Crowned with Guilt (Remember the Reaper Book 1)

by S. K. Rose

  While listening to his soft voice, I see something white flash by above us. At the top of the brick wall, a small, white butterfly flits around, landing only for a second on a leaf. Rather than interrupt the story, I watch it quietly for a few more seconds until it disappears. My heart feels full, like something special has happened, but I can’t figure out what. It was just a butterfly, after all.

  Closing my eyes, I relax and let his words take us to a brand-new world.

  Chapter 4

  ─────

  Eleven Years old

  It’s cold and dark out. My old jacket keeps me warm until the wind starts to blow. It pierces through the worn material making me shiver. Keeping my head down I head toward the picnic table. It isn’t the most comfortable spot in the park, but it certainly has the best view. I stare up at the stars that dot the inky black sky, and not for the first time, I wish to sprout wings and soar among them.

  Dad came back home a few months ago. We’ve never talked about his broken promises or why he left. All I know is that he’s a little different now—worse, not better. I’m not sure where he was exactly, but he seems sad all the time, which is why I think he uses even more of the bad sugar than before.

  Ugh, baby talk. I know it isn’t some sugary candy or whatever. Andrew let me borrow his phone once, and I used Google to find out that the ‘sugar’ my parents are so fond of is drugs—cocaine or something. Bad stuff for bad people.

  It was silly to hope that when he came back things would magically change for the better. He still likes to use the belt on me when he’s mad, and he definitely doesn’t stop Mom from using her more creative punishments.

  I hear a low whimpering sound, and it takes a few seconds to realize the pathetic noise is coming from me. I grip my left arm closer and wince again at the pain that seems to slice to the bone.

  I slam my head back against the splintered wood in frustration. I was stupid.

  Mom and Dad went out, who knows where, and I was so excited about the birthday present I’d gotten this morning from Andrew, that I decided to take it into the house.

  He’d given me an older book full of ancient fairytales. The pages were filled with beautiful pictures and each title was written in fancy gold letters. It wasn’t just a book; it was a piece of art. I snuggled up with a blanket to read in my room, but I guess I was more tired than I thought. I awoke to the book being ripped from my fingers.

  It should have been hidden away in my castle, or under the loose floorboard, but like the foolish Sleeping Beauty, I had gone and fallen asleep.

  The memory is stuck on repeat in my mind, a reminder of how foolish I was.

  “You little thieving bitch! Who did you steal this from?” Mama screamed, spit flying from her red lips.

  Daddy stood in the doorway, looking down at me with a frown. “You’ve only yourself to blame for this, sugar,” he clucked, shaking his head at me in disappointment. Without another word he strode out of my room. A few seconds later, the television clicked on.

  “Nobody, it-it’s from the school library,” I whispered. My eyes drawn to my beautiful book held captive by the dragon.

  “LIAR!” she yelled, her face purpling in anger.

  I screamed as soon as the book left her hand. I tried to grab it mid-air, but she was much faster. The heavy book left a dent in the wall before hitting the ground with a thump, pages from the aged book flew out and floated around us. My body trembled with fury.

  With a clenched fist, I pulled back my arm to put all my strength into hitting her as hard as possible. She grabbed my wrist as it flew toward her. With a tsking sound she dragged me to my closet.

  After finding what she was looking for, she smiled down at me, showing off all her rotten teeth. “We’re just going to have to make sure you learn that stealing is bad. I won’t have a criminal living under my roof. This is for your own good, Tessa.” Her words were angry, but her tone was full of excitement. Holding out my arm, she pushed up my sleeve and rolled it up to my shoulder. Swallowing down my fear, I stuck out my chin and pretended to be brave. This only made her cracked lips widen with glee. I trembled seeing what she’d retrieved.

  Before I could open my mouth to beg for forgiveness, I heard the whistling sound and then felt the unbearable sting of a wire hanger. Unblinking, I watched as a red line blossomed just below my shoulder. Clamping my jaw shut, I held back my screams when four more lines joined the first. Tears, crying—that’s what she wanted, but I wouldn’t give it to her. Narrowing her eyes, she turned the hanger until the hook was face-down, when she hit me again, a line of blood beaded to the surface. Each time the metal bit into me, it became harder to hold back my tears. I closed my eyes and refused to think about the horrible pain.

