A/N: Sorry this took so long. School's kicking my ass. Lemme know if you're still out there, somewhere...
Amy doesn't know what to say.
It's not just the say part that's the trouble, either. She doesn't know what to say ('but but but but' is just about the only thing to come to mind) but she also doesn't know what to think (though there is 'but but but but' again) and she's got not clue what to feel and even if there's no 'but' for that there is a whole lot of everything else.
A bit of panic. A helping of fear. A splash of terror, a dash (oh, more than a dash) of anger, a metric fuckload of regret and a thin (really, it's thick) (like Kardashian thick) (thick like Kylie's lips added to Kim's ass added to all the 'why do I care about them at all' self loathing Amy feels every time she reads another article about Khloe's newest diet but she just can't stop) layer of oh shit oh shit oh fucking shit on top of it all.
As in oh shit, what did he say? As in oh shit, what does she say? As in oh fucking shit he knows. Liam knows.
He knows and Karma knows and now Amy knows that they both know (and they know that she knows that they know and, really, Amy's getting just a bit sick of all this fucking knowing, all about her) and even if she can't count the number of ways Liam knowing is wrong - though it's triple digits, at least - just the thought is still enough to make her sick, enough to render her speechless and frozen. She can't speak, she can't move, she can't think.
She can't eat.
And that's when you know it's bad.
Liam, though, doesn't seem to have that particular problem. He eats. Capital 'E' eats. Eats with a speed and a power that, if she's being honest, makes Amy a little watches him shovel down a bite, another bite, like his fourth, his fourth that's like the size of five of hers and oh, he's gotta be on something, the juice, the roids, the something, some kind of drug that makes Amy wanna make him pee in a Goddamn cup cause no one who eats like that, looks like that - his abs, they must be lies - and Amy can't help it, she can't help finding herself wondering if Karma knows, if she understands just how fake he is.
And yes, Amy sees the irony there (she's biased, not blind) and no, she doesn't care, cause Karma is Karma and Liam? He's nothing, nothing more than a destroyer (of hearts), and a wrecker (of relationships), and a ruiner (of the self esteem of vulnerable girls everywhere.)
And, apparently, a slayer (of pancakes.)
Who knew?
Oh… wait… that's right. Liam knew.
Not that he seems to understand that, not that he's acting like it, at least. But he doesn't hear the questions running through her mind. Will he tell? Why hasn't he told already? Oooh… maybe he has? Maybe, she thinks, it's not just Karma and it's not just him, maybe it's everyone, maybe it's the entire school doing all the knowing. And maybe they're all in on it, maybe it's a plot (or a plan, not a Karma plan, but like an actual good one) and maybe they're just waiting for the right moment to punish them, to excoriate them for their lies, waiting for that time when they'll never see it coming.
That's it, that has to be it. She and Karma are going to end up like Carrie (like in, you know, Carrie) with blood spilling down over them and every eye staring and every voice laughing and every finger pointing ('Lesbians? Ha! I say Ha!') except neither of them is Carrie so there'll be no killing anyone with their minds (you know, that thing Amy's losing by the second) but they'll still have fists so, at least, she'll punch Liam - right in those lying abs - and she and Karma will have to go on the run and it's her and Karma, so they'll most likely just end up driving off a cliff (there's one in Austin, somewhere) in freeze frame and yes, she knows that's Thelma and Louise and yes, she knows she's totally mixing her female revenge flicks but but but but…
But he knows.
So, OK, she's panicking. She's freaking. She's one step from calling Lauren and Shane - hell, she's two steps (much bigger steps, but still steps) from calling Farrah - and Liam is just… he's just… he's just so….
Eating.
(That fucker.)
But that's not right, cause it's not just eating, not the way he's doing it, not how he's working his way through his stack like a cheetah finishing off a gazelle and he just keeps smiling - at her, at the waitress, at every fucking forkful - and nodding down at her plate , like he's all 'go on girl, get you some.'
Liam's acting. He's acting like they do this all the time, like they eat and they chat and they hang out on the regular. He's acting like the didn't just drop a nuke of a B-T-Dubs bomb right on top of her - as if her life wasn't already a bombed out fucking crater - and he's acting like there's nothing that's a bigger deal than the massive stack of strawberry covered fluffiness he's chowing his way through.
