“I’m tired of the arguing, of you breaking the rules,” my mom continues. “This is the final straw, Luna. If you don’t stop being such an utter disappointment, your father and I will have no choice but to take more drastic measures.” My mom shoves the chair back from the table and snatches up the empty pan as she rises to her feet. “Now, go work on your homework.”
Fighting back the tears, I run out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I pace the floor several times, telling myself I’ll live, that it’s just hair. No need to get overdramatic. But as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t keep the tears from overflowing.
My clothes are always too big and baggy when I like them to fit. I’m wearing a long-sleeved, yellow and pink shirt, and I don’t even like yellow or pink. I have no makeup on, and while I’m not a huge fan of it, I do like lip-gloss and eyeliner sometimes. My hair is the only thing I’ve ever gotten control over. I’ve always had it long and loved it that way. I can braid it, put it up, leave it straight, do whatever I want with it. What happens when it’s gone? Will I even know who I am when I look into the mirror?
I glance out the window, debating whether to jump out of it and go to the store or not. Take back control. Alleviate the pressure in my chest. Be the bad person my parents have always told me I am.
You’re such a terrible daughter, an utter disappointment. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.
I curl my fingers inward and fight down the compulsion as I grab my phone to text Wynter.
Me: SOS
She responds within two seconds.
Wynter: On my way.
Thirty minutes later, Wynter is crawling through my bedroom window and into my room.
“Man, I haven’t climbed up that tree since freshman year,” she says as she plucks a leaf out of her hair. She inspects the mud caked on the bottom of her four-inch, platform shoes. “I forgot what a pain in the ass it is to get up it.”
I glance outside at her car parked on the corner then slide the window shut.
“I’m sorry for making you do it.” I sink down on the edge of my bed. “But I knew they wouldn’t let you come up if you knocked. They’re too pissed off at me.”
Her eyes skim my bare walls, my organized computer desk, and my perfectly made bed. “It’s okay. I’m cool with climbing up a tree for you.” She takes a seat beside me. “I have to prove my love for you somehow, right?”
I crack a small smile. “I guess so.”
She wiggles around then leans against the headboard and stretches out her legs, getting comfortable. “All right, spill the beans. What happened this time? Or is it still that thing about the clothes?”
I comb my fingers through my hair. “She wants me to cut off all my hair.”
“What the fuck?” she says a little too loudly.
I cover her mouth with my hand. “Shhh . . . Or they’ll hear you.”
“Sorry.” Her lips move against my palm.
I pull my hand away. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I mean, who makes their friend climb up a tree just so they can talk?”
“The kind who’s deserving enough to have a great friend.” She puts a hand over mine. “Look, I know how tough it’s been for you. I’ve known you for, like, forever, and I’ve seen the shit your parents put you through. And your dad is really, really scary, especially when you accidentally microwaved a fork.”
“We didn’t do that on accident, remember? Beck told us that, if we did, it would melt into silver.”
“God, we were really naïve when we were ten, weren’t we?” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes I miss it.” She looks almost pained, and I wonder if she’s thinking about something other than the memory of trying to melt the fork.
“We’re still kind of naïve when you really think about it,” I say. “Think about some of the dumb stuff we’ve done recently, like sneaking out to parties.”
“That’s not naïve.” She smiles again, shaking off whatever’s troubling her. “It’s called having fun, which most people do . . . But, anyway, you’re missing my point. My point was that, for the last ten years, I’ve watched your parents try to control you, and while I love you and how nice you are to everyone, I think you sometimes let people get away with too much. You’ve always worked so hard to not make anyone angry, even people like Logan who freakin’ deserve to be told how big of an ass-hat they are.”
I frown. “I don’t like making people upset. I always feel so bad.”
“I think that’s because your parents have branded that into your head. I think they were mainly trying to get you to act that way to them, but it ended up being a big part of who you are.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying it’s bad to be nice. It’s a good thing. But you’re eighteen now, and it’s time to start living your life for yourself. You can say what you feel sometimes without worrying, and it’ll be okay, even if someone’s feelings do get hurt or people get upset.”
“They’d kick me out,” I whisper. “If I pushed them too much, they wouldn’t let me live here anymore. They’ve been saying that a lot lately . . . more than they normally do. I can feel it coming.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” She pulls a pillow onto her lap and picks at a loose thread. “I know you’ve been afraid that’ll happen because your mom says that to you all the time, but I don’t think you get that parents never go through with half the threats they make.”
“I don’t think so. You know my mom has a sister, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, did you know that my grandma kicked her out of the house when she was seventeen because she was dating this guy they didn’t like? They didn’t even give her a chance to break up with him. They just told her to get out and didn’t even let her take any of her things with her.”
“If my parents were that way, I’d be screwed.” She pulls her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. “What happened to her?”
“I have no idea. No one’s ever seen her since she moved out. At least, that’s what my mom says.”
“Was your mom upset when it happened? I know what she’s like now, but back then she had to be different, right?”
