Saving Scott

12. Infinitely

Back in June, Juliet got into trouble. A misdemeanor that landed her straight into in-patient treatment for her drug abuse. Her treatment team said she was using in order to cover up something bigger. Lakyn said it was grief.

We spent the summer without her and it felt weird. She was an integral part to our nightly dinners and the swaying force when it came to begging Mr. James for things. We knew he missed her more than any of us though.

We visited as often as we could, and knew she was getting better as soon as she started complaining about spending her summer locked away. Some visits were harder than others, but overall, she was doing better.

I wasn't at the last visit, but I wished I had been, because maybe then the love of my life and his cousin couldn't be getting tattoos.

"This has got to be illegal," I muttered.

"It kind of is," Marcus, Rick's friend, answered. He was comparing Lakyn and Juliet's wrists to make sure the infinity symbols he'd drawn there matched. "But I owe Rick a solid and their reasoning is steady. But don't ever, ever let someone tattoo you inside their home. It's just questionable practice."

"We won't do it again," Juliet said.

"Swear," Lakyn added.

Marcus fixed them both with a wary look then tested his machine before leaning over Lakyn's wrist. They'd agree he'd go first, because he was better at handling pain. Marcus had considered the scar tissue for a while before he'd found a spot that didn't interrupt the worst of it.

The symbols weren't big, smaller than a thumb print, and Lakyn sat at some dudes kitchen table and let him ink it into his skin permanently. They were both done in ten minutes.

Marcus wrapped their wrists in saran wrap and tossed ointment at them. "If you little shits let those get infected, I never met either of you.

"We'll take care of them," Lakyn promised.

Juliet turned to her brother, who had been eating cheetos like the whole event was no big deal. "Do you want one?" she asked.

"He already has one," Marcus answered while he cleaned up his spot.

"An infinity symbol?" Juliet asked.

Rick shook his head and used his clean hand to pull up the leg of his pants. On the back of his calf there was a patch of lilies. It was subtle, but it made Juliet tear up.

"I didn't know," she said softly.

Rick lifted his shoulder. "I didn't tell anyone. Not even dad. It just felt like something I needed to do, ya know? But for you two, those tatts are for more than just mom. Keep going, keep moving. I hope you look at them when you go to pop a pill in your mouth or cut your skin open."

Lakyn's tattoo sat right at the base of his suicide scar, stark black against the white lines. He was left handed, and it was on his right wrist. So was Juliet's. I wondered if they had done that on purpose. So they would have to look at them, just like Rick said.

"Infinitely, huh?" I asked as I reached for Lakyn's wrist. I didn't touch the new ink, I wasn't stupid, but I wanted to really look at it. I knew what it meant, Lakyn had told me when he came up with the idea of getting them once Juliet got released.

"Limitless," Juliet said. "Endless. Impossible to measure or calculate. Can you ... even imagine that kind of love?"

She was staring at her own tattoo but I couldn't take my eyes off of Lakyn's. They were gray. Some people thought they were light blue, but up close, they weren't. They were gray.

"I think I can," I muttered softly.

***

My mom called a lot. She asked about my day, about school, about my grades. Sometimes she asked about Matt or Kaitlynn. She never asked about Lakyn.

I made it stop hurting my feelings, and I answered what questions I could. I told her about the subjects I was struggling in, I told her about the shit Matt and I got into, and if Lakyn's name slipped into the conversation, at least she didn't hang up on me.

Sometimes, if I was feeling up to it, I'd see her. We'd go to the movies, or have lunch together. Never at the house. It was the best way I could think to let my mom have pieces of my life without it hurting me.

My father wouldn't talk to me. Not on the phone, not if he passed off Mom somewhere in public. She said to give him time, but I wasn't sure how long I was supposed to allow.

When I asked Mom if she wanted to meet Lakyn, her hands shook and she asked for just a little more time. When I asked if she'd like to come over and have a dinner that I helped make, she said, "Please Scott, give me time."

Time.

Everything seemed to go back to it, but no one could tell me how much or when or if it was ever enough.

Part of me wanted to yell. To ask her why she couldn't be proud of me. Why she couldn't say that I was in love with the same tone that she said I played football. Anything else I did seemed to pale in comparison to how I felt about Lakyn.

But every time I started to bring it up, I felt sick. Lakyn held my hand and said maybe it was because I didn't want to know the answer. He didn't judge, or ask questions, or give advice. He was good about that. He said my decisions were mine alone, and he would be there for me if I needed him. But sometimes I wished he would just tell me what to do. Even if it meant I would regret following his advice in the end.