Chemistry Read online

  “What’s wrong now?” Phoebus asks.

  Esmeralda is too submissive. With him, she’s another person entirely. It’s as if he has uncreated her. “You’ll think it’s stupid,” she says.

  He shakes his head and smiles at her.

  “Well… I made this promise.”

  “Promise?” He’s impatient. I can see it in the way he moves.

  “For my mother’s sake.”

  I know where she is going with this because Peter told me, although I wish I had discovered it on my own. This is her superstition. This is the weakness in her. Maybe it’s stupid, but I think it’s beautiful, too. And if I were standing before her right now instead of that clown, I would tell her so. I would tell her all the things I think she needs to hear. I would not push her. I would never push her.

  “I never met her,” Esmeralda says. “She left just after I was born. When I was little, I was told I would meet her one day, as long as I stayed pure.”

  Phoebus stifles a laugh. He’s uncomfortable; I can see it. He’s feeling guilty, having second thoughts. He’s folding his hands and backing away.

  “I told you it was stupid.” She shakes her head. “But I want you to see me and know me for who I really am, stupid bits and all because…” She blushes.

  And that’s when I know what she’s going to say next, even before she says it. I know how she feels about him because it’s the same way I feel about her. It’s the same nonsense echoing in my head. Incomprehensible. Impossible.

  “I think I love you,” she says.

  I slide down until I’m on my knees. My throat burns, and I feel the impact of my tears dripping from my chin to my shirt with a muffled tap, tap. I hate myself so much I can taste it.

  Phoebus grins because she loves him, and when people love you, you can get anything from them. He knows this. He uses it all the time. He’s about to use it now. He smiles and pulls her close to him. He slips a hand behind her neck and tilts her head up to his. He wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t let him. She pushes him away.

  “You should know all the stupid things about me,” she says. “So it’s fair warning.”

  He crosses his arms and leans back, amused, curious. I’m curious, too, waiting here in my cell, surrounded by his parents’ expensive clothes.

  She starts to pace. “When I was a little girl, I used to have this dream about a football… I mean a soccer player. I never saw his face, but I had the feeling we knew each other well. I used to believe he was my destiny. I prayed and prayed that I would meet him one day. Then I went to one of your games, and I saw you.” She bites her lower lip and says, “You’re number fourteen.”

  He grins like he knows where this is going. “Of course. It’s lucky.”

  “It’s the one detail from that dream I can still remember clearly. The player was number fourteen.”

  She is in earnest. And he’s laughing at her, but he loves this. He loves her stupid faith, her childish belief in miracles and signs. He hugs her and lifts her until her feet don’t touch the ground. He says, “You are so cute!” like she’s a child. “I adore you!”

  And she looks at him like she’s never been this happy. She’s radiant and it’s killing me.

  If I were thinking rationally, I would see that maybe this girl is not the perfect creature I took her for. Maybe she’s just a little stupid sometimes. Maybe she gives in to pretty boys easily. Maybe she’s weak and gullible, deep down. But I’m not thinking rationally. I’m not thinking at all.

  I.

  Am.

  Seething.

  I imagine I’m still crying when she finally kisses him. Except my fever is so high, my tears seem to dry on contact with my skin.

  I won’t lie—to myself or to you. I’m feverish because this moment, while it breaks my heart, also thrills me. I have never felt this way before. That sounds trite, but it’s not. I really mean it. Who would have thought this kind of beast was sleeping in me? I’m not this kind of person, am I? I’m a scientist. I’m “the priest.” But now look at me. I’m a stalker, a voyeur, some kind of sick pervert.

  I can’t feel my hands any more. I can’t feel my feet either. I try to close my eyes so I don’t have to see more, but what I see in my head is worse. Because instead of Phoebus touching her—enjoying her, consuming her—it’s me. It’s my hands on her hips, drawing her into me. It’s my tongue in her mouth and my fingers slipping into the back pockets of her jeans. I pry my eyes open and force myself to experience this hell because the heaven behind my eyelids is far, far worse.

