Under My Skin (26 page)

The only sounds are my breathing—which comes out in calculated stutters—and the confident scrape of bristles flying across the cotton canvas. I paint harsh, straight lines streaming from an onyx circle—light erupting from darkness.

When I finish, I clutch the brush as if it’s my sword and I’m a skilled warrior. Instead of destroying her, though, I’ve created her. Darby. On canvas.

I’m shaking and panting, exhausted from the effort. My shoulders and neck are tight, sweat covers me, and chunks of hair cling to my neck and face, but I don’t care. I smile.

Daniel found new life in Adam—or at least his heart did—and I found new life through Adam too.

He’s saved us both.

Shaw is wrong. He didn’t steal Daniel’s heart.

And yet, she’d also said Adam didn’t appreciate the sacrifice my brother made.

I grip the paintbrush tighter.

Love, hate. Life, death. Warmth, cold.

Opposites.

Each harsh and unforgiving.

But you can’t have one without the other.

Contrast needs both sides to exist.

Maybe that’s why I need Adam.

For balance.

To find love, life, and warmth in the cold hate of death.

* * *

At the end of the week, I wake up clutching Daniel’s basketball to my chest. My alarm is set to go off in two hours and nineteen minutes, but whatever. I carry the basketball as well as a change of clothes into the bathroom and soak in a metric ton of hot water. I let the heat loosen my sore neck and shoulders.

While the stream of water jets over me, I practice the stretches I learned in physical therapy. My headache eases. The tingle in my fingers quiet to a dull buzz. I wonder if it’ll ever go away.

The water turns lukewarm. I turn off the faucet and towel dry. My “Loki’d” sweatshirt—Daniel gave it to me on our last birthday—and jeans are well-worn and fuzzy soft. Like always, paint stains decorate both.

Instead of hanging around, I grab my phone and head outside after leaving a note saying I’m walking to school.

The pre-dawn sky is full of bright pinks and oranges. Frost makes the brown grass and evergreen shrubs silvery. I shiver.

By the time I reach the school, I’ve worked up enough body heat to be warm. I sit on the front steps and pull out my phone. First, I look at my pictures. Well, the ones of Stephanie kissing Eric. Most of them are grainy and the dim lighting makes it almost impossible to see who’s in the photo.

To think, Stephanie was playing Eric for his being a douche. A fair bit of justice.

I tap on the little trashcan in the corner and two options pop up: Delete Photo or Cancel.

The old Darby thought her actions were justified. She thought she was getting Stephanie back for a little name-calling.

The old Darby was so caught up in her stupid plan that she argued with her brother, distracting him from the icy road.

The old Darby was a fool.

The old Darby was just as guilty of killing her brother as Adam was for stealing his heart.

No, not stealing,
wasting
.

In a flurry of taps and swipes, I delete all the photos of Stephanie. I hadn’t captured revenge.

If only erasing guilt was so easy.

I sniff, wipe the tears that have traveled down my face, and open my Facebook app. Stephanie hadn’t given me her number (maybe she thought I already had it or that Daniel had shared it with me) but I’d bet my best paintbrushes she’s posted it on her page. Sure enough, her digits are there. I click it and hold the phone to my ear, breathing in time with the ring tone. I’m not sure if I want her to pick up or not.

“Who’s calling me at this ungodly hour?” Stephanie’s voice is grainy with sleep.

“Uh … it’s Darby. Sorry to wake you, but I need to talk.”

“Where are you?”

“School.”

“I’m on my way.”

Twenty minutes later, Stephanie pulls into the parking lot. Her wheels squeal as she takes the corner too sharply. She stops short in a parking spot and pops out of her car.

I stand and give a wave.

She rushes to me, her ponytail bouncing with each step. Her jeans cling to her in all the right places and her shirt flows around her like a dream. Fashionista-worthy sunglasses sit her head like a headband and her ballet flats have sparkles on the toes. Gawd, the girl had about five seconds to get ready and she looks
this
awesome.

Why’d I ever want to talk to her?

She pulls me into a hug before I have a chance to react. “Are you okay?”

I nod, then shake my head, then shrug. “I don’t know.”

