And in my case, because you have two sisters to pull you through it.
Grief is a strange hole. It pulls you in, then spits you out.
Sophie and Lucy have always been my life vests. When we were tubing, when we were drowning in loss. When I couldn’t fathom getting out of bed and going to school. When waking up seemed like a task I was not built for.
Depression was something that made a home in me as a child. It’s lived there since, becoming a pulsing, breathing thing that vibrates inside me, even in my happy moments.
They took turns making my lunches. They went from sisters to mothers in a heartbeat, taking care of me. Making sure I grew up feeling as little of that void as possible. They filled it with their laughter, their hugs, their delicate influences that shaped me into who I am today.
And if they ever cried, it was never in front of me.
They never showed their sadness. Now, looking back, I recognize that strength was solely for me. They allowed me to cry in their laps more nights than I could count.
They gave me the space to grieve, to question, to scream. And simultaneously, they gave me the freedom to blossom.
I grab the bottle of rum and walk outside. The wraparound porch on our charming two-story white home has always been a favorite spot of mine.
I guess some things never change.
I let my mind wander to where they are as I glance at the garage, looking to see if a light is on in the apartment above it. But it’s dark, telling me Sophie isn’t in there. I wonder where she is. If Lucy is at the bookstore, nose in a new release. I wonder if they miss me like I miss them.
Since Sophie and I came back, she and Lucy have been bickering. They think I’m too young to understand. But I understand resentment. I understand that we left Lucy to deal with everything, alone. To run the bookstore. To keep the lake house afloat.
Time is something you can’t take back.
In the two years I was gone, I’ve grown, as I’m sure they have. Me, a little more. Physically. Mentally. I left a teenager and returned an adult.
Nineteen years old.
I wonder if they’ll ever see me as an adult. Or if I’ll always be the baby sister. Their baby. The impulsive and wild dreamer. The poet, chasing after romance and revolution. The one with the riot in her heart leading her in every direction.
I want to change our lives.
Maybe my pen can do that.
It’s all I have these days. It’s all I’ve had since I left Joey and this town behind.
6
JULY 10, 10:23PM
The storm we never spoke of,
the lightning and fright,
the way it made me lose my way to you every night.
The thunder bellowing in my heart
was always echoing your name.
But the shelter from you, it never came.
I’m still stranded underneath you,
being pelted with rain.
I awake to the sound of the rain hammering against the rooftop. The pitter patter, the light but persistent tapping. It reminds me of Joey.
Always trying to find a way in.
Always trying to break me down.
I want to shield myself from him. Force a barrier between us. A solid but gentle no.
But the gifts on my doorstep prove that he has other ideas.
I gather them in my hands, but I’ve run out of the energy to try to stop this. To try to stop him.
Did he ever give a shit what I wanted, anyway?
He either sent or delivered some of my favorite things. Three big bags of Reese’s Cups. Three orchids, towering over my steps. All of which are different colors.
White.
Pink.
Purple.
Three bags of Fritos.
An envelope, with my name on it.
I open it up and find two tickets to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. A live reenactment. A show he was too cool to see back when he was in the club.
And there’s a note inside.
Kitty,
The show is in nine days. Figured I’d send you nine different reasons to say yes. I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance. Let’s do that time warp thing you always ranted about.
Love,
Joey
My heart doesn’t mean to, but it skips a beat. Stupid fucking thing.
I gather the candy, the card, the flowers. I can’t believe he remembers all of this. The things that mean something to me.
The things that make me swoon, even if they are silly and small.
I imagine his smug smirk at watching my reaction to all this, and I ice over again. I freeze. The cold-stone bitch. The little brat. Even now, when he’s trying to make me happy, I want to refuse him. I want to give him shit.
Because with him, there’s always a catch.
There’s always a reason for being disappointed right around the corner of being happy.
He always played it well.
He always reminded me that every good moment came with a price. Every smile came with a sadness. A heartbreak I couldn’t learn to get over.
I take the tickets inside and shove the rest of the stuff onto the kitchen table. The flowers, I’m gentle with. Orchids always die under my watch. Even when I’m careful.
Maybe fragile things were never meant to be in my care.
Even him.
I gather the rest of the things I can carry to my room and I pretend they don’t affect me. I pretend I can’t smell him, here. In the card. In the note.
I pretend I can’t feel him in the words.
The show is nine days from today.
I want to scream at him. That a show isn’t going to solve things.
That this won’t make things better.
But my heart. My fucking heart. It screams to try.
It’s still screaming his name. Even after all this time.
I wish I knew what it was like to forget him.
He makes it impossible. Even when he doesn’t try.
7
JULY 19, 8:37PM
I’m waiting at the castle entrance. The old castle they’ve turned into a theater for plays. The show doesn’t start until nine but I made sure I got here early.
She always hated when I was late. When I kept her waiting. There were too many nights to count.
