by Julie Solano
“You’re pretty dense. You know that, right?” Jenna shakes her head and takes a deep breath. “Well, I’m not going to fight you on this. But you should probably know you’re not getting in. Maybe you’ll finally believe me when one of the three bears slams the door in your face.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
As we approach Peyton’s, I spot the tail end of the police SUV rounding the corner. I wonder how Peyton handled reliving the nightmare on the Forks. I feel horrible for her having to do that alone. I’m glad I’m here in case she needs me. Finally, I have a chance to help pick up the pieces. Hang on, babe. I’ll be right there.
I grip the handle above my door, practically crushing the plastic beneath me. Being just moments away from facing the Carters has my stomach in knots, but it’s something I have to do. I’ve got to own up to what I did. I need to take responsibility for the wreck. I should’ve pulled my foot from the gas, not slammed on the brake. It’s my fault we slid out of control. The guilt is eating me alive. It’s all I’ve thought about for days. Inside I’m a raging mess. My heart is racing. I need to get in there and get this over with. I need to be there for her. I hope they’ll let me see her.
Jenna pulls up next to the sidewalk. “Want me to go with, or are you doing this on your own?”
I take a deep breath in through my nose, holding it in my cheeks for a few seconds.
Jenna raises her eyebrows with a half grin. “You plan on going in there looking like a chipmunk?” she giggles. “Breathe.”
I look to Jenna, and begin directing the air slowly toward her. Watching her bangs blow from her forehead does nothing to relieve my stress. I’d hoped completely deflating my lungs into her face would calm my nerves and bring a little comic relief. Not a chance. I’m weak and shaky as I open the door and begin to step out onto the sidewalk.
“Wait! You may want a piece of this!” Jenna pinches her nose and holds out her extra-large jug of fresh mint gum.
I bend down, looking back into the car door. “Not funny.” I take a piece anyway, just in case. “Wait for me here, k. I’m not sure if they’ll answer.” An image of Peyton’s dad tossing me to the ground flashes through my mind. “I’m not sure her parents will let me through the front door.”
“Well, not with that garlic breath anyway.”
I shake my head and turn toward the walkway. I begin my long journey, listening to Jenna’s snarky voice drift down the sidewalk. “Hey, knock ‘em dead, huh?”
I continue walking toward the door, pulling my hand behind my back, flipping her the bird. Sucking as much minty juice from the gum as I can extract, I hear her laugh blurring into the background.
I have to admit, Jenna is a great distraction. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. Garlic breath. That little turd. Now that I’m close to the door, I feel every vibration of my shaky quads. I darn near trip trying to lift my leg onto the first step. Grabbing onto the handrail with my good arm, I pull myself up the five wooden steps to the front porch. I jump as the wood creaks beneath my feet. I convince myself to shuffle across the deck to the door. Left. Right. Left. Right. Breathe in. Breathe out. I hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears, as I lift my hand to knock on the big wooden door.
I duck out of the way of the fancy window, hiding off to the side. Maybe they’ll actually answer if they don’t know it’s me. I wait impatiently, listening to the roar of my heartbeat growing louder. I should’ve brought a girl scout with me. I scan the neighborhood trying to find someone selling cookies to use as a decoy. No luck. Come on, open the door already. I look back to the car and see Jenna lifting her hands, palms raised, mouthing something.
I squint at her, trying to make out the movement of her lips, shaking my head in confusion. I can’t tell what she’s saying. She drops her hands and pulls out her phone. I feel a buzz in my pocket and pull out my cell to find a message.
Jenna: Well????
Me: Not answering.
Jenna: I saw her mom walk past the window. Told you so! :P
Me: Shut up! Not giving up this easy. I’m knocking again. >:)~
I shove my phone back in my pocket. My heart jumps when I lift my hand to knock again and miss the door as it opens in front of me. I raise my eyes to meet Mrs. Carter’s fatigued face. “Sorry, Caden. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
“Hey, Mrs. Carter. Is Peyton able to see me yet?”
