Little Lies

by H Hunting

  “Can I see?”

  I want to tell him no, because I don’t want him to get upset all over again, but I think doing that might make it worse, so I nod. Moving makes my body hurt, and I wonder if it will be better or worse in the morning as I sit up and the covers fall away.

  River turns on the lamp on the nightstand between our beds and hops up beside me. I hold my hands out so he can inspect them. He drags a finger gently across the edge of the bandage. “What’d you get cut on?”

  “My fingernails,” I whisper.

  His gaze lifts slowly. “You did this to yourself?”

  “I guess. I didn’t know it happened until after I got out of the closet.”

  “Does it hurt a lot?” His voice is soft and shaky.

  “It’s not so bad.”

  He tips his head to the side. “Don’t lie, Lavender.”

  “My nails were too long. Mommy wanted to cut them yesterday, but I was busy painting and we forgot.” I don’t acknowledge his accusation. I don’t need to. He knows when I’m telling the truth.

  She trimmed them all the way back right after my bath and filed them short, almost until there wasn’t any white left.

  “Maverick feels really bad. Not as bad as me, but he was crying, and Mom and Dad grounded him.”

  “They grounded him?”

  Maverick doesn’t get in trouble much. He’s too busy with hockey and trying to keep up with schoolwork.

  River nods. “He’s not allowed to play hockey for the rest of the weekend. You should’ve heard Daddy; he was so mad. He took Mav to his office, and I could still hear him yelling.”

  Daddy and River have the same temper. Sort of. Daddy’s fuse is long, and he never yells at me. Ever. Sometimes he raises his voice with Mav and River, but not usually Robbie because he mostly does what he’s supposed to. He likes to study a lot and has a greenhouse in the backyard that he spends a lot of time in. But Mav and River get saucy, and Daddy doesn’t like it when they don’t listen to Mommy or do what she asks them to—like cleaning up their rooms and stuff. And there was the time he got mad at Mav for the way he was playing hockey. Mav got a penalty for fighting, and Daddy said he was a better player than that. We use our brains to solve our problems and not our fists.

  I feel bad, though, because Maverick was right. I always hide in one of three spots, and usually under River’s bed. But I’d already hidden in all three, and Mav is good at finding me, so I did something different this time.

  I want to ask about Kodiak, but I don’t want to make River more upset. Sometimes they don’t get along, and I know it’s because of me. Kodiak and I understand each other. We both have worry monsters that live inside us. He likes to be perfect at everything. Sometimes when he makes mistakes, he can’t handle it. That’s when the monster inside gets so big, it takes over.

  Even though we’re twins, River doesn’t understand what that’s like. He wants to, but he can’t, and that makes him angry.

  “Is everyone else okay?” I ask.

  River shrugs. “Mostly. Lovey and Lacey were really upset and wanted to see you before they left. BJ too. Kody had a big meltdown ’cause Daddy was so angry.”

  A spike of panic makes my throat tight.

  “He was okay before they went home, though. I know he was just trying to help,” River rushes on, his eyes darting away for a second. “Everyone was okay, just worried about you and feeling bad ’cause you got stuck.”

  I nod and yawn. I’m so tired, and all the worries seem to be seeping back in. I want to fall asleep before they make it impossible.

  River goes back to his own bed, flicks off the lamp, and we lie facing each other. I close my eyes and focus on trying to sleep, but the dark reminds me of the closet, and the panic makes it hard to swallow. And I’m worried about Maverick now too. River’s breath has evened out. He never has trouble sleeping.

  I slip out of bed and push the door open. I check over my shoulder to make sure River is still asleep before I pad down the hall toward Maverick’s room. I have to pass Mommy and Daddy’s room on the way. Their door is open a few inches, a light still on.

  “It’ll be okay, Vi.”

  “I don’t know if it will, Alex.” Her voice cracks, and she sucks in big breaths. She’s crying. Because of me.

  “We’ll call Queenie in the morning and up Lavender’s sessions with her.”

  “She was so scared, Alex.” She hiccups.

  “Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” Daddy says. “It’ll be okay. I’m sorry I lost it. I just thought . . . I don’t know what I thought. It took me right back to when she went missing.”

  I peek through the crack in the door, my body full of energy I don’t like. Daddy keeps wiping Mommy’s eyes. He looks so sad. They both do.

  “It was exactly the same for me. All I could see was what she looked like when you found her. I feel so awful. Kody was just trying to help. That poor kid. Those poor kids. River was losing his mind.”

  “I know, but he’s okay. They both are. We’re not going to fix the problem tonight, Vi.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds. “I want to protect her from everything. I want to keep her safe from the world and everything that can hurt her.”

  “We all do. C’mere, baby, let’s try to sleep.”

  The light extinguishes, and the sound of sheets rustling follows.

  I don’t go to Maverick’s room. Instead, I head back to River’s. My parents’ conversation makes me uneasy. I don’t like it when they talk about the night at the carnival.

  I crawl back into bed and try to sleep, but the dark makes me feel alone, even with the sound of River breathing close by.