I'm sure being gay and dating a straight girl can be tricky. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your freakout cause mmmmmm… pancakes.
It comes, as everything has seemed to tonight, in a blurt. One Amy doesn't plan (cause that's Karma's job) and one she regrets the moment it's out (cause that's her job) and one that leaves her wondering what the fuck she was thinking (she wasn't) cause the last thing she needs is more lies but Amy still finds herself saying "I don't know what you're talking about," and then staring at Liam like she's challenging him, daring him, like she's all go ahead, fucker, say some more.
Liam pauses - mostly out of confusion cause he was talking about something but that was like five minutes ago and he's kinda forgotten it cause, you know, pancakes - freezing in mid-bite, a hunk of strawberry toppling from his fork and splatting onto the table in front of him. Specks of berry juice - red like blood and now Amy's thinking of Carrie again - ricochet off the table and dot their way across his shirt.
That's gonna stain, Amy thinks, unless he gets some warm water on it, like right now (and who says Lauren and Farrah have taught her nothing?) Maybe, she wonders, if she offers to go and rinse it for him, maybe he'll just pull the shirt off right here at the table - like Liam's ever been ashamed of doing that, like he doesn't act like showing off his shit is his job, like he's paid by the lying ab - and she's sure the waitress would like it and it would give her an excuse, a reason to stand, a reason to make like she's headed off to the restroom and she totally would be.
If, by restroom, you mean parking lot. And if, by parking lot, you mean bus stop. And if, by bus stop you mean the first fucking Greyhound to anywhere, just so long as anywhere isn't here, and isn't anywhere where she has to admit that yes, she does in fact know exactly what he's talking about, even if she says - again - that she doesn't.
"I don't," Amy repeats - in case he didn't hear her the first time and maybe he just stopped eating cause he spotted a bruise on his berry or something (and that couldn't have sounded any dirtier if she tried) - and no, repeating herself doesn't make it weird. Not at all. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says (again) (and OK, now it's weird), "or what it is you think you know, but Karma is as gay as I am."
If only.
Liam still doesn't say anything, but he does set his fork down (so no more berry bombs) and swipes his napkin across the table, scooting the fragmented bits of dropped fruit into his empty hands before depositing them neatly next to his plate.
Never let it be said he doesn't have manners.
"We're gay," Amy says, unable to wait even thirty seconds for him to say something, anything, and so she rushes to fill the silence. "Maybe you wish we weren't, but we are. Both of us. Like one hundred percent, completely, all in with the gay." She watches as Liam leans back in his seat, fingers resting lightly on the tabletop just behind his plate. "There's 'no homo' and then there's us," Amy says. "Yes, homo. All the homo."
Liam arches an eyebrow - and fuck all, is there any part of him that isn't fucking sculpted and, wait, no, Amy doesn't really want to know that - and she knows she's pushing her luck (like right off that somewhere in Austin cliff) and she knows she's babbling and rambling and digging a hole plenty deep for her to jump right on in and probably land somewhere near the Earth's core, but she's gone too far to just… quit.
"It's a big thing," she says, "among… our people If you say you're gay then, you know, you be gay. Like… all the way gay." Liam's biting his lip - he's trying to stifle a laugh, that fucker - and Amy has to admit that, if it was anyone else, if she was anyone else and she was on the other side and she was the one with all the knowing and the lying (abs) and the nearly devoured stack of pancakey goodness… she might be laughing too.
But she's not.
She is, however, making it worse.
"There's no half assing the gay," she says (why) (just… why) and that's it, that's the one step too far, that's the straw for that poor camel (or, you know, unicorn) (cause all the way gay and all.)
It starts like a cough and, to his credit, Liam tries to cover, he really does. He brings a hand to his mouth and he acts like he's taking a sip of water and he waves off the waitress who looks ready, willing (so so so willing) and able to Heimlich the fuck out of him. He tries to shove it back down - the laugh, the chuckle, the guffaw - but it's too much, it's like the Death Star of fucking laughs and his eyes are watering and his cheeks are flush and he looks like he's about to pass out it's all too much and Amy just can't take it anymore.
She can't lie anymore and she can't pretend anymore and, really, if she's not doing those with Karma anymore? Why the fuck would she do them with him?
