Life Unaware (Entangled Teen)

by Cole Gibsen

  My cheeks flushed and my eyes burned. One blink was all it would take to make the tears fall. One blink and Nolan would get everything he wanted. He’d see Regan Flay break before his eyes. He’d have proof of how weak I really was.

  My eyes blurred. I knew I couldn’t keep them open forever.

  So I blinked.

  Using the last of my strength, I ripped free from his grasp. Burying my face inside my hands, I huddled against the corner opposite him. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him see me break.

  “Regan.” The way he said my name then was different. Softer. Unsure.

  I shook my head. “Please, just go away.”

  He didn’t move. Watching me fall apart must have been too irresistible. After all, wasn’t this what he’d wanted all along? He’d told me I wouldn’t last a week, and he was right.

  I refused to turn around. He probably had his damn phone out so he could record my failure. “Please, Nolan. Please just go away.”

  He paused. “I don’t think you should be left alone.”

  Despite the tears coursing down my cheeks, I actually laughed. “Really?” I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hands and turned around. “You’re actually going to pretend you give a damn?”

  His face was the most serious I’d ever seen it. Not even a hint of a smile played on his lips. “Just because you and I don’t get along doesn’t mean I want to see you hurting. I’m not a fucking monster.”

  This coming from the guy who wouldn’t stop harassing me. “Whatever. Just go away, okay?”

  He didn’t move for several seconds before giving the faintest nod. “If that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want.”

  “Okay.” He pulled the stall’s latch open and swung the door wide. He stepped out, and his eyes darted to the mirrors. They narrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He muttered something, but the words were a growl.

  Curious what had him suddenly angry, I inched away from the stall and peered around him. On the center mirror, written in Amber’s signature shade of red lipstick, were the words Regan Flay is a skank-ass whore.

  A stifling heaviness settled on my chest. It took the last of my strength just to breathe around it, and I sagged against the stall door.

  “This is getting fucking out of hand.” He stalked over to the paper-towel dispenser and cranked out a long sheet of brown paper. He took it to the mirror and wiped through the words until nothing remained but a bright red smear. When he finished, he crumpled the paper towel in his hand and stared at me, his chest heaving.

  Without Nolan’s warmth, tremors were back. No matter how tightly I squeezed my arms around myself, I couldn’t make them stop on my own.

  I didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  Nolan slipped out of his school blazer and wrapped it around my shoulders. It was warm and smelled like him, that same mixture of pine and citrus I’d smelled in the hallway. The warmth sank into my body and slowly, I stopped shivering.

  Damn it.

  I didn’t understand. Nolan wasn’t at all what I expected. “Why?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You looked cold.”

  Before I could respond, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the bathroom, wrapped in the heat of his body.

  Chapter Ten

  That night, when my mom appeared in the foyer fresh from DC, it was all I could do not to throw up on her Louis Vuittons.

  When Dad called me down for dinner, I fought the urge to burrow under my blankets. I knew hiding would only make him worried—he was already suspicious enough. So I trudged downstairs and plopped into my chair. My mom, already involved in conversation with Dad about some tax reform bill, barely glanced my way.

  It should have made my anxiety lessen, but I knew it was only a matter of time before she turned her laser-beam stare on me. I didn’t want to talk about my day, or the cheerleading squad, or anything else that would set Mom off on a tirade about how I was ruining my life and, by association, hers.

  “Regan, honey,” Dad said. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

  Mom looked at me appraisingly. “Maybe she’s watching her weight, dear.” She gave me a nod of approval. “Smart, Regan. With the election coming up, there will be more interviews, and the camera does add ten pounds.”

  And just like that, the barbed wire that felt like it was wrapping around my chest cinched tighter. I pushed away my plate. “May I be excused?”

  “I don’t think you need to lose any weight.” Dad pulled his napkin off his lap and tossed it on the table. “In fact, I think you’re looking a little too skinny. Why aren’t you eating? Is something going on?”

