Docile Page 26

  I race inside to grab a towel, then out to the bath. I’ll never be as clean as Alex had me, but if I scrub hard enough I just might show Dad I’m underneath all this. I’m here.

  My hair’s still damp when he knocks. The table isn’t set. Shit. A fork clangs to the floor. I can’t even hold everything. I’ve set more complicated places than this.

  “Good to see you, Nora. Sorry I haven’t been more helpful, lately.” Dad hugs Nora and kisses her hair.

  “Don’t you worry about it.” Their lips meet; then she shoos him into the kitchen.

  I stand tall with my hands by my sides. Lifting my eyes to meet his is like lifting a two-hundred-pound weight. I’m going to buckle; it’s only a matter of when.

  Dad nods in my direction, but doesn’t speak to me, as if he’s counting me. Mom wanders in from the garden with a small bundle of flowers.

  “Those are lovely, dear.” Dad takes the bunch and holds it out to me without acknowledging my presence.

  I take them, fill a little glass with water, and sit them on the table in their new vase. When I smile at Dad, he neither smiles back nor shows his approval. I give up and sit down, joining the others at the table. Their words all mush together. I’m still not used to paying attention to others’ conversations, so my name startles me.

  “Elisha?” Nora glances sideways at me.

  “Sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?”

  “She said, you’ve been making friends.” Dad sticks a forkful of cabbage in his mouth and chews it like a horse.

  I scramble for an answer. “I met up with Micah after a swim, the other day. He used to be a Docile, too, so he’s helping me.”

  Dad shoves another clump of cabbage into his mouth. “Yeah, I heard he’s turning you into his own personal Docile.”

  “That’s nice,” Mom says.

  “David.” Nora glares at him.

  “What? You know it’s true. He was that trillionaire’s pet and now he’s Micah’s.”

  “We decided to let Elisha heal in his own way.”

  “Heal.” Dad wipes his mouth on a rag. “Heal from what? Drinking out of gold cups, sleeping on special foam beds—”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, before he can finish. “I’ll do whatever you say, but please take me home.” The word feels weird. This doesn’t feel like home. “At least let me see Abby.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “David!” Nora stands.

  “I won’t have her turning into one of them!” He gestures between me and Mom.

  “Please.” I stand with them. “I’m not an on-med. I’m not a drone.”

  Dad wipes the sweat from his forehead. “No, if you were, I might pity you. Look at her.”

  Mom smiles up at us, folding her hands in her lap. Her brown curls are soft and bounce on her shoulders. She still styles it every morning, like she was programmed. I look down at the city clothes I still wear even though no one’s told me to. I still run every morning.

  Do you really believe you have any free will left?

  “I don’t know,” I tell Alex. Why isn’t he here? I already feel dead.

  “Great, now he’s talking to himself.” Dad throws his hands up and walks away.

  “What if I am like Mom?” I look at her. She’s always so calm and happy, no matter what people say about her. Hopefully, I can adjust as well as she has. I wonder if she misses her Patron. “At least she’s always happy.”

  “I can’t take any more of this.” Dad pushes the door open and heads into the dark. He paces back and forth.

  What did I do wrong? I barely spoke, barely moved—and only to help. I look to Nora for the answer, but she huffs and glares at my dad. I didn’t mean to anger anyone.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I can do better.”

  “Don’t worry about it, hon; you’re doing fine,” Nora says. She doesn’t take her eyes off him. “It’s your father I’m worried about.”

  He circles back and stops with one foot inside. His face shines with tears. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen good.” He wipes them away. “I loved your mother and I loved you.”

  Loved. Past tense. Over, done.

  “We didn’t expect what happened to her and I have to face that, every day, the thing that used to be my wife. But at least I had you and Abby, right? Well, I don’t anymore. All I have is a confused teenager, who thinks this”—he waves at me and Mom—“is normal. Acceptable. And that she can get a job in the fancy fucking city and grow up to be a happy drone, like her brother.

