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

by Sorensen, Jessica

  Like today when I snuck out of a party that he was having for some business associates. I was supposed to stick around so he could show me off, brag about how great I’m doing in school, and how I’m going to be trying out for the football team. But I hate being his prize. Am tired of it. I don’t want to get straight A’s anymore. And I don’t want to play football. I want to skate. I want to have some fun for once. I want to be a normal kid who isn’t living his life with his father’s shadow constantly hanging over him and telling him what to do.

  My dad crouches down beside me. “If you ever embarrass me like that again, it’ll be much worse,” he warns in a low tone. Then he shoves me over just to add emphasis to his point.

  That’s when the tears start to fall. I hate that I’m crying. And worse, I hate that he sees it. I hate feeling all the time. I hate my life.

  And while things are still shitty, they haven’t been as bad since I wandered off the path my parents mapped out for me.

  The day I stepped off it, I was actually in this park. It was about six months or so ago, when I first met Holden and Ellis.

  They’d been the only people at the skate park that day and were getting high when I showed up. Instead of putting the joint out, they offered it to me. I’d gotten high a few times at parties, but never out in the open where anyone could see me, even people who didn’t know my parents. I felt like I was doing something awful, yet I felt free at the same time, if that makes any sense.

  After that, I started spending more time with them and less time with the people that my parents wanted me to be friends with. And it always feels good. Well, until I have to go home. Then the darkness consumes my life again.

  And when I get home tonight, that darkness is going to reappear in the form of my dad and his fists.

  I don’t want to go home.

  I don’t want to deal with this anymore.

  “You good with that?” Holden asks as he takes a drag off his cigarette, smoke circling the air and making the heat smell like cigarettes.

  I blink from the memory, realizing he’s talking to me. “Um … What?”

  Holden narrows his eyes at me as he asks, “Have you been smoking already?”

  “Nah, not yet. I’m planning on it later, though.” I pat my pocket where my joint is hidden.

  He bobs his head up and down. “I said maybe we can get your car so we can hit up that party. It could be fun. And you could meet some new people.”

  I should say no. If I don’t go home, I’ll be in even more trouble than I already am. Plus, the people he knows can be sketchy as hell. I’m not sure if I’m ready to get that far into this new world I’ve been tiptoeing around.

  But I don’t want to go home.

  To the fists.

  To the insults.

  To the punishments.

  “Yeah. If we go to Blaine’s now, I should be able to pick it up,” I say, knowing more than likely that agreeing to go is going to come back to bite me in the ass.

  “Cool,” Holden says with a nod. Then the three of us start toward Ellis’s truck.

  As we walk away, I flick a glance at the spray-painted words one last time, feeling that connection to them again.

  Lost.

  I feel so lost sometimes.

  Drifting in a sea of agony.

  And honestly, I’m wondering if soon, I’ll end up drowning in it.

  12

  Alexis

  After the whole arresting incident, no one really talks to me. The next morning, though, Loki knocks on my bedroom door to give me the details of my punishment.

  “I talked to the store owner. You’ll start painting the building on Friday,” Loki informs me as I sit up in bed, glancing at the clock and noting how earlier it is.

  “Okay,” I tell him, noting the button-down shirt and slacks he’s wearing. “Where are you going so earlier? And all dressed up?”

  “I have a meeting,” is all he says.

  I wonder if it has to do with Social Services. I just about ask, but as if sensing where my thoughts are heading, he talks over me.

  “I want you to start working at the store a couple of hours a day.” He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “And before you start arguing, I want to remind you that you got arrested again last night for vandalism.”

  I comb my fingers through my hair. “So, working at the store is my punishment?”

  He wavers, fiddling with his tie. “For now.”

  “Okay … That’s kind of vague, though.”

  “I know. I’m taking this one step at a time. If you do well with working at the store and painting the building, then maybe that’ll be it.” He pushes away from the doorframe, straightening. “But if you’re a pain in the ass about it, I’ll tack on more.”

  Coming from the guy who used to help me and Zhara sneak out of the house so we could go play night tag with the neighborhood kids. And that’s only one example of how Loki used to help us break the rules.

  Becoming a dad has made him hardcore strict. Well, maybe not hardcore strict, but still …

  “So, make sure to keep that in mind when you feel like rebelling,” he adds, his gaze sweeping the bare walls of my room. The used to be covered in my artwork, but I took them all down the day my art teacher told me my work was shit. Maybe I would’ve put them back up if my mom and I had gone out for that ice cream. Maybe she would’ve convinced me I was good, that my work did have meaning. But who knows if she would’ve told the truth? Parents always lie to their kids to make them feel better. And besides, she never got a chance to tell me, so what does it even matter?

  None of this does.

  “Lex,” Loki says, and the hesitancy in his voice lets me know I’m not going to like the direction of where this conversation is going. “This whole graffitiing thing …” He rubs his hand across his face, glancing at my walls again. “It’s not about your art, is it? I mean, I know you haven’t painted since Mom and Dad died, so I’m wondering”—he shifts his weight—“if this is some sort of replacement for you not painting anymore.”

