The Way It Hurts

by Patty Blount

  Upstairs, I could hear Anna still singing the ding-dongs from the song I’d sung for her. The latest Disney movie played in the background, and occasionally, Anna would shift gears and sing to that before switching back to her Christmas song. Elijah led me to a room at the end of the hall, opened the door, and turned on the light.

  “Have a seat.” He waved his hand toward the full-size bed tucked into a sleek black wall unit filled with music.

  I ran my hand over the neat black comforter. “You made your bed?” My brothers never made their beds. I was convinced boys just lacked the bed-making gene in their DNA.

  He just shrugged and rolled his eyes. “It’s a really big deal to my mom, so uh…yeah.”

  That was beyond sweet.

  He pulled out a chair from under his desk, so I sat on the side of the bed facing him. The room was pretty big. Besides the wall unit around his bed and the desk against the wall, there was a tall dresser in one corner and a closet by the door. The closet was open and amidst the sea of black clothes, I saw a set of dumbbells, an electronic keyboard, and a video game console. Hanging on the wall, he had four different guitars.

  “Why do you need four?” I asked, jerking my head toward the instruments.

  His brows shot up. “They’re all different and produce entirely different sounds. Here. Check it out.”

  He handed me earbuds, plugged them into his phone, and tapped a few icons. The sound of fast-paced, angry guitar playing filled my ears. I think he’d called that shredding once. I must have cringed because he tapped the Skip button, and the next sound to play was completely different. I nodded. “Oh, I like this.” Elijah pointed to the first guitar on the wall, a battered Martin, according to the logo. I shifted on Elijah’s bed, leaning back against the pillows. This was beautiful, a soft strum, kind of lonely, almost harplike. I was sure I could hear every string, every note whispering to me that Etta was going to be fine, and even though I knew that was impossible, I believed it and felt… I don’t know. Safe, maybe.

  Yes, that was it.

  Safe.

  19

  Elijah

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  Kristen fell asleep.

  On my bed.

  With a start, I jerked myself out of the kind of thoughts I should not be having and remembered she’d been awake for damn near twenty-four hours now. She was scared to the bone for Etta, and I got that. I was scared for Anna living with a bunch of strangers. I glanced at my phone to check the time. Mom and Dad had to be done visiting those two facilities by now. But the phone was silent—no texts from Mom or from Sam and Nick. Maybe they hadn’t noticed I wasn’t in school today.

  I shoved the phone back in my pocket and watched Kristen sleep, lips slightly parted, chest rising with each breath. Her arms were folded over her middle and her hands tucked inside her sleeves. Jeez, she was probably cold. I grabbed a blanket and carefully covered her up to her chin, and for a second, I considered stretching out next to her, but the landline rang downstairs. I quietly hurried to my parents’ room to pick up their extension.

  “Hello, may I speak with Nathan Hamilton, please?” asked a professional voice on the other end.

  “Sorry, he’s out right now. I’ll take a message if you’d like.”

  “Yes. This is Elizabeth Nicholls from the Avalon Avenue Home.”

  My heart twisted inside my ribs. A third facility. Great.

  “We have an opening and are reviewing our waiting list. I need to know if there’s still interest in our facility for Anna Hamilton.”

  I tightened my grip on the phone to stop myself from pitching it against the wall. No! I squeezed my eyes shut when my brain decided now would be a really great time to project images of mentally ill teens strapped to their beds, drool dripping out of the corners of their mouths and eyes glazed. My hands fisted tighter when I imagined sleazy staff copping a feel…or worse. No, there’s no fucking interest!

  “Hello?”

  My eyes snapped open, and my gaze fell to the table next to Dad’s side of the bed, on the jumble of papers—printouts from the Internet, brochures on residential programs for disabled teens, and…and what the fuck was this? I picked it up and stared at it in hands that shook.

  “Yeah,” I finally said. “Yes, there’s interest.”

  When the woman hung up, I sat on my parents’ bed, still clutching the phone, staring at my father’s last will and testament and trying really hard not to puke all over it.

  Anna was watching a Disney movie in her room; I could hear her singing with the princess. Would they allow her to watch her favorite movies? Play music for her and let her sing? What about water play? Who’d climb in the tub with her?

  I put the phone down, scrubbed both hands over my head, and stood up. I needed answers. I tiptoed back into my room, where Kristen had curled into a cat shape on my bed. I thought about leaving her in peace but worried she’d freak out and wonder where the hell she was when she woke up.

  Okay, I really just liked watching her sleep.

  Jesus. When the hell did I turn in to Edward friggin’ Cullen?

  I grabbed my tablet and started checking out the Avalon Avenue Home. Forty minutes later, I learned it had a heated pool, a vibrant community—whatever the hell that meant—and a music therapy program, and it allowed family members to visit whenever they wanted. They claimed that music therapy with severely disabled kids like Anna could improve their social, communication, and focus skills. Yeah, well, I could do that myself. Didn’t need to send her away for that. I shut my eyes, let my head fall back against the chair, and tried to keep my mind open.

