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THE BOY WHO STAYED

Lizzie

AUGUST 4, 2000

W HEN H UGH ARRIVED AT MY HOUSE THE MORNING AFTER OUR PHONE CALL ARMED with a duffel bag and his beloved PlayStation, he proceeded to set up camp on a blow-up mattress on my bedroom floor.

My nightmares didn’t scare my boyfriend off, nor did my rapidly altering mood swings or my inability to get out of bed most days.

Hugh quickly adapted to the dysfunctional dynamic of my home life, and instead of shying away, he threw himself into the mix, learning from my father about the different kinds of meds I needed to take and when.

He didn’t buckle under the weight of my mother’s illness, like I did, or my father’s increasingly bad mood. The revolving door of nurses to the house didn’t seem to faze him, nor did the horrendous side effects of Mam’s chemo, and he waited patiently outside every door of every psychiatrist I was deposited in front of.

Deep down inside, I had always known I didn’t deserve a friend like Hugh Biggs, but that knowledge was only vindicated further by his actions this summer. Anyone else would have turned on their heels and bolted, but not Hugh. He stayed despite the tears, trauma, and tantrums.

He stayed .

For me .

Five weeks had quickly ticked by, and Hugh had remained faithfully by my side throughout, proving, once again, that this boy kept his word. Aside from the two nights each week that he had to be home for dinner, we had spent every single second of summer together.

I’d always known I loved Hugh, but my feelings for him had deepened over the summer. Like the roots of the tall oak tree in the meadow that sprawled deep beneath the surface of the earth, the love I felt for this boy had taken ahold of my heart to the point where I honestly thought I might die without him.

Even on my darkest nights, when I truly felt like death was my only option, I held firm in the knowledge that I could endure the agony that was my fucked-up mind if it meant I got to stay with him . If I died, he wouldn’t be there, and I couldn’t bear it.

So I had to keep going.

I had to fight .

“Mam called,” Hugh announced on Friday evening when we were washing the dishes after dinner. “She collected my uniform today.”

“For Tommen?” I asked, setting a sudsy mug on the draining board.

“Yeah,” he replied, snatching up the mug to dry it with his tea towel. “I’m starting on the thirtieth of August.”

“Oh.” My heart plummeted. “I wish I were going with you.”

“Not half as much I wish you were,” he replied, opening a cupboard door and depositing the mug inside. “When are you back to Sacred Heart?”

“August thirtieth. Same as you.” I shook my head in disappointment. “It’s so unfair, Hugh. I should be going into first year with you.”

“I know, Liz,” he replied, sounding just as frustrated. “I agree.”

“I’m too old to be stuck in primary school for two more years.”

“You’re too smart to be stuck in primary school for two more years.”

“I’ll be fourteen by the time I get to secondary school.” Reaching into the kitchen sink, I pulled the plug and watched as the water swirled down the drain. “Everyone’s going to think there’s something wrong with me.”

“No, they won’t.” Hugh was quick to rebuff my argument, neatly folding the tea towel before setting it down on the draining board. “Because there is nothing wrong with you. Besides, it’ll even out after your junior cert.” Reaching for my hand, he pulled me into his arms. “You can skip fourth year, and then we’ll only be one year apart.”

“I know.” Shivering, I rested my cheek in the curve of his neck and wrapped my arms around his waist. “But I just want to be with you now.”

“You are with me now.” Hooking an arm around my waist, he cupped the back of my head with the other and whispered, “And I’m with you.”

Exhaling a shaky breath, I allowed my eyelids to flutter shut and my body to fold into his. “You make me feel so much.”

“In a good or bad kind of way?”

“In the best kind of way.”

“That’s a relief,” he mused, quite content to hold on to me. “It’s the same for me, Liz.”

It wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

He couldn’t possibly understand the feelings he evoked from deep inside of me or the reaction my body had to his touch. I knew I wasn’t supposed to feel that way, so I didn’t dare tell him, but it was growing stronger by the day.

What had started out as a pleasurable flutter in my chest whenever Hugh touched me had grown into a more urgent itch that needed to be scratched, before evolving into a full-blown hunger.

Holding my hand helped eased the hunger pains and hugging me like this took the edge off a little more, but I was still starving and had no idea how to make it stop.

In the forefront of my mind was the conversation we once had about the bad touch, and I was acutely aware that I had to keep my hands to myself.

That I had to not touch him.

Kissing only seemed to make the ache grow stronger, which resulted in my body moving in strange ways against his. Even worse was the frantic urge I had to move my hands over his skin in ways I knew were bad .

It made me feel so confused because all the scary things the monster forced me to do, all the awful things that hurt me inside and made me cry, were the very things I wanted this boy to do to me.

The monster’s gone , a voice that sounded awfully like my sister echoed in my mind. You’re free now .

No, I wasn’t.

Because the monster might have been gone, but I would never be free of him.

Of the things he did to me.

Of the things that made me want to peel the skin off my bones for craving .

“What’s wrong?” Hugh’s voice penetrated my thoughts, and he pulled back to inspect my face with concerned, brown eyes. “Your body just went completely rigid.”

“Nothing,” I replied, looking up at him. “I was just daydreaming.”

“About me?” he teased with a playing wink.

“Yeah, Hugh.” I forced myself to smile. “About you.”

“What’s this?” he asked then, snatching up my hand.

“What’s what?”

“This.” Rolling up my sleeve, he pointed to my wrist. “What the fuck is this , Liz?”

“Nothing,” I muttered, pulling my hand out of his and yanking my sleeve back down. “Just forget about it, okay?”

“How am I supposed to do that?” he bit out, snatching my hand back up. “You promised.”

It wasn’t the betrayal in his eyes that made my heart ache.

It was the concern.

It was the fear.

“I’m okay again, Hugh.” I forced myself to keep eye contact with him. “See.” I pointed to my smiling face. “It’s all good.”