Swear on This Life: A Novel

“You still reading that book?” Cara asked as she walked by me while I folded laundry on the couch.

“Yeah,” I said, and then followed her into the kitchen. I sat down at the bar while she took out ingredients for a smoothie. It was noon, and I knew she had a class to teach in an hour.

“You haven’t really been eating, Emi.”

“No, I have been. I’m fine. Hey, do you want to make Bloody Marys instead?” I asked.

She laughed. “Are you becoming an alcoholic?”

“I have something to tell you,” I said, abruptly. She stared at me and her smile faded.

“Do I need to cancel my class?” she asked.

“You know that, uh . . . book? You know. The one by J. Colby?”

“Uhh, of course I do. I just read it. You’re reading it now. I just asked you about it literally thirty seconds ago.”

“Yeah, well . . .” I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “I just wanted to say thanks for passing it on to me.”

She smiled. “That’s it?”

I nodded.

“You still want me to make you a Bloody Mary?”

“No, you should get to class,” I told her.

“Aren’t you going in?” she asked.

“No, I canceled mine. I have a bad headache. I think I’m going to go for a run and maybe try to get some words on paper.”

“Good girl.” She hustled to the door with her bag and then called back, “Oh, you’re welcome for the book, but you should thank whoever stuck that New Yorker article in my box at school. That’s how I found out about it to begin with.”

I stared at the closed door after she left. Someone had left her an article about J. Colby?

I RAN FOUR miles, came back to the apartment, and sat at my computer. Writing would be impossible, so I went back to his website and stared at his picture, navigated to the form box, and began a new message to him:

Jase, Why bring it all back up? Why? Why? Why?

Oh, and your writing sucks.

I deleted it then opened the book once again.

From All the Roads Between

Mr. Williams, our tall, brainy-looking biology teacher, stood at the whiteboard and lectured, occasionally asking questions of the class, but I didn’t hear anything he said. I was thinking about Jax, who was sitting right behind me. As I twirled my hair through my fingers, I imagined what kissing him would be like.

His body was too long for our classroom desks, so he had to sit kind of low with his legs spread out in front of him. I could just make out the length of his legs in my peripheral vision. I was starting to notice all these feelings that I hadn’t really thought about before, and I could feel his warmth emanating from behind me.

Mr. Williams cleared his throat and said loudly, “These are cells that lack a membrane-bound nucleus. Who knows what they’re called?”

No one raised a hand.

“Fisher!” Mr. Williams barked out.

“Prokaryotes?” Jackson said, like he wasn’t sure, but I knew he was.

“That’s right,” Mr. Williams said. “Emerson, are you paying attention?”

I sat up straight in my seat. “Yes, sir.”

“Okay,” Mr. Williams said. “Then tell us, the system we’ve been talking about this whole class period is called what?”

My heart was racing, and the room started spinning. I hated being called on. I had no idea what the answer was, but then Jackson whispered, “Binomial nomenclature.”

It was like he had said, I want to make love to you. That’s how Jackson saying “binomial nomenclature” sounded to me.

Mr. Williams was still glaring at me. I pointed my finger to the ceiling and announced, “Binomial nomenclature!”

“So you are paying attention, Emerson. Good,” Mr. Williams said.

On the bus ride home, Jax said, “It’s really hard to pay attention in class when you’re always playing with your hair in front of me.” He squeezed my hand and smiled. Something about the way he was touching me felt different from all the other times.

“You don’t seem to have a problem getting all the answers right.”

“I’m just saying. I wanted to lick the back of your neck today.”

“Jackson,” I said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “That’s gross!” But I could feel my neck tingling with anticipation.

“Seriously, I want to lick your mouth, but I keep thinking about Hunter’s tongue down your throat.”

“He did stick his tongue down my throat.” I shuddered, and Jackson laughed some more, so I elbowed him. I could barely deal with our flirty banter.

“It looked bad, Em.”

“Well, I’ve never kissed anyone before. Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing you. It’s just there’s a certain finesse to it, you know? I’ll teach you later.” He winked.

“Geez, you really are so full of yourself sometimes.”

“You love me.”

“I have no choice,” I said.

We jumped off the stairs of the bus one after the other. “’Bye, Ms. Beels,” Jackson yelled from the mailboxes. “See you tomorrow.”

“Is your mom working tonight?” I asked him.

“Yeah, what about your dad?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, you want to come over? We can watch TV at my house. And I can undo everything Hunter taught you,” he deadpanned.

“Jackson Fisher, will you stop that right now?!”

“I’m kidding, I want you to come over and hang out. No pressure.”