"You can go ahead," Amy says, stabbing her fork into her pancakes, spearing a few of the berries right in their blue blue hearts. "You can laugh, you can think 'oh, how funny', you can go right the fuck ahead and laugh at me." She pushes the plate away and folds her hands in front of her and, really, she wants nothing more in this world (not even Karma) than to run and the only thing that holds her there is that her need to not give him the satisfaction is the one thing more powerful than her want. "Besides," she says, "it's not like you haven't been doing that for weeks now, right?"
Liam coughs into his hand, trying to clear his throat, the last bits of his laughter fading against his knuckles. "What?"
"You heard me," Amy says. She stares at the stack of pancakes, blue blood dripping down, streaking its way through mounds of white cream - so now she's thinking of Carrie and smurfs and fuck all this night needs to end - and she crosses her arms over her chest.
"I did," Liam says, one hand reaching out, tentatively, like he's trying to be comforting cause he knows something's wrong (he knows, that's what's wrong) but he hesitates, his fingers dangerously close to her side of the table, to her. "But I don't understand," he says, "cause no one's laughing… well… no one was, not for weeks, and not even tonight, but then you said 'all the homo' and…"
He snorts back another chuckle and Amy fidgets in her seat, squirming back, putting as much distance between them as the tiny diner booth allows.
"Bullshit," she says - snaps, really, but there's so little venom behind it cause she's just too tired for that - and she shakes her head again, as if saying 'no' over and over and over will make it not be real, make it not true. "You know," she says. "And if you know… well… there's only one way you could. Well, obviously, there's two, but since I didn't tell you…"
That only leaves one.
(Technically, two - cause Shane - or, really, three - cause Lauren - but Amy's not thinking of either of them and she's really not thinking of either of them and Liam.)
She can see the pieces falling into place for Liam, the color draining from his cheeks as they do.
"You think Karma told me," he says, pushing his own plate away and muttering at himself under his breath. "You think she told me and that all this time, we've been laugh... " His eyes go wide as the full depth of it sinks in. "You think… her… me… that she and I… fuck."
And then he sees her eyes go wide and Liam realizes what he said - what it sounded like he said - and she's suddenly shuffling toward the edge of her seat, like she's gonna run.
Cause she is.
"Wait," Liam says, reaching out. "Amy, please, wait." This time, his hand doesn't hesitate and she's not quite quick enough to evade, and he catches her by the hand and Amy stares down, glaring at the spot where his fingers meet her skin.
Her eyes bore into that hand - that offending hand - like it's burning, as if it's searing into her skin and her eyes dart across the table, finding that dull dull knife Liam took from her. And maybe it's the lack of sleep or maybe it's the warring floods of fear and pain and relief that have been doing battle inside her since she told Karma or, maybe, a little of Karma and Lauren's penchants for drama have rubbed off, but all Amy can think?
How quickly could she get that knife? How easy would it be to just cut that hand away, to slice it clean off, to make sure there is none of her that has ever been touched by any of him.
He's touched enough.
"It's not like that," Liam says and Amy can't help wondering how many girls he's said that too but, still - God help her - hearing those words, hearing that maybe it really isn't like that, it's like the sun peeks out from behind a cloud, one tiny smidgen of a beam brushing down across their table. Not quite warm and now quite bright, but maybe…
"It isn't?"
Liam shakes his head - almost frantically - but he doesn't let go of her. "Karma didn't tell me," he says. "And we haven't been…" Amy tenses in his grip and he realizes what she's hoping to hear. "Laughing," he says, wincing as she visibly deflates. "We haven't been laughing at you and we haven't been… she and I…" He does let her go then, dropping her hand and sinking back into his seat. "We're not together," he says, "not like that."
He rubs his fingertips against his eyes and for a moment - just a tiny one - Liam looks almost like Amy feels. And she might almost feel bad for him. Except for that… that.
"Not like that," she says and yes, she knows what 'that' means here and yes, it should make her feel better that they're not… thatting… but… "So you're not together like that," she says, "but you are… together."
Liam pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and sighs. "I was hoping I was wrong, you know," he says. "I was praying and I'm almost an Atheist."
"Wrong about what?" Amy asks. She's still half out of her seat and she doesn't think she'll be any more in it any time soon. "What were you praying about?"
"This is why Shane doesn't like to let me out on my own," he says, laughing, but in that way that makes it so clear he's not really joking. "It never ends well."
