The Liberator

“Three, actually. Last test is Thursday morning.” I hear a clipping noise on the other end of the line and imagine Charlie biting her nails. “But I’ve been having fun even with school in.”

My stomach plummets. “Yeah? That’s cool. What have you been doing?”

“Lots of stuff. Annabelle and I went to a swimming hole even though it was super cold. It was really fun. No one thought I’d jump off the cliff, but I did.”

“Jump off what?” I nearly shout. “Why are you jumping off things, Charlie? Don’t do that. Don’t jump off things.”

“It wasn’t a big deal. I’m just having fun.”

“Were you with him?” I ask. “Were Salem and his brother there?” Charlie is quiet, and even though I hate myself for asking, I hate it even more that she’s admitting what I already knew. “Let me guess, he’s the one who dared you to jump.”

“He doesn’t treat me like I’m breakable,” Charlie snaps.

I have no response for this, because I know that’s how I treat her. But it’s because I care about her. I care about her so much, it makes me sick. I should tell her this, but all I can picture is Salem encouraging Charlie to drink, or hold her breath underwater, or leap off the side of a cliff. And I picture the way he celebrates with her when she does these things. Like he’s this fun dude, and I’m some paranoid schizo who’s killing the party.

“How’s the assignment going?” Charlie asks. Her voice is back to being soft. It’s like she’s struggling between two sides of herself, and I want so bad to point this out, but I can’t, because the same thing is happening to me. I’m not doing crap about my assignment. I haven’t sealed Aspen’s soul a single time. In fact, all I’ve done is lose myself in her world, a world I’ve known much longer than the one Charlie’s shown me.

“I’m going to get this assignment done quickly,” I say, though the words sound like a lie leaving my mouth.

“I wish you were standing right next to me, Dante,” Charlie says suddenly.

“Then don’t hang up.”

Charlie’s laugh sounds like bells ringing. “Annabelle just got back.”

“So?” I say. “So make her wait. Make her leave. Whatever. Just stay on the phone.”

“We’ve got plans,” she says. I can tell she’s doing that thing again, fighting two sides of some internal argument.

“Cancel them.” I look over my shoulder at the house to ensure I’m still alone. “This isn’t like you, anyway. Going out every night when you have finals.”

“How would you know?” she demands. “You’ve barely known me two months.”

Her words shoot holes through me, because she’s right. I haven’t known her long at all. Our relationship moved quickly, so quickly that I’ve often wondered whether the strong connection we felt or the couple of times we exchanged I love yous were triggered by the threat of the collectors, or maybe even the conflict I experienced over whether to defy Lucille.

Ever since I left, I haven’t stopped thinking about how neither one of us has said I love you since the day I woke up with a liberator cuff around my ankle. Each time we’re together, we can’t keep our hands off each other. But maybe that’s lust. Maybe it’s admiration. How do I know if we were ever really in love if I’ve never experienced these feelings before now? “I know you,” is all I whisper. “I know you, Charlie.”

She pulls in a long breath, and it feels like she steals it right from my lungs. “I miss you,” Charlie repeats. I think she’s coming back to me, that she’s going to tell me we can talk as long as I want. But then I hear Annabelle’s voice.

“Okay, got the juice,” Annabelle says in the background. “Let’s get on the road, girl! You talking to D? I sent him a picture of your naughty self. Hey, Dante, Valery and Max are going out with us tonight! We’ll be good. Your girl’s got to run.”

Charlie sounds like she’s battling Annabelle for the phone. Finally, I hear Charlie say into the receiver, “Call you later.”

“Be safe,” I say to dead air. Feeling like I just got kidney punched, I trek back inside, barely feeling my fingers from the cold. Snow crunches under my shoes, and when I land inside, I brush them off on a doormat that reads, “Wipe your paws” and has little animal prints on it.

When I glance up, my eyes meet Aspen’s. She must see something on my face that concerns her, because she rips away from Gage and Lyra and the rest of her leeches and comes to stand beside me.

She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She just puts her drink in my hand and touches the bottom gently, nudging it toward my mouth. Her eyes never pull away from mine. It’s like she knows something big is wrong with me, but doesn’t know how to handle it. So she offers what she’d want in the same situation—a chance to forget.

I stare down into the amber liquid and think about Charlie. Think of how I need to make headway on this assignment and stop screwing around. But then Aspen says, “Drink some. It’ll make it better.”

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with me, doesn’t care. She’s got her own issues to wrestle. But she knows the booze I’m holding will make my worries fade into the distance. And she’s right. I don’t know how to handle feeling like the only girl I’ve ever cared about is vanishing, being replaced by someone I don’t recognize. But I do know this. I know how I’ll feel when I turn this cup upside down and feel the bite of liquor rushing down my throat.

So I do what I know. Just for tonight, I let go of my unease and find myself again. And never, not once, do I leave Aspen’s side. She makes room for me. In her eyes, I can see that she’s grateful. That she thinks maybe I’m going to stand by my word and stick around. And not for the wrong reasons, either. She doesn’t want anything from me except for me to stay. And I don’t want anything from her except to remember how I used to be—free, wild…

Alive.

As the sun appears from behind the mountains, Aspen throws her arm around my shoulders like we’ve been friends for as long as the sun has risen. “If you could have anything, Dante, anything at all, what would it be?” she slurs.

Even with my thoughts muddled by alcohol, my answer comes out clear and quick. “Her. I want Charlie.”

13 Field Trip

For the next two days, I stay in Aspen’s fog, trying hard not think about the girl I miss in Alabama. On a few occasions, I encourage Aspen to spend more time with Sahara, thinking maybe her baby sister will do my job for me.

It doesn’t work.

Instead, I spiral further away from the man Charlie had somehow pulled out of me and lose myself in my old lifestyle. Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I’m a liberator. That I only survive because of the dargon around my ankle. I wonder at times how much longer Big Guy will let me slip by. I’ve heard he’s a vengeful leader, so it can’t be long.

I wake up on my fourth day in Denver to someone pounding on my door. I imagine it must be Man Hands returning, and that maybe I was loud again last night. My throbbing head tells me that if I was, I wouldn’t remember it.

Pulling open the door, I find Aspen dressed all in black except for hot-pink fingerless gloves. She flashes by me, and as she does, she admires my tats—the dragon spread over my back and the tree growing up my arm and branching over my shoulder. Other than that, she gives my half-dressed torso the same attention she’d give a number-two pencil.

She studies the room and then caves into herself like maybe she’s just discovered where all forms of influenza come from. “Thought you said your dad had a condo.”

Did I say that? I can’t remember if I did. Thinking fast, I decide to play the sympathy card. I cast my eyes toward the floor and turn away. “Asshole’s been gone awhile.”