Crowned with Guilt (Remember the Reaper Book 1)

by S. K. Rose

  Click.

  Suddenly, I’m flying backwards and staring at a popcorn ceiling, flat on my ass. Marybeth is dressed, but her hair is still soaking wet. She grins down at me and shakes like a dog until I’m covered with water. I glare viciously up at her, but she just steps around me and walks to her room, laughing the whole way. Brat.

  I hop up, rub my bruised tailbone, and get ready for a quick shower.

  It’s Friday and nothing will keep me from Mom’s famous cinnamon peach pancakes.

  Chapter 23

  ─────

  Tessa

  Throwing my backpack near the picnic benches, I climb up and sit cross-legged on one of the table tops. Impatiently I wait, Beth and I have a few final touches on our Art project that’s due today. Checking again to make sure my hair isn’t out of control, I ignore the real reason tugging at the back of my mind as to why I tried to look nice today.

  For that same not-to-be-named reason, I’m so jittery I can’t stop fidgeting.

  Decked out in my nicest hip hugging blue jeans, my favorite In Flames band T-shirt, and my leather jacket, I nervously wait. The sun is in hiding again today making it colder than a snowwoman's tit.

  Hearing footsteps, I turn to yell at Beth for being late, but it’s his face I see first and the words get caught in my throat.

  “I’m sooo sorry I’m late, I thought Mom would take me in early, but she had a conference to go to and Dad had already left for work, so I had to wait for slowpoke over here to drive us to school.” She plops down beside me and starts digging out her art supplies. I can tell she’s nervous after everything that went down between us yesterday as she avoids all eye contact.

  “Morning,” Andrew pipes up cheerfully as he sits down on one of the benches at the table. My heartbeat quickens and I can’t take my eyes off him.

  Will I ever get used to having him back?

  “Morning. So, you have a car?” I question him as I force my attention to the project I’m supposed to be working on. Of course, my head snaps right back up when I hear him respond.

  “Well, we share it, I just insist on driving because I value my life.” He smirks, flashing a quick look over towards his sister.

  Beth scoffs next to me, but is focused on whatever detail she’s currently adding to the project.

  “Got it, so how are you adjusting to the move?” I’m going for a good, casual question rather than, Hey, I know you busted your brain, but do you remember me even a little?

  The brightened smile he gives melts the icicles off my cold shell of a heart.

  “It’s great so far, everyone has been cool, and Chase invited me to a party this weekend. Of course, I miss some of the friends from Chicago, but this is already starting to feel like home again.” He runs his fingers through his silky blond hair as he talks and I literally have to check my mouth for drool.

  “Nice, I’ve heard Chase is an all right guy, even though his brother is a fucking douchewad.”

  Oh, my God! Did I just say fuck and douchewad in the same sentence? I can’t tone it down for five minutes?

  Andrew bursts into laughter and nods his head. “Yeah, Chase said something to the same effect, almost as vulgar even.”

  Heat rises up my neck, but he still has a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and I shrug it off. “I’m uh, a little rough around the edges.”

  “I noticed, nothing wrong with that.”

  “Teachers and parents everywhere would disagree with you.” I’m rewarded with another beautiful laugh.

  “So, what about you? Always lived in Alder Grove”

  “Mhmm, home sweet home,” I scoff

  “You don’t like it?” He seems genuinely curious.

  “No. Well yes, sort of. Sometimes I do, I guess. . . ”

  I turn to curtly ignore him and turn my attention to Beth. He’s just too distracting and confusing for me to handle before coffee.

  “Looks good, Blossom, I think it’s ready to turn in.” She’d stopped drawing and was admiring our piece of art.

  “Yeah, we kinda rocked this, A-plus-plus for sure!” She seems to be back to her bubbly self again.

  “I’m sorry, Blossom?” Andrew interjects.

  Beth pipes up. “Yeah, stupid—like the pink Powerpuff girl!”

  I bite my lip trying not to laugh, remembering that it took her an entire weekend for it to register where her nickname came from.