  His words are too close to the truth and strike a deep nerve, located in the center of my heart, amongst all those thorns. The strike makes them tighten and pierce my heart, making it hard to breathe and fueling me with frustration.

  “No, it’s not about anything,” I lie. “I just do it because I’m bored and because I don’t care.”

  His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “Lex, I know this has been hard on you, but it’s been hard on everyone. And we’re all doing whatever we can just to make it through it, but if you keep shutting everyone out like this, that pain you’re carrying around is always going to be there. It’s not going to heal.”

  I hate where this conversation is going. I can’t deal with it.

  He doesn’t even know everything. And I won’t tell him. Can’t. He has too much on his plate right now. At least that’s what I told myself right after that day happened where Jay corned me in the bathroom and touched me with permission. That I wouldn’t tell anyone because my family couldn’t deal with any more problems. That maybe I would in a few weeks when everything started to go back to normal. But what I learned is that the normal was gone—dead—and so was the Alexis from Before.

  My mask flips back onto my face as I shove everything I’m feeling down.

  “If everyone is going through it, then why do you only spend time lecturing me?” I ask Loki in an indifferent tone. “Why not focus on them instead?”

  “I do,” he insists. “You’re just never around to see it. Plus, Nik and Zhara are dealing with this differently than you are. And Anna did.”

  “You mean, their way of dealing with it is easier on you?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you think.”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and I can tell he’s thinking that Nik and Zhara are the easier ones. And now that Anna’s cleaned up her act, she is, too. With Jessa out of the picture, that only leaves me
. The little shit that’s always bringing trouble into this family.

  “That’s not what I think at all,” he tries to assure me. “I worry all the time about how quiet Nik’s gotten. And Zhara … she’s covering up her feelings by pretending everything’s okay, and I know that’s not healthy. And one day, I’m worried she’s going to break. And Jessa …” He shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “She barely calls home anymore.”

  I don’t know what to say. I feel like he’s letting out stuff that he’s been bottling up for a while now. I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it.

  “I’m sorry,” he quickly says. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

  I want to tell him that it’s okay. A year ago, I would’ve been there for him. But all I do is sit here while he turns around and leaves the room. And I just let him walk away with all those problems on his shoulders.

  “You’re such a good kid,” my mom used to tell me. “A little bit wild, but I like that about you.”

  “Really?” I always replied. “Because most parents don’t like their kids being wild.”

  “Yes, really.” She pats my head. “You’ve always been my little wild child, but you have a big heart, so I’ve never been too concerned. You might get in a little bit of trouble sometimes, but your ability to care is what always pulls you back from doing anything too crazy. And I don’t ever want you to lose that about yourself. Don’t ever lose your big heart, Alexis.”

  As I sit on my bed, remembering my mom’s words, I feel the thorns in my chest again. It’s all I feel anymore, and I’m starting to wonder if my heart is gone. If, like our front yard, my chest has been taken over with wilting thorns.

  * * *

  Loki is barely home all day, busying himself with whatever he was doing this morning. I see him for only a brief moment when he tows my car home. He barely says anything to me, just giving me the keys before taking off to the store.

  The house stays pretty quiet for the day, and the soundlessness starts to fester in me. I want to pick up a can of spray paint and leave—that’s what I’d usually do—but Milo’s words of warning have me deciding to lay low for a while. Not that I’m promising not to do it ever again. I’m just taking a break.

  I haven’t heard from West or Masie today, but Blaine does send me a text.

  Blaine: Hey, can we talk?

  That’s all he says, and I don’t reply, instead busying myself with rearranging my closet, something I’m doing basically because I’m bored as hell and trying not to think. Usually, I do that by getting in trouble; vandalizing, sometimes getting high. But with my car not working and with everything going on, cleaning the closet is my only option right now.

  A lot of the stuff inside it are old clothes that belonged to me during the Before, including the pink shirt I wore the day Jay touched me. It’s worn and has a tear in the hem that I think Jay might have put there. I should’ve thrown it away that. I don’t know I didn’t.

  Instead of throwing it away now, though, I tug at the tear and slowly rip up the shirt until nothing is left but pieces. Then I toss those in the trash, part of me hoping the memories will go with them.

  But they don’t.

  “You’re so fucking ugly,” he whispers. “You should feel lucky that I’m touching you.”

  Stop!

  Smashing my lips together, I decide to give all rest of my old clothes away, knowing I’ll never wear them again. After I pile them into a bag, I return to my closet and grab a box. Inside are photos of me, Blaine, Masie, and West, back when we were kids and everything wasn’t so complicated.

  Blaine was one of the first friends I ever made. We bonded over coloring. He was impressed with how well I could stay in the lines. But what really sealed our friendship was when I shoved down a kid at recess for trying to kiss me and Blaine lied for me so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I knew then that he had my back. And I always had his. Until now anyway.

