I bury my face in his sweater. My eyes burn. I wish I was invisible. I don’t know how long I sit there, but suddenly, I feel a touch on my arm, exactly where the worst hematoma is fading—the one that was almost black.
Startled, I drop my hands along with the sweater and see River swallow.
He gently strokes my arm and touches each of the injuries individually. There are many, so many, I only now realize as he brushes them one by one with his fingers, as if he wants to make up for the pain and everything that came with it with his gentleness. At first, I tense up even more, digging my fingers into the wet Handana and sweater, but then I think of his words.
A fist disappears when you open it. I don’t have to fight—not with him. I consciously open my left hand and take a deep breath.
“No one should do that to you,” he says, and I feel anger despite the tenderness with which he touches me. Anger at who is responsible.
“Family?” he whispers.
I shake my head. The burning in my eyes intensifies.
“Boyfriend?”
Again, I say no.
“School? Teacher?”
I nod, shaking my head.
“Classmates?”
Tears well up in my eyes for the second time today, for the first in an infinitely long time. I try to blink them away, but it doesn’t work. My defenses are down, and the tears stream down my cheeks unchecked. I don’t want to cry, but I sob silently and tremble.
Classmates.
That one word from River is so tiny and yet so cruel at the same time.
Suddenly, the pain of what they’ve done is so powerful that it throws me headfirst into a wall. Just like the Hills have repeatedly done to me, again and again. It’s not filtered by my silence and distance, not distorted by the belief that it was all my fault, that there’s something wrong with me, or that I’m simply too weak and too pathetic.
River carefully slides over to me, pulls me against his chest, and wraps his arms around me. This time, he remains silent, which is the best thing he could do. He simply holds me, and I cry and cry, pressing my face into his sweater, which soaks up my tears like a sponge. I can hear his heart beating in my ear and it calms me, telling me that everything can be okay if I want it to be.
At that moment, I firmly believe that I can find the way from one world to the next if River is with me. When he’s withme, everything is fine. Then my soul can rest, like it had been screaming the whole time and could now be silent.
Chapter 13
At dawn, as ghostly mist rises over the waters and around us, I fall asleep in River’s arms, my head on his chest, the sleeping bag pulled over us. I can’t smell River’s scent anymore, but I can still feel his heartbeat.
Only two weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined being so close to someone without being afraid.
We sleep until the afternoon, then eat some of the supplies—a bag of dried meat. As I’m chewing, I realize I can eat in front of River. I also notice that he was able to sleep for the first time since we’ve been on the road because I woke up before he did.
The rest of the day glides by as if I were lying on a raft, dozing, letting the hours pass like reeds and grass. I touch them with my fingertips, but I’m not actually here. I think, even if I had words, River and I would remain silent. I have no idea what yesterday did to us. There was the kiss and the escape and the crying that made me feel so light, as if a ton of weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
We don’t go back to the campsite because River is afraid his friends will be waiting for him there. He honestly calls them his friends. During the day, he constantly listens for suspiciousnoises, but everything is quiet. All we hear is the chirping of the birds and the soft cracking of branches.
Since my phone battery is dead, I can’t text Dad or Mr. Spock. I can’t use River’s cell phone because he wants to leave it off for two days since it got wet. Actually, he said earlier he should put it in a bag of rice, but rice is as rare as frozen peas.
Late in the afternoon, River stretches a line over a quiet spur of the river. It’s hot, and River and I take off as many clothes as we can because we keep falling into the water anyway. That means I fall, and River deliberately jumps in. We splash each other and swim, but I always lose.
I’m relaxed and begin to realize that things can become easier if you let them out or share them.
We slackline late into the evening, and River shows me how to stand on the line and rock while standing. The moon shines over Idaho, round and full like a wheel of cheese. Again and again, we fall and jump into the water. I hear River’s idiosyncratic, wonderful laugh and wish he would kiss me again, hold me again like he did on the highline, but he doesn’t. On the contrary, despite the closeness and familiarity between us, he holds back, and I don’t know why. I catch him looking at me, his eyes shining with a longing that seems old to me. From the past. A memory. Since he’s not wearing a shirt, I can see the wording on his shoulder the whole time.
Still alive for you, June.
I wonder if the longing is for the girl whose name he carries on his shoulder, written in dark blue into his skin and visible as long as he lives. I also suspect that the second kiss on the highline wasn’t meant for me but for June.