  When she finally let me go, I slid to the ground, my weakened knees unable to hold me up. I don’t know how long I stayed there, frozen against the wall.

  When I finally heard the front door open and slam shut, I moved shakily to the bathroom and placed a few squares of toilet paper over the blood and gently rolled my sleeve back down.

  Knowing Andrew would be asleep, I headed for the park a few blocks away, rather than our castle. I just needed to disappear.

  A rustling sound nearby reminds me that I’m not hidden away as usual, and anyone else stalking around at this time of night is probably bad news. Turning my head, I see a familiar face coming toward me. I sit up quickly, my eyebrows bunch in confusion.

  “Andrew? What are you doing here?” My visible breath lingers in the chilly air.

  “I dunno. I just had a bad feeling and couldn’t sleep. I checked the castle first, but came here after just in case. I know you come here sometimes when it gets bad.” His forehead is wrinkled with worry. “You’re shivering, Tess, you must be freezing. Here.” He shrugs off his thick jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. When the heavy material puts weight on my arm, I jerk back with a yelp.

  Looking up into my best friend’s face, I watch as his eyes grow dark.

  He lets his jacket fall to the ground, and even though I make sad mewling sounds, he starts to take off mine as well. Looking down, I see the blood has gone through the toilet paper and started to stain the light blue material of my sleeve. He gently rolls my sleeve up and gasps when he sees the fresh marks on my skin.

  “I have to tell Mom, Tess. I can’t keep this secret anymore.” With tears in his eyes, he turns away from me. Just before he’s out of reach, I grab his shirt using my good arm.

  “Please, Andrew, you can’t.” I refuse to cry in front of the dragon, but this fear makes my eyes well up with an ocean of tears.

  “I have to, I-I’m scared.” He turns toward me, tugging on his hair in frustration.

  “If you tell your mom, they will have me taken away. It could be an even worse place. Please! You can’t ever tell anyone. I c-can’t be without you. Please, Andrew.” The thought of never seeing him again scares me more than anything in the whole world.

  More than belts or hangers. More than bruises or cuts.

  If they take me away, my heart will break into pieces and the strongest glue in the world won’t be able to put it back together.

  His sad green eyes don’t look up as he gently rolls my sleeve back down.

  “I wish your parents would die.” His voice scares me, I know he means every word.

  “Andrew,” I whisper. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m afraid of his next words.

  “I won’t tell, but I’m scared, Tessa. I hate this, I hate when she hurts you, I hate when he hurts you, and I hate that I can’t do anything to protect you. I just. . . I hate it.”

  I let out the breath I’d been holding in. He won’t tell. They won’t take me away. Everything will be okay.

  Not caring that the cuts might open back up, I wrap my arms around him. “I know, me too. Thank you, Andrew, and I’m so sorry,” I say. I bury my face into his neck and release the sobs that have been fighting to come out all night.

  “Shh, don’t say you'
re sorry. It’s okay, princess. I promise you’ll never be taken away from me. I promise.” He says the soothing words over and over.

  With his arms tight around my waist, inhaling the familiar scent of cinnamon, I don’t feel the pain or the cold anymore. He’s my prince, always, and I wish I could make him understand that this, right here, is all I need for him to save me.

  Chapter 5

  ─────

  Twelve Years Old

  I slide off my mattress and onto the hardwood floor. Looking around, I scowl at the mud I accidentally tracked into my bedroom. Yesterday it was raining all day. My shoes were a mess, but Andrew was covered in mud from head-to-toe. I giggle thinking about how the green-eyed boy, my best friend in the whole world, still manages to end up covered in dirt more days than not. Either he’s climbing trees, doing tricks on his bike (and crashing, lots of crashing), or obviously jumping in muddy puddles. I’m starting to think maybe boys in general are just weird that way, maybe they like being dirty. Ick.

