Regretting You

by Beck, J. L.

  My mother takes my clammy hand into hers and walks me toward my father as if I’m a small child that can’t do it on her own.

  “Kennedy,” my father greets in a monotone voice. He used to tell me he loved me, that he was proud of me. Now, he barely acknowledges me.

  “Hey, Dad,” I mumble back.

  “I got you a dress, sweetie. I want you to wear it to the dinner they’re having for us tonight. Your father has to work on Monday so we can only stay tonight. We’re gonna make the best of the time we have together.”

  I force my lips into a smile. It almost hurts, definitely feels strange and wrong because I’m not even close to being happy.

  “Thanks, I’m so happy you guys are here. I need to head back to my apartment and drop off this stuff, then we can do whatever you want.”

  The next twenty-four hours are going to be pure torture, but at least it won’t last forever. Soon enough, they’ll leave, and I can get back to my life, or what’s left of it.

  “Of course. Let’s go,” Mom exclaims, and I want to groan, but bite back the sound. If one thing is off, this could turn into so much more than a weekend from hell.

  “Let’s,” I reply and start walking toward my apartment again.

  * * *

  It takes far too long to get my mother to leave my apartment, and by the time we do get out, it’s too late to show them around Blackthorn because the dinner party is starting soon.

  With each step I take, I worry about the dress my mom made me wear riding too high up my thighs. It’s not terribly short. It sits above the knee, but only a few inches higher is where my scars begin. I don’t want anyone to see those, least of all, my parents. God, they would ship me off to the next loony bin in a heartbeat.

  “I don’t understand why you couldn’t have put on a bit of makeup?” my father says under his breath as we walk inside that banquet hall. His remark both hurts and angers me. It’s obvious when he says put makeup on, he’s asking me to cover my scar, so I don’t draw any attention to us. Or, more so, to him. It’s been clear to me for some time that my father cares more about himself than me. Ever since the accident, I’ve been more of a nuisance to him than a daughter. He is ashamed of me, and he doesn’t miss a chance to show it.

  My stomach lurches into my chest when we walk into the event, and I see how many students and parents are inside. I’m tempted to turn around and run back to my apartment, but if I do that, my mother would question me, and my dad would have yet another reason to belittle me.

  I’ve told her I’ve been working on being more social, working on getting outside my bubble. I’d be giving myself away if I tried to leave now.

  “Let’s get a table,” I say and tug my mother in the direction of an open table. She’s bubbling over with excitement while I’m drowning in misery. Guess things never change.

  “Kennedy, is that you?” I know that voice. The softness of it. For a long time, Jillian and Jackson’s mom was like a second mother to me. I can’t tell you how many times I slept over at their house. How often she made me pancakes or bandaged up my scraped knees. Still, seeing her after what I did, all those good memories are tarnished by the one bad thing I did.

  I really don’t want to turn around because I know Mrs. Wislow isn’t alone. Her husband is here, and Jackson is definitely here. This is slowly becoming an actual living nightmare.

  Building up the courage, I turn around and come face to face with Trish. Her eyes become glassy when she sees my face, and she rushes toward me, wrapping her arms around me as if I didn’t kill her daughter. As if there isn’t tons of misery and pain between our two families.

  “Kennedy,” my father calls my name sternly, but I’m an adult now. Not some kid that can be pushed around. If I want to hug Trish, then I will.

  “You look good,” she says, pulling away, her emotions written all over her face. It’s stupid of me, but I chance a look around her and find Jackson’s green eyes feral and honed in on me. He’s not even bothering to cover up his disdain of me. “I’m so happy you’re here and going to school.”

  “We’ll be at the table, sweetie,” my mother leans forward and whispers into my ear. I can’t see my father’s face since my back is to him, but I’ll bet he looks close to murder. He and Jackson probably have matching facial expressions.

  “We… We don’t have to do this,” I tell her, the wounds of my past becoming raw as she stands before me.

