Not only that, but concealment is getting more and more difficult. It’s just so hard to remember everything, all the little details that she has to keep on top of if she’s going to keep her secret. Take a few nights ago, when she saw David crying. After Willow had finally fallen asleep, after the bite of the blade had soothed her like a lullaby, she’d awoken with a start, knowing something was wrong. Willow had tossed and turned for a good half hour racking her brain until she realized that she hadn’t wiped up the blood that had dripped from her arm and onto the floor.
What if she’d forgotten to clean it up? What if Cathy had seen it in the morning?
The girl with the cell phone is getting ready to leave. Willow won’t have to listen to her anymore. But she doesn’t care, it’s too late. If only she could find that stupid library pass. She digs a little deeper.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
Willow is startled by the interruption. She jerks her hand out of her bag as if she’s been caught stealing. Her heart is beating as fast as if she’s just run a marathon.
It’s Guy. Well of course. Who else would it be? He’s the only person that she’s talked to around here.
“Hi.” She scrambles to her feet, wiping her palms, which are slightly sweaty, against her jeans.
“You headed over to the library?”
“No.” Willow shakes her head. “I don’t work today.”
“Oh, are you meeting your brother then?”
“I . . . No.” Willow almost laughs. She’s gone out of her way to avoid David ever since she witnessed that little scene in the middle of the night.
“Okay.” He considers this for a second. “Did you just come up here to read then? ’Cause I do that all the time too. I find it a lot easier to get work done here than at school.” Guy sits down next to her as he says this. He puts his backpack on the grass and, using it like a pillow, lies down with one arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sun.
Willow doesn’t know how to answer. She’s too busy trying to figure out how she can get away, so she can keep her date with the razor.
“Bulfinch?” Guy picks up the book. “You must be taking Myths and Heroes. I had it last year.” He starts to flip through the pages. “I liked it, but it wasn’t my favorite class or anything. I mean, the Greek myths are as good as it gets, but Bulfinch? Kind of dry, don’t you think?” His smile is dazzling in the sunlight. “Who’s teaching it this semester?”
He says all this easily, as if they’ve already had a million conversations. As if they were friends.
She should sit down and talk to him. There’s no real reason not to. That conversation in the stacks, that had been good before it turned. Why not talk about the Bulfinch,talk about school, and maybe some other stuff too?
But Willow’s already decided that it’s too dangerous to speak to him. She thinks back to the other day—how does she know that when she’s done talking, when she’s laid herself bare before him, that he won’t turn to her and say something as clumsy, as blunt, and as painful as that girl in the lab?
No. There will be no talking. Not about Bulfinchand not about anything else either.
She has other things to do.
“Sorry, I . . . I can’t really talk. . . . I’m kind of in a hurry,” Willow says as she reaches to pick up her bag.
“Oh, c’mon, stay. If you go I’ll have to get to work, and I feel like wasting time. Look.” Guy sits up, propping himself on one elbow. “If you stay and talk to me I’ll buy you a cappuccino at that place I told you about.” He grabs one of the straps on her backpack and tries to pull her down.
“I can’t!” Willow says somewhat wildly. She pulls in the opposite direction, but Guy is stronger and she stumbles against him.
“Hey, watch it.” Guy lets go of the bag and reaches out to steady her. His grip is stronger than he knows, and Willow can’t stop herself from wincing as his wrists close around her fresh scars.
“Is something wrong?” Guy frowns.
“No.” Willow pulls her arms away, but the damage is done.
He’s disturbed the cuts before they had time to scab over. She can see the blood seeping through her shirt. Willow doesn’t look at him. She just starts moving as quickly as possible. She doesn’t even care which direction.
“Hey.” Guy stands up. This time his hand is on her shoulder as he turns her around to face him. “You’re bleeding!”
Willow doesn’t know what to say. She’s frozen to the spot. “That looks bad.” Guy stares at the blood drenching her sleeve, staining her white blouse crimson.
He hasn’t figured it out,Willow thinks, relieved. Is it possible that he doesn’t make any connection between the blood that’s dripping down her arm today, and the blood that was dripping down her leg in the lab yesterday?
If only she could think of some plausible story. If only the cuts weren’t in such a telling place. It had been simple with her leg. Of course, she wishes that she had claimed some kind of fall, an accident, anything but shaving, but still . . . Legs were easy . . . but her forearms?
Guy seems more and more bewildered as he looks at the blood. He glances up at Willow, a question in his eyes.
Well, too bad,Willow thinks. She’s not going to answer it. She yanks her hand away, mindless of the pain. Unfortunately, as she does so, her bag slips down her arm and the contents spill out onto the lawn.
“No!” Willow yells as Guy bends down to pick up her things. Why does he have to be so polite? She considers shoving him, pushing him, even doing something as outrageous, as crazy, as kicking him in the shins, anything,just so she can get him off her case, just so she can make sure that he stays away from her cargo.
Willow lunges for her stash, but it’s too late. Guy is there first. His hand closes around her supplies. He stands up and starts to give them to her, along with a couple of pens, some gum, and the rest of her belongings.