  “I am sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I let you go. It should’ve been me. Then, at least I could’ve been with my wife, again. A happy Docile couple.”

  Happy. The word stabs me through the heart. Tension grips my neck, the ache spreading through my hands and head, bending me to its will. I thread my fingers through my hair, trying to squeeze the pain away. “I knew how to make Alex happy, but not you, Dad. It’s not enough for you that I gave up my family and my freedom and my future.” I push myself to look at him. “Why am I not allowed to be happy, now? Why are you only happy when I’m suffering?” The ache—the want—builds in my chest until it releases with a sob and a shout. “I was happy with Alex! He cared for me. He wanted me around. He said he loved me. Do you?”

  “I love you, Elisha,” Mom says.

  Dad looks at his feet. “I love my son.”

  “But that’s me.” I slam my fist into my chest. “I’m still me, just a new version.”

  “I prefer the old version.”

  “I know; you’ve told me. Don’t worry; I prefer the old you, too.” I press the wet corners of my eyes before they overflow. “And I miss Alex. Why am I not allowed to say that, here? Why can’t I love him?”

  “Because it’s not real,” Dad says.

  “But it feels real to me. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “The voices sound real to crazy people.”

  “I’m not crazy,” I whisper. “I’m hurt. I hurt everywhere.”

  Mom begins clearing the table, taking dishes out from under us. No one else moves or speaks.

  “I know I’m different,” I say. “But I’m not gone. I’m still in here.” I curl my finger against my sternum. “I need help. I need someone to love me and be patient with me.”

  Nora clears her throat. “Maybe we’re not the best people for that.”

  “You’ve been patient.” I reach for her hand and she squeezes mine harder than I expect.

  “But your father’s right. I’ve let you slip into old habits. You’re not taking care of yourself.” She points at me. “And I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “It’s too quiet, out here.”

  Nora’s hand slides up and pats my shoulder. “Go to your room, Elisha. Take your mother with you.”

  For one second I consider staying. But I’ve spent all my energy arguing with Dad and doing what Nora tells me is comforting. I lead Mom into my room—hers, really, since I’ve been sleeping at Micah’s. But I don’t mind sharing with Mom. She’s the only one here who’s always happy to see me.

  “You look tired, Elisha,” she says. “Would you like me to turn down the bed?”

  “Yes, please,” I say, not denying her the chance to feel useful. I wish someone would do the same for me.

  Mom pulls a thin sheet down and I settle onto the bare mattress. When she pulls the sheet up and tucks it around me, it’s almost like we’re both real.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she says, before helping herself to the old pullout couch.

  On the other side of our thin wall, Nora and Dad argue. Might be enough sound to lure me to sleep. Mom smiles when she closes her eyes. Always content.

  “Mom?” My voice rouses her.

  She doesn’t care. “Yes, Elisha?”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Yes, thank you. And yourself?”

  “No. I miss Alex.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fa
ult. I’m too scared to run into the city. What if I get there and he doesn’t want me?”

  “I love you, Elisha.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. I wish I could at least call Alex, talk to him. Tell him I can love him.”

  “Who is this?” Alex’s voice fills my head. “I know you’re not Alexander Bishop.”

  “Maybe I am crazy,” I say. “Your voice sounds so real.”

  “Elisha?”

  Hearing my name in his voice tenses my body with want. “I wish you were here.”

  “Elisha, you shouldn’t have called me.”

  “I know you’re only in my head, but … I do love you. And I need you. No one here needs me. If you don’t, either, what’s the point?”

  His voice doesn’t answer.

  “I don’t care if I’m hearing things,” I whisper, so Mom will fall back to sleep. “Please stay with me.”

  No answer, again.

  I sigh. He’s—

  “I’m here,” he finally says.

  “Thank you.” Alex is all I want. Now I have him. He has me—just tonight. Tomorrow he’ll be gone again, and that will hurt too much; I can’t stand it, anymore.