  Ken, her husband, walks up to me as well, leaving Jackson to stand alone, his arms crossed over his chest, a sinister look flickering in his eyes.

  Trish wipes away a couple stray tears that have escaped her eyes. “There is nothing to do, honey. Ken and I, we just, we had tried to reach out to you before, but your parents said you moved away. We wanted to let you know that we forgive you.” She places her hands on my shoulders as if she knows I need the weight to hold me to the ground.

  “You… you forgive me?” I’m shocked. That is not how I envisioned this would go.

  Ken nods, his eyes are soft, and the same color green as Jackson’s. “Jillian loved you like you were her sister, and we know you loved her too. We’ve come to terms with the fact that it was a horrible accident, and sometimes things happen that are out of our control. We miss her every single day, but hating you, or being mad about it isn’t going to change that she’s gone. Jillian wouldn’t have wanted us to treat you that way. You’re like a daughter to us. Losing Jillian wasn’t a choice, something out of our control, but we can control our relationship with you.”

  Tears fill my eyes, but I blink them away. I will not cry. Trish smiles at me, and her smile reminds me of Jillian’s. She was always so happy, even when everything looked like it was headed south, she made the best of a shitty situation. She was smart beyond her years.

  “I thought you would hate me forever,” I manage to whisper.

  “Oh, sweetie, we are sorry, and I’m sorry we didn’t come to the trial. At the time, we were just too hurt and grieving too heavily to go,” Trish pauses, “we lost Jillian that night, yes, but we didn’t lose you, and we kind of forgot that at the time.”

  My throat tightens. What do I say to that? I can’t even get my brain to form a coherent response. They shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I should be apologizing to them, and yet my tongue feels like it’s weighed down with concrete.

  Somehow, I get a response out, “I… I’m so sorry. I love you both, and I loved Jillian so much. I miss her every day. Every single day,” I tell them, damn near breaking out into a sob. Forcing myself to breathe, instead of falling face-first into my emotions, I slowly get myself.

  Trish’s lips quiver, and I know she wants to cry too. “I would love to have lunch together sometime. Catch up? I want to hear all about your life since you disappeared with your parents.”

  Again, I’m shocked. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” For some stupid reason, my eyes cut to Jackson, who is staring fiery holes through his parents and me. His mother turns and looks over her shoulder, discovering what I’m looking at.

  “Don’t let him scare you. He’s still mourning her loss. He doesn’t know how to deal with pain. Someday, he’ll find a way to heal, but until then, he’s going to be grumpy,” Trish says, snickering. “Life is short, and losing Jillian taught us that.”

  “Would your parents be okay with us all sitting together?” Ken asks.

  “Uhh, I don’t know. I mean, they can’t tell you to leave the table if that’s what you mean.”

  Ken laughs, and it reminds me of all the times he would tell us stupid dad jokes, and he, Jillian, and I would laugh until our cheeks hurt, and tears rolled down our faces. I miss smiling, being happy, feeling joyful instead of dead.

  “Good, then let’s sit together,” Trish exclaims and grabs my hand. Together we walk back toward the table while Ken turns and goes to talk to Jackson. He returns a moment later, shaking his head, and Trish gives him a little frown before shrugging her shoulders. My own father refuses to
look at me as well, but my mother makes small talk with Trish.

  It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s the most structured my life has felt since losing her. Slowly, everything around me melts away, and I allow myself to feel normal for once. I allow myself to feel like I’m not the reason she died.

  13

  Jackson

  How can they do this? How can they talk to her like she didn’t take Jillian from us? How can my mom hug her like she didn’t destroy our life? How can my father forgive her as if it wasn’t all her fault?

  I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life. My own fucking parents, what a joke.

  Sitting in the corner of the large room, I tighten the grip around the glass of champagne. My hand is shaking with barely restrained anger, and I know the thin glass is going to give way any second now. It’s going to shatter in my hand, like my life shattered the night my twin died.

