by Bailey B
I don’t know when Mom got up and left me but at some point there are two small pills in my hand and a glass of water in front of me. “Drink,” she orders.
I toss the pills in my mouth and chase them with a sip. Within a few minutes, the pressure in my chest dissipates. My lungs fill with air and the brown spots clouding my vision disappear. Mom’s eyebrows are pulled together, worry wrinkled nestled between them. “When did you start having panic attacks again?”
I shrug, feeling embarrassed. Asher is sitting in a cold jail cell, taking the blame for what I did, probably thinking about how he’s become an orphan overnight, and I’m losing my shit. What is wrong with me? “I had one a few weeks ago before Asher started coming around. Besides that one, it’s been at least a year.”
Mom nods. It’s been a crazy, unexpected few weeks. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Liam would turn his back on me or that Asher would become the person I turned to the most. “Your dad has already taken care of Asher’s things. The house is a crime scene right now, but as soon as it’s cleared, he has a company ready to go in and pack everything that’s salvageable.”
“His motorcycle is at school, Mom. We have to go get it before someone steals it.”
“Sweetie.” Mom wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a hug. “Your dad has already thought of that. It’s safe in the garage.”
I sniffle, tears of relief ready to pour out of me again. “He’s thought of everything, hasn’t he?”
Mom chuckles and smooths my hair. “He has, including who will represent Asher in court.”
I pull back, feeling the color drain from my face. “Dad’s not Asher’s lawyer? No, he has to be.” He's the only one who can save Asher.
“Sweetie, your dad is a prosecutor. He can’t switch sides just because someone we know is in the hot seat.”
“So Dad will be the one pressing charges?”
Mom nods. “But don’t worry. Jeff Harris is the best defense attorney in the tri-county area. Between him and your dad, Asher will get a fair trial.”
“A fair trial? Mom, what are you talking about? I shot Clint. It was self-defense. Ballistics will show that. Asher shouldn’t even be on trial.”
“Honey." Mom pulls me into a hug and presses her hand on my head. "Asher insists he pulled the trigger. Whether or not it's true, that's the story he's chosen to tell. He has chosen to let you go to college and live your life. You should be grateful he loves you enough to do this."
I don't feel grateful.
I feel guilty.
“Holy shit! Your door is open!”
The world is blurry as I peel my eyelids open. My head hurts from another night of crying. My back aches from sleeping on the floor. And the sun, it’s bright. Too damn bright even with the shades drawn and the curtains pulled.
“Oh. My. Gosh. El, you look like shit.”
I vaguely recognize Maggie’s voice through the ringing in my ears. Fingers link themselves with mine and I’m pulled onto my unsteady feet. She brushes the hair from my face with her hand, her nose wrinkled in worry and probably disgust. I haven’t showered in days, not since the cops laughed in my face when I insisted I murdered Clint, not Asher. I probably smell as bad as I feel.
“Enough of this self-pity,” Maggie demands. “I know your mom thinks she’s doing the right thing by giving you space, but I disagree. It’s been ten days, Lainey.”
Ten days? That’s it? Funny how time moves. Sometimes a day lasts a lifetime, other times a week blurs into a few hours. I have no clue what day or time it is. I don't care. I just want to curl into a ball and go back to sleep. Guilt is a bitch, but depression is her mistress. I'd rather sleep than deal with the thoughts running through my head.
“We have to get you up and moving or you’re not gonna make it," Maggie insists. She tugs at my arms and pulls me into the bathroom.
“I don’t feel like going anywhere. Can’t you leave me alone?”
Maggie unzips her pink makeup bag and sorts through the items inside. She pulls my mediocre bag from under my sink and finds my foundation, then sets all of the products she plans to use on the counter. “I don’t care how you feel! Asher gets one day for visitors. How do you think he’ll feel if you don’t show up?"
“Asher can have visitors?” I ask through the fog. If he can have visitors, then I can convince him to tell the truth. It's not too late!
“Yes! Finally, I’m getting through to you! Now hurry up and jump in the shower. You smell horrible and I’ve got my work cut out for me with those dark circles.
I run my hand down my dress for the umpteenth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles, as I wait for the guard to call my name. Nervous energy runs rampant through my veins. These past ten days have been hell. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for Asher.
Before today, the only thing I knew about jail was from the show Orange Is the New Black. Now, having binge-watched every incarceration documentary on Netflix I could find the last three hours, I realize that show portrayed the correctional system through rose-colored glasses.
I stand, unable to sit any longer, and chew on my thumbnail. The waiting room is tiny. White walls match the white tiles, plain and devoid of life. The only color to keep your brain from playing tricks is from the grey cushioned chairs. I pace the room, glancing at the watch on my wrist every few steps.
The door opens and I jump from excitement. A man, maybe my father’s age, clad in his police uniform, holds a clipboard. “Elaine Walker?”
“That’s me!” I don’t bother to hide my excitement as I raise my hand and hustle across the room.
“I.D. please.”
I reach for my phone from my back pocket and push my cards up from the holder on my case. I procure my driver's license then hand it over. The man places it beside my name on his clipboard. He checks it twice before handing the card back to me. “This way, Miss.”