She pauses momentarily, cocking her head to the side. “You know she’s already had a long day. Those officers have been here talking to her for quite a while. I’m not sure she’s up for any more visitors. She’s pretty exhausted.”
More excuses. “Please, Mrs. Carter. That’s exactly why I need to see her. I want to help. I figure I kinda know what she’s going through. A little anyway. I know I haven’t been through half of what she has, but maybe I can make her feel better.”
She bites her lip and twists her face into a painful grimace. It’s almost as though she feels sorry for me. Contemplation overpowers her face for a brief moment, and she finally speaks, “I’ll see what I can do. No promises. You might want to prepare yourself. Peyton’s not the same person.”
“None of us are, Mrs. Carter.”
“Well, you’ve got a point. I didn’t mean to sound so insensitive. Come on inside where it’s warmer. I’ll see if I can get her to come out.”
I step through the doorway and wait at the entry, watching Mrs. Carter head down the hall toward Peyton’s room. She rests against the wall as her head disappears through the doorway. I can’t hear what she’s saying, so I slyly inch my way further into the living room. The voices are still muffled, but their sudden bursts of volume tell me that there is some tension. I lean in a bit closer.
“Peyton, you’ve got to give this a chance.”
More muffled outbursts.
“He went through it too. Just let him talk to you.”
I hear a crash.
“Peyton, you’ve got to stop doing that! I’m not sending him away again!”
Silence.
“You know, he’s trying to work through this too. Maybe he needs your help as much as you need his. Can you try?”
Her voice is raised now, to the point I can hear the tail end of Peyton’s sentence. “…get hurt!”
“He’s hurting in more ways than one, young lady. Maybe you should see him so you know what he’s been through. It might help you recover if you hear his side of the story.”
Crash.
“Don’t hurt yourself, young lady. Your stitches! Stop … those trophies can’t be replaced!” Mrs. Carter disappears through the door.
Crash.
“You know what? I’m sending him in. If you won’t snap out of it for me, maybe you will for him.”
Holy shit. What am I walking into? What’s wrong with her?
I inch back toward the front door, panicked that I might not be able to defend myself if she chucks something at my head. I can’t hear what she’s yelling at Mrs. Carter, but the sound of metal crashing into her walls is scaring the hell out of me.
What the hell is happening in there? Realization hits hard. She blames me. Hell, I can’t even forgive myself. What right do I have to ask her to forgive me? I shouldn’t have come. I really shouldn’t have come. I stumble backward, reaching toward the handle. I’ve got to get out of here.
“Stop, Caden. You can’t go!” The desperation in Mrs. Carter’s voice makes me loosen my grip on the handle.
“Mrs. Carter,” I shake my head back and forth, “I don’t … I … I don’t think she wants to see me right now.” I raise my sling, reminding her that I have no defense against flying trophies. “It might not be such a good idea. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve called first.” I’m practically hyperventilating from the shock of Peyton’s reaction to my presence.
“Calm down, son,” her voice shakes. I watch the tears well up in her eyes as she begins to speak. “She might not realize it right now, but she needs you. Her father and I
haven’t been able to get through to her. The night she woke up in that hospital, she was like a different girl. She’s angry and aggressive. She won’t let anyone touch her. I feel like I sent my sweet, little angel down that river, and she came back without a soul. It’s not the same girl in there, Caden. I need your help. You might be able to make a breakthrough. Just be careful.”
Mrs. Carter begins to cry, inconsolably. “She’s lashing out and throwing things. She wakes up in the middle of the night screaming. What you just heard, the crashing trophies … that fit pales in comparison to the last couple nights we’ve had her home. She’s gone crazy.”
I watch Mrs. Carter’s face drop. Her voice softens to a whisper as she shakes her head. “Maybe you can bring her back. Please, will you try?” She moves toward me, grabbing my hand. She looks into my eyes, pleading, “Please, Caden. We want our daughter back, too. Try. For me.”
I hear another crash. My ears buzz with the surge of adrenaline. I’m going in there to face a different girl. One who I don’t know; don’t understand. I destroyed my Peyton. Ruined her, just like I was afraid of. Peyton has to be hiding somewhere in the fiery girl behind that wall. I have to try to get her back. If not for me, for her parents. I owe them that much.