Willow can’t believe it. He’s found her stuff and he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t make the connection between the blood spurting from her arm and the soiled razor that he’s about to pass to her.
She’s so relieved that she can’t stop herself, she bursts into laughter. Guy looks confused for a moment—after all, there’s nothing so funny about her dropping her bag. But he’s a good sport. His face creases into a smile and he starts laughing with her. Willow thinks of how they must look: like a young couple in love. Thatmakes her laugh even harder. Who watching them would know that she’s laughing because he doesn’t realize the meaning of what he’s holding?
“Hey,” Guy says suddenly. “I use this brand.” He’s looking at the blade, his laughter stops, and Willow realizes that she should have run, that she misjudged him, that he does, after all, get it.
“Hey!” His voice is panicked. Willow knows she should get out of there, but she’s rooted to the spot. Her mind is racing furiously. But she can’t think of anything to say, she can’t think of any way to guarantee his silence.
“Hey!” Guy says once again. He rips up her sleeve and stares at her arm. Willow turns beet red. She couldn’t feel more exposed if she were standing naked and he was staring at her breasts. She can feel his eyes as they drink in the terrible sight, the old scars and the fresh scabs, the bleeding flesh and the puckered ugly wounds.
He raises his head and looks her in the eye, his expression equal parts shock and revulsion. Willow stares back. Guy is as quiet as she is, and no wonder. There’s simply nothing to say. Willow drops her arm. The worst is over. Maybe now she can just leave. After all, what can he really do? But as Willow watches him slowly back away from her, as she sees the look of horror on his face change to one of determination, she realizes that there is in fact something he can do, something that he is clearly intent on doing, something so awful that her knees nearly give way at the thought.
He can tell David.
Guy turns suddenly and begins running across the lawn. Willow doesn’t hesitate, she takes off after him. But he’s fast, faster then she’ll e
ver be. He’s crossing college walk, running up the stairs, in a second he’ll be at the anthropology building, and she still hasn’t caught up.
Willow wants to yell at him to stop, but she’s afraid of attracting any more attention. Already people are turning to look at them. In any case, she is too breathless to get the words out, and what good would they do? Sweat is pouring down her back, her heart is pounding so hard, she’s actually afraid it will burst, but that’s nothing, nothing compared to the despair she feels at what is about to happen. She can’t let Guy destroy her secret. She can’t let him take away the only thing that gives her any comfort.
A group of students come out of the anthropology building just as he reaches the door. They’re talking and laughing, blocking the entrance. Willow can’t believe her luck. They stop him cold, there’s nothing for him to do but stand there and wait until they move on.
She manages to catch up just as they finally clear out. Guy flings open the door, but she’s on his heels now. He takes the stairs two at a time. Willow hurls herself after him, frantically reaching her arms out, determined to grab on to him, to halt his progress in some way, to prevent him from accomplishing his mission.
Willow catches hold of his shirt. She pulls on it, but he’s stronger, and she lets go, afraid that if she doesn’t she’ll tear the fabric. He spins around then. Maybe he’s surprised at how easily she’s given up, or maybe he’s surprised at the absurdity, the insanityof her unwillingness to destroy his shirt when she has no such hesitation destroying her own flesh. They stand there on the stairs, both of them with chests heaving, saying nothing, taking each other’s measure. Then Guy turns again. This time as Willow lunges after him she is able to reach his hand, but even though she pulls on it with her full weight, he keeps on going. She grasps the banister with her other hand, drags her feet as if they’re made of lead, but to no avail: He is relentless, and the only thing she can do is go along with him.
They arrive at the fourth floor, still holding hands. Guy pauses briefly in front of the door to David’s office. He looks at Willow for a second but doesn’t say anything.
“Please don’t tell him,” Willow begs, encouraged by his hesitation. “Please.”
But she doesn’t have time for any further entreaties. Because before Guy even has a chance to knock, the door opens and David appears, ushering the head of the department out.
“Well, hello there.” David smiles widely as he looks at the two of them, both slightly flushed, both panting as they stand hand in hand.
It’s clear from the expression on his face that he’s completely misunderstood the situation. “I can’t talk with you right now,” he says after a moment. “I have to return a couple of phone calls, if you don’t mind waiting. . . .” But he makes no move to go. He’s practically beaming as he stares at their clasped hands.
Willow can hardly breathe; she feels as if she might collapse. She’s not just frightened for herself either. The thought of having her fix taken away is bad enough. But the thought of Guy telling David, of seeing that smile disappear, is even worse. Her brother hasn’t looked this happy in months.
And then it hits Willow. She knows how she can save herself; the relief that surges through her leaves her weak.
“I’ll just be a second,” David says finally. He shuts his office door, leaving Guy and Willow alone.
Guy sinks down onto the floor. His hand is still linked with Willow’s and he pulls her down with him. Only now she’s the one who’s in control. Now she knows what to do.
“Did you see how happy he looked?” Willow hisses in Guy’s ear. “He thinks that we were, you know, together.”
“So?” Guy says roughly.