  A thud followed by a shriek had me on my feet. I burst into Anna’s room just as the tears started. Linda had her arms wrapped around Anna from behind—one of the most effective ways to control her and keep her from hurting herself when she spiraled out of control like this. On the floor was a mess of epic proportions. Anna’s box of movies had fallen over—DVDs were strewn all over the place, and at least one was broken in half.

  “Hey, Anna Banana.” I kept my voice soothing and low-pitched. Sometimes, that helped Anna to calm down, if she wanted to hear what people were saying.

  “Eli,” she said on a sob, pointing to her beloved movie collection.

  “It’s okay. They just fell down. They’re not hurt.” I quickly hid the broken one from her sight. “Let’s fix them, okay? Look, Anna. Watch Eli.” I picked up one and put it back in the box. “Want to help Eli, Anna?”

  Linda gave me a wary look. “I don’t know, Elijah. She may stomp all over them.”

  “Give her a minute. She’s coming down.”

  And she was. Maybe she was learning—finding a way to break through the limits on her brain. She didn’t need some fucking residential program. I kept picking up DVDs, putting them back in the big box we kept them in, and hoping it would provide some order to the chaos inside her.

  “Help.”

  “Okay, Anna can help.” I nodded to Linda, and she released my sister, hovering close in case Anna tried again to hurt herself—or one of us. Still sniffling, Anna fell to her knees on the floor and picked up a disc. “Mine.”

  “Yes, Anna. Yours.”

  “Mine. Mine. Mine.” She chanted as she handed me discs. Soon, they were all back in the box except for the broken one that I’d hidden.

  Anna’s scream made me realize—too late—that Anna had her own way of keeping track of all her movies and knew one was missing. Her face contorted in a mixture of rage and grief for her beloved movie. She couldn’t understand that it was her fault it was broken—all she knew was the end state, not the cause, her heart mourning its loss like someone’s death, even if she didn’t
know which movie it was.

  Beauty and the Beast.

  I’d bought it for her a few years ago with money I made raking leaves.

  Linda tried to soothe her, but Anna shoved her away. I didn’t move fast enough, and Anna swung at me, hitting me with one of the movie cases still in her hand. The blow landed on my cheek. Rage and pain filled her face, and I cursed. We’d had her! We’d had her calmed down, and I fucked it up.

  Anna in a rage was difficult to stop—she frequently needed to just exhaust herself. Singing never helped in these situations; in fact, it made things worse, adding another thing for her to process on top of all the other things she was unable to handle. And once the flow of adrenaline and other crap started inside her body, it just completely took over.

  Her eyes swung to the box of movies we’d just cleaned up, and I knew she meant to upend them again. Before she could, I moved the box out of her reach. Bad move. She lost all control, lashing out at me and then at Linda. Restraining her was the only thing we could do at this point. I tried to hold her flailing arms, but damn, she was strong when she was like this. She tried to kick Linda, and I knew we had to stop her before she drew blood. I managed to get her off balance and onto the floor, sitting in front of me. I wrapped myself around her, but she bucked, twisted, and smashed her head against my chin. While the circle of fucking stars faded from my sight, I adjusted my hold to make sure she couldn’t do that again. She raked my arms with her nails, and when she started kicking, I pinned her legs with mine. There was nothing else I could do.

  Linda moved in front of us. “Anna. Anna, look at me. Look at Linda.” She tried to catch her flailing hands.

  “Turn off the TV, Linda.”

  Linda grabbed the remote we kept on a high shelf and powered down the TV. That got Anna’s attention fast but made her scream louder. Linda took the box and headed for the door.

  The only thing we could do now was make sure Anna didn’t hurt anybody or herself. That meant time-out. Her room was completely safe with bars on the windows, and there was nothing breakable, except for the TV, but that was suspended from her ceiling. Her bed was low to the floor. There was no dresser—her fingers could get caught in the drawers—and no door on her closet, and no mirrors. I nodded to Linda and released Anna, who rolled around on the floor, still screaming. We left the room, locking the door behind us, while Anna screamed.

  “Elijah, let me look at your face.”

  I waved her off. “No, it’s fine. Did you grab the monitor?”

  “Yes.” Linda took the small video baby monitor from the box of discs and handed it to me. The transmitter was also mounted high by the TV in Anna’s room. I powered it on so I could keep an eye on my sister from outside in the hall. She was now standing in the center of her room, staring at the locked door, screaming “Mine!” over and over again. She ran to the door and beat her fists against it, and I wanted to open the door and hug her tight but forced myself to keep still.

  “Elijah?”

  My eyes snapped to Kristen standing in the door to my room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I shook my head. “Go back inside. It’s nothing.” The last thing I wanted was to see Kristen make that face that I saw on too many people. It was a face that said you were a horrible person for letting the poor girl scream like that. They didn’t understand that sometimes, the best thing you could do for the poor girl was nothing.

  She ignored me. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “Kristen, I got this. Don’t worry about it.”