“All right, I’m gonna do homework first and then I’ll be over.”

He put his arm around my shoulder. “You can do mine if you want.”

“No, you can do your own, Casanova.”

He laughed. “You’re right. I have a higher percentage than you in biology and math.”

“You know what, you sure have let all this attention from girls go to your head. I’m not sure you deserve me.”

“Well, I don’t care about any of the other girls. Only you.”

The air was full of anticipation. We talked and laughed all the way home. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were lovesick. Our innocence was beautiful, impossible to capture again, impossible to re-create. Sometimes on the bus, when it was just Jax and me passing the mile markers, I would daydream that Ms. Beels would turn around and drive us all out of Neeble. The three of us would live together in that bus, somewhere, anywhere where there were no brothers drowning in the creek, no drug-addicted mothers, no whiskey monsters lurking.

My smile faded when I noticed my dad’s beat-up Toyota truck parked oddly in front of our house. “See you in a bit,” I said absently.

Jax kissed the top of my head. “I can’t wait.”

Just before I reached my front door and he reached his, we both turned around. He kissed his hand and waved. I did the same.

The moment I opened my front door, I knew. The house was dark. The musty smell of booze and BO hit me as I walked through the entryway. On my way to my room, I glanced over to see my dad passed out on the couch, the TV blaring and an empty bottle lying on its side next to him.

As quietly as I could, I closed the door to my room and started on my homework. He was supposed to leave for work around four p.m., so at a quarter till, I went into the living room and tried to wake him.

“Dad?” I shook his shoulder, but he slapped my hand away. “You’re gonna be late for work.”

“Fuck that job. I’m not going back,” he mumbled into a cushion. The whiskey monster was back. I hadn’t seen him like this in a while.

“Dad? Come on.”

“I said leave me alone, Emerson! Don’t you listen?”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” I went back into my room to finish studying for the biology test the following day.

A short while later, I heard him lumbering down the hallway. He swung my bedroom door open, staggered to my dresser, and started rummaging through the drawers.

“Where is it?”

“Where is what, Dad?”

“Your money from the egg ranch.” His chest was pumping in and out. I stood up and went to a small purse I had hanging on my bedpost. I reached in and took out the wad of money, mostly ones and fives—about thirty-eight dollars. I had been saving it for so long to buy a dress for the end-of-the-year dance.

He snatched it out of my hand. “Dad, that’s for my . . .”

“I don’t give a shit what it’s for. Haven’t I been good to you?”

“Um . . .”

“Haven’t I?!” he screamed.

“Yes, sir.”

Sweat was forming on his brow. “I’ll get another job, okay, you little cunt?” The word stung and made me feel physically sick. I noticed that I had torn out a chunk of my hair from twirling it so violently from nervousness.

He stormed out of my room, and a minute later I heard his truck start. I went to the window and watched him fly down the road. Instead of sulking about the money, I tried desperately to focus on thoughts of Jax.

I took my time washing up and changing into sweats. I grabbed a package of microwave popcorn and walked over to Jax’s. He opened the door shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a huge grin. He had on my favorite pair of jeans. I smiled, but he could see the sadness in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” He held the door open but stood in front of me and wouldn’t let me pass. He pointed to my house. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. It’s not a big deal. He’s gone now.”

“Come here.” We hugged for longer than normal. His chest was hard against my cheek. I could feel the indentions on the sides of his narrow hips. Jackson was a man and I was a woman, and when we were pressed against each other like that, the whole world made sense.

I pulled away reluctantly and held up the popcorn. “Can I pop this here?”

“I’ll do it.”

I followed him into the kitchen. “What do you want to watch tonight?”

“I’ll let you pick. Lady’s choice. But first, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing that unusual.” I hopped up on the counter next to the old yellow refrigerator. “My dad was drunk. He didn’t go to work.”

Jax started the microwave, came over, and stood between my legs. He pressed his palms to my thighs and rubbed them up and down. “I like these.”

“My sweats?”

“Yeah. I like it when it’s just you and me like this. Comfortable.”

My heart was racing. “Now you’re all words and feelings. What’s gotten into you, Fisher?”

“It was hard to see you with Hunter.”

I cocked my head to the side. “It was hard to stare at this for two days.” I pointed to the fading hickey on his neck.

“I know.”

“He called me a cunt.”

“Who?”

“My dad. He’s never called me that before.”

Jax closed his eyes in disgust and shook his head. “I’ll kill him,” he whispered. That wasn’t the first time Jax had said something like this, but we always knew it was just talk. “God, Em. You don’t deserve that.”

I started tearing up. “I don’t want to cry any more today.”