  I reach into the bag Alex packed me and pull out my razor. He bought it for me, like everything else. With the press of a button, the used blade drops into my palm. I hold the sharp side against my wrist. One slice. That’s how Nora’s husband, Riley, died, right on some trillionaire’s bathroom floor. His body was pale as ash when they brought him back.

  “Please stay with me,” I whisper.

  “I am.” Alex’s voice surrounds me.

  For once, I’ll be what everyone wants: out of the way.

  I wince at the first cut, at the white insides of my skin before blood floods the line. The sting shoots up through my arm. My heart quickens, as if my body wants to pump all the blood out of me.

  “Elisha, what are you doing?”

  “I cut myself.” I flex my arm and the blood runs onto the mattress. The buzz in my skin deepens to a tingle.

  “Where?”

  “My wrist.”

  “When?”

  It’s not bleeding as hard as I thought it would. Maybe I did it wrong. I can’t even manage to disappear. “Just now.”

  “Elisha, listen to me.”

  That’s all I want to hear him say. I hug my pillow as if it’s any substitute for Alex. “Always.”

  “First, put down whatever you cut yourself with.”

  His voice makes it okay. I set the blade on the bed, next to me. “Okay.”

  “Do not hang up the phone. I want you to put pressure on the cut. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” I clamp my hand over my wrist. It’s all I have. The blood is slippery and sticky between my fingers.

  “Good. I want you to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “Anything. What have you been doing?”

  “Running, mostly.”

  “That’s fun.” He sounds distracted. Even the Alex in my head is too busy for me. “What else?”

  “I made a friend. His name’s Micah.”

  “Does he run with you?”

  “No, I’m too fast.”

  Alex chuckles. “Of course you are.”

  I smile to myself. He’s happy, now. I’m happy. “He helped me, though, slept with me. It was okay. Not like being with you.”

  “Remind me to kill this Micah kid when I get there.”

  “If you’re coming here, you’d better hurry.” When I close my eyes, relief surges through my head. I am so tired—of trying, of caring, of existing. Of neighbors gawking and Dad fighting. “I’m about to fall asleep.”

  “Do not go to sleep, Elisha. Understand? How does your wrist look?”

  My eyelids weigh heavy, as I peek. “Fine. I don’t think it’s bleeding, anymore.”

  “Is anyone else there with you?”

  “My mom is, but she’s asleep. Dad and Nora are fighting about me. I’m at her house.”

  “Do not hang up the phone. I’ll be right there.”

  “Okay.” It was easier with Alex. Here, I’m exhausted.

  “And stay awake.”

  Then, for the first time, I break my word to Alex. I fall asleep.

  47

  ALEX

  “Elisha?”

  Silence.

  “Elisha, answer me.” I unfog the privacy glass for a second, then reset it. Charlene is gone. Dad sits at a table in the waiting area, talking on the phone and reviewing documents on his tablet. He was proud of me for taking Elisha home and moving on; he won’t understand. None of them will.

  “You should go,” says the debtor I was pretending to interview.

  “You fucking think?” The feelings I’ve spent the past week suppressing rush to the surface like a buoy forced underwater. Relief and pain hit me at the same time. How stupid to think I could move on like the last six months didn’t happen. Like Elisha means nothing to me.

  He stands. “I’ll vouch for you. Tell him you went to the restroom or something—whatever. That you said you’ll be right back. Should give you a head start.”

  “How much debt do you have?” I ask.

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  “Your name?”

  “Liam Greene.”

  “Liam Greene, go home.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “I’ll pay it. If you cover for me, I’ll pay it.”

  “Really? I—are you sure—”

  Already I’m drafting a virtual check on my phone. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t.” I crack the door. Dad paces down the hallway, still talking. He is going to be so disappointed in me. “I have a lot to make up for.” I slip between the door and its frame, closing it quietly, not taking my eyes off Dad.