  All I want is for things not to change. But they always do. And every time, I lose something. Pieces of memories disappear, and new fears creep in and live in those holes. I can never get a handle on things. I can’t keep up. And no matter how much I wish time would stand still, it keeps moving forward, pulling me and everyone else along with it.

  Present day

  “HOW WAS YOUR first day of classes?”

  I adjust my laptop monitor so my therapist isn’t looking at my rack and neck. “Clusterfuck would about sum it up.”

  Queenie nods slowly and folds her hands in her lap. As a kid, when I used to see her, I’d stay busy with my hands, working on some kind of art project while we talked. But now that our sessions are less frequent, I try my best to stay in the moment, even if it’s uncomfortable sometimes. We’ve been working together since I was four years old. Even though she’s still in Seattle with her family, she’s always made time for me.

  There have been times when I only needed to talk once a month, but we decided since I’ve moved away from home, we’d start my first month with weekly sessions and adjust from there. This is the one relationship in my life no one is worried about me being too dependent on, myself included.

  “Would you like to tell me what made the clusterfuck?”

  I give her the abridged version—Maverick taking my car, breaking my glasses, Kodiak driving me home and being a giant dick, him being a dick again at the school café, and me basically holing up in my room after that.

  Queenie’s expression shifts ever so slightly at my mention of Kodiak being a dick. I never told her what happened two years ago, not the real story. But the way her jaw tics tells me she’s unhappy with this news.

  I run my finger in a figure eight around my knee, needing to keep my hands busy. “You know what I’ve been thinking about a lot lately?”

  “What’s that, Lavender?”

  “That time I got locked in the closet. I’m sure it’s symbolic, or some living metaphor for my deep-seated trauma or whatever—like the closet symbolizes my powerlessness and the feeling of being trapped.” I stare up at the ceiling for a moment, bits of memories filtering in—ones that aren’t related to the time I got locked in the closet. I always recognize them when they come. Sometimes it’s a sound and sometimes a smell, like dirt and metal and gas and watermelon Jolly Ra
nchers. “I felt like that today,” I continue, “when I was trapped in the car with Kodiak. Powerless and insignificant.”

  “How did he make you feel insignificant?”

  I sigh, debating how much truth I want to share. “He said I hadn’t changed at all.”

  Queenie tucks her hair behind her ear, wedding ring glinting in the sunlight from the window behind her. “And how would he come to that conclusion during what you’ve said was a five-minute drive home?”

  I keep my hands clasped in my lap to hide the damage to my palms. The upside of a video session is that she won’t see what I’ve accidentally done to myself. I don’t want it to raise red flags, or for my parents to come to the conclusion that this is already too hard for me. “I refused to speak to him and told him he didn’t deserve my words because all he’d do was twist them around.”

  She chuckles softly and smiles. “Well, that doesn’t sound anything like the Lavender who was locked in the closet, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” I’m definitely not the helpless little girl I used to be. But the state of my palms tells me she’s still inside, and I don’t want to go back to that.

  “Maybe Kodiak is projecting, and it’s not you who hasn’t changed, but him.”

  “Maybe.” I don’t really know if that’s true or not.

  I’ve learned a few very important things since the night Kodiak found me trapped in the closet when I was nine:

  The path of least resistance might be more alluring, but it certainly isn’t always the best choice.

  Dependency goes both ways, and I developed a very strong, very unhealthy dependence on my brother’s best friend.

  That event triggered a savior complex in Kodiak that only got worse over the weeks and months that followed.

  I didn’t realize at the time how destructive that would prove to be, or how much damage needing one person could do—not until I was forced to relearn how to manage my own fears.

  DAY TWO IS slightly better than day one, primarily because I’m able to avoid Kodiak. And I have a three-hour evening class I’m excited for.

  I had an opportunity to pick an additional elective, and there were lots of cool courses, so I chose an English course that focuses on myth and folklore. I’ve always loved fairy tales, and I figured a semester reading about gods and spirits would be awesome.

  I climb the stairs, confused that the class is not in the Arts Building. But maybe they ran out of room or something. I find the classroom and search for one of the left-handed seats. It’s really annoying when righties sit in them, because there are so few available in most lecture halls. Luckily I’m able to grab one in the back. I hate sitting near the front because I feel like the professors are more likely to call on you. Even if I do know the answer, I always end up stumbling over my words.

  There are still about fifteen minutes before class starts, so I pull out my laptop and log into my email account. I had some issues with it because they’d used my middle name instead of my given name for my email address, but I finally managed to get it sorted out yesterday. This means I haven’t had a chance to connect with professors yet, but I have my schedule and most of my textbooks, so I’m feeling pretty okay about things. Was it stressful getting it sorted out? Sure. But I managed all by myself without having any kind of panic attack, so that’s a win.

  After a few minutes, the professor ambles in and sets up his laptop. The screen at the front of the class lights up and the course code appears, along with the name of the class. And it’s not an English class at all. I pull out my schedule, feeling suddenly hot because it’s obvious I’m in the wrong building, or something has gone incredibly awry.