  Things started to change the older we got. I became friends with Masie, and he became friends with West. While we all hung out together, I started hanging out with Masie more, and he did the same with West. But as our friendship changed, I started seeing and feeling differently toward him. When he flirted with girls, I felt jealous. And when I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, I found myself missing him. It took me a while, and a conversation with Masie, to realize I was falling in love with him. Or at least that’s what I believed.

  As I sit here, sifting through these photos, I remember what it felt like to feel that way toward him; how whenever he put his arm around me or smiled, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I also realize those butterflies haven’t been there in a while.

  Since my parents died. Since Jay.

  Since the old Alexis died.

  I also haven’t smiled in a very long time. Or felt much of anything.

  Pressing my lips together, I tuck the photos back into the box then stick them on the top shelf where I won’t have to acknowledge their existence. Then I move on to the next box in my closet. The moment I look inside, I frown.

  My old paintings. And lying on top is the last one I ever painted. The one my teacher told me was generic and unreal. When I had finished it, and before I turned it in, I had thought it was my best work to date. Looking at it now, though—the bright colors, the perfect, flawless lines—I can see what my teacher meant.

  “It looks like a freakin’ paint by numbers painting. I should just throw all this away,” I mutter. “It’s not even who I am anymore.”

  But I can’t seem to bring myself to do it, so I end up kicking the box underneath my bed where it’s out of sight, but annoyingly, not out of mind.

  * * *

  I spend the rest of the day cleaning out my room. By the time I’m finished, hardly anything is left in there, but I like it, like the promise of a new start. I just don’t know what that new start is yet.

  It’s nearing eight o’clock when I finally wander out of my room to go get some dinner, finding the kitchen strangely empty.

  Apparently, Loki isn’t home yet.

  The door to my twin sister’s bedroom is open as I pass by it, and I see her sitting on her bed, just staring off into space, which is strange for her. Usually, she’s busying herself with chores, homework, and other do-gooder stuff.

  While we’re not identical, we used to look similar, except for her hair is shorter than mine and has more wave to it. Her white top and pink shorts get-up would have been something I borrowed. Now pink … bright colors … that’s not who I am anymore. Just like I’m not the kind of person who talks to their twin sister twenty-four seven anymore.

  I have every intention of strolling by her room without saying a word, but then I remember how she texted me yesterday, about how she needed to tell me something.

  Part of me doesn’t want to care, and maybe if she didn’t look so stressed out right now, I might have just walked by without uttering a word, be the I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anything Alexis I’ve become so good at being. But the worry in her expression causes me to pause in the doorway. I’m going to blame the move on Loki’s little speech last night.

  I need you to start caring again.

  “Hey,” I say to her while leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed.

  She blinks at me. “Oh, hey.” That’s all she says, which wouldn’t be that strange, except Zhara is the kind of person who can chatter someone’s ear off. At least when she’s around someone she knows.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask cautiously, which might be the nicest thing I’ve said in a while.

  She nods then puts on that fake smile I know she wears sometimes when she’s trying to lie. “Yeah, I’m totally fine.”

  Why is she lying?

  “You texted me yesterday that you needed to tell me something.”

  Her brows dip before recognition clicks. Then anxiety creeps across her face. “Oh, I didn’t mean to send you that,” she babbles in a rush. “I mean, I did, but what
I needed to tell you wasn’t important and now it’s changed, so …” She shrugs. “Sorry for bugging you. I know how much you hate it when I do that.”

  Seriously, what the actual hell?

  “Dude, are you sure you’re okay?” I double-check, eyeing her over. She’s acting twitchy and completely unlike herself. Usually, she’s more put together.

  She bobs her head up and down then stands up and crosses her room that is so pink and glittery that it looks like a faerie vomited all over everything. “Yeah, I’m fine. I need to work on some homework, though, so …” She gestures for me to move as she reaches to shut the door.

  She’s dismissing me? Zhara, the girl who can’t even tell anyone no, is dismissing me?

  “Um … Okay.” I step back, feeling completely out of my element and completely out of control of the situation.

  See? This is why you don’t care about stuff.

  Still, despite my thoughts, I find myself saying, “Well, if you need to talk, I’ll be in my room. Probably for a while after the trouble I got into yesterday.”

  This would usually be where she starts pressing for details about what I did, which would lead to her lecturing me—that’s how it’s always been in the past, even before our parents died—so flags start popping up everywhere when all she does is nod and shut the door. Moments later, music starts playing from the other side.

  Okay, I guess we’re done then.

  I turn and head for my room, scratching my head and trying to figure out what in the hell my twin is lying about. I end up passing by my youngest brother’s door on my way. It’s shut and music is on.

  What is this? Teenager Angstville?

  Is this how things always are around here? It’s been a while since I stayed home for an entire day, so I’m not sure. If so, then no wonder Loki is losing his damn mind. Between my crap and our house turning into Angstville, he probably doesn’t have a single drop of fun anymore.