Author: Cassia Leo

‘My granddad used to say that he never left New England because magical things happen in the snow.’

My fingers are really starting to ache, so I guzzle down the rest of my beer and toss the empty bottle onto the snow-covered table behind us. I turn back to the railing and Crush is gazing up at the sky with a wistful look on his face as the snowflakes fall on his cheeks.

‘This is the same granddad that gave you the book?’

He looks down at me and my stomach flips. ‘This was the last thing he gave me before he died.’ For a moment, I assume he’s talking about the book, until he reaches into his coat pocket and comes up with a crushed penny. ‘It’s my lucky penny. I use it every time I have an important performance.’

‘You have a lucky penny?’

He gazes into my eyes and nods. ‘Do you believe in fate?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I. Do you believe in luck?’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s the difference?’ His gaze is intense as he awaits my answer.

‘I don’t know. You’re the one with the lucky penny. You tell me. What’s the difference between fate and luck?’

He smiles and turns his attention back to the view of the city. ‘Fate is for fairy tales. It’s a romantic notion. Luck is what happens when you’re in the right place at the right time . . . with the right person.’

A shiver travels through me and I tuck my hands inside my coat pockets. I lean over the railing to get a view of the street below and Crush grabs my arm.

‘Please don’t do that.’

‘Do what? I was just looking at the street.’

Not that it didn’t cross my mind to leap, but we’re only four stories up. Not high enough.

His eyes are fixed on my arm where his immense hand is clasped around my bicep. It takes a moment for me to realize that this is the first time he’s touched me and I didn’t flinch.

He gently releases his hold on me. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you. Just instinct, I guess.’

‘That’s okay.’ I pull my lighter and pack of Lucky Strikes out of my pocket.

He glances at my cigarettes and smiles. ‘You smoke Luckies?’

‘My best friend Rina smokes a Blackjack, but I can’t do that. I don’t smoke just because I’m addicted to the nicotine. I like the flavor.’

‘Where’s your best friend now?’

I pop the cigarette in my mouth, but the snow and the slight breeze keep stamping out the lighter’s flame. Crush cups his hands around my hands and the flame holds as I draw a long pull on the cigarette. His face is less than a foot away from mine as he slowly lowers his hands. I don’t notice I’m holding my breath until I begin to choke on the smoke. I turn my head away so I don’t cough in his face, but when I turn back he’s still there.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I’ll live.’

‘Not if you keep smoking those.’

My face twitches with all the things I wish I could say. Instead, I take one more long pull on the cigarette, watching as the cherry burns its way up the cigarette toward my mouth. Then I flick the cigarette off the balcony and exhale as I make my way back into the hotel room.

Peeling off my coat, I toss it onto the round, mahogany coffee table before I plop down onto the sofa in the living room. He comes in a few minutes later and sits next to me. I can feel the cold emanating from his snow-dusted coat and I get an urge to tell him to take his coat off or he’ll catch cold.

He pulls off his beanie and tosses it onto the table, on top of my coat, then he leans back on the sofa and stares up at the ceiling. ‘I think I know why you don’t want to go home.’

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, but I continue to ignore the ringing and the voicemails the way I have been all day. But just a few seconds later, Crush’s phone begins to ring. He slips the phone out of his jeans pocket and answers.

‘Hello?’

I get a weird, painful sensation in my chest as I watch him on the phone, hoping it’s not a girlfriend. I watch his lips as he speaks, unable to hear his words. All I can see is the perfect peaks at the top of his lip; the juicy pink color; and the curve of his mouth – that smile. I tear my gaze away from his mouth. He’s smiling because he’s caught me staring at his lips.

‘It’s the airline,’ he whispers, pointing at his phone and still flashing me that knowing smile.

I nod as I shoot up from the sofa and grab my coat off the table. I make my way back to the bedroom and slam the door shut behind me. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I hastily begin removing my boots, but I leave on the sweater I’m wearing over my T-shirt. I curl up on the bed and try not to think about his lips.

I haven’t kissed anyone since before the incident at Uncle Cort’s house last summer. The last guy I kissed tasted like tequila. It was a few nights before I graduated from alternative high school. My parents were out for the night, playing poker at Aunt Crystal’s house the way they always do on Saturday nights. Rina brought over a couple of guys she met at Starbucks and we all got drunk in my bedroom. Both guys were pretty cute, but the one with the darker hair and the lip ring that lined up with mine when we kissed was definitely hotter. I don’t even remember his name and it was only seven months ago. But I do remember what he said to me when I refused to do anything more than just kiss.

If we’re not going to fuck, what’s the point?

He was right. If you’re not going to go all the way, what’s the point of doing anything? Why get out of bed if you don’t have the courage to leave the house? Why make the phone call if you’re too afraid to ask someone out? What’s the point of existing if you’re too chickenshit to live?

Chapter 19: CRUSH – January 3rd

I consider leaving Mikki alone for the rest of the night, but in the end I decide against it. If I leave her alone, she’ll probably stay awake all night obsessing over the fact that I caught her staring at my mouth. I should at least try to ease her embarrassment before I go to bed.