  Even though it physically hurts me to do so, I can’t look away. Every time my mom’s hand rests on Kennedy’s shoulder, I want to throw my glass at them. With every smile they give, it only adds gasoline to the fire. Fueling my hatred and anger until it threatens to swallow me whole. Darkness is my best friend, and I feel the need to give in to it right now.

  They act like I’m not even here, ignoring me like they should be doing to her. I can’t fucking take this any longer. I need to get out of here, I can’t breathe.

  Just as I get ready to walk out, I notice Kennedy getting up as well. She heads to the bathroom, and instead of leaving, I decide to follow her. Taking the long way around, I avoid my family all together and make it to the bathroom just as she is walking back out.

  Sneaking up behind her, I grab her by the arm and pull her back. She lets out a shriek and twists in my hold. “Jackson!”

  “Shut up!” I keep dragging her with me. She stumbles over her high heels, and I have to pull her up before she hits the ground. Once we are hidden around the corner, in a corridor away from the event, and any prying eyes, I push her up against the wall.

  “What fucking games are you playing? Trying to get close to my family again? What’s the plan now? Killing someone else close to me?”

  “What? No… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  “You like playing the innocent little girl, don’t you? You might be able to fool my parents, but never me, do you understand? I know what kind of person you are. I know how black your soul is. You’re ugly inside.”

  “Stop! Let go of me, Jackson.” Kennedy fights back, anger flickering in her eyes, which only fans the flame of rage inside me. If I wanted to, I could hurt her–really hurt her–but I wouldn’t come back from that, nor would my heart allow me to do such a thing. No matter how much I try and deny it, I care too much about if she’s living or dead, even though I shouldn’t.

  But there are other things I can do to her, other ways to show her that I’m in control and that I always will be. Sliding a hand beneath her dress, I grab onto her thigh, squeezing it harshly, making sure she feels me. I can give her pain if I give her pleasure at the same time.

  Her eyes go wide, the hazel really standing out, and her throat bobs as she struggles to get away from me, but I push her back against the wall. As my fingers run up the inside of her thigh, she goes stone cold, and then I feel it. Something rough and raised against the creamy smooth skin of her thigh. I run my finger across the line, it feels almost like a scab.

  “What is this?” I ask, reaching for the hem of her dress, ready to inspect myself. As soon as our eyes connect, I see the pure panic in them. She completely freaks, becomes this wild animal, hell-bent on escaping me. Her hands lash out, and her nails dig into the skin of my face as she drags them downward.

  “Don’t ever touch me again,” she screams as she shoves at my chest, panic clawing its way out of her. I reach for her wrist but miss, and she comes back, landing a hard slap across my face. I’m stunned, shocked by the violent action, which gives her the moment she needs to shove by me and escape. Running away, she disappears while I hold a hand to my burning cheek, wondering if everything that just happened was a dream.

  What the fuck was that?

  She acted like I was going to kill her. I’ve threatened her before, grabbed her, and touched her without asking. She’s never reacted like that before. No. This was different.

  Whatever it is, it’s big. She is hiding a big fucking secret, and I’m going to find out what it is.

  I don’t know why I stand there moping over it. I don’t care what the fuck is wrong with her, just so long as she doesn’t die because her misery is my enjoyment, and if she’s dead, well, there goes my fun.

  Waiting a little longer before I reappear in the banquet hall, I give myself a moment to get my shit together. I go into the bathroom and check my face in the mirror. There is a scratch mark across my cheek, but I can’t do shit to hide it. Not going to lie, the fact that Kennedy attacked me is surprising as fuck.

  Cleaning myself up as best as I can, I leave the restroom and walk back into the party. I make it all of two feet inside the door before my mother is on me, her face a mask of fury.

  “What did you do to her?” my mother asks sternly.