  He stops at a window and speaks to the glass as if it’s whomever he’s on the phone with. I cringe at the pattering my shoes make in this echo chamber of a hallway, then speed up as if I can escape the sound.

  As soon as I round the corner, I run down the marble staircase, not waiting for the elevator. How can I stand still when Elisha is bleeding out forty fucking minutes away? I grind my teeth to keep from screaming.

  My car waits at the end of the block, but I can’t risk taking it. Behind it, a row of taxis. I open the back door of the last one in line and rap my knuckles on the dividing plastic.

  “Eighty-Three North. Fast as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.” He looks in his mirror and backs out. Not fast enough.

  “I’ll triple your rate if you can get me there in less than thirty minutes.” I slide my card through the reader in an act of good faith.

  “What’s your exit?” he asks.

  “Thirty-One.”

  “You got it.”

  “Call nine–one–one,” I say.

  “Me?” the driver asks.

  “No, I’m talking to my phone. You drive.”

  The operator answers after one ring. “Nine–one–one, what’s your emergency?”

  “I need you to meet me at Prettyboy Reservoir off 83 North. Exit 31. Fast as you fucking can.”

  * * *

  Dust billows around the car when it slides to a stop. I push the door open and run.

  Nora is his neighbor. His house is beside the water spigot, where I left him. People wander out of their homes at the wailing sound of the approaching ambulance. I collide with a cheap wooden door that can’t possibly still lock. It swings open easily. Elisha’s father and a middle-aged Black woman, who I assume is Nora, stand in the small kitchen. Her finger still points at his chest; accusation lingers in her eye.

  “Where is he?” I ask.

  “Who?” she says. “And who are you?”

  “Where’s Elisha!” I shout.

  “You’re the Patron, Alexander Bishop.” Mr. Wilder glares at me, fingers twitching at his sides.

  “I don’t have time for this.” There are only two doors in the whole damn house. He’s got t
o be behind one of them.

  Dad and Nora are fighting about me.

  I shove past them and fling open the nearest door. Shouts erupt behind me. On a faded twin mattress, Elisha lies with his eyes closed. Blood stains an almost floral pattern around his wrist. The razor blade sits neatly beside him, where I told him to put it.

  “Wake up.” I drop to my knees beside him.

  But Elisha doesn’t respond to my command.

  “I said wake up!” I reach for him, but EMTs push between us.

  Nora wraps her arms around me, pulling me back. “Let them work,” she says.

  They rush back and forth. Their figures blur into one giant mass.

  “It’s my fault,” I whisper. “I did this.”

  She doesn’t deny it.

  * * *

  An EMT cracks the door and sticks her head out. “Any of you family?”

  We all stand.

  “I’m his father,” David says, and the EMT leads him into Elisha’s room.

  Nora stares me back down onto the couch. “Wait your turn.”

  That man disowned Elisha. He shouldn’t get a say. “He—”

  “Don’t.” She narrows her eyes at me.

  I ball my hands in my lap. “If I could go back and undo it, I would.”

  “Maybe. But you’re still the one who took Elisha from his family.”

  I stare at her for a minute. Twice as many wrinkles line her face as my mother’s. Her stained tee shirt says: “Be Crabby,” but I bet she’s never eaten a good crab cake.

  “You’re Dylan’s mother, right? Nora Falstaff? I’m not supposed to know your surname unless Dylan volunteers it, but Elisha told me—I didn’t mean to.”

  “It’s fine,” she says. “Surnames are the least of our worries, now.”

  “No. I’ve violated Third Right. I don’t know how much sway I have over Dylan’s contract, but I’ll tell our contracts manager I fucked up. She should get to go home.”

  Nora lets out a hmpf. “Your toys are less fun to play with once you realize they’re people, aren’t they?”

  I want to like this woman. I do. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “I may not have birthed Elisha, but I am as much his parent as David is. I am his family. And what you’ve done to him is…” She looks at the ceiling, shaking her head and wiping the corners of her eyes with callused fingers.