“No, my mom had already had me by the time this all happened. There was a huge age gap between the two of them, but that’s not really the point. The point is that my mom has always been as strict as my grandma, and I know she’ll kick me out. I think she’s already considering it, and the messed up part is that I kind of wish she would. But then what would I do? I don’t have any money, and none of my family will take me in. I don’t have anyone.” I don’t realize I’m crying until she scoots forward and wraps her arms around me.
“That’s not true at all. You have me. You have Ari, Willow, and even Beck. We’ll all be there for you, no matter what happens.”
I sniffle. “Even if I’m homeless?”
“You’ll never be homeless. If you have to, you can come live with me. I’ve been thinking about getting my own place, anyway. Hell, maybe this weekend I’ll move into the pool house. I doubt anyone would notice.”
“Your parents notice you. They just get distracted sometimes.”
“Yeah, tell that to my empty house. Neither of them have been home in, like, two weeks, and I don’t even know where they are.”
I pull back. “Really?”
She nods then heaves a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, though. I’m almost eighteen; it’s not like I need an adult around.”
“Yeah, but they shouldn’t just take off and leave you alone for that long,” I say. “And, if they do, they should at least tell you where they’re going.”
“I’m used to it by now.” She gives a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug then sits up straight and lowers her feet to the floor. “But enough about our lame-ass parents. Let’s talk about something fun.”
I scoot to the edge of the bed. “Like what?”
She waggles her brows at me. “Like why Grey Sawyer keeps giving you sexy-b
oy eyes.”
“He’s not giving me sexy-boy eyes,” I assure her. “He’s just looking at me like he does everyone else.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “See? There you go, being naïve.”
“I’m not being naïve,” I argue. “I’m just being realistic.”
“How is that being realistic?”
“Because Grey Sawyer would never, ever give me sexy-boy eyes . . . He just wants my help with something.”
“Help with what?” she asks, watching my reaction closely.
I give a half shrug. “Getting his grades up and stuff.” See? Not a total lie.
“I thought you already helped him with that?” Her suspicion deepens.
I pick at my fingernails as guilt swells in my chest. “Yeah, I kind of stood him up.”
“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you to be so mean.” She prods me in the side with her finger. “I’m kidding. If anything, he probably deserved it for treating you like shit.”
“He’s really not that bad of a guy,” I tell her. “And just because he was mean to me once, it doesn’t mean I need to stand him up when he needs help.”
“Do you still like him?” She observes my reaction even more closely.
“What? No way.” I pretend to be appalled.
She grins like the Cheshire Cat. “You so do. Oh, my God, how did I not see this?”
“Because there’s nothing to see,” I say indignantly. “I don’t have a crush on Grey Sawyer.”
“Okay.” Sarcasm drips her in voice. “You know, if you did, I’d be okay with it.”
“I thought you hated him, though?”
“I do, but if he’s nice to you and you like him, then as your best friend, I kind of have to like him, too. Besides, I feel kind of bad for him after what Piper did to him.”
“Yeah, I heard that rumor, too. I doubt it’s true, though.”
She pfts. “Of course it’s not true. Piper’s just a bitch.”
I trace circles on the bedspread. “Do you really think she broke up with him? Or do you think she’s making that up, too?”
“Who knows? But I wouldn’t put it past her to make that up.” She scrapes at the purple polish on her nails. “You could always just ask him, though, if it matters.”
“I don’t think it matters.” At least, I don’t want it to, but it kind of does.
“I can see why it matters to you. I mean, you like him, and if he broke up with her, then that makes him more of a good guy.”
“Why would that make him a good guy?”
“Because Piper’s an evil bitch, and staying with an evil bitch and pretending their bitchiness is okay when it’s not kind of makes you a bitch, too. So, for his sake of ever getting a chance to date you, I hope he’s the one who dumped the Wicked Bitch of Ridgefield High.”
“Grey doesn’t want to date me,” I stress. She continues to give me that know-it-all look, and I sigh exhaustedly. “Can we drop this and figure out what we’re going to do with my hair please?”
“Hmmm . . .” She thrums her finger against her lips then gathers my hair into a loose bun on the back of my head. “You wouldn’t look that bad with short hair.”
I take another look at my reflection in the mirror again and shudder. “I look awful. And besides, my hair is the only thing I have left that’s mine.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” She releases my hair and sits back with a look of determination on her face. “We’ll figure something out, but only if you promise me one thing.”
“Okay . . . ?” My tone conveys my reluctance. Sometimes, making promises to Wynter means making promises to get into trouble.
“That tomorrow night after the game, you’ll sneak out and come to Beck’s party,” she says with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
My mood nosedives even more. “I can’t. I’m already on thin ice as it is.”
“You have to. Ari even fixed that tracking app thing and got you a new phone, so that won’t be a problem.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Please, Luna. Beck’s older brother is going to be there, and I need you there as my wingman.”
“You know Beck’s going to flip if he sees you flirting with his brother,” I stress. “And then you two will end up fighting.”
“I can handle Beck and his temper tantrums,” she replies with an eye roll. “And you know I’ve had a crush on Theo for years. He’s not like the other fleeting crushes I’ve had. This one’s stuck.”