He tilted my chin up so we were eye to eye, and then he ran his index finger down my jawline. He studied my face, looking from my eyes to my mouth. There was reverence in his expression.

“What?” I said, and then his lips were on mine. He kissed me slowly, sweetly. He gently braced my neck with both hands and deepened the kiss. I anchored my hands on the outsides of his biceps. He felt bigger to me. He felt safe, warm, familiar. When he broke away, he opened his eyes and smiled for a moment. I smiled back, and then he kissed me again. I moved my hands to his ribs and pulled him closer. He trailed kisses up my jawline and to my ear. My breath was quickening. Near my ear, in a low voice, he said. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“Was it okay?” I said nervously.

“Shhh, it was perfect.”

He bit my earlobe gently. I whimpered.

“Take your hands off her.” My father’s slurred voice traveled down the dark hallway.

Jax pulled back but kept his hands on my neck and his eyes focused on mine. I was frozen.

“I said take your fucking hands off her.”

Jackson’s eyes started to water and then he squeezed them shut like he was trying to make us disappear. He shook his head and whispered, “This is not happening.”

“It’s okay, Jax. Let me go. It’ll be okay.”

He let go of my neck finally and just mouthed the words, I’m sorry.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Get your ass home, Emerson.” My father’s voice shook the walls around us.

“Okay, Dad.” I hopped off the counter and walked toward him. “Let’s go,” I said to him, and pointed to the door.

“I’m gonna have a word with this degenerate first.”

“Dad, I kissed him. Nothing else happened. That’s the first time we ever kissed.” I looked back at Jackson, whose eyes were now wide with panic.

“Shut up! Get your ass home now!”

I pleaded one last time, “Please, don’t hurt him.”

I stood just outside of the front door and listened. All I heard him say was, “Touch her again and I’ll kill you. I got a loaded shotgun waiting for you at my house.”

When I heard him coming toward the front, I ran home, into my bedroom, and shut the door.

He didn’t come in right away. I think he had to drink some of that nice bottle he’d bought with my egg ranch money before he was ready to scream in my face. For a while, I thought he might leave me alone, but that wouldn’t be his style.

Forty-five minutes later, my door swung open. “Stand up, you lying little bitch.”

For the first time ever, I held my head high and walked toward him. I looked him right in the eye and was rewarded with a smack! I stared at him in shock. He’d slapped me. He had never hit me like that in the face. He’d grabbed me roughly before and shoved me around when things got really bad, but he’d never struck me with such purpose and force. I gathered myself, straightened my shoulders, and lifted my face to him again. I was scared and shaking.

“Do you want to be a liar and a slut?”

“No, sir.”

Smack! “You little bitch.” Smack. “You lied to me, Diana!” Smack.

Why was he calling me my mother’s name?

“It’s Emerson, Dad!” Smack. I started to sob. “I’m sorry, Dad.” Smack.

“I didn’t even have to touch that little pussy Jackson. He practically pissed himself right there on the kitchen floor.”

Something changed within me all of a sudden. I felt like my father could say anything to me and anything about my mother, he could talk about all the people in the world he despised, all the sluts and druggies and degenerates, but in my book, he wasn’t allowed to touch Jax. He wasn’t even allowed to breathe his name. I wouldn’t let him without a fight.

In a strangely resigned voice, I said, “Fuck you.” My father stood there, glaring at me, motionless, stunned. “I said fuck you, you mean bastard. You have no right.”

With an open-fisted smack, he shoved me to the ground and kicked me in the head. I blacked out and came to seconds later. He was beating me on my back and butt with the buckle end of his belt. I started screaming from the pain and begged him to stop. I tried to scurry away on my hands and knees, but he stepped on my back and then swung me around by my hair. He punched me in the face and I blacked out again. I was hovering somewhere on the brink of consciousness, and I could feel my body getting pummeled as he struck me over and over again.

When my bedroom door creaked open, I saw Jackson’s black hoodie and sneakers coming toward us.

I tried to yell, “No, Jax!” but my voice was gone. I was afraid my father would kill him. In one motion, Jax lifted my father’s weight from me and threw him down, against my wood dresser. I was trying desperately to stay conscious. There was blood on my face and in my eyes, but through it all, I could still see Jackson straddling my father, punching him, one blow after another in fast succession.

“You piece of shit!” He was screaming and crying as he hit him over and over again. When it looked like my father had either passed out or had been knocked out, I watched Jackson get up and come over to me with wide, scared eyes. He lifted me effortlessly. His tears fell onto my face, but I couldn’t feel anything anymore. “Oh god. Oh god.” He kept saying over and over again. “Don’t die. Please, Em, don’t leave me.”