  Without looking away from her phone, Mom waved a hand dismissively, as if the very idea of her daughter having any problems was a ridiculous one. “She’s an athlete, Steven. Athletes need to watch what they eat.” She set her phone aside. “How is cheerleading practice going?”

  “Um…” I bit the inside of my cheek and concentrated on breathing. In, out. In, out. Every excuse I could come up with for why I wasn’t on the team sat in the back of my throat, jumbled in a knot I couldn’t untangle.

  Mom’s eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward. “You did make the squad, didn’t you?”

  “Well…” A rush of sound crashed inside my head. The walls of the dining room felt like they were closing in on me. The air in the room grew thinner as the invisible barbs dug further into my chest, blinding me as I fought to breathe.

  “Regan?” Dad pushed out of his chair so quickly, it slid several feet away from the table. He rushed to my side. “Are you okay, Pumpkin? What do you need?” He grabbed my hand and it felt like fire.

  Mom took her time, folding her napkin into a square and placing it in the center of her plate before she got up. She left the room only to return a moment later with a pill bottle. She opened the top and placed a small pink pill on the table in front of me. “Take it.”

  I grabbed the pill, but my fingers shook so badly that it slipped from my grip and fell back to the table.

  “For Christ’s sake, Regan.” Mom snatched the pill and pressed it into my palm. “Get it together.”

  I would love nothing more than to “get it together,” I thought as I placed the pill on my tongue and swallowed it dry.

  Dad pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling the doctor.”

  “No.” My mother reached across the table and snatched the phone from his hand. “If we make an after-hours call, he’ll insist we take Regan to the hospital. Is that what you want, Steven? Your daughter locked up in the same ward as dangerous schizophrenics and people who drool on themselves? And just imagine the field day the press would have if they found out. Poor Regan’s reputation would be ruined.”

  I knew she was more concerned about her own reputation, but for once, I agreed. “Please, no,” I managed through my chattering teeth. I curled my fingers into the tablecloth, hoping to hold myself steady as tremors coursed through me. School was bad enough. I could only imagine what would happen to me if people found out I suffered a breakdown. “It’s just a panic attack.” I attempted to shrug, but the movement was too jerky to appear natural. “We’ll call the doctor tomorrow and schedule an appointment.”

  Dad’s frown deepened. “This is more than just a panic attack.”

  “It’s cheerleading, isn’t it?” my mom asked. “Didn’t you make the squad?”

  There was no point denying it any longer. I shook my head.

  Mom pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes. “It’s all right,” she muttered, though I wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or me. “There’s always the student election.”

  I glanced down at my plate and said nothing.

  “Regan Barbara Flay.” Her voice was low and dangerous. “Please tell me you’re still in the election.” When I didn’t answer, she grabbed my chin and jerked my face toward hers. “It’s drugs, isn’t it? You’re on drugs.”
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  I almost laughed. Of course I was. In fact, she’d just fed me a pill a minute ago.

  Dad inhaled sharply. “You’re not on drugs, are you?”

  I turned my head toward him as much as Mom’s fingers allowed. I wasn’t the least bit surprised she’d accused me of something so ridiculous, but I couldn’t believe Dad would think so little of me. “Besides the anxiety meds, I’m not on drugs.”

  Mom released my chin. “Really? Then how else do you explain your behavior? Why throw your future away if not for drugs? You had plans, Regan.”

  “I did?” I pushed myself to my feet. I was still shaking, though I couldn’t be certain if it was from the panic attack or anger. “Because I’m pretty sure all these plans you’re talking about were yours.”

  She recoiled, her mouth open. She stayed that way for several seconds before snapping her jaw shut and straightening herself. “I see.” She stood, grabbed my dad’s wrist, and pulled him after her as she marched toward the stairs.