  I let out an eye-watering yawn and hurry to get dressed. School starts in a few hours, which utterly blows. I can’t believe I ever loved school, even begged to go back to it. The boys give me dirty looks and the girls make fun of my hair and clothes. Andrew should be going to the same middle school as me since it’s the closest to our neighborhood, but unfortunately for me, his parents send him to a fancy private school farther away.

  They’ve gotta be loaded.

  Our secret friendship is the only good thing I have in my life. It’s what gets me up in the morning and through each day, and I’ll do anything to keep it safe. Whenever Mom screams that she hates me, or tells me I’m worthless, I close my eyes tight and think about the next time I get to see Andrew, what silly thing he will say, his adorable crooked smile, or the way he always runs his fingers through his messy blond hair when he’s thinking.

  Whenever Dad drinks or snorts too much and pulls out the belt, I cover my ears and replay all the stories Andrew and I have read together, the written worlds we’ve visited, and the secret smiles we’ve shared.

  Unfortunately, having a safe place to go in my head doesn't always work in my favor. When Mom thinks I don’t look unhappy enough, her cruelties get even more inventive. Her lighter phase was the worst, turns out I cannot hold still very long with a flame being held just beneath my chin.

  But since that fateful moment on my eighth birthday, I’ve kept my promise and haven’t cried a single tear in front of her. I retreat into my happy memories and think about the next time I’ll see him. It keeps me strong. It keeps me sane.

  Clearing my head of depressing thoughts, I remind myself that it’s my birthday today and Andrew might already be waiting for me. I throw on my nicest purple blouse, a black sweater, and my only pair of jeans. My ‘nicest’ blouse is too small and faded, my only jeans are ripped at the knees, but hey, it’s better than nothing.

  In front of the mirror I quickly brush the tangles out of my long hair and attempt to make it look soft and silky. I’ve learned how to keep the ends trimmed and straight with a razor I found in the bathroom. My fingers move quickly and gracefully to create a braid that goes halfway down my back, and as always, I have to tuck that one rebellious strand of hair behind my ear.

  Once in my small bathroom, I pull out a container of sparkly pink eyeshadow I stole from Mom’s purse and brush a light layer on my eyelids. I want to look as good as I feel, but mostly, I want to look good for Andrew. One last, long look in the mirror and I decide I don’t look half bad. With Andrew always bringing me food and forcing me to eat, my ribs don’t poke out anymore, and I think my boobs are even starting to grow!

  Still just an ordinary girl, but an ordinary girl who didn’t need a fancy dress or a magic pumpkin to find her prince. Suck on that, Cinderella!

  Just like the day we first met, each year on my birthday, Andrew brings me a new book and a slice of leftover birthday cake with a little stick shoved in the middle. It’s silly ‘cause he’s allowed to light candles now, but the stick kinda became our birthday tradition.

  He asked me a few months ago if I still wanted a book for my birthday since I’m almost a teenager now. I immediately said yes. I love books as much as I ever did, and I don’t just read them now, I devour them. The hours we spent with our noses in books turned me into a machine. My teacher even said that my reading speed and vocabulary is at high school level. Basically, there is nothing I love more than a good book.

  Well, almost nothing.

  Hastily, I pull on some thick socks and lace up my old boots. With a deep breath, I swing open my bedroom door. I vault down the stairs, but slow when I get to the living room. They won’t remember or care that it’s my birthday, not that I spend my nights crying about it anymore. However, they could ruin today by waking up and forcing me to go back to my room until school starts.

  They may not give a crap about me, but I know one person who does.

  Mom’s passed out on the couch as usual. Dad’s in the lazy chair with a beer still in one hand, even though he’s fast asleep as well. There’s a redhead chick passed out on the floor in only her underwear, I’m sure I don’t want to know why. They had a party last night, a loud one that made it difficult to sleep, and by the looks of the table, they were also doing some lines.

  I’m completely unfazed.