I thought idly that I must look really bad, and then I lost consciousness again. When I came to, I was lying across the front seat of my dad’s truck. My head was on Jackson’s lap. He talked continuously as he drove, “Try to stay awake, Em.” My clothes were sticking to me from the cuts. I started to feel the stinging and ache everywhere on my body. Jackson had his learner’s permit. He would be sixteen in another month and would have his license. Maybe then we can leave Neeble behind, I thought.

“Emerson, I love you. Please try to keep your eyes open.” But I couldn’t anymore because I just wanted to dream about Jackson and me, in some other life, loving each other.

Jax wouldn’t leave my side at the hospital. Even after police and social workers from Child Protective Services told him I would be fine, he wouldn’t leave. I had a concussion, blackened and swollen eyes, a split lip, some minor lacerations from the belt buckle, and a lot of bruises, but otherwise I was okay. When we got word that my father had been arrested without much resistance, Jackson relaxed a little, but he still wouldn’t leave. Not that I wanted him to.

We became something of a media sensation over the two days we were there. A story was written about Jax and me in the paper. The fifteen-year-old boy who saved his girlfriend’s life, drove her fifteen miles to the hospital, and then carried her weak body into the ER. We both got a lot of special treatment. The nurses fed him, fixed up his hand, and let him sleep in my room. But our happiness was short-lived.

“You’re going into foster care,” he said the morning I was discharged.

“I know. They’re sending me to New Clayton. It’s not that far. We can see each other on the weekends.” I was devastated and so was he, but I wanted him to understand that we could still be together. “You’re my best friend,” I said to him.

“I’m so in love with you.” His eyes were pleading. He was starting to look pretty rough after two days without a shower, and his worry made him seem older than fifteen. His longish brown hair was going every which way, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I’m going to be okay, Jax. We’re going to be okay, and I love you too. When you get your license, you can come and see me.”

Near my hospital bed, he put his hand on my cheek. I winced. “I can’t believe he did this to you. Why was it so different this time?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m gonna be good . . . better. Only a couple of years and we can go to California. We’ll be together and we can go to college and you can finish writing your book and we’ll get a cat.”

He laughed. “I like dogs.”

“We’ll get a cat and a dog.”

“You swear?”

“I promise you, Jackson. That means more than swearing.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it. I’ll come and find you and make you keep your word.”

“You won’t have to,” I told him.

Paula, my social worker from CPS, came into the room. “Hi, Emerson. Hi, Jax. Before we leave, Emerson, you’ll need to sit down with the detective from the police department. I can be in there as your advocate. They’ll need a brief statement from you. Your father has pleaded guilty, so you won’t have to testify, but you do have to give a statement.”

“Okay.”

After I met with members of the police department, Jax and I went to the front, where his mom was waiting in her old car. She only waved at me; she didn’t even bother getting out. I wondered why.

“What’s with your mom?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about her.”

“Did she say anything to you when you called her this morning?” He shook his head. “Tell me, Jackson, please.”

He sighed. “She was worried that being involved with this stuff with your dad was gonna get me into trouble—jeopardize college and stuff. You know how she’s banking on me to take care of her, right?” He rolled his eyes.

“You did an amazing thing. Please do not let her make you feel bad about it. You’re a hero.”

He reached down and ran his thumb over my bottom lip. “I think you’re the hero, Em. You’re so strong . . . fearless.”

“I’m a huge wimp. Remember when you found that big brown spider in the shed?”

“You’re right. You’re a huge wimp, but only when it comes to spiders.”

Paula pulled up in her car and waited for Jax and me to say good-bye.

“I am so grateful to have you in my life, Jackson. You keep saving me over and over.”

He smiled, his eyes watery. “Being on that stupid road without you is gonna suck.”

“Keep telling yourself that it won’t be for very long.”

“You’ll call me every day, right?”

“I’m gonna try. It’s only New Clayton. It’s not even that far. Think she’ll let you use the car when you get your license?”

He glanced over to Leila. “Come on, Jax, I gotta get to work!” she yelled.

“Probably not. God, I’m so frustrated, Em. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Don’t stress, okay? We’ll figure it out. Maybe Paula will help. She really likes you.”

I ran my palm down his cheek. There was pain in his sweet, tender eyes. “I love you, Jackson, and you love me. That’s all that matters.”

He nodded and then leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. When I closed my eyes, I felt a tear hit my cheek, and then he was gone. Right before his mother pulled away, he looked up through the passenger window, kissed his hand, and waved. I did the same.