Unbreakable. Elizabeth Norris

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      It’s like he never left, like he’s been by my side the whole time, like we’ve been sharing half smiles, stealing glances at each other, and blushing because we remember too well what it feels like to melt into each other, press our lips together, and forget how messed up the world is.

      I let out a yelp and throw my arms around him. I don’t ask what he’s doing here or how long he’s been back or even why he hasn’t come to find me. I just pull him close and hold on to him with everything I’ve got. I revel in how real he is. The feel of him under my hands, the warmth of his skin, the muscles in his arms, the breath in his chest. He’s real.

      Only he’s not right.

      It’s after I’ve thrown my arms around him that I realize what’s different.

      And it’s not just the awkward way that he’s standing limply in my arms, like someone who’s been tackled by a crazy chick he’s never seen before. It’s that he doesn’t feel right in my arms. It doesn’t feel like we fit, and he even smells different—like spices and wet grass.

      I know what that must mean.

      Flustered, I pull back from him and start rambling. I don’t even know what I’m saying, but it has to be some sort of awkward apology, because he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair, then opens his mouth to say something before shutting it again.

      My heart is pounding in my ears and my throat feels thick. A wave of desperation rolls through me, stinging my eyes and carving a hole in my chest. This isn’t fair.

      I look at him again, and suddenly all I see are the differences. His hair is a little too short; his eyes are a little too light and maybe not sad enough; his chest is a little too broad; and he’s wearing khaki shorts and an NFL sweatshirt. I fight to suck down enough air to keep from hurling all over his Adidas sneakers.

      This guy isn’t my Ben at all. He’s a stranger wearing the same face.

      Because there isn’t just one universe, but rather many. A multiverse. There are thousands of different universes, and one theory is that they all started parallel, but when different people in the different universes made different choices, things grew outward differently.

      Everyone in this world could have a doppelgänger out there—more than one. There could even be other versions of me living different lives in different worlds.

      Just like there could be other versions of Ben.

      Like this one.

      

       thought about my Ben Michaels every day.

      All one hundred and forty of them.

      I try to keep myself busy, and most days I can push thoughts of him to the back of my mind, but I can’t forget him. I’ll be doing something mundane, like teasing Jared and ruffling his hair or helping Cecily at the evac shelter, and a memory of Ben or something he said will just strike me.

      Like the time Cee and I were fueling the last of the gas tanks and I told her, “I’ve always loved the smell of gasoline.”

      And suddenly I was overcome with a moment and I was somewhere else—Ben and I standing outside Kon-Tiki Motorcycles in Pacific Beach, a breeze coming off the ocean, my skin feeling strangely empty and open. My fingers intertwined with his, I moved into his space and laid my forehead on his chest. His whole body relaxed, as if tension was rolling off his body in waves. His free hand came up and his fingers slipped through my hair before his hand settled between my shoulder blades, and I whispered his name.

      There’s always a second where I’m lost in the memory and I feel light and happy. A giddy smile will overtake my face, and it will almost feel like he was just here.

      Almost.

      Then the heaviness of reality sets in, and I remember that I’m alone. That Ben is gone.

      And it’s like my heart breaks all over again.

      Nights are worse. I lie awake and think of the way Ben’s lips tasted against mine, or the strength in his long fingers and the way they felt against my skin. Sometimes missing him is visceral—I remember what it was like to have his arms around me, and I can feel their absence.

      What I miss most is the way he smiled against my cheek.

      But this isn’t my Ben Michaels.

      

      e stand there—me and this stranger—for a minute, unsure of what to say next. I still can’t believe he’s real. Ben told me he’d never run into a double in this world. I guess I’d assumed one didn’t exist.

      The guy must know I mistook him for someone else, because he says, “I just moved down here from San Clemente.” He gestures to another guy behind him who is a little thinner with dark hair that’s cut a little shorter but has the same curl at the ends, and he has the same deep-set eyes. He looks almost identical. “My brother and I came after the quakes took out our house. We heard there was more food down here.”

       His brother—Derek.

      “It’s the military presence,” I mumble. Hopefully that’s enough of an explanation. I can’t force myself to say anything else. I’m too busy looking over his shoulder. His brother looks so much like him, just an older version. I don’t ask what happened to their parents or what kind of lives they used to have. I just stare.

      Finally the guy who’s not Ben says something that’s half grunt, half mumble, then bends down and starts picking up the books he dropped.

      I almost help him. I ran into him, which is why he dropped the books, but for some reason, I can’t make myself help. I don’t want to get sucked into a conversation with him. I don’t want to know who he is or why he’s here or what he’s like. It doesn’t matter. His similarities and his differences will both feel the same. They’ll hurt.

      I look over my shoulder. Cecily is handing two bottles of water to the guy with the broken glasses, but she’s looking at me. I have an overwhelming need to get out of here.

      So I do.

      I head back to the car, grabbing Cecily and pulling her with me.

      “Hey, wait, is that Ben Michaels?” she says. “Oh my God, I thought—”

      “It’s not him.” I don’t want to explain what little I know of the multiverse and doppelgängers. Not now.

      “But—”

      “Cee, I said it’s not him. Do they have anything you want?”

      Cecily СКАЧАТЬ