by Keary Taylor
I meet Drake’s eyes again. They well heavy and not two seconds later, they run down his cheeks again. He shakes his head and a gut-wrenching sob escapes him. He collapses forward, his head resting on my chest and his arms wrapping around my middle.
He may as well have just stabbed a knife through my heart. It’s been hard enough, keeping it together these past few moments when all I want to do is cease to exist. But his touch is the seal of obliteration.
No sounds come from me, unlike Drake, who sobs loud and hard. I cry silently. I cling hard to Drake, our frames shaking.
It’s killing me to be near him like this right now, but I know I’m going to truly die inside the second I have to let him go.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I call in a sub for the next two days.
I stare at the ceiling. I lie in my bed. I don’t shower or dress. I don’t eat. I don’t breathe or think or live.
Life isn’t a fairy tale and I’m not a princess. This isn’t some Hollywood romance where we get a happily ever after and dreamily float off into the sunset.
What a stupid girl I was.
Thursday night someone knocks and I do not have the energy or spark to get up and answer it.
“Kaylee?”
Mom.
“Kaylee, are you in there?” She knocks again. She’s quiet for a minute. And then I hear a hand on the door knob and it squeaks as she turns the handle and comes inside.
If I was going to let myself drown in misery, I should have at least locked the door. That way no one could have walked in and interrupted.
“Oh, honey,” she says dramatically. I hear her drop her purse and rush across the apartment. She kneels beside me on the bed and brushes the hair off my forehead.
I should be embarrassed and I know I look bad. A pair of underwear and an oversized sweater are all I’m wearing. I haven’t touched my hair or face since the bomb of life-ending destruction was dropped on me.
“What happened?” she says quietly.
If I weren’t so emotionally drained and numb, I’d hear the actual, genuine concern in her voice. I might have looked up into her eyes and seen the fear there.
Instead, all I can do is lie there and continue staring up at the ceiling.
“Kaylee, what is going on?” Mom asks again. “Dick said he hasn’t been able to get ahold of you in a few days, the school says you’ve called in sick. Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Drake’s gone,” I say. My voice sounds weird. Unused. Broken.
“You two broke up?”
It takes me a long moment to process what she’s saying. I blink slowly and look back up at the ceiling. “More like we exploded.”
Mom doesn’t say anything for a really long time. She brushes the hair back from my face again. She’s quiet on the outside, but I can feel the storm of questions and inability to provide any comfort swirling inside of her.
“I’m going to be okay,” I say. My voice is hollow. “I know you have to leave for your trip today. You can go.”
Her brushing of my hair quickens for a minute or so. She has no idea how to handle me.
And I’m grateful for that for a while. For just the smallest of moments, I can focus on feeling angry at her instead of trying to tell myself not to feel anything.
“Call me if you need anything,” she says quietly. She leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead and then climbs out of my bed. I hear her retrieve her purse and cross the room. She pauses in the doorway. And after a minute or so, I hear the door close.
I flop an arm over my eyes just as the tears start rolling again.
In the morning, I hurt. I hurt from not moving for the past sixty plus hours. My stomach hurts from lack of food. My head hurts from lack of water.
And my heart hurts for obvious reasons.
First I roll to the side of the bed. My head spins violently for a minute when I first sit up. My legs shake slightly when I force them to stand. I stumble my way across the apartment to the kitchen. I fill a glass and slowly sip at it until it’s gone. I grab a banana from the counter and choke it down.
Second I stumble back toward the bathroom. I turn the shower on, hot as it will go. I strip down, only now realizing how terrible I smell. I take my time in the shower. For the first fifteen minutes, I simply stand with my body and head under the water, letting it run over me. But finally, I wash my hair, wash my body, and climb out.
Third I force some clothes on my body. Simple black dress pants, a turquoise button up shirt. I brush my hair straight back, fix it into a bun, and secure everything with a thin, black elastic headband.
I don’t have the energy for makeup.
I stare at myself in the mirror for a long while. I look tired, empty. I look like a ghost.
With only twenty minutes until first period starts, I grab my things and go down to the car. It faithfully carries me to the school parking lot.
I sit in my car for a while. Everyone mills about so normal. They smile and laugh and tease one another. They carry on like nothing has happened. Like no one’s world has just come crashing down on them.
It doesn’t seem fair that they’re allowed to continue feeling so normal, when my world has been spun on its head and then smacked with a baseball bat.
Finally, I walk into my classroom just as the warning bell sounds. I start writing the lesson material on the board as students start trickling in.
I make the mistake of glancing toward the door, just as Lake walks in.
His expression is serious, something it isn’t very often. He has genuine hurt and concern in his eyes. He takes a few steps toward me and tries to smile. It’s lopsided. And looks exactly like Drake’s.
I try to smile back, but instead, tears bite at the back of my eyes. I look back at the board, unable to look at Lake any longer.