  I suddenly realize that the person I thought I was doesn’t even exist, and that this… This is the real me. “Oh God,” I whisper, “let me die now.” But I hear two voices speaking those words. Esmeralda has echoed me. And her echo wakes me from the nightmare. My agony and her bliss produced the same words at the same moment. There is no more room for doubt. She and I are inexplicably bound to each other. It’s not just my imagination.

  Phoebus lifts her in his arms and mutters, “No, live,” between kisses. “Live, Emily. Live with me.”

  And it happens again. “It’s Esmeralda,” she and I say together, as though we’re one person—the duel nature of one being.

  Phoebus pauses for a moment, questioning what he’s heard, the echo in the room. But he’s drunk, and he laughs it off.

  “But you can call me Emily if you want,” Esmeralda says. “I don’t mind… since my name is strange to you.”

  “Aw hell, I’ll get used to it.” He smiles. “Emeralba—I like it.”

  If I could laugh, I would be rolling on the floor. But I can’t. Neither can Esmeralda. She’s just staring at Phoebus like he’s some kind of god, even though everything coming out of his mouth is ridiculous.

  “I think…” Phoebus says. “I think you and I could be good together. I think this could be real.” I can see in his expression that he means every word, which doesn’t make me feel better at all. “We could get a little apartment. Get part-time jobs. It’d be perfect.” He’s desperate to escape his father, and I don’t blame him at all. But Esmeralda is not his ticket out. She isn’t a bridge between his two worlds. She’s something else entirely.

  “But… aren’t we too young to marry?” she asks, and I swear even Phoebus looks undone by her innocence.

  “Marry?” He laughs.

  She backs away from him, confused.

  My God, Peter was right. She is a Virgin, with a capitol ‘V’. I can’t tell you how much this excites and surprises me. It excites Phoebus, too, but for a completely different reason. I believe in her purity. I believe she could change me. I believe she could restore my humanity. Phoebus thinks he’s found easy prey.

  “Marriage is just a piece of paper,” he says. “I mean do we really need the government’s permission to be in love? And who says we’re too young? How old were Romeo and Juliet, huh?” I suppose Sophomore English has its uses after all. “Come on, Emilia! People who have the government’s permission don’t love each other any more for it, do they? Fuck the system!” He grins at his own illusory rebellion. “Yeah.”

  Esmeralda giggles and stands on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck. “Yeah,” she says, and she presses her lips to his, as he starts to unbutton her shirt.

  I am transfixed. She’s so beautiful, so perfectly wrapped in her own skin. As her shirt falls from her shoulders, I see the white straps of her bra, the silhouette of her breasts, and a glint of warm light at her chest. It’s a gold pendant, shaped like little shoes. She clutches it and pulls away from Phoebus.

  “Is something wrong?” Phoebus sounds genuinely concerned, which surprises me.

  “It was my mother’s,” she says, glancing down at her pendant, the hidden treasure he’s exposed.

  Phoebus pushes her hair behind her ear with more tenderness than I’ve ever seen him use on Lily Darling. “She was so stupid to walk away from you,” he says. “She’ll never know what she lost.”

  And no matter how much I hate it, p
art of me resonates with his words. I know what he means. I feel that way about Valentine’s parents, and his foster parents, too. They have no idea what they’ve thrown away. They have no idea the value of the person they tossed to me. But I do. I’ve seen his wit and his talent. I’ve seen the size and makeup of his heart. And thinking about him—as I crouch in this closet, in this ridiculous position—almost brings me out of my hypnosis.

  Almost.

  In one quick, arrogant gesture, Phoebus pulls Esmeralda’s shirt completely off and hides it behind his back with a playful smirk. Esmeralda is not amused. So quick I can’t even see it, she’s produced the little stinger Peter told me about. I can’t even tell where it came from, but I see it in her hand now, glinting in the moonlight. She’s pointing it at Phoebus, a fierce expression on her dollish face. And I’m as proud as I would be if she had just recited the periodic table flawlessly for the first time.

  “Give that back!” she cries.

  For a moment, Phoebus wavers. I can see his confidence flicker like a candle about to go out. He holds the shirt out, and she snatches it back. “I see how it is,” he says. “You’ve just been playing with me, haven’t you? You don’t love me. God, I’m so stupid sometimes.”