  My muscles tensed. In all the years I’d known my mother, she’d never retreated from a fight. So whatever she was doing now, it couldn’t be good. I climbed the stairs after them to find my bedroom door had been opened and the light turned on.

  I approached the door slowly and peered inside my room. My breath caught in my throat. Dad had already ripped the sheets off my bed and was in the middle of sliding my mattress off the box spring. My mother knelt beside two empty dresser drawers. The socks and underwear they held were strewn across my room.

  I was frozen in place, unable to do more than watch as they continued their ransacking of my room. My books were pulled from their shelves and thrown in careless piles as spines bent and pages creased. The contents of my makeup bag were spilled onto my vanity and my desk drawers overturned onto the floor. Dad even went as far as climbing onto my desk chair so he could slide his fingers along the rim of my light fixture.

  I watched in silence, swallowing over and over, trying to loosen the knot that had tied my throat shut.

  My mother grabbed Carrot from his shelf and, after a quick examination, tossed him into a corner. He landed on his head with one ear flopped across his eyes. Seeing him like that propelled me into motion. I moved from the doorway, careful to step around the clutter. I gathered him in my arms and cradled him to my chest.

  The memory of Nolan pulling me against him made me shiver. And want. That want shook me to my core. I didn’t need him. I couldn’t.

  Except, after how he’d stuck up for me and kept me safe, maybe I did.

  “Don’t you dare make that face.” Mom set my now-empty jewelry box to the side and rose to her feet. “This is for your own good. I’m trying to protect you.”

  I pushed the memory of Nolan from my mind. “From what?”

  She scowled. “Don’t be cute, Regan. From drugs. Where are they?”

  Dad pulled the last pillow from its case and looked at me.

  Exhaustion settled over me. The pill was kicking in. Unable to fight it, I backed against the wall and slid to the ground. “I told you, I don’t have any drugs.”

  “Then how else do you explain your attitude lately? And your total lack of ambition? I will not let you jeopardize your future and everything you’ve worked so hard for.” She wagged a finger at me. “First thing tomorrow, we’re going to have you tested.”

  I squeezed the bunny tighter and shrugged. “Do what you have to do.”

  She dropped her hand to her side. Her lips pressed together so tightly they all but disappeared. “You’d better pray you’re not positive. My entire campaign is based on family values. What would the public think of me if my own daughter is a drug addict?”

  I didn’t answer. I was afraid of what I’d say if I did. Of course she’d twisted everything around and made it about her. God forbid if I actually did drugs, she’d worry about my health instead of how it would make her look in the public eye.

  Tendrils of hair had escaped Mom’s tightly wound French twist. She pushed them back with her fingers. “I don’t understand, Regan. If it’s not drugs, then what? How can you be so selfish? Don’t you understand how your actions affect everyone in the family?”

  I didn’t answer—not because I didn’t want to argue, but because I no longer had the strength to fight.

  She turned to Dad. “Maybe it’s not too late. I could call the school and speak to the cheerleading coach. I could tell her you were having an off day and—”

  “No.” I jerked my head up. There was no way my mother was going to forcibly place me on the squad—especially a squad Amber was in charge of. “That won’t help anything.”

  “Then what will, Regan?” She threw her hands in the air. “Because I’m running out of ideas. Should I call the school board? Hire a life coach? What’s it going to take to get you back on track?”

  I chewed my bottom lip. The last thing I wanted was to go back to a school that didn’t want me and fight for things I couldn’t care less about. “What if you hired a tutor and I was homeschooled? Or I could transfer to another school?”

  “What?” Dad, who up until this point had been working on putting my bed back together, stopped and looked at me.

  Mom just shook her head. “That’s not funny, Regan.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny. I just thought…I could use a fresh start.”

  Mom dropped her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Regan, you’re a junior in high school. This is the year colleges take into account when you apply. If you leave school midyear because you can’t hack it, they’ll assume you’re ill equipped for college. Yes, it’s hard. Nobody has an easy time in high school, but we suck it up and press on—just like you’re going to do.”