  I check the code on the screen against the one on my schedule. They match. I quickly log into the course calendar, positive there must be some kind of mistake, even though it’s clear there is not. I assumed that anything starting with an E would be an English course, but I see now that I botched the registration, and I’m sitting in Intro to Macroeconomics—which is basically another form of math, and my least-favorite subject in the entire history of the universe.

  Both of my parents are good at math. My mom is a math wizard. She was actually a mathlete in high school and won all sorts of championships. My dad built her a math-trophy shrine in our basement. She can do triple-digit multiplication in her head. And my dad may not be a super math genius or anything, but he’s good with numbers and has a freaking degree in English and another one in kinesiology.

  My oldest brother, Robbie, is studying to become a botanist, and he’s currently on a fellowship in Amsterdam. He’s planning to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps and work in medical marijuana research and development.

  Maverick is probably the most like my dad. He’s studying kinesiology, but he’ll likely get called up to the NHL at the end of this year because he’s an excellent hockey player.

  River is ridiculously smart and tries at nothing. Unlike my dad and Maverick, he has zero interest in playing hockey. Well, that’s not exactly true. I think he likes hockey, but he decided he wanted to play football instead, maybe so he wouldn’t have to compete with Mav.

  And then there’s me. I’m decent at school, but I always had to work harder than everyone else to get the same kind of grades. My anxiety doesn’t help the situation. And I suck at pretty much everything with numbers that isn’t measuring fabric, so the fact that I’m sitting here is a big old punch to the tit.

  I grumble profanity under my breath.

  “Excuse me?” the guy in the desk closest to me asks.

  I give him what is probably a horrible grimace and motion to the empty seat between us. “Sorry. Just talking to my imaginary friend.”

  “Right, okay.” He shifts in his desk and angles his body away from me.

  Awesome, Lavender. Of course you had to say something weird. I drag my palm down my face. Why couldn’t those words stay in my head like most of them do?

  I spend the next three hours trying to manage my mounting panic. I’m too embarrassed to get up and leave. What’s even worse is that we round out the end of the first class with a freaking assessment quiz. I avoided all the business courses in high school because they all included some form of math. When I took the required math courses, I was always in River’s class. My parents made sure of it. I probably should have taken the easier math, but with River there, I could copy most of his work, barely pass the exams, and still manage not to totally obliterate my average. But now I’m on my own.

  After class, I arrive home to find Maverick, River, and BJ hanging out in the living room, playing video games.

  “Where’ve you been?” BJ asks.

  I drop my backpack on the floor and head for the kitchen. “It’s this thing called class. Maybe you should try it.”

  “What’s up your ass? Other than Kody’s tongue?” BJ shouts after me.

  I grab an orange and stalk back into the living room. “That’s disgusting!” I lob the orange at him. Unfortunately, unlike my brothers, I have shit aim and miss him completely. Mav nabs the orange out of the air before it hits a lamp three feet away from BJ’s head.

  River pauses the game, his expression stormy, which is not unusual. “What the fuck?”

  I want to give BJ shit, but it’ll just give River more of a reason to be angry. “BJ’s just being his usual gross self.”

  River looks from me to BJ and back again with a shake of his head. “Don’t buy it. What happened?”

  BJ shrugs, playing it off like it’s nothing. “Other than Kody getting his rocks off on some dirty bunny yesterday, not much.”

  “Wait, what? When did that happen? I thought he was driving you back here to get glasses.” Maverick seems confused.

  “He did. I guess he fit it in—quite literally—between dropping me off and whenever his next class was.” I try to come off as blasé, but this whole conversation makes me feel exposed.

  “Hold the fuck on.” River’s eyes flare, and he sits up straighter. “Why were yo
u in a car with Kody, and why am I just finding out about this now?”

  “Uh, because I didn’t see you yesterday.” And even if I had, there’s no way I would have told my twin any of this—see his current reaction for details. “I broke my glasses and needed to come home to get my spares. He drove the car. I sat in the passenger seat.”

  River’s eyebrows pull together into his customary angry-pensive expression. “Did he say anything?”

  “Are you asking if we had a nice chat? A little stroll down memory lane, back to the days when I used to have regular meltdowns at school and he used to have to come save me?” Man, I am fired up tonight and not in the mood to deal with any more bullshit.

  River blinks a bunch of times, his lips thinning. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a public panic attack. I’ve learned how to control the cyclical thoughts and physical breakdowns until I’m alone. It’s easier to fall apart when no one’s looking.

  “You two haven’t seen each other for more than a couple of minutes in years. You must’ve talked about something,” Maverick presses, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

  “It’s not grill-Lavender time,” I announce. “I’ve had a day, and the last thing I need is the two of you getting on me about Kodiak, when you and Mav are the goddamn reason I needed a ride yesterday in the first place! I wouldn’t have been in a damn rush if you hadn’t taken my car, and then I wouldn’t have broken my glasses and needed to go home and get new ones.”

  “Shit, calm down. It was just a couple of questions,” Maverick gripes.

  “My car is being detailed, and I’m getting it back in the morning,” River offers.

  “How nice for you.”

  Mav cocks a brow. “You really are in a mood.”

  “Yeah, well, I just came from a three-hour macroeconomics class, so I think I have a right to be.”