“So, Miss Ray,” a student in the seats says. “I heard you and Mr. McCain are hooking up.”
And the next second I hear flesh meeting flesh.
I whip around to see another male student, Chris Tate, half on the floor, half hanging off the side of his desk, cradling his jaw. Lake scrambles after him, gathering the front of his shirt in his fist.
“You shut up about that!” Lake bellows, raising his fist again.
“Lake!” I bellow, darting across the room and grabbing the back of his shirt. “Stop it! Stop.”
He doesn’t swing, but he’s still got blood in his eyes as he stares down at Chris.
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice shaking just slightly. “Let him go.”
Lake finally looks back at me, his eyes still angry but without the violence. He shoves Chris away and turns to sit in his seat. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened. It sucks, and it’s not fair.”
I glance around at the class, all of whom are staring at us. The tardy bell rings. “Yeah,” I breathe as I turn and head back for the front of the class.
Second period is drama free. We talk about ancient Egypt, the bell rings, and they leave.
I have no idea what to do during my break period. Since I had a sub the last two days, I have no homework to grade. I’d outlined all my lesson plans for the next two weeks at the beginning of this one.
Normally on days like this, I’d seek out Drake.
I can’t do that now.
Once the halls are quiet again, everyone settled in for third period, I cross my room. I turn out the lights and lock the door. I walk back to the corner where my desk is, place my back on the front wall, and sink to the floor.
My knees bend up and my elbows rest on them and I let my face fall into my hands.
Everything in me wants to sink back into that numb and hollow state I’ve been in the last two days. It was easier to be empty than filled with pain and broken glass.
But I have one more class today and I can’t fall apart now.
I lean my head back against the wall and stare up at the ceiling.
I kept thinking about it, that first night after Drake told me Diana was pre
gnant. Was there a way for him and me to still be together, despite all this? The situation would be complicated and messy, but could it still work?
But then I kept picturing the baby that was to come in what? Seven months? And I couldn’t do that.
If there was any chance that Drake and Diana could use this time to create any kind of a positive relationship between the two of them, they had to do it. They had to try and make a happy family for that unborn baby. Because every child deserves a chance at a happily ever after.
I honestly don’t ever want to see the baby, but I will not stand in some little boy or little girl’s way of getting a happy life.
A movement to my left catches my eye and I look toward the door.
Drake is standing at the window that runs the length of the door. His hands are stuffed in his pockets. There are big bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted, beaten. Worse than I looked this morning.
He raises a hand and presses his palm to the window. His eyes may look empty, but I know the death he’s experiencing inside.
Because one of the worst parts about this is that I know Drake loves me. The night we talked in the parking lot about the future left no doubt in my mind. Drake loves me and I love him.
We just can’t be together.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Time passes. It grates over you like sandpaper when you’re already left bleeding on the rugged road, leaving you raw and hardly able to move. But it does pass. Even when you’re pretty sure you’re dead.
Two weeks somehow go by.
Drake and I don’t say a word. The first few days he’d look through my window every break period, just looking. And then he missed a day and then was back. And then he missed three days. And then he stopped.
I saw Diana once. After school. Drake was walking out to the parking lot. Diana was waiting at his car. He tried to give a little smile when he saw her, but it was broken and weak. She gave him a smile that was pretty similar. I wonder how she feels about this.
Does she want a relationship with Drake again? Does she remember how sweet and kind he is? Does she get butterflies in her stomach just thinking about him?
If she doesn’t she’s a fool.
“Ray of Kaylee, you’ve got to eat something.”
Armando actually sounds mad. I snap out of whatever alternate pain-free world I’ve zoned into and focus on his face. We’re at a Chinese restaurant. There’s a huge platter before us, a sampler of everything on the menu, and I haven’t touched a thing.
“I know you complain about your thighs,” he continues, giving me a glare. “But sweetheart, you don’t have anything to lose. I know for a fact that you used to weigh a hundred and eleven pounds. If you are less than one-zero-zero, I will start stuffing cupcakes down your throat until we get you back up to par.”
I glare at him, hurt and angry. But also glad that someone cares.
I’m not below one hundred, but I’m only one pound above it. And that terrifies me.
“Kaylee, you have got to start living,” Armando says as he hands me chopsticks. “I know how you felt about Drake and yes, you two were perfect. But you have to continue living a life. You can’t let this consume you for forever.”
“It’s been less than three weeks. Give me a break,” I hiss as I take the chopsticks and break them apart. I grab a tangle of noodles and shove them into my mouth to make him happy. And don’t taste much of anything. I wish I could, but I don’t. I can’t.
“I know you’re hurting, and I get that it takes time to get over people,” he says, eying me with compassion now. “But I’m scared for you. I’ve never seen you this low.”