“Don’t you get it?” Willow continues. “He thinks we’re together. He thinks I’m getting better. I haven’t seen him look that happy since, well, probably since the accident. Do you want to wipe that smile off his face?” She is relentless. “What do you think this will do to him? Do you think it will do him any good? This will killhim.”
She wonders for a second if this is indeed accurate. Willow is sure that she has lost her brother’s love, but that does not mean that he will not do everything in his power to take care of her. That does not mean that he isn’t reassured by the sight of her and Guy, by the thought that she is getting on with her life. And that most especially does not mean that learning something new and dreadful about her could not still shatter his world even further. She simply will not allow Guy to do that to him.
But Guy looks less certain than he did a minute ago. He glances at Willow, then away.
“This will killhim,” Willow repeats forcefully.
“But it might do you some good. You’re going to . . .” Guy trails off. It’s obvious that he can’t bring himself to say the words.
“Kill myself?” Willow finishes the sentence for him. “That isn’t my game at all.”
“Fine.” Guy looks at her in disgust. “You’re just going to mutilate yourself. Hey, you’re right, that’s loads better.”
“Better or not, what on earth makes you think that telling my brother will be the thing that gets me to stop?”
“Won’t it?”
“Not even close.” Willow’s voice is like a whiplash. “Not even close,” she says again. “The only thing you’ll do is mess with his head so badly that . . . Well, I don’t know what would happen, I just don’t know, but something terrible, believe me. He’s been through too much. How much more can he possibly take? And what good would it all do anyway? I mean it. Telling him won’tget me to stop.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” Guy looks at her angrily.
“I don’t care what you do. But you can’t tell him.” Willow hears the door to David’s office open. She leans back against the wall and attempts to compose herself.
“So what do you want to see me about?” David asks.
Guy gets to his feet. He’s a little unsteady, and he holds Willow tighter than he realizes.
Willow stands absolutely still. She’s done her best. Now it’s up to Guy.
“I was . . .” Guy stops mid-sentence and looks back and forth between Willow and David. “I was just wondering if you already had your syllabus worked out for next semester,” he finally mumbles.
Not bad.
Willow looks at Guy with some respect. Not that she really cares one way or the other what he tells David, as long as he doesn’t give her up, but still, she’s not sure that she could have come up with something that plausible on the spur of the moment.
Then the impact of his words hits her.
He hasn’t given her up.
The relief is so overwhelming that she feels her knees give way beneath her. If Guy weren’t holding on to her so tightly, she’d fall down to the floor.
“Well, I’ve got to say, you have a pretty inaccurate impression of me if you think I have nextsemester together.” David laughs. “I’m barely on top of this one. But c’mon in and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of, and maybe I can give you some ideas for a few other classes that you should take. My sister tells me that you want to major in anthropology next year.”
Willow stares up at the ceiling and whistles a little tune under her breath.
But Guy doesn’t seem to take in what David’s saying. Clearly he’s still quite rattled by everything that’s just happened.
“I think that’s great,” David continues after a second. He sits down at his desk and gestures for them to take the couch. “But even if you do want that to be your major, maybe you should think about taking something in another department.” He pauses and leafs through some of the papers on his desk.
Willow sits next to Guy on the couch. She’s never been so uncomfortable in her life and she can’t wait for their impromptu get-together to end.
“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess that’s a point.” Guy makes a visible effort to pull himself together. “But you know, last year I took two classes up here—yours, which I really liked, and then this really basic course
in composition. I feel bad saying this, but it was a total waste of time. I only did it because my school sort of requires that most juniors taking classes here start with that . . .” He turns to Willow. “If you decide to take anything up here next semester, you’ll probably have to—”
“Yes. Well, I don’t think that kind of thing is appropriate for Willow right now,” David interrupts, his tone abrupt.
Willow feels a little like she’s been slapped. Not that she has any desire whatsoever to take any extra classes, but it’s painful to hear her brother talk about her as if she’s not even there. She’s not sure that she likes the sound of appropriateeither; clearly it’s much easier for him to talk about Guy’s prospects.
Maybe she’s above letting herself be jealous of her six-month-old niece, but Guy is not exempt from her pettiness. She looks at him resentfully.
“You know what?” David goes on. “I thought I at least had some notes up here, but I must have left them at home. Why don’t you give me your e-mail address, and as soon as I have my stuff together, I’ll send you what I have.”
“Great, thanks. I . . . um, well, I guess I’ll see you next semester. . . .” Guy gets up from the couch, Willow follows him silently out of David’s office and down the stairs.
“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,”Guy mutters under his breath. He gives the double doors to the building a savage kick.
The afternoon has turned into evening. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles Willow’s hair as they walk slowly across the campus. It’s soothing after the turmoil that she’s been through, and Willow is content to do nothing more than enjoy the sensation. She’s too drained to talk, too drained to even think.
Guy, however, has no such problems.
“What am I doing?” he repeats over and over again. “I can’t believe that whole charade just now! I must be as crazy as you are.” Guy stops and looks at her, his expression a combination of disgust and disbelief.