  There could be a chained-up tiger and a dancing clown parading in the room and I still wouldn't be surprised. They do whatever they want whenever they want. It’s just something I’m used to at this point.

  I walk past my dad and gasp when something clammy clutches around my wrist. “Hey, sugar, howiss mah favorite girl?” he slurs, making it difficult to understand him.

  “Fine, Daddy, just getting my chores done before I have to go to school,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Mom up and deal with her, too.

  “Youbeeuh good girl now, ya hear me?” I don’t have to answer because he’s already fallen back to sleep. Perfect.

  Slowly, I pull my hand out of his slackened grip, I take a few more tentative steps, open the sliding door, and sneak outside. It’s a beautiful crisp morning and a big goofball smile explodes across my face. Excited to see Andrew, and what he has in store for me today, I head straight toward our castle and peek inside, the tip of my braid brushing across the dirt floor. Looks like he isn’t here just yet, fastening back the castle door I go further inside.

  The castle looks a lot different these days, because as we’ve grown, so has it. Branches have been trimmed and cut back all around to make more room. A much thicker waterproof camping blanket covers most of the floor, thanks to Andrew. Off to one side we have a dinner table—a sturdy box we painted all over with swirls and stars. Lying against it are a few chair cushions we use to sit or lie on. Our library bin sits in the farthest corner, along with a few odds and ends we’ve collected. At night, glow-in-the-dark stars we stuck all over the exposed brick wall give us some light, but there’s also a lantern hanging off the largest branch in case we need it. At the entrance, there’s a thicker sheet that’s been fashioned as a ‘door’, hidden by the shrubs so that it’s not noticeable unless you know to look for it.

  By far the best feature of the castle is the ceiling. The skinniest of branches now all have photos hanging on them of Andrew and me.

  I remember how he begged his parents for months until finally convincing them to buy him the old Polaroid camera. Over the years, we’ve taken tons of pictures of us making silly faces, or of weird bugs we found. Each new picture has found its own special spot up on the ceiling. Sometimes, when Andrew can’t come outside, I like to lay in the castle and stare up at our pictures, grinning from ear-to-ear I’ll think back to all the good times we’ve had.

  “Tess?” I see Andrew’s head pop up at the entrance, his eyes light up when he spots me. I take a second to appreciate how different he looks now from when I first saw him. His once chubby cheeks are now not so chubby, his dirty blond hair is kept much shorter, and at some point, he eve
n grew into his ears that always seemed just a little too big for his head.

  However, his bright green eyes remain unchanged with time.

  “Happy Birthdaaaay, Tessa!” he sings in a silly voice. Just his head pokes through the makeshift door beaming at me, I can’t help but giggle in response. “Milady, you will never believe what I found for your birthday this ye—” his words are cut off suddenly as his head is yanked back violently.

  For a moment I do nothing, staring ahead at the place where Andrew’s face should still be. With a gasp, I run out of the castle blindly, earning a deep cut across my ribs from a rogue branch. Bursting out of the shrubs, I see him being dragged into the middle of the yard by my unsteady father.

  My father, who turns back to glare at me with his dark, red-rimmed eyes. In one hand, he still holds a half-full beer bottle.

  In the other, he holds my world.

  “What have you been doin’ here with this boy, sugar?” Rage swirls violently beneath the surface of his eyes, but his calm tone doesn’t match it, and nothing makes sense. His shoulders are laid back, yet one hand has a fistful of blond hair that’s attached to a squirming boy.

  This can’t really be happening. Breathe, Tessa.

  I try to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Dad shakes his head and grimaces, obviously deciding my silence means my guilt. My heart jumps into my throat as it thrashes wildly trying to choke me.

  “Always sneaking off. I ain’t dumb, I knew that much, but I figured you was going to that damned library, coz you always got yer nose in a book.” As he gets more worked up, his slur becomes more prominent. “I told mahsself you wus jus bein’ a kid, little do I know yeroff fucking the neighbor boy right under my goddamn nose.” His whole body shakes with rage at the thought of being made a fool.

  While he speaks, a gripping fear keeps my eyes glued to my father.