The Edge of Always

I have no idea where he’s going with this.

Everyone is looking right at Andrew now, especially Natalie, whose eyes are bugged out with anticipation.

“We met this group of people who offered us to drive out and party with them on a hard-to-find area of the beach. So we did. And we had a good time. But then shit got weird.”

“Weird how?” Natalie interrupts.

“Like LSD or who-the-hell-knows weird,” he says.

Natalie’s eyes get bigger and grow fierce as she looks back at me. “You did LSD? What the fuck is wrong with you, Cam?”

I shake my head. “No, no way did I do it willingly. They drugged us!”

Everyone’s eyes match Natalie’s now.

“Yeah,” Andrew goes on. “We’re not even sure what they gave us, but we were both trippin’ out of our minds.”

“I was roofied once,” Blake’s sister, Sarah, says.

She looks about eighteen.

Blake’s body jerks forward to sit straight up, causing Natalie to hit her front teeth on her beer bottle. “What?” he asks with fire shooting from his eyes.

“Oh, you didn’t know about that?” Sarah says sweetly, acting like she had simply forgotten to tell him at some point.

Obviously, it was better that he hadn’t known.

“Owww!” Natalie whines, holding her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Blake says. He kisses her cheek and turns back to his sister. “Who the fuck roofied you, Sarah? Don’t shit me, either. You better tell me… Did anything happen?” There’s dread in his face.

Sarah rolls her eyes. “No. Nothing happened because Kayla was there and she drove me home. And no, I don’t know who did it, Blake, so please just chill out.” Then she turns back us. “You were saying?”

“I’ll go with you, man,” Andrew says to Blake. “You ever find out who did it, just let me know. That’s bullshit.”

I elbow Andrew softly. He takes the hint and says, “Anyway, Florida was an experience, I have to say, but I never wanna do it again.”

Andrew doesn’t tell them anything about that skanky bitch who tried giving him a blow job. I’m glad he doesn’t, because that would be an awkward conversation. Not to mention, Natalie would have a field day with information like that. We hang out in the beanbag chairs and talk to our friends for a few hours until around eight o’clock, when Blake has to drive Sarah home. Shortly after the three of them leave, everybody else follows, and Andrew and I are alone in our first official home together as newlyweds.

He comes back in from the kitchen with a candle in his hand after lighting it on the stove. The gas was turned on early. Then he uses that flame to light the others on the table.

“Are we going to sleep on the floor?” I ask, watching him.

“Nope,” he says as he moves away from the candles. He drags all the beanbags into the center of the room and fits them closely together, creating a makeshift bed, then pats one of them with the palm of his hand. “This’ll have to do for now. I’m not sleeping on the floor. Talk about waking up with a stiff back.”

I smile. “This is strange, isn’t it?” I say, looking around at the bare walls of our house, envisioning what kind of pictures or paintings might look good on them.

“What, having no furniture or electricity? You should be used to that by now.” He chuckles.

I get up from my beanbag by the wall and sit down on the bed he made. I reach out toward the table and poke my finger around in the hot wax of a candle, letting it sting and then cool and conform to the tip of my finger.

“No, I mean this house. Us. Everything, really.”

“Strange in a good way, I hope.”

“Of course,” I say, smiling up at him.

Silence fills the house. The light from the candles cast large dancing shadows on the walls. It smells like bleach and Pine-Sol and other various cleaners, although it’s faint.

“Andrew,” I say, “thank you for moving here.”

Finally, he sits down beside me and we both stare into the flames for a moment.

“Where else would I be other than wherever you are?” he says.

“You know what I mean,” I say. I reach out and move the palm of my hand over the top of one flame, just to feel the heat on my skin and to see how close I can get before it’s too much.

“I know,” he says, “but just the same.”

I pull my hand away and look at him; his face looks soft in the orangish glow of the candlelight, even with the stubble he’s started letting grow again.

“Camryn, I need to tell you something,” he says.

Instantly, my heart locks up in my chest at the way he said it.

“What… I mean, what do you mean you have to tell me something?” I’m so nervous. I don’t know why.

Andrew draws his knees upward and props his forearms on top of them. He looks back at the flame once, only for a few seconds, but even a few seconds is too long.

“Andrew?” I turn around fully to face him.

I notice his throat moves as he swallows. He looks me in the eyes.

“I’ve been having headaches,” he begins, and my heart falls into my stomach. I think I’m going to throw up. “Just since Monday, but I set up an appointment with a doctor here. Your mom recommended him.”

I hate her right now for keeping this from me. My hands are shaking.

“I asked your mom not to say anything because I wanted this house stuff to go smoothly—”

“You should’ve told me.”

He tries to reach out for my hand but I inadvertently push it away and rise to my feet. “Why’d you keep this from me?!” I feel dizzy.

Andrew stands up, too, but he keeps his distance. “I told you,” he says. “I didn’t want—”

“I don’t care! You should’ve told me!”

I fold my arms over my stomach and arch over forward a little. I’m surprised I haven’t already puked. My nerves are so frayed it feels like they’re really coming apart inside me. “This can’t be happening…” Finally, I bury my face in my hands and rupture into sobs. “Why the fuck is this happening?!”

Andrew is next to me in seconds. I feel his arms wrap around me. He pulls my trembling body into his chest and holds me. Tight.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says. “I honestly don’t feel like I did before, Camryn. I’m having headaches, yes, but they feel different.”

When I tame my sobs enough that I feel like I can speak without choking, I raise my head to see him.

He encloses my face in his hands and smiles faintly at me. “I knew you would react this way, baby,” he says in a quiet voice. “I don’t want you to stress out for the next four days until my appointment on Monday.” He holds my gaze still. “It doesn’t feel the same. Just focus on that, because I’m telling you the truth.”

“Are you?” I ask. “Or, are you saying that to keep me from worrying?” I already have it set in my mind that the latter is exactly what he’s doing. I pull away from him and start pacing the floor, my arms crossed, one hand resting on my lips. I can’t stop shaking.

“I’m not lying to you,” he says. “I’m going to be fine. I feel like I’m going to be fine, and you have to believe that.”

I whirl around to face him again. “I can’t do this anymore, Andrew. I won’t.”

He tilts his head slightly to one side; his gaze is thoughtful, curious, concerned.

I know he wants me to elaborate on what I said, but I can’t. I can’t because the things I want to say would only upset and hurt him. And they would just be words. Words born from pain and anger and a part of me that wants to look God, or whoever, or whatever, in the face and tell It to go to Hell.

I need to calm myself. I need to take a step back and breathe.

I do just that.