Night Shifts Black(28)

He studies me, considering my testimony, and I let every ounce of my soul pour onto my face. I need him to believe me for some reason.

"He's not, you know," he states finally in a calm voice, and I'm actually able to breathe again. "I'm not sure if he'll ever be. I warned you about that from the beginning."

I lean toward him in earnest. "I know that, trust me. I'll admit in the beginning I had thoughts, but now I just care about him. I want to help him. Just like you."

He's still evaluating, I can tell, but I keep meeting his gaze, forcing him to give me a fair chance.



       
         
       
        

Finally, he sighs and shakes head. "God, I'm sorry, Callie. It's just … " He stops and tries to collect his thoughts. "They all fall for him. Every single one. How can they not? I'm not saying he does it on purpose. Maybe sometimes, but mostly he just doesn't realize the effect he has. But I know where he's at right now, and you will get hurt. I know you will."

"I know. Seriously, Casey, I know, ok? It's not like that. I don't have those kinds of feelings for him anymore."

No one is more surprised than I am that I can make that statement with confidence for the first time. I swallow, feeling free somehow. It makes me brave. Or stupid. Both?

I get up and take his hands. I'm still not sure what exactly is going on between Casey and me, but I know that brief moment when I thought I'd lost him was bad enough that the ache is still pressing on my lungs.

Then, it happens. I'm not sure which one of us moves first, but before I know it I'm falling against him, my lips connecting with his. It feels so different than the moment with Luke. This kiss is pure, considered, natural. The lack of desperation making it seem more real, like it could actually last this time. I lock him against me, loving how he does the same, and remember what he'd said at the party. He was right. I did let him kiss me and I do love it. I love it so much I want to write about it.

I pull away, and he seems concerned, then softens at the grin on my face.

"Let's write."

"What?" he laughs. "Right now?"

I nod. I give him another quick kiss and jump to my feet, reaching for his hands to pull him after me.

"What about dessert?" he asks with a sly grin. "I was enjoying it."

I groan. "Seriously? And you're a songwriter?"

He laughs again and lets me lead him back to the couch.



∞∞∞



We end up working mainly on the mirror song. By the time we wrap up our efforts, we're pretty comfortable with the general framework of what we put together. Casey is already talking about demos and scratch tracks and a bunch of other things that I guess mean he wants to do more with it. He clearly has a lot more of the song pieced together in his head than what he can play for me on the guitar. He tries his best to explain and demonstrate his masterpiece, but even with his makeshift couch cushion drum set, and surprisingly effective humming and hand motions, isn't able to fully translate his vision. After everything I've seen from him, I have no doubt that whatever it is, it will be spectacular.

"You hungry?" he asks as I get to my feet and stretch.

"A little. I want to go check on Luke though." 

Casey nods. "Good idea. I'll go get us some food."

"You could just order room service if you don't feel like going out."

He grimaces and shakes his head. "No, I need some air. Be back in a bit."

He jumps up, grabs his jacket, which I doubt he needs, and heads to the door. "Make sure you let me back in, though! Unlike you, I don't have a key … "

I return his smile. "Depends what you bring back."

He grins and shrugs before disappearing through the main door.

I turn in the opposite direction and head down the hall toward Luke's room. My nerves start to burn in my stomach as I move forward, as though I'm transporting from the sunny spark of creativity to the pain of lost identity. I'm not sure what's waiting for me at the end of the hall, but I'm terrified it will be something I'm not ready to handle again so soon.

When no one answers my knock, I peek into the room and am surprised to find it empty. I call for Luke, but there's no response, and my blood starts to pound. I enter the room, holding my breath, searching the bathroom and anywhere else he could be hiding. Nothing.

Confused and concerned, I back through the door and try the guestroom. Maybe he finally decided to take his own turn with the whacky shower. The extra room proves to be empty as well, and now I'm very worried. I'm sure he didn't leave, we would have noticed, so I try one last possibility: the office.

