Page 13 of Songs for Libby

He shrugged. “They’re music videos. Most of them don’t actually make sense.”

“Actually, most of yours do, it’s just those bizarre outliers that I haven’t been able to figure out the logic behind. And now you’re doing a new one and won’t even tell me about it, so of course I’m curious.”

He wrinkled his nose at me in displeasure. “Fine. It’s going to be some dark, end-of-the-world, dystopian thing.”

“Ooh! So are you the terminator character? Or the scrappy commoner in rags who rises up?”

“It’s actually a leather tunic, Robin Hood sort of thing.”

I laughed in his face. “No! That will be amazing! Tell me you have to wear tights!”

“It’s not funny,” he said as he dug his fingers into my side.

I squirmed away, even though he had already stopped. I hated being tickled.

He tried to look remorseful when I sent him a glare, but he couldn’t hold his laughter back. “I’m sorry,” he said as he chuckled. “I really am. And you’re right. The costume is going to be obnoxious.”

“The memes people make of it afterward will be even worse,” I mentioned with an evil grin.

He groaned and laughed again. “I still see the one of me as a monk every once in a while.” His laughter died and he became unnaturally quiet as he slumped back into the cushions. The silence stretched and tightened. “It’s today, you know.”

His heavy tone and swift mood change put me on alert and I reached for my mother’s necklace, which hung around my neck.

“Serena,” he said without any prompting from me.

So he did remember. Serena. Three years ago today, his twin sister had died. “Yeah,” I said, turning toward him and laying the side of my head on the cushion beside his shoulder. “It is.”

I’d been dreading this day all week, just like I did every year. Not because of what it did to Sean, but because of what it did to me. It was like my body remembered the trauma of this day and I got to relive it every year.

Because I had been driving the car.

It was one of Sean’s first big shows, and I’d convinced Serena that we needed to surprise him by showing up.

He’d certainly been surprised. Horribly, traumatically surprised. They said it wasn’t my fault. The other driver had crossed into our lane. Not my fault. I think that was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t. Because I was the one driving the car that Serena died in. And I didn’t even remember her last moments. I wasn’t awake to hold her hand. I didn’t have a chance to lie to her and tell her it would all be okay. No goodbye. I remembered the moment before, when I looked up and saw the headlights coming straight at us.

Then nothing.

My next recollection wasn’t until three days later. They wouldn’t let me go to the funeral. I wasn’t there to hold Sean’s hand. My most vivid memory from my time in the hospital was when Sean came to see me right after the graveside service. He didn’t say anything, just pulled a chair close to my bed and let his forehead drop onto the blanket next to my hand. No words left my mouth because what could I say? When it was my fault? So I had just reached out my hand that still had an IV taped to it and ran my fingers through his hair. He didn’t lift his face, just cried into my blankets as tears ran down my own temples and soaked the pillow.

Sitting there on the couch, Sean and I both sat in the memories. He rolled his head to look at me, his eyes filled with an emptiness I recognized. I gave him a sad smile, knowing that simple solidarity was the only comfort I could give. My guilt was stuffed down so deep that he couldn’t see it. I wouldn’t give him that burden too.

Suddenly he slipped his hand to the back of my head and moved until his lips landed on mine. I froze, not sure what was happening while he leaned toward me until his chest hovered over my own, keeping his mouth on mine as he tried his best to get me to respond to the press and pull of his mouth. My mind was a complete jumble. This was…not what I had expected. What was he thinking? Sean didn’t kiss me. Ever. “Sean,” I said gently, trying to pull him out of whatever crazy pool he was swimming in.

He just kissed me harder.

I pushed on his chest and turned my face away. “Come on, Sean. I don’t want to be some girl you use.”

He didn’t move away and his nose skimmed against my jaw as he spoke, his breathing more labored than it should have been. “You think I go around using whatever girls I find?”

Yes. No. I don’t know.He tended to push people away when he was drunk, not invite them in, but that didn’t mean he’d been a saint. Just because I didn’t know about other girls didn’t mean there were none. I pushed on his chest again and he moved back enough that I could look at his face. “That’s not what I meant.” I put my hands on his cheeks to make him look at me. “You’re sad, and I know that I’m comfortable and safe for you, but it’s not fair for you to…” to what? What was he doing? Using me? Confusing me? “I just don’t want you to confuse your sadness for bigger feelings that aren’t real—”

He pulled away. “Right. Because I’m incapable of any real emotions.”

I shut my eyes and breathed through my nose, choosing my next words carefully. I sat up to look at him. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you want to kiss me for any reason other than wanting to forget?”

He was silent for a lot longer than I would consider normal as he studied my face and had some sort of internal dialogue with himself. Then he dropped his gaze. “Forget about it,” he said as he turned away.

Forget about it?That wasn’t an answer! What did that mean?