Page 58 of The Chemistry Test

Penny

I watch CJ on the stage, standing proudly alongside the other actors as the directors speak.

With his red tie, navy suit and white streak in his hair, he stands out up there, even in his spot at the end of the row.

Or maybe he just stands out to me. Either way, I can’t believe he’s the same guy I met at the doctors’ that day, up on stage at a premiere in Leicester Square.

For a show that he stars in. My brain can’t seem to make sense of it.

He comes and sits next to me as the curtains close and I realise now isn’t the time to say anything as he slips an arm around my shoulders.

Everything inside me is screaming to lift it back off again – he’s clearly got the wrong idea about why I’m here.

Even though it dawned on me, the second he opened his front door, that I had too – because there’s no way I can possibly let him go for a second time. At least, not as a friend.

I still remember why we didn’t give it a go in the first place. And I can’t have been wrong about everything, can I? But tonight isn’t about me, so I try to ignore it as much as I can as the opening credits start to roll.

And to start with, it’s fine. But right around the halfway mark, I realise I have, indeed, made a very big mistake by coming here. And not just in the mixed messages sort of way. Because I do not feel well. At all.

And right now, I don’t have a clue how I’m going to make it back out of here when the episode is over.

Or if I can even make it until the end without fainting or falling asleep.

So, despite how it’s going to look, and all the wrong signals it’ll undoubtedly send, I snuggle even further into him, trying to make myself more horizontal to improve my circulation.

And as I breathe in his warmth and amber cologne, I try not to notice just how good it feels.

When the curtains close, we wait for everyone else to leave before trying to get my wheelchair from the foyer.

I’m really shaky, and as I wait at the end of the row for CJ, I realise that he’s not Cinderella.

I am. And I can’t do things like this. He takes my arm and holds me steady as he leads us out of the theatre. Just like I knew he would.

We make it down the steps fairly smoothly and even though he doesn’t let go of my arm, from the way he keeps randomly skipping, I can tell he’s on cloud nine. And as he helps me into my wheelchair, he’s practically buzzing.

‘Thank you,’ he says, his grin splitting his face in half. ‘I’m so glad we came. And that you changed your mind about us. ’ He does a little excited skip once again. ‘That word sounds good on us already, doesn’t it?’

Oh no. The second he put his arm around me, I knew I’d given him the wrong idea.

That we were giving things another go – not as friends, but together.

‘I’ll always be there for you when you need me,’ I say, making waves of relief rush through me.

Because it’s the most true and sincere thought I’ve had in weeks.

I, without a doubt, will always be there when he needs me.

This isn’t – and could never have been – a true goodbye. ‘But I haven’t changed my mind.’

He goes to speak then but takes a sharp breath instead. ‘Tell me what I’m doing wrong, Penny,’ he says quietly.

And if it wasn’t beating so forcefully, I swear my heart would’ve exploded.

Right then and there. ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.

’ I stop for a second, trying to clear the lump in my throat.

‘That’s the thing. You’re doing everything right.

But things are different now,’ I say. ‘This isn’t one of those love stories where both characters get better and live happily ever after,’ I sigh. ‘At least my half of it isn’t.’

He shakes his head, the movements slow and slight so as not to overpower me.

‘You don’t need me anymore. You even said so in your last message on my site,’ I say, sending shivers up my spine as I picture his words, and how good it felt to read them. How my world turned technicolour at just the thought of the difference I’d made. ‘I read it after you left. Four times.’

He looks at me like he can’t quite connect the dots. ‘Penny, this isn’t about the messages. Or any of that stuff,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘You make me genuinely happy. I don’t love you for what you do for me, I love you for you.’

The words circulate my bloodstream faster than any medication can, resting my mind yet agitating my body. I don’t know if he meant to say that. Or if he even realised that he did. All I know is that I want to believe him.

‘I don’t know if it’s enough,’ I say, clutching at everything I thought I knew. ‘I don’t even come from a cat family, CJ. All we’ve ever had are dogs.’

He’s laughing again, quietly but freely as I keep rambling.

‘And I couldn’t light you a fire if you got caught in the rain on one of your hikes. Maybe I can cheer you up, and make you laugh, but that’s all.’