Amy gets that but that is so not an answer. "Liam?"
"I was there," he says. "In the gym, when you kissed her in front of everyone." Amy nods but that's not news. Everyone was there. "And after… when the confetti fell and the crowd cheered and Shane was doing his whole proud gay papa bit...everyone watched her."
Well of course they did. Amy's been watching Karma for years. She understands the attraction.
"She was so excited," Liam says and he's staring at the table and doesn't look up, so he doesn't catch them, the thousand and one emotions that play their way over Amy's face when he says 'excited'. There's the hope - that fragile fucking betrayer - that lights her eyes at the thought of Karma enjoying it, their kiss. And then there's the stab of pain, that dull fucking knife jabbing her between the ribs when he says "She was so caught up in the crowd cheering for her" and Amy realizes - remembers - that bleeds right into that sharp shot of agony when he finishes off with "and I knew, right then, she was faking it. For them, for her… public… for popularity."
It isn't like she didn't know any of that. It isn't like she wasn't there.
But it is like an almost (not really) (but kinda) healed wound getting ripped back open and Amy sags back against the seat, refusing to cry.
"They were all watching her," he says. "But I was watching you."
Amy looks up at him, confusion all over her face, and not just because who the hell would watch her when Karma was there. "Why?"
Liam shrugs and he doesn't answer her right away and Amy thinks maybe, just maybe, she knows why, even if it makes no sense, even if it's the most insane and ridiculous and there's just no fucking way reason she could ever imagine.
None of which makes it wrong.
"You wanted me to be faking it too, didn't you?" she asks him and the way he doesn't look at her, the way he won't meet her eyes, the way he can't do anything - not even nod - answers the question.
He wanted her to be faking just like Karma cause he wanted Karma.
"How long?" Amy asks and she doesn't need to spell out the what for him. "Since that day by the bench when we met you and Shane?"
Liam shakes his head. "Since the party," he says. "At Shane's. Karma and I talked and she put me in my place and she was just so…"
So Karma.
Amy gets that too.
"I know what Karma thinks we are," he says and Amy's never heard him so quiet. "And I also know what it is that she wants us to be and…" And he wants it too, Amy's never been so sure of anything like, ever. "But I won't… I can't… I haven't," he says. "She's tried and she's tried and she has fucking tried but I won't… we haven't done anything more than kiss and I know that doesn't make it better," he says. "I know."
He knows. Which was the whole fucking problem. But now, there's a bigger one.
He knows. But so does she.
"You're in love with her." The words nearly burn Amy's tongue, they cause her actual physical pain, but that doesn't make them any less true.
"Maybe," Liam says. "I don't know. I've never…" He lets out a deep breath and plucks her long forgotten spoon from the table, twirling it between his fingers. "I know what everyone thinks of me and they're not… totally wrong. But Karma's different and I like different, I like spending time with it - with her - and talking with her and listening to her ramble on and on about you and her parents and her dumbass brother and her gam-gam…"
Her parents. Her brother. Her gam-gam.
It's been so long, Amy's almost forgotten that those are all hers and not theirs.
"It doesn't matter," Liam says, setting the spoon down on the table. "Whatever it is I feel, it doesn't matter."
Amy's not sure what it is, what vague unnamable feeling or urge or emotion it is that makes her say it, that makes her look at him with something less than fury and something far from hatred and ask "Why not?"
"Because," Liam says, and for a long moment Amy thinks that's all she's gonna get from him, but then… "because they watched her but I watched you and I knew," he says. "I knew then what I know now, what I've known all along. Maybe I could love Karma, maybe I will and maybe… I do want to love her," he says. "But what I could and might and want, none of that matters, because you already do. You're in love with Karma and you always have been."
And, again, Amy doesn't know what to say.
But this time, that's OK because Liam does. He knows to say 'oh, shit', and to say it just loud enough that his voice carries it to her, just over the sound of breaking glass behind her, the sound of three plates of hot cakes and two glasses of water toppling from a tray, over the sound of their waitress snapping off something about 'you can't just stop right in front of people like that' as she bends to collect the debris and - most importantly - over the sound of her own name, over 'Amy?' whispered in that soft and perfect and just so… her… way.
Karma. She's there.
And she knows.
