Signed with a Kiss: (Signed with a Kiss, #1)

by Sorensen, Jessica

  But then I erase that feeling.

  Erase everything.

  9

  Alexis

  We spend the next couple of hours at the station while Milo tries to find a way to prove I didn’t do this. Unfortunately, the store’s camera ended up catching me not only spray painting the store but having my meltdown and scraping my palms against the bricks. And the scrapes are still more than visible. While I’m a good liar, once I see the footage, I realize even my best lie isn’t going to get me out of this mess.

  Luckily, at least according to Loki and Milo, the store owner isn’t going to press charges, as long as I repaint the outside of his store.

  “But I don’t know how to paint a store,” I inform Milo after he tells me the deal the store owner offered.

  We’re sitting at his desk, which is really messy and cluttered. It’s weird since he used to be kind of a neat freak. Loki and he have been drinking coffee and talking about old times while we waited to hear about the footage. Once that information came in, the two of them made up a game plan to call up the store owner and see if he’d strike a deal so I wouldn’t get charges pressed against me, which would lead to probation, and probably a lot of hours of it, considering how many times I’ve been in trouble.

  “Really?” Loki’s brow arches. “Because, from the footage I just saw, you seemed like you were pretty damn capable.”

  I bite down on my tongue to avoid snapping at him. “Spray painting on the side of a building and painting an entire building isn’t the same thing.”

  Shaking his head, he picks up a cup of coffee that’s on the desk in front of him. “Well, I guess you’re going to have to figure it out because we’re accepting the deal.” He takes a sip then sets the cup back down. “We’re not doing the whole court thing again. We’ve already done it too much, and I’m already on thin ice with Social Services …” He trails off, his eyes widening, like he didn’t mean for that part to slip out.

  Before I can say anything, though, he pushes to his feet. “It’s late. We’re going home.” He turns to Milo. “Thanks for helping us out with this. I really appreciate it.”

  Milo nods, rising to his feet. “Of course.”

  They shake hands then Loki walks off, not waiting for me, like maybe he doesn’t care if I follow.

  And maybe he doesn’t.

  I really don’t know at this point.

  What I do know is that he’s pissed. No, he’s more than pissed, which means we’re probably going to get into an argument on our way home. And arguments lead to emotions, which makes me want to run out of here and take off.

  “Lex,” Milo says quietly before I walk off.

  I twist back toward him. “What?”

  He glances around then leans toward me. “I don’t know how, but no one’s made the connection from this act of vandalism to the others you’ve done around town, and no one should have a reason to look any deeper into this, just as long as you stay out trouble from now on. But if you do give someone a reason to look deeper into this and they make the connection, you might end up with a bigger punishment, so just … be careful.”

  By be careful, I know he means stop graffitiing shit. And while I get what he’s saying, the idea of stopping …

  “Okay.” The lie burns on my tongue, but I ignore the feeling and walk off, following Loki out the exit doors.

  The moment we step outside underneath the stars, panic seizes ahold of me.

  I’ve been caught, which means, for now, I can’t do the one thing that was bringing me that sense of peace in this shit-fest of emotions constantly trying to consume me. And with everything going on … I need that or I don’t think I’m going to be able to breathe.

  I should just take off. Run. Leave. It’s not like me being around is doing anyone any good anyway. I make everyone miserable, including myself. And with the strict leash that’s about to be put on me, things are only going to get worse.

  “Get in the car,” Loki says to me when he notices me lollygagging in the parking lot, staring out at the sidewalk—my escape.

  I almost don’t listen to him.

  I almost leave.

  I bet, deep down, he probably wishes I would just leave without saying anything. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with me. It wouldn’t be his fault that I left.

  Sometimes I hate that I’m this way. I mean, my older sister Annabella went through a rebellious phase right after our parents died, but she was also in the car accident with them. She had a reason to avoid her emotions, to shut them out. Me, I wasn’t there. I didn’t suffer the trauma. I didn’t even look at them at the funeral. I didn’t see them like that. In fact, I was so high at their funeral that I didn’t even cry. I probably wouldn’t have anyway.

  I am dead inside.

  Empty. Just like I want to be.

  But what kind of person does that make me?

  A dead one.

  Yeah, sometimes I wonder if that thought is right. If I’ve metaphorically died. And the truth is, I’m not sure if I care that I did.

  10

  Alexis

  I end up getting in the car. I don’t want to, but Loki looks so livid that I legit believe he’ll chase me if I do try to run. And while he’s kind of out of shape, at least compared to his pre-parenting days, my ass hates running, so I rarely do it. Except for today when I was running from Masie and Blaine.

  I’ve exhausted my running for the day, so I get in the car, and then Loki starts the short drive home.

  “Where did you leave your car when Milo picked you up?” he asks as he pulls onto the street without even so much as glancing at me.

  “I was actually walking around,” I mutter. “It broke down at Masie’s today.”

  “Okay,” he replies in a clipped tone. “I’ll get one of my friends to help me tow it home tomorrow then.”

  I want to say that West was already planning on helping me, but it might be better if Loki and his friend just does it. That way I won’t have to go over to Masie’s. Plus, with everything that’s happened, the reality of the agreement West and I made before I was picked up by Milo is slowly catching up with.

