We both stop, in fear and anticipation as Elijah’s dad’s car pulls out of the garage and into the driveway. When he accelerates at a fast speed, we flinch back. Jumping in front of me, he takes the brunt of the little pebbles on his skin that the car sends our way.
The tires squeal in the distance, causing us to snap out of our shocked state.
I don’t think he means for me to hear the small whimper that leaves his throat, but I do. When I face him, he rubs circles on his arms with his hands that have tiny scrapes all over them.
“Oh no, look at your body.”
Glancing down at himself, he frowns. Without waiting for his response, I hop up onto my feet, my favorite sneakers lighting up. I take him by the hand, and he lets me drag him into my house and all the way up to my bathroom without a single word.
“Go sit on the toilet,” I say once we enter my bathroom.
As he does what I said, I’m looking through my medicine cabinet for the antibiotic cream Mommy always rubs on my cuts. Spotting the black-and-white tub, I jump and clasp it.
Turning around, I squeeze some cream onto my palm, grab one of my best friend’s arms, and start rubbing everywhere.
With a brow quirked upward, he muses, “You really care about me, huh?”
He’s just realizing that now?
“I’ve cared about you since the first time I ever saw you.” I shrug my shoulders, starting to rub cream on his other arm.
I can hear pots and pans rattling together in the kitchen downstairs. Dad starts singing a tune from the radio Mom always listens to.
Life feels good. Happy.
“You,” Elijah whispers brokenly.
I look up and find his sad eyes already on me. “Me what?”
He smiles, full of sadness and gratitude. “You’re strong for me.”
Me? He really feels that way?
I gulp, feeling water rush to my eyes. Why am I getting upset? I should be happy, not sad.
“For infinity,” I promise, sticking out my pinkie and carving my words into stone.
He hooks his thin finger around mine. “For infinity,” he repeats firmly.
FIFTY-FOUR
LILY
The beeping is steady now.
Too steady.
Too calm for the inner battle and how loud everything still feels in my head.
Knees pulled to my chest, clothes still damp and clinging to my skin from earlier, I sit in the plastic chair beside his hospital bed. The room smells like disinfectant and heartbreak.
It’s cold. Not cold like from the ocean, but an unsettledness that seeps into your bones.
I try to relax, seeing how Elijah’s breathing is calm, soft, and even. But the sight of machines monitoring his every breath and heartbeat doesn’t let me sleep a wink.
His once sun-kissed skin is pale.
Paler than I’ve ever seen him before.
