Take Me

Chapter Sixteen

♔ Chapter Sixteen ♔

"Tom? Is that you, Tom?" It was Darby. "What are you doing back here?"

I was sitting in the waiting room of his mother's therapy office, the same place that we'd met. I remembered that day plainly. I was sitting exactly where I was then, in the same chair, unchanged, looking out of the window. There was a play-park just over the road, and I'd stare out there, watching all of those children play while I was stuck in here. I'd picture Luke and I out there, running around like we used to. The play-park was now an industrial waste site. The last time I was in this office, I'd turned, and then I'd seen Darby, just like I had now, with a boyish grin splashed over his face.

I shuffled in my seat awkwardly as he sat down beside me. "I have an appointment," I told him, as if it wasn't obvious enough why I was back in that foul office. The whole place was a modern, ugly mess of pristine white chairs and washed white walls, with everything gleaming spotlessly. It was tragic just how clean this place had stayed.

"You do?" he asked, sitting in the seat beside me casually. "With my mum?"

I nodded. "Your bruises don't look too bad," I said, trying to start some kind of conversation. I'd gotten so use to Darby sparking the talking that the one time he kept his mouth shut, it made me uncomfortable, it made me want to hear his voice.

His hand went up to his bruised face, from where Isaac's knee had landed on his cheek. "It was worth it," he said, his fingers trembling slightly as they passed over the plushy purple skin. "He deserved it, for what he did to you. And don't say anything stupid and naive in response, Tom, because I honestly won't believe it. You can say you love him, and you can tell me that it wasn't rape, but whatever it was, it was abuse. And I'm glad you're getting help."

He rose from the seat beside me quickly, and turned to walk off. "I'll see you later," I murmured, my voice barely there, so quiet it could have easily been missed. But I knew he heard. For a moment, he stopped walking, but then he pressed onward and left his mum's office.

"You like him," Luke teased. Luke was always the one that teased. He used to tease me about liking some girl or other, or he'd tempt me into doing things that would get us in trouble.

"As a friend," I told him.

"You like Isaac, too."

"So what?"

I was trying not to look at him as I sat there, but he was in the chair directly opposite me, sitting, staring. He shrugged. "Seems like you've moved on from me." His voice was dejected and laced in the worst and bitterest kind of heartbreak. I think the worst part about Luke's death was knowing the way that he felt about me. And the way that I felt about him. And not knowing what might have happened between us if he didn't die that day, only knowing that whatever might have happened couldn't ever happen now, because I'd killed him.

"I haven't," I reassured him, my voice just as dead and bitter. "I've always loved you."

"Just not the way I wanted."

"You can't know that."

He perked up. "I died because I kissed you."

My hands were clamming horribly as I fumbled with them, terrified at every word that escaped his blue lips. "And?" I asked.

"It was worth it," he said, his voice holding a wisp of happiness.

He gave me a look, like everything happened for a reason, but I couldn't believe that. My brother died because he kissed me. He died thinking I rejected him, I hated him, when I didn't. I loved him. I loved him so much, so much more than anyone I'd ever met, and nothing could ever change that. Luke always had a part of my heart grasped firmly between his dead, white fingers. And that made me smile back.