I knock softly and I’m not at all surprised by her immediate response.

‘Goodnight!’ she shouts from inside the bedroom.

‘Don’t you want to know what the airline said?’ I shout back.

I imagine she’s probably letting out a deep sigh as she realizes she can’t avoid me. A minute later, the door opens just a crack as she stares at the floor.

‘What did they say?’

I take a step back, hoping this will put her at ease. ‘The flight was rescheduled to Thursday night at six. Does that work for you?’

She shrugs without looking up. ‘I don’t have much of a choice, do I?’

‘They gave me a number you can call if you want to reschedule, but that’s the soonest they could get us on a new flight.’

Her mouth drops open a little. ‘What about your song? Will you still be able to record it?’

‘I’ll call the producer tomorrow and see if we can reschedule.’

‘And if he can’t?’

She finally looks up and I gaze into her eyes for a moment before I answer. ‘Then I’ll have to wait for another stroke of luck.’

Her lip trembles and she quickly shuts the door. ‘Goodnight.’ Her voice is barely audible through the door, and the tears.

‘Goodnight.’

I stand just outside her door for a moment, wondering if I should leave. My mind flashes to the screaming red marks and the scars I saw all over the tops of her thighs. I know I can’t stop her from feeling like she wants to hurt herself, but I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight worrying about what she may or may not be doing in that room.

I raise my hand and pause for a second before I knock again. She doesn’t answer right away like she did last time, so I knock again. She still doesn’t answer. I call her name through the door, but still no reply. I try the handle and it’s not locked. Turning the handle slowly, I expect her to push the door closed on me, but she never does. And, soon, the door is wide open and the sound of running water greets my ears.

A large crack of light shines into the bedroom through the splintered doorframe. Somehow, she’s managed to close the door all the way. Fuck. Why do I have such a bad feeling about this? It’s not as if she hasn’t lived all these years without me around to stop her from hurting herself. But something, some primal instinct, is shouting at me that I need to keep a close eye on her. Something is telling me she wants to die.

And it’s not just the cuts on her legs. It’s everything I’ve learned about her since we ran into each other at the airport. The fact that she doesn’t want to go home. That she won’t answer a single phone call or text, though I’ve seen her phone buzzing for hours. That she’s moving to L.A. to go to community college. Who moves clear across the country to go to community college?

But I think the biggest tell has to be the fact that she brought Black Box with her. This shows me that she hasn’t let go of what happened that night – how could she? – and that she’s still searching for answers.

I should tell her everything. I should tell her why I was there and why I wanted to kill myself. I should tell her exactly what I saw, what I did, and how I covered it all up. But I don’t want her to judge me the way I’ve judged myself. I got away with murder; possibly twice. What does that say about me? How can you not judge someone when you find out something like that about them?

Moving slowly toward the bathroom door, I listen for the slightest sound that would indicate she’s okay in there, but I hear nothing. I draw in a deep breath and knock.

She lets out a sharp yelp. ‘What the fuck?’

‘Sorry! I was just checking to make sure you’re okay.’

‘I’m taking a fucking bath!’

‘I’ll get out of here now.’

‘Wait!’ she calls out as I begin to walk away. ‘Wait. I forgot my toiletries. Can you push my suitcase in here?’

‘Why don’t you use the hotel toiletries?’

‘I have sensitive skin!’

I smile as I grab the handle on her suitcase, which sits just outside the bathroom, and wheel it toward the door.

‘Close your eyes!’ she shouts as I use the suitcase to slowly push the door open.

I close my eyes, but the wheels of the suitcase get caught on something and, instinctively, I open my eyes to see what it is. Catching a glimpse of Mikki’s reflection in the mirror instantly gets my heart racing. She’s lying in the bathtub and she doesn’t know I can see her, but I can still see the anxiety on her face as her eyes are glued to the door.

‘What are you waiting for? Just push it in here.’ She looks up at that moment and the reflections of our eyes lock.

I let the suitcase handle go and quickly pull the door shut. ‘The suitcase was stuck,’ I explain to the door, but she doesn’t reply.

I incur my walk of shame out of her bedroom and hope I haven’t made her too uncomfortable or broken her trust. I can’t imagine she gives that away easily. And it must have taken a healthy amount of trust or desperation for her to get a hotel room with me today . . . before she even knew who I was.

She didn’t even know who I was.

Shaking my head as I enter my bedroom, I allow my body to fall backward onto the bed. I have to ignore this crazy voice in my head telling me that this whole thing – the storm, the canceled flight, the chance meeting – was fate’s way of bringing Mikki and me back together. That kind of stuff only happens in cheesy romantic movies. And, let’s face it, if they ever made a movie for Mikki and me, it would probably be categorized under horror flicks. Everything from the moment we met on Twitter to this very moment has been a series of unhappy endings.

I heave a deep sigh before I sit up in bed and begin peeling off all my various layers of clothing. I start with my boots, then I toss my coat, sweater, and T-shirt onto the armchair in the corner before I rise from the bed to remove my pants. Once I’m down to nothing but my boxer briefs, I contemplate taking a shower, but I’m afraid something will happen to Mikki while I’m in there.