  He’s giving a performance. Even I can see that. But Esmeralda falters. “Oh… I do love you. I do! Please, believe me. I’m just… shy.”

  I want to scream at her from my hiding place. He’s lying! He’s lying! He’s lying! Don’t give in to him! Don’t let him manipulate you! But she does.

  She drops both her shirt and her knife and throws herself into his arms. “I’m yours, Phoebus, number fourteen. I’ll do anything for you, I swear. I’ll live with you, and I’ll forget my mother. Who needs a mother, anyway? Not me. Not as long as I have you. I’ll love you forever. I’ll stay with you until we’re old. I’ll forgive all your stupid affairs. And I’ll take care of you. I’ll do anything for you.”

  Dear God, she’s making herself into his doormat.

  He’s won, and he knows it. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her. He unhooks her bra like an old pro and drops it to the floor alongside her shirt and knife. He carries her to his parents’ bed and climbs over her with the look of a lion about to devour its favorite meal.

  I can’t take any more. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my own heartbeat thudding in time with the music downstairs. The room rocks and blurs. I don’t even realize I’ve left the closet until I stoop down to pick up Esmeralda’s little knife…

  I wonder whether you have ever experienced anything like this. I watch myself cross the room and stand over Phoebus like some demonic shadow, but I swear I haven’t moved. I swear I’m still standing in the center of the room holding Esmeralda’s knife. I swear. But my shadow sees too much. Phoebus, in his drunken clumsiness, struggles to slide Esmeralda’s jeans past her knees. And that’s when I notice she’s passed out. And he doesn’t care.

  He doesn’t care. I’m not standing in the middle of the room any more. I have become my own shadow. All the hatred I ever had for Phoebus flows through my right arm and into Esmeralda’s knife.

  And I stab him.

  I admit that. Were you anyone else, I might tell you how I slip here, how I stumble and lose track of the knife. But you are you, and I don’t slip. It’s no accident. I stab Phoebus in the back, and I push him until he slides sideways off the bed. His head hits the nightstand with a sickening crack.

  I crawl toward Esmeralda, who is still unconscious on the bed. I’m horrified. I straddle her and shake her shoulders. “Esmeralda. Esmeralda, wake up.” I bend over her and listen at her chest. Her heart beats too slowly. Oh God, she’s so soft. “Please, just tell me you’re okay. Esmeralda.”

  She opens her eyes, and I can see the warmth of them despite the darkness. She moans and calls for Phoebus, but I don’t mind. She’s awake, and it’s my neck she’s wrapping her arms around. When she laughs, I smell liquor on her breath. Thank God, she’s only drunk. I wouldn’t have imagined it of her, but never mind. Right now, she’s pulling herself close to me, laughing. Right now, she wants me to touch her. She wants me to kiss her. She wants to be loved. And I love her.

  I can’t tell whether she kisses me, or maybe I’m the one who first presses my lips to hers. She feels like fire. And the liquor on her breath must be intoxicating me, too, because I don’t stop kissing her. I almost believe she’s thanking me, even though she thinks I’m Phoebus. Deep down, she must know that I saved her from an invasion much worse than this kiss, that I am not her attacker. Deep down, I’ve got to convince myself this is true.

  I let her go, and I take my hand from her breast. I lay her down, and she laughs and wriggles into the pillows before falling asleep again. I pull her jeans back over her hips and button them for her. I drape her shirt over her and sit down beside her. She moans in her sleep and mutters something I cannot understand.

  “Esmeralda,” I say. She can’t hear me, but I don’t care. I’ve never needed to confess anything so much in my life. “You don’t know me, but I love you.” I trace her lips with my thumb. I need to kiss her again, but I won’t. I’m better than that. I know I am. I lean close to her and whisper in her ear, hoping my words find their way into her dreams. “You’ve changed me, somehow. I’ll never be the way I was, and I can’t forgive you for that. But I promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. Always.”

  III

  At first, I walk away from the party unaware of the monster I’ve become. I have left a human being bleeding on the floor of his parents’ bedroom, without calling 911, without saying a word to anyone, but I feel high, euphoric. My adrenaline is spinning me so far beyond reality I don’t even notice I’ve come home until I hear Valentine playing the organ.