  Linda gave me an exasperated look, and I sighed. “Okay, look. Anna’s in the middle of a rage. It’s like a temper tantrum on steroids. She gets pretty violent, so we’re out here until she finds a way to regain control of herself.”

  “Do you want me to sing to her again?”

  “No. That doesn’t help now. She’s like an overloaded circuit, and the breaker just blew. She needs nothing, absolute nothing. She has too much going on inside her head now and—”

  Kristen poofed her fingers, adding an explosion sound effect.

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  I waited for the look. Any minute now, Kristen’s eyes would go wide, and she’d suddenly remember plans to go shopping or get a haircut or do something with her friends—anything to escape. I watched her face carefully for the signs because yeah, I missed the sign of looming rage in Anna, but I wasn’t going to miss this one.

  Blue eyes met mine, a tiny frown between them. Kristen’s hand came up and brushed along the welt Anna had put on my chin that still stung.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Was I? I had no idea. I shrugged.

  “Where do you keep Band-Aids?”

  “I’ll get them,” Linda offered, putting down the box of movies.

  I couldn’t stand the waiting. “If you want to take off, it’s fine.”

  Kristen’s frown deepened. “No! Why? Do you want me out of your way?”

  “No!” Crap, I didn’t mean it that way. “I just…”

  “Yeah, I know what you just, so stop it, okay?”

  Linda came out of the main bathroom with a box of bandages. “Here, Elijah.”

  Obediently, I angled my face so she could dab at it with shit that made it sting even more than it already did before covering it with the adhesive strip. A loud thud from the other side of the door had all us jumping.

  “What’s she doing?” Kristen peered at the monitor.

  “Kicking the door.”

  “Shouldn’t we go in now?”

  I shook my head. “Not while she’s still enraged.”

  “I think she’s slowing down.” Linda pointed to the monitor. Sure enough, Anna moved away from the door and sank to her knees by her bed. She put a hand to her head, and I knew she’d have a bruise there by the time my parents got home. She rocked on her knees, face-planting on the bed over and over. “Repetitive behavior is part of the routine. It helps her feel like she’s in control. She’ll keep rocking until she exhausts herself.” There was a long awkward silence, and then Linda patted my back.

  “I’ll go make her lunch. You call me if she amps up again, okay?”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Linda.”

  A quick smile and then she disappeared downstairs.

  I slid down to the carpeted floor, my back up against the wall. “You can go back to sleep if you want.”

  Kristen rolled her eyes. “What kind of friend would leave you here alone for a nap?”

  Friend. That word shoved all kinds of thoughts around in my brain. When I thought of friends, I thought of Sam and Nick, not some girl. But Kristen wasn’t some girl—not anymore. We’d sort of bonded over our music. We fought and argued and disagreed on every friggin’ thing, and I wondered when I’d actually started to like her—really like her, not just the way she looked.

  “Oh my God, it was rhetorical, you jerk. Don’t fry your brain trying to find an answer.”

  I laughed. See? She made me laugh. I guess we really were friends now. Wow. “No, I just thought you hated me.”

  Her eyes popped wide. “Hated you? Seriously? Why would I sing in your band and put up with all that crap online and even deal with Sam’s attitude if I hated you?”

  Okay, when she put it like that, it was pretty lame, so I shrugged. “I don’t know… It’s just, well, you’re always pissed off at me—”

  “Am not. I only get pissed when you act like I’m nothing! Just some decoration for your band.”

  I squirmed and lowered my head. Yeah. I guess I was a dick, pushing all this online shit to its limits. “Kris, you are not nothing, and I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

  She didn’t say a word. I knew I’d blown whatever chance of hooking up with her I’d had a long time ago, but that was okay because now that I knew we were straight
up friends, it would kind of wound me to lose her friendship. She shifted, and her hand touched my face, and the smell of leather tickled my nose. I looked at her hand, happy to see she was wearing the wristband I’d given her, and suddenly, it hit me like a kick to the stomach that we were something else. Not friends. More.

  Holy God, I loved her. I fucking loved a girl I’d promised I’d never touch.

  I could kiss her.

  Right now.

  All I had to do was lean forward…and we’d be kissing. And it would be fucking amazing because it was Kristen—who was BroadwayBaby17, my archnemesis and the girl who’d got half the food court at the mall to sing a Christmas carol for my sister. Kristen—who was my friend. The thought of kissing her made my stomach tighten and flip over because I wanted it, wanted her, so fucking much, everything else just faded away—my parents, my sister’s screams on the other side of the door, Linda downstairs—it all just faded into background noise. I’d fantasized about getting my hands on her since the night of the Cats play, but I had made that stupid promise to Sam—

  No.

  No. That wasn’t right.

  I didn’t make that promise only to Sam. I made it to me. Maybe I knew from the second I saw her that I’d want more from Kristen Cartwright than just a few fast gropes between sets at a show, more than a couple of flirty text messages back and forth for a week or two until she got bored and quit me. I’d wanted this.

  Love.

  Now that I had it, I wasn’t letting go of it for anything.

  Or anyone.

  20

  Kristen

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