The nights I’d get home from a run, hoping she was still up. The nights I’d find her fast asleep in my bed, still with all her clothes on from the day.
I hated myself those nights. The fact that she was waiting up for me, the fact that the club took me away from her the way it did. The responsibilities I had that I couldn’t turn my back on. The drug runs. The rival conflict. The violence. The mayhem.
I put my cigarette out, pick up the butt and put it in my pack, and wait, checking the time on my phone. Eight forty-three.
A brief thought crosses my mind that she might not show. And if she doesn’t…
I can’t allow my mind to go there. Kitty is the last thing in this world that matters to me. I never gave up on her. On us. I need her to know that.
I check the time on my phone again. Eight fifty-two.
Come on, Kitty.
The crowd outside of smokers, they make their way inside and I check my phone again. Eight fifty-eight.
It’s two after nine when I get on my bike to leave.
It’s four after nine when I rev it up.
It’s five after nine when I hear her shout my name.
I turn around to see her and crack a smile for the first time all day. This fucking girl. She’s got on some sparkly number with a matching glittery hat. Booty shorts. Fishnets. Wild makeup.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says. “Putting together this Columbia costume was no simple feat.”
“Where are your eyebrows?” I ask her, reaching out to touch her face.
She slaps my arm away in response and laughs. “If you ever watched the movie with me you’d understand.”
“I’m here now,” I say.
A couple of hours later, I’m traumatized. I’ve never seen so many half-naked men in makeup in one place and I have the rock song stuck in my head, but I’ll never admit that to Kitty. Hot patootie, bless my soul, fell in love with rock n’ roll…
I’m still humming it in my head when I turn to her. “So, let me get this straight,” I say. “You wish I dressed like a transvestite?
“From Transylvaniaaaaa,” she sings as seductively as she can without being able to carry a note, dragging her finger down my chest to my jeans.
I stop her hand there. “Kitty, we’re in public,” I remind her, even though all I want to do is rip her ridiculous glittery clothes off right here in the parking lot.
“That never stopped you before,” she whispers into my ear.
What started as joking suddenly feels serious, if the look in her eye is telling me anything.
And then I can’t take it. Lipstick or not.
I grab her hips and pull her flush against me. “You think it’d stop me now? I thought you knew me better than that.”
Even beneath all the makeup, I see her cheeks redden as she tilts her head back to look up at me. She’s still about a foot shorter than I am.
“Do something about it then,” she says.
My right hand moves to her ass cheek and squeezes before I hoist her in the air and wrap her legs around me.
My lips are on hers before she can rethink this. I kiss her slowly at first, holding her ass up with one hand while my other hand throws her hat off and pulls her hair. She lets out a small moan into my mouth and I feel myself growing hard in my jeans remembering what this sort of thing used to lead us to. The kiss deepens, and she grinds herself against me in a slow, torturous motion, making it clear that she, too, wants to give in to our old familiar urges.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
I watch her face contort as she stops to consider this, and instantly I want to take those words back. I didn’t think before I spoke. Is this it? The rethinking?
“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “I just…we’re having such a good time. I don’t want it to end yet.”
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea. I don’t even know what just got into me,” she says, shaking her head like she might regret that kiss. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“I’m glad you did,” I say.
“We can’t do this shit, just jump from zero to a hundred,” she says.
But we both know it’s a lie. Because we can. We have done it many times over. The attraction between us is too strong, it’s always been that way. This mixed with our kind of passion is undeniable, the end result nearly unpreventable.
“It doesn’t have to lead to anything,” I tell her. “Can we just spend a little more time together?”
She’s out of breath as she looks at me, her hands needy as she moves them down my shoulders and arms.
“Fuck,” she says. “Fine.”
We walk to my bike and I hand her the helmet that I had fastened down to the rear pillion.
She takes it in her hand and runs her fingers over the personalized cat skull on the back. “You still have this?” she asks me.
I eye the slight crease on her forehead, trying to find my answer as to why she would think otherwise.
“You thought I wouldn’t?” I reply, as I throw my leg over the bike and bring the kickstand up.
I turn the ignition key. As the spark hits the gas and causes the engine to come to life, I hope the same response is happening with her forgotten feelings for me.
I wonder if she still remembers feeling the vibration of this tired old motorcycle as she’s perched on top of it, because I vividly remember how her thighs would tighten around me. And how she would purr into my ear that we needed to pull over soon.
She shakes her head and I see a wistful sorrow cross her face. But she puts the helmet on and gets on the bike, then puts her arms around me and says, “My sisters are gonna kill me.”
8
JULY 19, 11:43PM
Somewhere in your bed sheets,
that’s where my heart bleeds.
I am a riptide,
you a reckless current.
In the depths we will crash.
In the shallow we shall drown.
“Your place looks the same,” I say as I enter the living room, my fingers grazing along the old coffee table he built.