“You’ve had a lot of crushes on a lot of guys over the years. Why don’t you just focus on other ones who aren’t one of our best friends’ brothers?” I suggest with naïve hopefulness. Deep down, I know she won’t do it. When Wynter sets her eyes on a guy, she never backs down until she gets him.
“I made a promise to myself a long time ago that, the moment Theo came home from college, I’d do my thing.” She shimmies her hips. “And I fully intend on going through with that promise.”
I sigh. “Fine. Get your thing on, but when you and Beck get in a fight, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“So, does that mean you’ll come to the party?” She taps her feet against the floor, bursting with eagerness. “Pretty please, say yes.”
I should tell her no. Not take the risk. But then I look at my hair, my beautiful hair that might be gone next week.
“They have this overnight, camp church thing they’re doing this weekend, so my grandma is coming to babysit me. She’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so maybe I can sneak out if she falls asleep early enough.”
She squeals way too loudly, and my eyes pop wide as I hear the sound of footsteps heading down the hallway.
“Crap. Someone’s coming.” I leap for my bed and push open the window.
“See you tomorrow.” She kisses me on the cheek then hops out onto the tree branch. “And we’ll fix this problem with your hair. I promise.”
Someone bangs on the door right as I slide the window shut.
“Luna, open the door this instant,” my dad demands with another hard knock on the door.
I rush across the room, take a few calculated breaths to calm down, and then unlock the door and pull it open. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze darts over my shoulder. “Is someone else in here with you?”
I shake my head and step back as he pushes into my room. He checks in the closet, looks out the window, and then bends down to look under the bed. As he’s standing up, he catches sight of something sticking out from under my mattress and pulls it out.
“Why do you have a photo of Aunt Ashlynn under your mattress?” he yells, causing me to cower back.
“Um . . . I don’t know.” What am I supposed to say? I have it because she’s my idol. Yeah, that’d go over well.
His face reddens as he strides toward me and grabs my wrist. “Do you have any idea how much this would hurt your mother!”
I back up against the wall. “I’m s-sorry.”
“Oh, you’re sorry.” He leans in my face, his fingers digging into my skin. “News flash, Luna, sorry doesn’t mean anything. Apologies are worthless. What you do, the choices you make can’t be erased.”
An exhale trembles from my lips. “I know, but people can forgive people for the things that they do . . . And sometimes they can change.”
“You’ll never change. You’re just like her. I can see it in your eyes.” He lets go of me and rips the photo into pieces. “I’m not going to tell your mother about this, but only because I want to spare her the pain and embarrassment.”
I rub my wrist where he grabbed me. “Okay.” What I don’t get, though, is why having the photo would cause my mother pain. Or why he’s so upset. I don’t understand most of the things they do.
“And I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for your mother because I care about her, which you clearly don’t. You’ve always been so selfish. Your mother hasn’t always been able to see it, but I have. I’ve told her time and time again that it’s time to just accept that and to let you go, but she
wants to hold on to the hope that one day you’ll change. You won’t, though.” He storms out of the room. “Get to bed.” He slams the door behind him.
My legs quiver as I climb under the covers. I try to go to sleep, but I’m too wired after what just happened. I toss and turn, trying to relax, but I can feel the fear under my skin, sense the end coming. I’ve been getting on my parents’ nerves more with each passing day, and I know that soon they’re going to do to me what my grandma did to Aunt Ashlynn.
Part of me is terrified, while a small part of me feels . . . relieved.
Flames ignite, burning everything in their path.
“Hang on. I’ve got you, Luna.”
Arms pull me against them as heat blisters my skin.
Who are you?
I know you.
I can feel it.
“Hang on, okay?” they say as we reach the caving stairway. “And no matter what you do, no matter how bad things get, I want you to hang on. Promise me that you’ll hang on, Luna.”
“I promise,” I gasp, struggling to get air.
I’m afraid, so afraid. I can’t breathe, and my hands and knees hurt. Everything hurts, but I know I have to be strong.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” they promise, and then they run straight through the fire, out the front door, and into the fresh air where I can breathe again.
Friday morning, I mess up. Instead of heading straight to school, I drive to the gas station, pretending the car needs gas. But I’m not really here for fuel. I’m here to try to deal with what happened last night with my dad.
My wrist aches as I wander up and down the aisle, eyeing the snacks while occasionally glancing at the cashier, who seems more interested with texting on their phone than with what I’m doing.
With her not paying attention, this should be easy, yet for some reason, I’m hesitating. I keep thinking of the last time I stole and how Grey caught me. How ashamed I was when I saw him watching me. How nervous I was when I followed Benny up to the front of the store to empty out my pockets.
I almost leave the gas station with empty pockets, but then I receive a text from my mom, reminding me that my grandma will take me to my session today and that I’m to obey her no matter what. Something snaps inside me, and I reach for the nearest candy bar and start to tuck it into my jacket pocket.
Confessions of a Kleptomaniac Page 12