he growled. His hot breath cascaded over the back of my neck and sent shivers skittering down my spine. “Look at the size of that thing.”

I swallowed and forced myself to look down at what he was holding. Gasping, I plucked it out of his hand and held it up. The broken bottom portion of a pint jar, the shard could not really be called a shard but an instrument of torture. “
That
was in my back?”

“Yeah, it wasn't in too deep and only left a couple of puncture wounds,” he replied, as he pressed the cloth to the stinging area where the glass had been. “Like I said, you're damned lucky. In fact, I'm not seeing any more glass.”