I’M NOT SURE IF I can do this, but I need to act strong for the broken woman in front of me. I don’t want to be the one who took this mother’s child from her. I have to fix her. I put on a brave face and look Mrs. Carter in the eyes. “I’ll give it my best shot.”
I take a deep breath as I step past Mrs. Carter and make my way through Peyton’s doorway. I scan the room looking for my girl and come up empty. Instead of finding her, I observe what looks like a demolition site. The curtains are half hanging from the window. There are crumpled papers lying all over the ground. It looks like a photo album has been ripped to shreds. Could Peyton have done all this? Where is she? I continue to walk deeper into the room, looking behind the bed, hoping I might find her there.
“Peyton?” I whisper softly.
There’s no answer.
“Peyton? Are you in here?” My nerves are getting the best of me, and I find it difficult to disguise my anxiety. The fear of not knowing what I’m about to face has my voice playing hide and seek inside my throat. I can’t let her know how scared I am. I need to be strong for her. I fill my lungs with air and raise my volume slightly, working to keep the trembling at bay.
“Peyton, I know you’re in here. Please talk to me. I want to help you.”
“Go away.” A tiny peep comes from the back corner of her room.
The floor creaks as I make my way toward the sound.
“I told my mom not to let you in. Go away,” the aggravated voice pierces the tense room. A blue streak flies out of the bathroom.
Oh, there she is. My awareness heightens as I walk toward the bathroom. Being extra cautious of flying projectiles, I grab the blue hairbrush from the floor, carry it into the bathroom, and set it on the counter. “Are you decent?”
“That depends on what you mean.” Sarcasm drips from behind the shower curtain. I’ve never heard my girlfriend sound so cold and detached.
“I need to talk to you. Are you dressed?”
“Like a damn mummy. Probably not what you’re hoping for. Just go away, Caden. You don’t want to see me like this. I look like hell.” Her cruel, aggressive voice has me on edge.
“Peyton, that’s not possible. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, you haven’t seen the damage you caused, have you? Your beauty queen died two weeks ago when you deserted her in your smashed up, sinking truck. You killed her! The old Peyton is gone. You don’t want me. Not like this. And guess what else? I DON’T want you either. You’re dead to me. You hear me? Dead!”
I deserved that. I was the one behind the wheel. I just wish I could remember how I made it out of my truck, and she didn’t. Her words slice through me, but I know I’m the only one who can help her through this. Take it like a man. Don’t give up on her. I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out and slowly pull back the shower curtain that keeps her hidden from my view.
I brace myself as the curtain hangers glide across the plastic shower rod. Within seconds, the unknown is revealed. The hair stands up on my arms when I see her fully clothed body, nestled into the back corner of the tub. Clearly, she lost weight in the hospital. The bumps of her spine protrude through the knit fabric of her t-shirt. I need to see her face, but my only view is the top of the turban wrap. She’s tucked into a fetal position. My eyes are drawn to the bruises that line the pale skin of her bony arms. An image of an ad I once saw about anorexia, crosses my mind as I watch her holding her knees, curled tightly into a ball.
“Please look at me, babe.” She looks so tiny, so frail. I need to fix her. I don’t want to break her, but I have to touch her. Gently, I reach out toward her hand.
I barely sense the touch of her cold skin when Peyton rapidly draws back from beneath my fingertips. She snaps her head back and stabs me through the heart with her deadly glare. I’m startled by the quick attack on my senses and stumble back into the toilet. Holy shit. Grabbing hold of the tank, I steady my shaking legs, and fall down on the seat. I can’t hide the shock at the sight before me. So, this is what I did to her? I pull my fingers through my hair, grabbing at my scalp. Oh, grow a pair. Look at your girlfriend. You owe it to her to make her feel beautiful. Lie, Caden. Lie you bastard! I finally dare to look up.