The same gray couch—with the cigarette burn in the cushion from that night I couldn’t keep my hands off him a moment longer—against the wall. An ashtray on the armrest of his side. Motorcycle magazines scattered across the table, and the plush gray blanket I bought him for his birthday three years ago, slung over the back of the sofa.
“You were the one thing that made it feel like a home,” he says simply.
“Can you stop doing that?” I ask him. “Acting like I left because I wanted to.”
He shrugs and I know this isn’t a conversation either of us want to revisit.
“It’s hard to just act like there wasn’t a lapse in time,” he says. “Because ultimately, you left. Regardless of the reasons, you did the one thing to me that you were always afraid I’d do to you.”
I wince at his words. “That’s not fair.”
“But it’s true.”
There’s a rumble in my chest. A wall, maybe, breaking down. He’s got his hammer again and my heart, when it comes to him, is glass.
But tonight, I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t want to think about the fact that I left him, how he pushed me into doing so and gave me no other reasonable choice. I want to protect my decision, water it and let it live and grow into something I can hold onto to know that I made the right move. Even if it killed me inside.
And I certainly don’t want to be having this discussion in glittery spandex shorts, a sequin top, and fishnets.
My mind flashes back to right before I left home tonight, as I tried to sneak out without my sisters noticing me.
Lucy’s nose was in a book—as usual—and Sophie sat in the armchair.
Despite reading, Lucy looked up first and eyed my outfit with suspicion. “Where are you going?”
Sophie glanced up at me next. “Yeah, why are you dressed like Magenta?”
Lucy let out a frustrated sigh and closed her book. “She’s clearly Columbia, Sophie. Come on.” She pointed at me as if it wasn’t obvious. “The hat is a dead giveaway.”
“Okay, Lucille. I don’t care which character she is.” Sophie looked back at me. “Where are you going and who are you going with?”
“How could you possibly think I was Magenta? Do I look like a Transylvanian maid to you?” I joked.
“Eleanor Katherine Bordeau,” Lucy started, her tone light but her eyes stern, “what don’t you feel comfortable telling us?”
“What do you mean?” I had asked, grabbing a water bottle in the kitchen to avoid their eyes. I’ve always been a shit liar, and I couldn’t look at them and avoid their questions convincingly.
But Lucy followed me into the kitchen. “Who are you going to meet?” she bluntly asked me, closing the fridge and meeting my gaze.
I swallowed then. “Um…just a few friends…from school…”
“From school?” she asked, doubt lacing her tone. “From high school?”
“Yeah. If you recall, we did grow up here. And what’s with the third degree? How many times do I have to tell you, both of you,” I said, making a point to raise my voice there and look at Sophie as well, “I’m not a kid anymore. I can make my own decisions, you know.”
“And how many times do I have to tell you? You’re nineteen, Kitty Kat,” Sophie said. “Don’t be in such a rush to grow up. Trust and believe, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I rolled my eyes at them. “Well, I’m going. Don’t wait up. I’ll be home late.”
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I snuck out the door as fast as possible, knowing I couldn’t dare tell them who I was really meeting up with. Just thinking about it, I can hear them now. The scolding. The insistence that he’s bad for me. Bad in general. The reminder of how he broke me.
And here I am, in his living room, such a familiar place. We made so many memories on that couch alone.
I smile at the thought and look at him. He looks so damn cozy. So much like home, himself. I hate myself for wanting to touch him, despite everything. But that doesn’t stop me. Hearts don’t give a shit about logic. Hearts don’t understand the definition of restraint.
So I walk the few feet between us and wrap my arms around him, reaching up on my tiptoes to snuggle against his neck. “I don’t want to go over any of the bad stuff. Tonight, can we just, I don’t know, enjoy each other?”
His arms snake around my waist and I hear his deep inhale, his warm breath against my neck moments later. “Let’s not talk about what didn’t work,” he says. “Do you remember what always did?” His voice is raspy with need as his hands make their way to my ass.
Instantaneously, and too easily, he’s pushed my buttons. Just like he always could. “Sir, you just ruined my panties.”
He grips my hips and pulls me into him, grabbing my hair and tugging gently so my head tilts back. “The way I see it is you won’t be needing them for a while.”
My heartbeat increases as I look at him. “Oh yeah?” I ask coyly. “Why would that be?”
“Well, I haven’t seen your body in two years. And I plan on getting reacquainted, inch by beautiful inch,” he says, lifting my arms up and removing my top.
But I can’t take the slow descent. Not after all this time of missing his hands and mouth. “We don’t have time for all that, Joey. I need you inside me. Now.”
9
JULY 20, 12:05AM
“Have it your way tonight, Kitty,” I tell her, even though all I want to do right now is enjoy the taste of her on the tip of my tongue as I bring her closer and closer to ecstasy.
Ruin Me: The Summer of Secrets: Part 1 Page 3