My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,49

his gaze steady and innocent.

This was going to be so much worse than I’d anticipated.

“Yes, you do,” I said cautiously. “And you gave it to me.”

Lee stared at me, his eyes wide. He shook his head. “You’re wrong. You got it from someone else.” But there was a trace of doubt in his words.

I watched him silently, his face twitching and jaw clenching as he worked it all out. Right now, in Lee’s head, denial was warring with the undeniable facts. I knew because I’d been there. I’d felt that pull, that desperate yearning to reject what I knew was true. I wondered if my face had looked like that when Diane had told me my results.

He’d really had no idea. He’d been going around, living his life, playing his music, not having any idea that he was dying. And now here I was, the grim reaper. I wished I had never come here.

No, wait, that wasn’t right. It was good that I came here. He had to know. Who knew how long he’d had it? Who knew how many people he’d passed it on to or how many people he would have in the future? Maybe I’d even saved the life of the faceless girl on the bed.

“Lee?” she called, impatient.

He and I had each been so lost in our own thoughts that the sudden draw back to the present was jarring.

We stared at each other for a tense, lingering moment.

“Lee? Are you coming back to bed?” her voice cut through again.

He blinked. “I have to go,” he said and disappeared, closing the door firmly behind him.

25

With a Little Bit of Luck

I stood outside Lee’s apartment door for a long time. I kept thinking that he would come back out, that after he’d had some time for everything to sink in, he would want to finish our conversation.

But he didn’t.

I paced the small hallway. Maybe he and the girl were talking. Maybe she was his girlfriend, and she was comforting him as he told her what had happened. Maybe she was convincing him to come back out and talk to me.

I put my ear to the door and listened.

They weren’t talking. But I did hear noises.

I gasped and backed away from the door in dismay. How could he go right back in there and continue having sex with her like nothing had even happened? There was no doubt in my mind that he’d heard—and believed—everything I’d told him. But this reaction didn’t make any sense.

He was supposed to be remorseful for what he’d done to me. He was supposed to accept the blame so that I didn’t have to carry it around with me anymore. He was supposed to apologize.

I didn’t understand.

Instinctively, I pulled out my phone—Max would have the answer. But halfway through dialing his number, I remembered. Max and I weren’t friends anymore; I’d driven him away.

There was nothing more I could do. I only had so much energy left, and I couldn’t waste it here.

So I went home, where my measly halflife awaited me.

• • •

I would never admit it to Andre, but I’d secretly become glad I hadn’t been cast as Juliet. It was hard enough finding time for everything without having a whole play’s worth of lines to memorize. My four little Mercutio scenes were plenty, now that I had group meetings and doctor’s visits and this whole other life to contend with.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t want those four little scenes to be the best they could possibly be. And right now, the fight scene just wasn’t cutting it.

Monday afternoon, I approached Evan at rehearsal. It was the first time I’d spoken directly to him since he’d decided he didn’t want anything to do with me, but after what had happened with Lee and Dr. Jackson two days earlier, dealing with Evan suddenly ranked pretty low on my awkward encounters list.

He stood up rail-straight when he saw me headed his way and closed the graphic novel he’d been reading.

“Lucy…hi,” he said.

I checked over my shoulder to make sure we were out of everyone else’s earshot, and then got straight to the point. “The fight scene sucks, Evan. And I don’t know how things worked back in your precious little California drama club, but this is New York. We get Broadway producers and theatrical agents at our shows, and I don’t want to look like a fool up there. So you need to check your pathetic scaredy-cat emotions at the door, and fight