  “That nickname suits you very well. Dang, why didn’t I think of that?” He seems genuinely disappointed, and God help me if that pout isn’t fucking adorable.

  The bell rings, stopping the conversation from going any further, grabbing my backpack I hop off the table. I give Beth a quick hug before we head in opposite directions, wanting her to know that we’re okay.

  As I walk across the field, I notice I have an extra shadow.

  What is this boy doing to me?

  Chapter 24

  ─────

  Andrew

  I am ninety-five percent sure Tessa doesn’t realize we have our first period together. In fact, we not only have English, but Government and Study Hall together, but I’m starting to think she’s only aware of the one.

  Study Hall all three of us have together although yesterday they both ditched, and I’ve been meaning to ask Marybeth why. She didn’t notice me at all in English yesterday, was in her own little world and seemed conflicted about something.

  Hopefully Tessa has no intentions of being a detective or really any career that highly values a keen observer.

  She keeps glancing back to see if I’m still heading the same way she is, each time looking increasingly more irritated that I’m still trailing behind her. Her face gets all scrunched up when she’s mad, and weirdly, I find it cute as hell.

  This girl is truly a force of nature. I recall Marybeth talking about her having a temper and being rather snarky. However, it’s one thing to hear about it and another to see it firsthand. One minute, I’m looking into enthralling blue eyes and a warm guarded smile, the next I’m being bombarded with unladylike obscenities and volatile sneers.

  She’s a firecracker and my curiosity is more than piqued. I want to learn everything and anything there is to know about her, from the important things like her childhood and career goals, to the silly small stuff like her favorite color or movie.

  Once she sees that I’ve followed her into the classroom, her dark hair flips through the air as she turns to face me. Hands propped on her hips, she rounds on me, only stopping when she’s a few inches from my face. With furrowed eyebrows, she glares up at me, and since I’ve got quite a few inches on her, I know it’s pissing her off even more that she even has to look up to me. I’m trying my damnedest to stifle my laughter, but her face is so expressive when she’s mad it’s fascinating, not to mention extremely amusing.

  “What the hell are you doing, Andrew. Fucking stalker much?” The venomous words hurl out of her mouth. As hard as she tries to hide it, it’s obvious that I’m not the only one curious. For whatever reason, I decide I want to push her buttons a little.

  Never said I was smart. Let’s blame it on the cracked cranium.

  I step forward and close the gap between us. I lean down until my mouth is right next to her ear, and whisper softly, “I guess I just can’t seem to stay away from you, but also, this is my class.” I lean back with a big smile and wiggle my eyebrows at her. Right before I pull away, I see goosebumps break out on the part of her neck I breathed on.

  Snapping her mouth shut right away, she recovers quickly by huffing off to her seat in the back. I decide to sit a few desks away from her, not thinking it wise to continue antagonizing my sister’s only friend.

  Mrs. Thorn is going on about the results of some Frankenstein quiz and I honest to God try to pay attention, but it’s hard knowing she’s just a few seats to my right.

  I’d gone on a few dates back in Chicago, but none of the girls ever interested or challenged me, but with Tessa, it’s like I�
��m constantly being drawn by some invisible thread.

  Oh, Jesus, there’s Mom again. She did some real damage to my masculinity.

  Sneaking peeks over my shoulder to look at her every once in a while, she looks, or at least pretends to be, engrossed in her work. She’s apparently more studious than me—the new kid who really should be paying attention if he wants to graduate on time. Her composure has relaxed and I can tell she enjoys writing by the way her eyes light up when we’re given a poetry assignment.

  Alright, I gotta stop staring at her or she'll be justified in calling me a stalker.

  We’re given twenty minutes to “pour our hearts onto the page” with a poem of any theme and any style. I scribble something about red roses and blue violets. It’s downright terrible, but writing has never been my strong suit. Well, I don’t think so anyway, none of my incomplete memories ever included me happily jotting thoughts down.