She leans back. The furrow in her brow seems genuine. “You’ve been crying.”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about what you said about, you know, talking to someone and … ”

“I’m so glad you called.” She leads me to the bench. “Here, sit. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

I bite my lip. I
should
be talking to Shaw, but she was so pushy last time. “There’s a boy—”

“He didn’t take advantage of you, did he?”

“No, no …
no
.”

“Are you sure?”

While Adam kept the transplant a secret, he didn’t necessarily take advantage of me. I was a stranger to him, so I had nothing to be taken advantage of as far as he knew. “He didn’t take advantage, but the whole thing is really confusing.”

“What whole thing?”

I vomit the story in a rush of words and hand gestures and end with, “He keeps calling and wants to talk, but I’m not sure what to do. I mean, I like him, but he has my brother’s heart and I don’t know how to handle knowing it.”

She puffs out her cheeks, then exhales. “Wow.”

I slouch, hoping for more from her.

She fiddles with the strap of her designer purse. “Do you
like him
like him?”

“God, are we in junior high?”

“You know what I mean.”

I sigh. “He’s cute, adorable really, and quirky.”

Her mouth ticks up. “You’d go for quirky.”

I level my “oh, really” stare at her.

She laughs. “It’s okay to like a boy. Although, him having Daniel’s heart is … freaky.”

“My shrink says he’s not even sure he wants to be alive, that he’s obsessed with death.”

She scrunches her nose. “That’s way more than quirky.”

I tug on a strand of hair. “He doesn’t seem suicidal.”

“How does he seem? I mean, do you really know him?”

She has a point. I’ve known Adam for a grand total of a couple weeks. He doesn’t give off any weirdo or psycho vibes, though. If anything, he seems like he doesn’t know how to live—that isn’t the same as being obsessed with death. His eyes certainly aren’t dead. Someone who wants to die would have a vacant, hollow stare, wouldn’t they? And the way he kissed me. The boy has a lot of life in him, if he just knew how.

“Earth to Darbs. Hello?” Stephanie waves a hand in my face.

“He’s a good kisser.”

“So was Eric, but he’s still a total douche.”

“Adam’s not douche-like. At all.”

“Maybe you should confront him.”

I suck in a breath. It’s a tempting idea, but we promised not to talk about it. He’d probably flip out if he knew I knew. Still, I couldn’t just hang out with him and pretend I didn’t know either. So, if we talk, we have to get everything out in the open.

Or I could delete his number, ignore his calls, and forget the whole thing. Never speak to the boy who inspired me to paint again. My entire body stiffens.

I clutch my head with both hands and groan.

Stephanie gasps. “Whoa, you okay? You’re not going to freak out, are you?”

“I don’t know what to do!”

She wraps an arm around me. “It’s obvious that you like him.
Talk to him
.”

Stephanie Veene—the mouthy plague of my existence, the splinter in my thumb, the perfect cheerleader blonde with a sneaky side—is giving me relationship advice.

I lower my hands. The old Darby wouldn’t find herself sitting here, looking for advice from enemy. She wouldn’t think out options before acting, or open her heart to risk real feelings. Absolutely not!

Yet the new Darby seems to be doing just that.

One thing remains the same—both Darby’s fly in the face of reason.

With a trembling heart and wobbly knees, I stand, ready for action.

Adam

I’m lying on the ground curled into a ball, shivering. Over and over again, the same message is repeated to me.

“
Kill yourself,
” it says.

I press my hands over my ears to keep the command out. Doesn’t matter. The voice oozes through my fingers, down my ear canals, and into my brain. Its barbs stick into my thoughts.

“Stop, please,” I beg, staring at the careless trees above. Birds chirp amongst their branches, staking their territory with their sweet melody. Beauty in conflict.

Glimpses of the lightening sky break through the canopy. There, peeking between crisscrossing twigs, twinkles a lone star stubbornly clinging to the dying night. It shines, despite the losing battle, refusing to surrender.

It shines just for me. Telling me not to give up.

So I don’t.

I snake my phone out of my pocket and dial. “Please answer,” I moan. “
Please
.”

My heart pounds between rings.

The ringing stops, but my pulse trudges on.

“Hello?”

Relief washes over me. “Darby, thank god.”

“Adam, you sound terrible.”

“Something’s happening. I need your help.”