  Fake-date West? What the hell was I thinking? Is that really what I want to do?

  I’m not sure.

  I’m not sure about anything anymore.

  I’m not sure if I’ll ever be.

  Ugly.

  Broken.

  Hollow.

  A mess.

  A vandal.

  Fake.

  Who am I?

  No one.

  Dead.

  Loki and I sink into silence after that. The longer we sit in quietness, the more I wonder if maybe he’s not going to say anything further about what happened. I cross my fingers that’s how this is going to go. But I should’ve known better because, the moment he parks in our driveway, he shuts off the engine and grips the hell out of the steering wheel.

  “Goddammit. Goddammit. Goddammit,” he curses then smacks his hand against the steering wheel, startling the hell out of me.

  While Loki and I may fight, I’ve never seen him lose his shit like this. It makes guilt twist inside my gut.

  “Why do you have to keep doing this shit?” he mutters, clutching the wheel so tightly his knuckles look white in the moonlight trickling through the window.

  “Sorry.” I don’t look him in the eye, too afraid of what I’ll see; too afraid of what I’ll feel. Instead, I focus on the rose bushes out in the front yard. The petals are all brown and wilting due to the fact that no one takes care of them. That was always our mom’s thing …

  But now she’s dead, too …

  “No, you’re not,” Loki mumbles. “If you were, you would’ve stopped doing this shit a long time ago.”

  I glance at him and open my mouth to tell him that’s not true, but the lie won’t leave my lips, so I end up saying nothing.

  As silence stretches between us, he shoves open the door. I think he’s just going to get out, but all he does is sit in
the seat with the door open.

  “I know Mom and Dad not being around has been difficult for you, but you need to remember that it’s been difficult for everyone.” He stares out the window as he speaks, not looking at me. “And while I made a promise to myself not to worry you guys with adult problems, I’m going to break that rule right now because it’s the only thing I can think of to maybe get you to stop getting in trouble.” He glances at me then, and I get to see all the worry overflowing from his eyes, which makes that guilt inside me constrict tighter in my gut.

  “I wasn’t exaggerating at the police station. If you keep doing stuff like this and getting arrested, Social Services is not just going to take you away, they’re going to take Zhara and Nikoli away, too. Anna’s old enough now that she’ll be able to stay, but you guys are still minors. And while I’m not sure if you even care about that—care about any of us anymore—I need you to. Because if I lose them, you”—his voice cracks—“and they lose me …” He doesn’t say anything else; just shakes his head and moves to climb out. “I need you to start caring again. And if you can’t do that—if you really don’t care about us anymore—then try to think about how bad it’d be to live with someone you barely know, in a house that’s not where you grew up, with people who don’t love you or care about you like we do.” With that, he gets out of the car, leaving me sitting by myself in the darkness.

  I wonder if he’s worried that I’ll take off. It’s definitely a risk, but either he doesn’t care or he’s expecting me to do the right thing and come inside.

  Part of me wants to run. Take off and sprint into the darkness, letting it swallow me up whole. It’d be easier to do that, to disappear. But his words echo in my mind.

  “I need you to start caring again.”

  “Think about how bad it’d be to live with someone you barely know, in a house that’s not where you grew up, with people who don’t love you or care about you like we do.”

  I smash my lips together. It’s been a long time since someone said they love and care about me, since our mom and dad died probably.

  “Bye, sweetie. We’ll see you tomorrow.” My mom hugs me as her, my dad, and Anna get ready to go on a road trip to check out some fancy dance school that Anna wants to go to when she graduates.

  My older sister loves to dance just as much as I love to paint, so I can understand why she wants to go to school for dancing. One day, I hope to do the same with my art. One day, I hope to become an artist. And I’m trying, but my art teacher has been really pushing me to express my emotions more through my art. I don’t fully understand what she means, though. I thought I was. She said that the paint splatters on the canvas feel generic and unreal, that I need to stain it with my soul. But I thought I was, so now I’m wondering if my soul is generic and unreal.

  “Bye,” I mutter to my mom, feeling really gloomy as I replay what my art teacher said about my work yesterday after class.

  She pulls back, worry filling her eyes as she looks at me. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie? You seem upset.”

  I give a shrug. “I’m just upset about something my art teacher said.”

  She offers me a sympathetic look. “How about you and I go out for ice cream and talk about it when I get home tomorrow?”

  I nod, already feeling the slightest bit better. “Okay.”

  She smiles at me as she backs away toward the foyer where my dad and Anna are laughing about something. “Love you, sweetie. And just remember, whatever it is that has you feeling gloomy will pass.”

  I had nodded, believing her. But she never came home, so we never talked. And I never painted again. And that gloominess stayed.

  But one thing did change.

  That love that always filled the air, it withered and died, just like the stupid rose bushes in the front yard.

  Now, though, Loki’s trying to tell me that part of that love has stayed. But how? With everything I’ve done, I thought my brothers and sisters would’ve stopped loving me by now. Maybe he’s lying to get me to behave.