  I choke on my laughter. “What did I do to her? Do you see my cheek? She fucking attacked me. Plus, I’m not the one out here pretending like everything is fine and dandy.” I take a step back, my voice rising, drawing attention from bystanders.

  I don’t care who sees or hears what I have to say. I’m past giving a shit now.

  “I know you’re hurting, son, but you need to calm down. It was an accident. Kennedy didn’t mean to do it.”

  I hate how calm she sounds, how dismissive to what happened to Jillian she is. Her voice is like ants crawling all over my skin, and I want to sink my nails into my flesh and itch.

  “An accident is running into someone with your shopping cart. Spilling a glass of milk. What she did wasn’t an accident. It was murder and the fact that you can’t see that…” I clench my fist, ready to punch something, someone, anything. I’m boiling water, that’s bubbling over. “The fact that you can’t see that makes you a fucking disgrace. You don’t forgive the person who killed someone you love. It’s disgraceful and shitty, and you’re…” I back away needing to go somewhere else to escape this turtleneck of an event.

  “Jackson, wait,” my mother calls after me with tears in her eyes, but her tears mean nothing to me, not when she can sit with the enemy and pretend that everything is all right. Not when she’d rather talk to the person that killed her daughter than her own son, who is drowning right in front of her.

  I don’t wait.

  I run, and I don’t stop until my lungs burn, and my muscles ache. Until all I can do is pass out from exhaustion.

  14

  Kennedy

  The feelings are back, and I’m like a rock sinking to the bottom of them. He felt them, my scars, his fingers ran along the jagged, raised edges. He knows my secret, and he could tell anyone, my parents, his parents.

  “What’s going on, honey?” My mother intercepts me as I come rushing around the corner. All I could think was to get away from him, to make sure he didn’t learn my secret, but that failed. He knows something is going on even if he doesn’t really know what it is.

  Forcing myself to calm down and pump the breaks, I wipe away the tears from my cheeks and pretend as if all is okay. “I’m just really emotional right now and having a rough time after seeing Ken and Trish, that’s all. I think I want to go home.”

  “We just got here though,” she says, frowning.

  “You guys can stay if you want, but I feel sick. I’m going to go back to my apartment. Maybe we can have breakfast in the morning?” I try to lighten the blow of me leaving, and it must work because she smiles at me and gives me a hug.

  “I would love that. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can see what’s going on.” She releases me, and I nod. I don’t bother saying goodbye to my father, it’s not like he cares anyw
ay.

  “Tell Ken and Trish I’m sorry that I had to leave, please.”

  “I will let them know. Go home and get some rest. I love you,” she says and then turns around and walks back to the table. Standing there for a long moment, I realize that I could be screaming for help in the open, and she would never see it. Not because the evidence isn’t there but because she doesn’t want to see it. Unless I tell her flat out, she’ll never acknowledge it.

  Needing to leave before Jackson shows his face again, or worse yet, opens his mouth, I walk back to my apartment, making my feet move as fast as they can without sending me to the ground. I try not to think of the anger I saw in Jackson’s features.

  His hate for me grew in an instant. He thought I was making nice with his parents when he had no idea that I had nothing to do with it. It was all on them but telling him that wouldn’t change what already happened.

  My chest aches, and I want to shut off the emotions I’m feeling. I thought maybe I was heading in the right direction, but Jackson ruined it all. He just had to touch my scars. As soon as I get into the apartment, I lock the front door, strip out of my clothes, and walk into the bathroom. Getting out the razors, I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can get through the emotions without needing pain. Pain covers it all up, it swallows all the sadness.

  Plucking a razor from the container, I sit against the tub, spread my legs, and pick a spot to cut. My hand is trembling as I lift the blade and press it into my skin until blood beads against the edge of the razor.

  Relief floods my veins as soon as I drag the razor across my skin, cutting through my flesh like a hot knife through butter. Euphoric pleasure pulses through me, and soon silence settles over my chaotic mind.