The way he looks at me then, like he has enough hope for the both of us, nearly convinces me otherwise.

‘That’s all you need to do. Who needs a fire when you’ve got a Penelope Lane to light up the room?

And central heating.’ He winks. ‘Look, this isn’t about who you used to be, Penny.

Or even who you were in your messages. This is about the girl who hands out smiles like confetti.

And revision notes. And’ – he laughs to himself – ‘pancakes.’ He meets my eyes again.

‘And yeah, I can’t lie, it does help that you sometimes give out your whole heart to strangers on the internet too—’

I stop him there. Even though it hurts. And even though I’d sell my kidney – my good one – just to hear what else he has to say.

‘Do you really think this can work?’ I gesture at the theatre, even though everyone else has long gone.

‘What about someone like Artemisia?’ I say. ‘Wouldn’t that make more sense?’

His hand freezes in his hair, brow wrinkling. ‘I hardly talk to Artemisia.’ He rolls her name around in his mouth like a giant gobstopper that’s miles too big.

‘Is it weird to call her the character’s name?’

He smiles. ‘Yeah, but I find it cute that you do that. I wouldn’t have cute conversations like this with Artemisia, would I?’ He winks again. ‘And I don’t think you actually mean Artemisia anyway.’ He straightens his glasses. ‘I think you mean Elysia, who’s played by Josie.’

Oh. I couldn’t bring myself to watch the show before – that definitely would have crushed me beyond repair.

And neither Artemisia nor Elysia were in tonight’s episode.

But the fact he knows who I’m talking about anyway proves my point even more.

He’s falling into the trap I didn’t even know I’d set, far too easily.

Or maybe I am? No, that’s not quite right either – I think I’m trapping both of us . Just not together.

‘It’s a shame she has a husband and a baby on the way, isn’t it?

’ he tuts, shaking his head and trying not to smirk.

‘And of course there’s the other, more pressing issue,’ he says, his features working in perfect harmony to emphasise his next words.

‘Which is that I don’t love Josie.’ He clasps his hands together, resting his chin on them. ‘But I do love you, Penelope Lane.’

Oh. He did mean what he said before. It wasn’t just a slip of the tongue. Freudian or otherwise. He actually meant what he said.

I look up at him and want to tear myself out of everything that’s restraining me.

Not just the braces and the wheelchair, but my own body too.

I want to spring up and leap right into his arms like lovers do.

Instead, I just shake my head. ‘CJ,’ I say.

My voice wavers as I feel a fainting spell coming on.

Or is this an actual panic attack? Either way, emotions doubling as triggers seems a notch too cruel, even to me.

Even after all I’ve been through. My eyes are wandering, everywhere but at him.

‘Look at me, Penny,’ he says.

And even though it’s risky, I do.

‘I promise that you know enough about kittens. I promise I will never need you to light me a fire. I promise Josie would find this whole thing hilarious and that I’m not a homewrecker.

And most of all, I promise that I didn’t fall in love with you because I was unwell.

And I sure as hell don’t love you any less because you are.

’ He throws himself forward then, catching me before I hit the floor.

My mind is still awake and I regain control of myself almost immediately.

‘Cam?’ I say, watching the way his biceps tense in the glorious way that they always do whenever he wears a fitted shirt like this one. ‘How can there be anything beautiful or romantic about this?’

He stands up slowly then, separating his legs to make better use of his strength while holding me sideways to keep me comfortable. From a short distance away, he might look like he’s dipping his dancing partner. I might look like I’m enjoying it.

‘How can there not?’ he murmurs, close enough for his words to get tangled in my hair. ‘There’s always a way. And we’ll always find it.’

He leans down to me then, and while he supports my body, I trace the soft and strong contours of his face.

And then we’re handfuls of hair among stolen breaths, kissing until the dizziness feels like my own form of euphoria.

And the lava that once threatened to melt this life away seeps further into the cracks that were once too deep to reach.

Strengthening our core and binding us together.

And in the peculiar way that giving away your heart somehow makes you feel more full, the more of myself I give, the more infinite I become.

Forever indebted. Yet owing nothing at all.