  I guess it worked, too, because I get out of the car and go inside, trying not to look at those damn dead rose bushes. But they’re all I see.

  11

  West

  “Dude, where’s your head at?” Holden asks as he lights up a cigarette.

  We’re at the skate park, sitting on some benches beneath a sheltered area where hardly anyone ever goes. I’m sitting backward on the bench with my feet propped up on my skateboard and am staring at the graffiti painted in purple across the side of the shelter.

  “Nowhere,” I say with a shrug, not wanting to share where my mind is really at.

  She once was there, but now she’s lost,

  Forgotten in a sea of agony.

  But the waves are invisible against the blinding sunlight,

  So no one can see the misery.

  Not even herself.

  — Signed with a Kiss

  The words, they strike a nerve. I often feel the same way. Like no one can see the real me against the reflection of the blinding wealth and power my parents have in this town. It’s why my dad will more than likely beat my ass and my mom will go hide in her room and pretend she can’t hear the yelling and the crashing when I get home. Sometimes I wonder what it’d take to bring her out of playing make-believe, if she’d let my father kill me if it meant she didn’t have to face reality.

  And what if I fought back? What if I finally just decided to drown in the sea of agony and take my father down with me?

  I stare at the writing again, letting the words sink into my soul. I’ve seen similar writings painted around downtown with the same signature. I wonder who it is. Whose words I feel so connected to.

  I can’t help thinking of the paint I saw on Lex’s shoes, how she got arrested because of that. Could she be the one doing this? She does like to paint.

  Is this how she feels?

  My mind aches just thinking about it, that she could feel as much pain as I do; connect with it.

  I need to text her and ask if she’s okay.

  I dig out my phone to do just that.

  “Are you high?” Ellis asks as he skates back and forth in front of me. He has a knitted cap on, pants, and a long-sleeved shirt. How the hell he’s not sweating balls against this heat is beyond me.

  “Nah, I’m just zoning out. It’s hot as hell out here,” I say as I send a text to Lex.

  Me: Hey, just wanted to see if you’re doing okay.

  Yeah, simple enough, right? I hope so, because I don’t want to let on how I feel about her. Not right after she agreed to do this whole fake-dating thing, which might be my chance to finally get her to see me. Well, unless she calls that off now that she’s been arrested.

  I frown at the thought, but the frown fades as my phone buzzes in my hand.

  Lex: Yeah, I’m fine. I was actually gonna text you and let you know that you don’t need to help me with my car. My brother’s gonna tow it home.

  Me: Is he going to fix it?

  Lex: No. I’m still planning on doing that.

  Me: Want my help still?

  When she doesn’t reply right away, a sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

  She’s already pulling away from me again.

  Lex: I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know.

  The frown returns to my face. Great. I thought we were making progress today, but I guess I was wrong.

  “It is hot as hell out here,” Holden comments, sitting down on the picnic table and propping his boot covered feet on the bench I’m sitting on. He takes a drag, staring off into space. “We should have a party or something and get the hell out of the heat.” He glances at me. “You’re on break or some shit, right?”

  “Yeah, for the next week,” I tell him, stuffing my phone into my pocket and trying to put all thoughts of Lex away, but it’s more than complicated. Why did it seem like she was blowing me off? Is it just because she’s in trouble? Or did she figure out that I’m stupidly in love wit
h her and is freaking out?

  “Cool.” Holden tugs on a baseball hat then hops to his feet.

  Sighing, Ellis skids to a stop, kicks his board up, and tucks it underneath his arm. “Do we really have to have the party at our place? I hate cleaning up after that shit.”

  “Like it’s ever cleaned up anyway,” I joke, standing up and sticking my hands into my pockets.

  “True.” Ellis gives a nod. “Still … can’t we just go to a party instead? I don’t feel like having one at our place tonight.”

  Holden digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, lights one up, and then exhales a cloud of smoke. “I know some people who are having one out in Sunnyvale. It’s far but might be worth it. Some important people are gonna be there.”

  He doesn’t flat-out say it, but I wonder if these important people are people he deals with or maybe even deals for.

  It makes me a bit nervous, but I’m not going to say that aloud.

  “Ellis’s truck is running like shit, though,” I remind them. Plus, I snuck out and, if I’m not in my room later tonight, I’ll be in even more trouble than I already am. The punishment my dad will give me … He’s given me enough already that I know it’ll be bad.

  My dad slams his fist against my face so hard that my ears pop, my vision spots, and it feels like the air has been ripped from my lungs.

  I can’t breathe.

  I fall to the carpet, my hands trembling as I fight back the urge to cry.

  “Does it hurt?” my father asks as he moves to stand in front of me.

  I want to shake my head. Want to be tough. Don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me. But if I do, he’ll make sure to continue hurting me.

  When I was younger, I used to cry. It would always be his signal that he’s hurt me enough. The older I got, though, the more it took for him to stop. Now he needs a verbal admittance that he’s breaking me. I don’t know why, if he gets off on the power or just really believes that this is the best way to teach me to obey. If it’s the latter, I think he’d realize by this point that it doesn’t work, since I’m fourteen years old now and still do dumb shit all the time.