It’s true. Armando has been my best friend since high school. He’s been there for me through thick and thin, just as I’ve been for him. I was there when he came out of the closet our senior year, when he got his first boyfriend freshman year in college. And he was there to wipe away my tears after every boy broke my heart.
The back of my eyes sting and I shake my head. “I’m done,” I say, my voice showing hints of quivering. “No more searching for Prince Charming, no more falling fast and hard. No more falling at all. I can’t do it anymore, Armie. I just…I can’t survive this.”
“You can survive this,” he says, reaching over and taking my hand in his. “You’ve always survived it in the past and I know you can make it past this one.”
I bite my lower lip and nod. “I mean it though. I’m done looking for the one. I’m done falling in love and getting my heart broken.”
Armando looks at me for a long time and it’s easy to tell he doesn’t know what to say.
Finally, after over a full minute of silence, he speaks. “Guard that beautiful, soft heart well.”
____
I lock the door to my classroom behind me and try not to drop my boxes at the same time. My historical lit class has finished their papers on the differences in historical fairy tales and modern ones. I’ve got a long night of grading ahead of me. They’re seven page papers. Single spaced. I may have been feeling a little vindictive when I gave the assignment two weeks ago.
“Hey.”
School got over two hours ago, the halls should be dead silent right now, so I drop my box and papers go flying I jump so hard.
I look up to see Sage walking toward me.
“Sorry,” she says, bending to help me gather the papers back up. This is a trick, considering the four inch red pumps she’s wearing. She’s also wearing skin tight black pants and an oversized white button up shirt with black polka dots. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say as we finish stacking the last of them up. I dump them back into the box. “How are you?”
We both stand back up and start walking down the hall toward the parking lot.
“Good,” she says, flashing a winning smile. I have to respect Drake’s sister. She exudes confidence, like nothing bad can ever stick to her. “Classes are going well, I’ve got my professors wrapped around my little finger. The money I put into the stock market has doubled in the last few weeks.”
“You’re going to be an impressive woman once you graduate,” I say. “What’s your degree in again?”
“Business,” she says. Her heels click on the tile floor, echoing off the lockers that surround us.
I nod, swallowing hard. Lake may have Drake’s smile, but Sage has his eyes.
“I heard about you and Drake, and Diana,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “It’s not fair how things ended up.”
I stop in the hallway. We’re not far from the doors.
“No,” I say, feeling the numbness start to creep in on me again. “It’s really not.”
Sage is quiet for a long moment. I feel her eyes on me and look at her, and we just stare at each other for a long moment. I can practically see the words behind her eyes.
“People hurt you in life sometimes,” she finally says. “They can destroy you. They can take things away that you didn’t even know were there and they can change who you are without your permission.” She folds her arms over her chest and it feels like a defensive move.
“But we have choices when it comes to things like this. We can let them wreck our lives or we can use them to make us stronger. You have the power to decide that this will not hurt you anymore. You can choose to not feel it one second longer. Use the pain and the hurt and learn a lesson from it.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say, shaking my head.
“No, it’s not,” she says, and there’s complexity in her voice. Her strong gaze falters for a moment. “But you’re a woman. Set your mind to it, and make it better. Realize that men are not the only things that make life worth living. Realize how amazing you are and make a name for yourself, and don’t feel sorry for doing it.”
I see her teeth clench hard, the muscles in her jaw flexing. Her hands roll into fists and for just a moment, there is a bit of uncertainty in her eyes.
I’m about to say thanks, when she turns and walks
back in the direction of Drake’s classroom.
I watch her as she goes. Sage is determined and strong and confident. There’s no doubt about that.
But what in her past has made her say the things she’s just did? The girl has been through what must be more than her fair share of hurt.
Still, her advice is solid. And right now I need someone’s thoughts and opinions that are outside of my own.
Who am I outside of the girl that just wants to find her true love?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You got it?” I ask Skyler as I help him balance the camera.
“Yeah, I know how to work a camera,” he says with a dramatic eye roll. I back away, hands hovering close to the camera. It’s not particularly expensive, but I won’t be able to replace it if he drops it.
“’K,” I say, turning and picking up the poster board that’s lying haphazardly on my couch. I stand in front of the camera and hold the poster just under my face.
“Smile,” Skyler says.
I do, and he snaps the picture.
“Let me see,” I say, setting the poster down and reaching for the camera. Instead of handing it over, he pushes the review button and brings up the picture he just took.
It’s clear and easy to read.
In big words, on the poster, I’ve written:
My name is Kaylee Ray. I’m trying to find my birth father. You met my mother, Karen Ray, at a Halloween party twenty-three years ago in Burlington, WA. She was dressed as a bumblebee, she says you were dressed as a pirate. Please share!
I chew on my lip as I read it over again. I saw a picture online a few weeks back, of a woman looking for a girl she’d given up for adoption, with a similar sign.