My heart ravages my ribcage with each step. The hallway I’m led down is wide but bare. Like the waiting room, it too is painted white, but the overhead fluorescent lights cast an eerie yellow veil upon them. We pass a series of doors, leading to what? I don’t know. Until finally stopping in front of the one I’ve been waiting for.
The man gestures to a seat then says, “He’ll be out in a moment.”
I nod and sit in front of the plexiglass divider that separates civilians from inmates. I don’t know what I expected, but I hoped we’d be in a big room, sitting across from each other, where I could get reprimanded for giving Asher the hug I so desperately need. I look around the room, impatiently waiting for the door on the other side to open. I’m the only visitor today and that breaks my heart. Not for Asher, but for everyone else.
A buzzing sound penetrates through the room. I sit up straighter, my body humming with anticipation. A door opens against the white wall. I hear the clanking of chains before I see him.
Asher, my Asher, doesn’t look like the man I saw ten days ago. My Asher radiates confidence and brings light into a room. This shell of a man looks broken, beat down, and is sporting a black eye he didn’t have before.
Asher holds up his hands for the guard, who uncuffs him and steps back against the wall. I pick up the corded phone on my side of our barrier and wait for him to do the same. Tired eyes reach mine. He reaches for his phone and I can’t help but notice the wince he tries to hide.
“What happened?” I ask the moment the receiver is against his ear.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” he grumbles.
The rubber band around my lungs snaps. Hearing Asher’s voice, even as pained and tired as it sounds, is the medicine I needed. I wish I could hug him and kiss all of his pain away. I take a moment to study Asher, and he seems to be doing the same.
Asher rubs his hand over his face and sighs, what little resolve he had breaking in front of me. “You look like shit, El.”
I shrug. I tried to make myself halfway presentable. Maggie straightened my hair then pulled it into a high ponytail, w
rapping a braid around the tie. She even attempted to put on makeup on me this morning, but my physical appearance isn’t what he’s talking about. My dress hangs loosely from my lack of appetite. My eyes have sunk in a bit, and no matter how much concealer Maggie caked onto my face, she couldn’t hide the dark circles that have tattooed themselves under my eyes.
“I miss you, Asher.”
He smiles, but it looks pained. “El…”
Sensing whatever he’s about to say won’t be good, I cut him off. “Dad says your trial should start in a few weeks. June-B, from the diner, said she’d be a character witness. She’s willing to go on trial and tell everyone how much of a monster Clint was. Dad thinks the prosecutor will offer a plea deal.”
“El…”
“You’re going to beat this Asher, I know you are.” I insist because there's no other option. My conscience will eat me alive if Asher rots behind bars much longer.
“El...”
“And I’m going to be here for you every step of the way.”
“Elaine!” Asher yells. “I don’t want you here.”
“What?” No. He doesn't mean that. He's doing what he did with my dad, saying what he thinks is necessary to keep me safe. I don't want safe. I want him. “What do you mean you don’t want me here? Asher, I...I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“You don’t love me, El. You love the way I make you feel because you weren’t treated right, but this isn’t love. This is lust.”
“You’re wrong. I love you.”
“Stop. Please.”
“No! I won’t stop. I will come here every day and tell you how much I love you. You need me, Asher. I won’t abandon you.”
“Goddamnit, El! Why can’t you listen to me?” he booms. The guard looks at us but doesn’t move to calm Asher down, which terrifies me. How often do they see this? How often are loving couples ripped apart in this room? “I was trying to be nice but, apparently, that’s not working. I don’t love you. I hooked up with you to piss Liam off.”
“I don’t believe you.” He told me everything was real. He said so himself!
“Well, then, you’re an idiot.”
“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to push me away.”
“Of course I am! This isn’t the life you’re meant for. You can’t waste your life on me. My trial could take years.”
“It won’t.”
Dad won't let it. I won't let it. I'll barge into that courtroom and demand everyone listen to me. There's nothing they can do if I choose to tell the truth right then. Sure, it'll piss Dad off and screw up my first year of college, but Dad would do everything in his power to set me free. I know it.
“It could! People change in prison. What happens if you give up everything for me and when I get out we can’t stand each other? Then what?”
“Asher, this is jail, not prison.”
“I murdered my stepdad. You were there! I shot him in cold blood.”
I slam my fist against the barrier between us. "No, you didn't! I did, Asher. Me. I shot Clint to defend myself and to save your life!"
“Keep telling yourself that, love. Facts are facts and the facts are: I don’t love you. I don’t want you here, and if you show up to any of my hearings I will have the police escort you out.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Try me, El.”
“I love you, Asher.”
He shakes his head, disappointment etched across his face. I search his eyes for a glimmer of truth. Something to tell me that he's lying, but they're cold and empty. “Then figure out how to stop.”
Dear Asher,
When we were eight, you left my house after our playdate and never came back. Something happened between our parents— yours, mine, and Liam’s— and that was it. Everyone pretended like you didn’t exist, and I couldn’t understand why. We had known each other since diaper days. You gave me my favorite Ariel doll for my fifth birthday. You ripped her head off at the playground, and then, poof.