  That’s when I run to the bathroom and throw up.

  My hands are shaking. My whole body feels like pudding. I can barely stand. I lie down on the cold tile floor in one of the bathroom stalls. I don’t even care whether it’s clean or not. I just need to feel the solid ground beneath me. I need to trust in something because I can’t even trust myself any more. Events have been set in motion, and I know I’m powerless to stop them. I make no choices. This is the path the universe will take. This is my fate. I’ve already eaten the forbidden fruit. I’ve already tasted blood. I’ve already flushed my soul down the toilet. I have given everything for one girl. And she doesn’t even know who I am.

  BOOK EIGHT

  The hand on my forehead is rough but gentle. It’s Valentine’s hand. I know this without even opening my eyes. I feel like something ripped me to pieces, and then a kid came along with some Elmer’s and stuck everything back together again. Even my eyelids and mouth are glued shut.

  The last thing I remember is pressing my cheek against the cool bathroom floor to stop the dizziness. Now I’m shivering in a cold sweat.

  Valentine turns my head to the side and puts an electric thermometer in my ear. I can’t stop shaking. I feel the wet cloth he uses to mop the sweat from my face. I hear the thermometer chirp, and Valentine pulls it from my ear. “One-oh-four,” he says. His monotone voice is music to me. And I know that he is speaking aloud, though it’s not his preference, in order to keep me from having to read his signs. “You stay here.” And he’s gone.

  I stare at the ceiling from my mattress on the floor. Valentine must have carried me here from the bathroom. I can’t imagine how he reacted when he found me there. I’m supposed to be the one caring for him.

  If only he knew… He wouldn’t be doing this if he knew.

  He returns with a bottle of medicine, shakes it, measures it, and makes me drink it down. It’s the kind of sweet that burns, and I can’t help but be reminded of Lily Darling’s mascara-stained face. Which reminds me of Phoebus. Which makes me want to throw up again.

  What if he’s dead? Oh God, what if he’s dead?

  I can’t let Valentine see my panic. If he ever found out what I’d done, I don’t think I’d want to go on living
. Valentine is all I have. I don’t even have Gene any more. I don’t even have myself.

  “Sleep,” Valentine says. He speaks as little as possible, but I know what he’s really trying to say. He’s seen how awful I look, and he’s begging me to let go of whatever is troubling me, just until I’m healthy enough to deal with it. He’s like somebody’s mother, honestly. But the truth is I half believe this fever was brought on by my own nearness to hell. This situation. This fate. I’ve already been condemned. Maybe because I never really believed in God. Maybe because I only wanted to, and so I pretended I did.

  I shake my head to rattle my own thoughts into obedience. I can’t dwell on this now. Valentine will see.

  “The medicine will make you sleep.” He stares down at me with his one good eye, and I know it’s useless trying to hide anything from him. He can tell something else is wrong, but he won’t pry. He’ll keep acting like things are normal. He’ll practice his scales and pretend not to notice my terrible descent. He’ll do whatever he thinks I want him to do. That’s what Valentine always does. Only this time, I wish he wouldn’t.

  I don’t want to fight the drugs, so I stare up at the ceiling again and wait for them to work. The last thing I crave right now is consciousness. Who knows what I’ll face tomorrow? I don’t want to think of it.

  II

  I’ve decided to fight one obsession with another. There’s got to be some task I can pour myself into, some ridiculous, impossible brand of alchemy I can take on. If I try to weave a web big enough to capture the sun, maybe I’ll forget what I’ve already netted. I can spare Esmeralda by distracting myself. I can save her with chemistry.

  But my calculations are all wrong. My measurements are careless. Every time I open a book, I have to squint to see the words in it. A brilliant star dances on every page, and I know it’s not just my fever causing the hallucination. I can’t focus on anything. All I can think about is her kiss, how much it seemed to burn. Her hands around my neck, her tongue in my mouth.

  I close my book and start cleaning up the lab. It was useless coming here. I’ve already lost. I slip the book back onto its shelf and sink to the floor. Where is my cynicism, my distance, my strength? Where is the cool loathing that kept me sane all these years? Where is my armor and shield? She must have stolen them.