  My passion is with my art, so I spend the rest of the fifteen minutes I have (yeah, I was finished in five) doodling an intricate border around my crappy poem.

  After our time is up, we’re told to fold up our poem and write a quick design on the outside so we know which note is ours to pick up at the end of class. By the uneasy shift of my classmates, I know this has us all curious now. Why would we need to pick it up? Where is it going?

  Mrs. Thorn clears her throat from the front of the room to get our attention. She looks at us over her maroon-rimmed glasses, waiting for silence. Once everyone is quieted down, she explains that we will pass our poems around the room a few times. For each poem we need to write a few notes at the bottom of the page about how the poem makes us feel, and every time she snaps her fingers we are to pass it along to the next person. Once everyone has jotted down notes on five different poems, we’re to fold it back up and place them all at the front of the room to be collected at the end of the hour. She reiterates several times that our written thoughts and comments are to be honest but not mean, lest we want some extra lunch cleaning duties.

  I write some bullshit notes on the poems that get passed to me, but I’m mostly paying attention to the path Tessa’s poem is making through the classroom. I know it’s supposed to be anonymous, but I can’t help my curiosity. It was clear she was unhappy that anyone besides the teacher would be reading it.

  Finally, the girl in front of me has the poem I’m after. When I hear Mrs. Thorn snap, I tap her shoulder and offer the crappy poem in my hands for a trade. As we swap, she meets my eyes and flips her hair out.

  “Oh, hey, you’re the new student! I never got the chance to introduce myself, I’m Bailey.” She bats her long eyelashes at me with a shy smile. Bailey has light brown hair that just reaches her shoulders. She’s beautiful—there’s no denying that—but the paper sears a hole in my hand, demanding to be read.

  I flash her a smile and tell her it’s nice to meet her, but immediately open the poem and begin to read. I’ll just make more of an effort to be nice to her tomorrow.

  Right now, Tessa’s words swim before my eyes.

  A broken clock reflects a mournful face

  Eyes that withstand the raging storms of time

  Something stronger than love grips my heart

  Ripping through the pulsing veins of mortality

  Memories dance in every hidden shadow

  Taking us back, back to that time and place

  Back to the heart of our entwined souls

  Back to where despair can’t poison each second

  And though our souls are ripped apart

  Forever I’ll seek refuge in our timeless castle

  Each line reaches out, grabs my heart, and twists. I’ve never had a poem elicit any emotion before, but I can almost feel the sorrow and unconditional love that pours out of her words. I read it five more times before jotting something down. It’s the final exchange of poems and I’m glad only she will see what I wrote.

  Apparently, Tessa was also tracking her poem as her eyes are glued to the paper in my hands. When she drags them up to look up at me, I see a haunted look cross her expression. Suddenly, all I want to do is spring out of my seat and take her in my arms, to hold her tight and reassure her. I can’t imagine what’s made this beautiful girl carry around so much pain and guilt on her shoulders, but in this moment, I see just how heavy that burden really is.

  I guess the eyes really are the windows to the soul.

  Looking away she busies herself with anything that doesn’t require her to look in my direction. When the bell rings, Tessa is up out of her seat, and fast as lightning, she grabs her poem and is out the door without a single look back.

  Chapter 25

  ─────

  Tessa

  I purposefully passed my poem the opposite direction in the room so Andrew wouldn’t get a chance to read it, but of course, during the last exchange, he snatched it up. Sneaky bastard.

  I’m surprised he could pay attention to it with little miss mousey flirting, or seizing, whatever it was that caused her to bat her eyelashes half a billion times. Not that I care.

  Slut.

  I sigh inwardly and try to level my shitty thoughts. Bailey is a sweet and generally conservative girl. Not exactly slut material. I don’t know where that nasty thought even came from.

  I swing by Study Hall and get Mr. Nguyen's attention. He looks up from his book and nods his head at me to speak. I let him know I’m headed to the other building to work on my art project. He mumbles something, marks me as present, and returns to his book.