My eyes meet her blood, red stare. “So, this is what you wanted to see?” Peyton spits, throwing both bandaged hands up in the air. “I tried to hide from you, but NO! You just couldn’t stay away, could you? Get out! I want you to get out!” Peyton pulls her bandaged hand up to her mouth, smothering a gagging sound.
My heart stops momentarily, as I take in the damage I’ve done. Her face is still pale and swollen. The puffiness in her cheeks hides the roundness of her eyes. My God, her eyes. What happened to them? The blue of her irises has been smothered by her broken, draining blood vessels. Greenish blue bruising shades the bridge of her nose, traveling beneath her eyes. I follow the bruises to her hairline, where yellow iodine, stains the lining of her turban. The terrifying vision stops my heart. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find my voice. It’s impossible to hide my shock.
“See, you can’t even look at me. Get out! Get out now!” Peyton abruptly stands, screaming and pulling her hands to her head. “Damn it,” she shrieks, “My head! Ow, my head! Go! Please! I’m begging you! You’re making this worse. Can’t you see what this is doing to me? Move! Now!”
She struggles out of the bathtub, as I work my way off the toilet and stumble back toward the wall. I feel my way around the molding of the door as I hear the loud clack of the toilet seat. I close my eyes and back further into the hallway, running into something warm and soft. I jump when I feel hands wrap firmly around my shoulders. A familiar voice makes its way into my jumbled head.”
“Caden, it’s just me. What’s going on in there?” Jenna starts to say, before she’s interrupted by the sound of heaving and retching. She turns to me with her face twisted into a disgusted grimace, as a loud splattering wave meets the water below.
“Ewww, what happened in there? Did you make her sick?” Jenna is hesitant to throw out her half-hearted joke. By the concerned look on her face, I can tell she’s not sure that her timing is appropriate.
The sad thing is, it’s not really a joke. I think she might be puking at the sight of me. I grapple with the possibility. I reflect on the change in her face, as our eyes met for the first time since the accident. I can’t believe she was covering her mouth to stop herself from throwing up. I make her sick. Oh my God, it’s me. I’m the one who’s making her sick.
Horror stricken, I answer Jenna’s question, “Yeah, I think I might have.”
“You think so?” Jenna’s contemplative expression tells me that she’s searching for a way to make me feel better. “Maybe she’s stil
l on painkillers from the brain surgery. I mean, look how sick they make you.”
“No, I’m pretty sure it’s me.”
“Well then, I’m going in there to help her. Puking with stitches probably sucks. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
Jenna disappears through the bathroom door. I hear her voice intermingled with the heaving sounds, “Peyton, it’s me, Jenna.”
There’s a momentary pause.
Silence.
“You too!?!”
Another wave of vomit empties into the toilet.
“Get!” Splash. “Out! Haven’t you guys done enough?”
A toilet brush flies through the door, followed by Jenna backing quickly through the doorway with her hands held high. “Let’s go.” She tugs on my good arm. “She needs more help than we can give her. A psychiatrist would probably work better. We’re not trained for this.” I stumble back, tripping into Mrs. Carter, who has made her way down the hallway to check on us.
“Are you leaving?”
Jenna answers for me. “We’re sorry. We’re making this worse. We don’t want to cause any more damage. She clearly needs more time.”
Mrs. Carter shakes her head knowingly. She grabs my hand and looks me in the eye.
“I know what she thinks, Caden. That you abandoned her in that river. She lost consciousness. There are huge gaps in her memory. We’ve talked to the doctors and several of the investigators.” She sets her hand on my shoulder. “Her dad and I both know it’s not your fault. You did everything you could under the circumstances. It looks like that damn Pistol Black caused this mess, not you.” She shakes her head, looking down at the floor. “One way or another, we’ll get Peyton back. I’ll call when I think she’s ready. Let’s pray it’s sooner, rather than later.”
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Jenna pants as she slams the car door. No words come. I can’t think. I stare blankly at my frantic friend sitting in the driver’s seat. My brain tries to prime my body to respond. With intense effort, I finally get my head to shake. Still, no words. My lungs spasm dramatically, as I struggle to catch my breath.