There’s a long pause, enough for doubt to creep closer. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for her to answer.

“You have to be honest with me,” she says.

“I swear, I’ll tell you everything you want to know. My darkest thoughts, my dreams, everything my crazy mind imagines, I’ll tell you, I promise.”

She sighs. “You’re a poet even when you’re freaking out, aren’t you?”

“I’ll sing you sonnets, anything. I need you.”

She gives a tiny moan as if I’m a mewling kitten abandoned by its careless mother. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know.” The woods somewhere. “Close to home.”

“Then go home.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I … just can’t.”

Another long pause. “You’ve gotten yourself into a mess, haven’t you?”

“You have no idea.” Sharp pains ricochet through my chest. Whatever poison runs along my veins, saturating my vessels, is stripping my new heart’s strength. “Darby, I don’t know what I’ve done to hurt you or make you angry or not want to talk to me, but I’m sorry for whatever it is. Just … do this one thing for me and I’ll never bother you again if you want, I swear.”

“Hang on.”

Something muffles the phone. Her hand, I guess. I hold my breath. Finally, she says, “Can you meet me somewhere?”

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” I exhale. “Do you know Mickey’s Diner?”

“On Main? That’s across the river.”

I squeeze my phone tighter. The plastic case cracks in protest.

“Okay. Give me half an hour.” She ends the call.

The clock starts ticking.

Shaking all over, I stumble my way to the road. A bus stop shelter is at the end of the cul de sac. I check my pocket. A few coins rub together. I hope it’s enough to cover the fare.

The bus arrives. I’m fifty cents shy, but the driver takes pity on me and lets me board. I must look desperate with pine needles in my hair and dirt on my clothes.

Suburbia quickly gives way to deteriorating blocks of Mom and Pop businesses barely holding on since the latest Mega Chain Super Store moved in.

I disembark at Mickey’s Diner. It, and it’s sizeable car park, dominate the east side of an intersection. I wander past cars, searching for Darby. Perhaps she’s gone inside.

To my right, a car door swings open. A girl with paint-stained clothes gets out.

I halt. “Darby.”

She’s not wearing her c-collar. “Adam. You look awful. What’s going on?”

I lean against the car’s trunk. “Something’s not right.”

The driver gets out and joins us, her face obscured by large sunglasses. The morning breeze tousles her blonde curls. “This the guy?”

Darby frowns at her. “Yeah.”

“We’ve been waiting,” she says to me.

“Stephanie, you’re not helping.” Darby palms my cheek and turns my face to her. “Ignore her. Talk to me.”

“I
am
helping,” Stephanie mutters.

I focus as best I can on Darby’s pale ice eyes. A storm brews in them and I swirl along the ribbons of light and silver. “I missed your eyes.”

She lowers her brows. “Oh, Adam.”

My hand finds its place over my heart, which is pounding harder and faster than ever. At this rate, I’ll use up my lifetime quota of heartbeats in minutes. “Shaw prescribed me this bloody awful medicine and I think it’s killing me.”

“You’re not the only one who sees Doctor Shaw.” Her gaze turns steely. So much like Shaw’s. “So do I.” She reaches into her pocket and draws out a pin of butterfly wings in the shape of a heart. A row of stitches runs down its center.

I swallow a cry.

“
They’re working together to trick you
,” the voice says.

I jerk my head toward the sound, but there’s nothing there. “You’re wrong. Darby’s here to help,” I whisper. I have to believe that.

“
No she’s not.
”

I shake my head. “She is,” I mumble.

Darby lowers her hand. “What?”

“
Don’t trust her. She’ll bring you to Shaw
.”

“She won’t,” I whisper.

“She won’t what?” Darby shoots a nervous glance at Stephanie.

“
She knows everything about you. You’re an evil thief and need to die
.”

I turn my face to the sky. “I don’t want to die!”

Darby gasps.

Stephanie takes a step back. “He’s bat shit, Darbs. I think we should go.”

I grab onto Darby’s sleeve. “No. Please. Don’t go. Shaw thinks I want to kill myself but I don’t. My parents believe her. I don’t have anyone else I can turn to and I can’t do this anymore. This medicine. I should’ve never taken it.”

Darby shirks out of my grasp. “Shaw wants to help you.”