You were gone
I cried.
I cried every day for a solid week. That doesn’t sound like long, but when you’re eight years old with an attention span the size of a grain of rice, it’s a big deal.
Now, imagine me today. Eighteen years old, mulling over our last conversation. You know, the one where you told me never to come back after I told you I was falling in love with you. How much do you think I’ve cried? How long do you think my tears will last now that you have my heart?
I’ll tell you.
I’ll never stop crying because I’ll never stop loving you.
You can push me away, Asher, but I’m not going anywhere.
Forever yours,
El
I fold the paper into thirds and stuff it into an envelope. I lick it closed, half worried my dad will read it, half worried my letter will fall out and get lost somewhere. I lean back in my desk chair and stare up at the ceiling. To just look at it, the white looks smooth, flawless, but if you look, really look, there are waves and divots and imperfections. Just like life.
Before I know what’s happening, tears fall down my cheeks. They aren’t violent like they were last week, demanding the world understand their hurt. These are silent. Slow. The worst kind, because they represent the kind of hurt that goes unnoticed. I sniffle and rub them away with the palm of my hand. Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I move to my bed and hug my pillow. I close my eyes and try to picture Asher, the sweet boy who weaseled his way into my life and heart.
My eyelids feel heavy as I lift them. Darkness cloaks the room but I don’t need light to know who’s here. I’d recognize Liam’s cologne from a mile away. I hug my knees closer to my chest, tears on the verge of spilling over again. I don’t want him here. I don’t want his condolences or pity or whatever words he’s going to offer because, no matter what he says, nothing will bring Asher back to me. At least, not yet.
“Lainey?” Liam’s hand leaves my back. His finger trails across my cheek, moving the hair veiling my face. “I’m worried about you. You weren’t at school last week.”
“I’m fine.” My voice cracks, betraying me. I squeeze my eyes shut again, fighting the burn behind the lids. I don’t want to cry, not in front of Liam. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Liam does the one thing I don’t want him to do, he lays behind me and drapes his arm over my stomach. He holds me close. My body trembles against him, tremors of turmoil taking hold. Too tired, both physically and mentally, to fight, I let go. I cry until I fall asleep again, holding Liam’s hand and wishing he was Asher.
My alarm goes off before the sun rises, but it’s ringing isn’t what wakes me. Liam shakes my shoulder until I peel my eyes open. I groan, not ready to deal with the day, but it has decided to take me by the horns.
Mom stands at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. “You’re lucky I came to check on you this morning, and not your dad.”
“Shit. Mom,” I say, sitting up and shoving Liam out of my bed. “It’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, I know exactly what this looks like.” She chuckles. “It looks like Liam trying to weasel his way back into your life.”
“Mrs. Walker, I--”
Mom holds her hand up and cuts him off. “No. I don’t want any explanations from you, Liam. You didn’t just abandon Ellie the last six weeks, you cut us off, too. You were like a son to us.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I never dreamed you would be just like your parents.”
“Mrs. Walker, please. Let me explain.”
Mom shakes her head again, her brows bunched together. “No. Your parents are nothing but poison to this world, and I can’t let you infect my daughter with that kind of selfishness. Get out, Liam, and if I ever catch you in my daughter’s bed again, it’ll be my husband you deal with. I promise he won’t be this calm.”
Liam’s head falls as he climbs out of my bed. “See you at school, Lainey.”
Whisper.
That’s al
l anyone is doing. Whispering. I guess that’s what happens when your boyfriend is a murderer, or so they think, and you avoid life for almost two weeks. I wish I could go back to my room, curl back into a ball, and avoid everyone.
Mom won’t let me.
She says this kind of depression isn’t healthy and that if I don’t get my shit together we’re going to see someone about it. So, I forced myself out of bed today. I made myself smile when I said hello. Shoveled a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats into my stomach and prayed it didn’t come back up. I don’t feel good, but at least my breakfast is staying put.
“What are you all looking at?” Maggie scolds a group of people who stare as they walk by. Their hushed tones stop for all of three seconds as they pass us in the hallway, then start again.
I draw my gaze away from my open locker to the people who passed us. I have no idea how long I’ve been standing here. I look around and notice a lot of eyes darting away from me.
“You okay, sweetie?” Maggie asks, rubbing my back. She showed up at my doorstep today, ready to carry me to her car if she had to.
Apparently, no one believed I would show up to school if allowed to drive myself. They’re right. I wouldn’t have. I would have gone straight to the Horizon Hotel, booked a night in room three-oh-three, Asher's room, and hugged the pillows tightly. I want to be where Asher was and find some lingering piece of him.
I force another smile, the second of what I’m assuming will be one of the hundreds I’m going to wear today. I don’t know how to answer Maggie’s question. I hurt in ways I can’t explain. I thought the pain of Asher getting arrested and it being my fault was the worst of it all.
If I hadn’t insisted on meeting his mom that day, we would have never stumbled upon Clint mid murder. Asher would have come home to find his mom dead, which still would have sucked, but at least the outcome would have been different. He would have called the cops. Testified to the abuse his mom went through at the hands of that monster. And that’s it. Clint would have been arrested and we would still be together.