There's no light coming from under the closed door as I approach, so I'm skeptical. This room can't possibly be occupied, but I'm out of options and push through into the darkness anyway.

I nearly scream at the dark figure in the corner.

My heart pounds as I freeze, hand still on the door, terrified of the shadowed ghost. I force air into my lungs. It's only Luke. It has to be Luke. The dim light from the hall illuminates the figure enough that I can see the head turn toward me. I can also see that it's sitting on a chair.

"Luke?" I whisper. I turn on the light, and he squints against the bright blast. He doesn't speak, and after a brief glance in my direction, returns to staring at the floor.

I move into the office and close the door behind me. I don't know what to do, what to say, to draw him out of his nightmare, so I just do what I always do when I lose him, follow him. I pull out the desk chair and move it to the wall so I can sit near him.

And that's what I do. Sit.

For a long time I do nothing, staring at the floor, the ceiling, the wall. Every now and then casting a glance at Luke, but he's never here with me. He's forgotten about me already. The fancy clock on the wall with four different time zones ticks, no, hammers, each second into the stifling air around us. I hate time right now, how unpredictable and inconsistent it can be.

The carpet on the floor is softer here than in the other rooms, and I guess it's because this one isn't used as often. The padding probably isn't as worn. I like the way my foot squishes into it and leaves a clear impression. I make four identical ones in a row, and lean back to admire my design.

"What are you doing?"

I jump, startled by Luke's voice after the long silence.

"Making a footprint ladder."

"You can't do that somewhere else?"

"You're not somewhere else."

He quiets, and I allow myself to look at him again.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"I told you why. I hurt people … " He shakes his head. "No, I break people."

"Ok. Well, I was already broken long before I met you, so we're good."



       
         
       
        

His gaze shoots to mine, and I stare back. He's wrong if he thinks he has a monopoly on pain and an aimless existence.

"You don't know, Callie. You don't."

I lean my head back and stare at the opposite wall.

"I know more than you think. I know that Elena was an amazing person who killed herself, and that it was probably your fault because you treated her like crap."

I let my words settle for a moment before turning my head toward him to gauge how much I'd hurt him. He has tears in his eyes, but I'm not sure if they're new or not. He closes them and becomes perfectly still.

"Except here's the thing, Luke, it takes a lot more than someone being a jerk to you to make you kill yourself. You're giving yourself too much credit. You're not important enough to do that. She was sick. You may have been the trigger, but only on a gun that was already loaded."

He shakes his head slowly, eyes clenched, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"You don't understand, Callie," he whispers.

"Ok, so explain it to me. I'm done with this 'no personal stuff' bullshit. Explain to me how you picked up a gun and shot your wife in cold blood, because unless that's what happened, you don't belong in this prison anymore."

He shakes his head again, and I can't take it anymore. I grab his hands and jerk him awake.

"Stop! You have to stop this! You did your time! You paid for it! Now, it's time to be the person she loved, not the person she hated."

I search his eyes, refusing to let him retreat this time. Refusing to let him escape to that place where everyone is happy to abandon him. His hands start to shake in mine, I can feel the trembling, and his eyes fill again. The mounting tension burns through me as I watch the armor melt away from his face.

The tears become sobs, and soon he's in my arms, completely shattering before my eyes. He falls to the floor in a crumpled heap, and I pull him tightly against me. I hold on as his body shakes, stroking his hair, resting my head on his. I can feel my own heart aching at the horrific pain exploding into the small room that doesn't seem able to contain it. I can't hear the clock anymore. Time must have stopped.

But I hold on anyway, absorbing what I can, accepting what I can't, and just letting him shatter. We will sort through what's left when it's over, but for now everything needs to break apart. I know the place where he's trapped himself, and I know it's not real but will imprison you forever if you let it. It's that damn mirror from my poem. There's no escape from it until it disappears.