  I head to the same tree Beth and I were sitting at yesterday. Throwing down my bag in the grass I lean back against the tree and take some deep breaths.

  My head and heart are at a stalemate, unable to agree that my Andrew is here in the flesh and going to my school where I can see, and touch him. The most important person comes back from the dead and all I can do is act like a freak and try to push him away.

  What on earth is wrong with me?

  For the first time, I’m grateful Andrew doesn't remember me, because that means he doesn’t know this poem in my hands is about him—about us.

  I unfold the paper with shaky hands and read through the anonymous comments scribbled below my poem.

  This was really well written. I loved all the visuals that it brought to my mind, even though it made me sad for the writer. Awesome sauce.

  I like this poem. So beautiful and wow this student must have it bad! Ooh-la-la!

  I don’t understand anything in this poem, confusing and terrible. Don’t quit your day job!

  Reading this made my heart ache, what a sad story of lost time and heartbreak. The line that really sticks out for me is the idea of a timeless castle. I imagine a beautiful and safe place which you can always be happy, something anyone can relate to. Great job!

  There is an arrow at the bottom of the page telling me to flip over for the last response, his response.

  Whoever this poem is about must be the luckiest person to have had you, and the biggest idiot for ever losing you. Also point me in the right direction and I’ll break their face in.

  P.S. What’s your favorite color?

  “What?” I question aloud.

  “Your favorite color, what is it?”

  “Jesus, Blackwell, you scared the shit outta me!” I bellow with a start.

  He smirks and takes a seat in the grass next to me. My heart pounds like a drum, either from being startled or his sudden closeness—I’m not entirely sure which.

  “Apparently if you check in at least once a week into Study Hall, Mr. Nguyen doesn’t even write you up for skipping it.”

  “Wait, you’re in my study hour?” I question, raising my eyebrow at him.

  “Yep, if you ever went you might actually know that.”

  “Touché.”

  “Seems like a pretty easygoing uh. . . place.” He looks away, embarrassed.

  “The school?” I ask carefully

  “Yup, school. What a stupid word to forget,”
he mumbles, mostly to himself

  “Yes uh, okay so, why did you come find me? Why are you here?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Well, you took off so fast I just wanted to say how great I thought your poem was. I’ve never even liked poetry to be honest, but yours was different. I guess it made want to know more about the poet.” His eyes drill into mine, filled with an intensity I don’t quite understand.

  “Why are you so interested in me? I’m not a good person, Andrew,” I reply softly. Unable to withstand his burning gaze, I look away.

  “Let me be the judge of that. Now, are you going to answer my question, or what?” His serious tone has turned playful again.

  I think about what Beth said to me in this very spot. Maybe I really can try to think of this as a fresh start with Andrew. I keep trying to push him away, but I keep being pulled back to him like a magnet and apparently, even with his shattered memories, he feels some sort of connection, too.

  Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part and he’s simply curious about the girl who fainted at his feet. I sigh, knowing one way or another, I’ll always give in where're he’s involved.

  “You’re as stubborn as your sister,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Yeah, it’s a Blackwell thing. You should meet my mom.” He laughs and its music to my ears.

  “It’s silver.”

  “Like the crown necklace you’re always fiddling with?”

  I start choking on air as his words throw me violently into a memory.

  It was Christmas morning, and he wrapped one of his old coats around my shoulders. His fingers lightly brushed across me, and my skin burned everywhere he touched. I beamed up at him with a smile so big it hurt my face. I know I must have looked like a giant goof right then, all bundled up smiling at him like a lunatic. He handed me something wrapped up in newspaper, with a misshapen bow on top. Excitement sparkled in his eyes as he encouraged me to unwrap it. Carefully, I popped up the tape and tore the newspaper away. On thick paper was a drawing of a fairytale castle. There were towers that reached up into fluffy clouds and there was even a little drawbridge leading to the entrance. Looking closely, I saw two familiar little faces in a window. There were smudges and eraser marks, a few crooked lines, but to me, it was the most perfect piece of art I had ever seen.