Near Touch

Chapter 4: Pact

Caleb was leaning against the white ash tree just across the street in her neighbor's front yard. The moon was a pearly white orb in the sky, the clouds slithering past its surface hauntingly. Almost as if they didn't want to get caught up in the middle of things about to happen between two headstrong teenagers.

The quiet of the night was in danger.

Amy wondered why Caleb was standing just out of reach but just in sight. He stoically regarded her and she imagined his melancholy voice whispering in her ear – Last chance, Amelia.

She squared her shoulders, pulled the glass pane down and disappeared from her bedroom window – only to reappear a few moments later at her door. Slowly, Amy leaned against the porch column, mirroring Caleb's stance.

He looked down at his feet and his hand grazed the back of his head. A couple of long strides later, they stood facing each other. His eyes were warily searching her face for clues. Amy let them wander freely, noting that they lingered a second more than necessary on her lips. Maybe he had noticed them quivering after all. This time though, she was in control. Amy gave nothing away.

She led him up the stairs to her room and shut the door. He looked ill at ease, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. But to his credit, Caleb did not say a word. Amy could feel the atmosphere in the room stretch – tauten like a deliberately pulled rubber band. She dug her notebook up from the tangled sheets and signaled Caleb to take a seat.

Predictably, he did not comply. Amy realized this guy was taciturn for a reason. He did not like to play games. She softened her approach.

"Caleb, please sit down so I can explain," Amy said quietly, not wishing to wake her parents up. It would be hard to explain why she was mumbling to herself at one-thirty in the night. She doubted they would be able to handle two daughters needing therapy.

"If the answer is no then I don't want to waste my time here," he said harshly. "Besides I don't know how much of it I have left."

His tone didn't intimidate Amy this time. She knew he was putting up a façade; his mental walls climbing higher as he tried to defend himself against her inevitable attack. Out of all the possibilities that she had considered, Amy guessed which one Caleb thought she would pick. She knew she deserved to be thought of that way, particularly after her behavior in the afternoon. Under his jacket, all his muscles were rigid.

"I want to help you, Caleb. And I am sorry that I didn't want to before." Amy looked contrite.

"Do you mean it?" he asked, shrewdly.

"Yes, I do."

"Oh thank God," he said, and discernibly relaxed in front of her eyes. Caleb shifted as though the concrete block that he had been forced to carry on his back all this while had crumbled to dust.

Hell, that sure was quick, Amy thought. It's not like he has a choice.

Caleb closed his eyes and the scowl that Amy thought was quite permanent, slowly smoothened. He did have a handsomely carved face, framed by his silky hair. She couldn't recall seeing a more attractive nose.

He perched onto a pillow that had fallen onto the floor. "Continue," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting fleetingly. Amy was puzzled by his style but decided to humor him. She lowered down to her knees and rested on the balls of her feet, handing the open spiral notebook to him.

Reflexively, Caleb reached out for it but his fingers couldn't quite touch it and it slid away from his outspread palm and onto the carpet with a dismal thump.

"That never gets old," he muttered and scratched his nose. "Why don't you hold it up for me?"

"Alright," she said, holding it up so that he could see. "I have a few theories. About your um... condition."