  “Is this about the fight you had with Payton?” Dad asked. “Because these things blow over. You just have to give it time.”

  Mom’s eyes fluttered wide. “All of this is because you had a fight with one of your friends? I thought we raised you to be stronger than that. You can’t allow a little spat to ruin your life.”

  A spat. I bit my tongue to keep from telling her high school had changed in the several decades since she’d been there. Instead, I said, “It’s getting late and my room is trashed.”

  “I’ll help,” Dad offered.

  “That’s okay.” I grasped the corner of my nightstand and pushed to my feet. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m exhausted. I’m going to straighten just enough to go to bed, and I’ll worry about the rest tomorrow.”

  He hesitated before nodding. “All right. What you don’t get done tonight, I’ll help with tomorrow.”

  “I’m still scheduling the drug test tomorrow.” Mom picked up a toppled drawer. “If I find out you’re lying to me, there will be hell to pay. In the meantime, we’ll need to revise your action plan, since you’ve derailed the old one. You may be willing to sabotage your future, but I’m not.” She slid the drawer into the desk and slammed it shut. I prayed that was the end of it, but her head whipped around and her eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

  Before I could ask what she was referring to, she pulled Nolan’s blazer off the back of my desk chair. After school ended, I’d skipped my locker and run straight to the parking lot to avoid any unwanted run-ins. I’d intended to return the jacket tomorrow—a decision I now regretted.

  I placed Carrot on the shelf behind me and did my best to appear nonchalant, despite the pulse racing through my veins. I shrugged. “It’s a blazer.”

  She sighed. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. But perhaps you can tell me what it’s doing here?” She turned it over, examining it from every angle. “It’s certainly not yours.”

  “No.” I grabbed the pendant at my neck and slid it along the chain. “Another student let me borrow it. I-I was cold.”

  “You have your own jacket,” Mom said, her voice low.

  “I didn’t bring it.”

  Her eyes darted back to the blazer. “This is a boy’s jacket.” She tossed it onto the chair. “Who is
this boy? How do you know him? Are you dating? Why haven’t you introduced him to us?”

  Oh my God, this was exactly why I didn’t date. There was no way I was giving her another aspect of my life to control. “Mom, please, it’s not like that. I’m not dating anyone. It’s just a jacket.” I picked up a pillow and threw it onto my bed.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Good. I’m not Sarah Palin. There will be no teenage pregnancies in this house.”

  The muscles across my chest pulled tight. “You can’t get pregnant by wearing a jacket, Mom.”

  “I’m not talking about jackets.” Her voice rose to a pitch just below a shriek. “I’m talking about sex—which you will not be having as long as you live under my roof. Understood?”

  “Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have my jacket sex outside the house.”

  A garbled choke burst from her mouth. She whirled around and pointed a finger at Dad’s chest. “This is exactly why I think she’s on drugs. She would never have talked to us this way before. I’m calling the doctor first thing in the morning.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “And you.” She turned her finger on me. “Go to bed. You’d better have a brand-new attitude in the morning, or else.” Before I could ask what, exactly, “else” would entail, she spun on her heels and marched out the door.

  Silence stretched between Dad and me. After several seconds, he sighed and walked to the door, careful to step over the clothes and books littering his path. He paused at the door and glanced at me over his shoulder. “We’ll get this mess cleaned up tomorrow.”

  He left my room, leaving me to wonder exactly what mess he was referring to. My room or my life? Both were pretty disastrous.

  I pushed shirts and books aside with my foot and crossed the room to Nolan’s jacket. I pulled it off the back of the chair and slid inside it. While his warmth was long gone, his scent remained. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Pine needles and oranges. Who’d have thought I’d like that smell so much? I could almost conjure his arms, feel them tighten around me and pull me closer.

  Shuddering, I opened my eyes. God, what was wrong with me? I shook my head as if I could shake free of the memory of him.