“Shut up, Sorren. That’s not funny,” he says, voice dropping a few tones in seriousness.
Sorren slams her palm on the table and stands dramatically. “Jesus, Tristan! When did you become her freakin’ body guard? I was just joking, okay? Lighten up and stop being an asshole,” she yells.
An extraordinarily uncomfortable silence fills the room and I wish I was being consumed by quick-sand or taken away by an extra-large bird… Anything to escape this seriously awkward moment.
“You’re so insensitive! Can you not tell when someone’s upset? All you think about is yourself! That hasn’t changed one bit!” Tristan says and the venom in his voice shocks me.
“I’m insensitive?! Where were you for the past two and a half years, Tristan? When I needed you, where were you?”
“Are you calling me selfish? Do you seriously think I was in any position to help you? You completely deserted me when Sky died, and you know it,” raw emotion seeps into his voice, causing it to shake.
Sorren’s eyes fill with tears that don’t spill over, but glisten in her eyes like dew on a rose petal. “How was I supposed to know how to help you? Do you not remember the things you did before they sent you away? Do you not remember who you became?”
“I sent you a letter the moment I arrived at John Adam’s. I had already changed, Sorren. You didn’t even let me tell you that,” Tristan says.
I want to sink into the floor. The tension between the two of them has been growing since the moment Sorren walked in the door tonight, but I wasn’t anticipating being present when they hashed it out.
“A person doesn’t change in a week, Tristan. You’re claiming you turned your life around in one week? You were a mess! You felt nothing! You were a shell. The only emotion you ever showed at all was hatred, and even that was weak at best. You can’t just wake up one morning and shout ‘Hallelujah’ to the heavens and be healed! That’s impossible, and you’re an idiot if you believe that.”
That sparks a thought in me; is that when Tristan’s punishment started? Even before he tried killing himself? I wonder what God’s plan is. What the purpose of all this was. Surely there’s a reason things happened the way they did. I don’t have time to ponder these new thoughts, because I hear my name spewed from Sorren’s mouth.
“If you’ve changed as much as you claim to have, as much as you’re fooling everyone into believing, then why do you spend every waking moment with her?” I’m shocked to hear her vituperation continue. “She’s not me, Tristan. What happened to me? You didn’t even tell me you were back in town!”
By now, Sorren’s face is red and portrays a wide range of emotions. I’m not sure whether anger, frustration, sadness or confusion sent her over the edge, but maybe it’s a combination of them all. I know what it’s like to feel things amplified, and I am unable to be angry at her for bringing me into this conversation.
“Don’t bring Katie into this, Sorena! This is about you and me, not me and Katie. What we do is none of your business,” Tristan says, trying to diffuse the situation but failing miserably.
Sorren scoffs and continues. “You were always my business. You’ve known her, what… a month? At most? That’s pathetic! You’ve known me since birth and you’ve never looked at me the way you look at her.”
A tiny crinkle forms in Tristan’s forehead, one I’ve only seen a handful of times when he’s thinking particularly hard about something. I back away a little, looking to give them more space, but it seems like they’ve both forgotten I am here.
“Are you serious? You’re really going there?” Tristan asks, sounding annoyed.
“Of course! You agreed to give it a try, Tristan!” Sorren exclaims, stepping from around the table to stand right in front of the red-faced blonde haired boy.
“We were sixteen! I’m not the same person you thought you loved. Real love doesn’t exist when you’re fifteen and sixteen years old, Sorren!”
Another piece of the puzzle clicks together and my mouth pops open. In the moments I’ve heard Sorren talk about Tristan, she’s always used a softer, sweeter tone than she usually speaks in. When she laid her hand on his arm until he pulled away. When she couldn’t even look at him in the parking lot. When she just complained about us being too affectionate in her presence.
Sorren is in love with Tristan. But not my Tristan; not the good, nurturing, soul-mate Tristan God sent just for me. She loves the boy she thought she knew. The boy who thought he knew himself until tragedy struck and he lost everything he once had. The boy she claims was never there for her.
“It doesn’t matter what you think! I refuse to just sit here and act like this,” she gestures to me and back to Tristan, “doesn’t bother me! I’ve waited for you to come back to me for two years, hoping you had found yourself again! And now that you have, you don’t even have the decency to set me straight?”
Tristan steps away from an approaching Sorren who looks like she’s about to smack him. “You want me to set you straight?” Sorren nods. “Okay then. I’ll just say it then. I’m in love with Katie. I’ve known her for two years. She and I shared letters; letters that helped me heal and become who I am now. So you cannot tell me that I don’t know her like I know you. It takes a special type of person to bring someone out from the dark, and Katie did that for me when you weren’t here to do it.”
Sorren slaps Tristan in the face before theatrically departing from the room. A moment later, the front door slams with enough force to shake the kitchen floor. We remain silent for a moment, both at a loss of words. I might have just lost the only friend I really made here; my ally and the person I have a strange connection with. Something in my heart tells me that things will work out for the best and not to fret, but the sting of her words sends bolts of sadness to my chest.
Arms wrap around me, comforting me in their embrace. Our breaths are in sync and his body presses mine against the counter. I don’t pull apart; I just stand there with my hands trapped against his chest and ear pressed to his heart- my heart- beating in the silence.
“I’m sorry,” is all he says.
He shouldn’t feel bad, and none of this is his fault, but the words help me relax. We do nothing; only hold each other until a crack of thunder shakes the house. Rain starts pounding on the roof in rhythmic taps, adding a very natural soundtrack to the atmosphere. Tristan and I end up curled on the couch as the sounds of thunder and rain lull us into sleep.
I awake gasping, shaking from head to toe with the sound of my scream echoing off the walls. It takes me a moment to come back to reality, but when I see the comforting walls of my bedroom, I take a calming breath. I remember falling asleep on the couch, so Tristan must have carried me to bed. A knock on my door makes me jump.
“Hi, baby. You okay?” my aunt asks, wearing her sleep clothes and glasses. She looks exhausted.
My heart still pounds and my throat is so dry I can’t speak, but I nod. I don’t even remember what the dream was about, but it terrified me. My aunt leaves the doorway but the kitchen light flicks on seconds later and the sound of the water running makes me lick my dry lips.
“Here you go,” says Rachel’s sweet voice as she sits on my bed.
I feel like a child, but the sensation is new. The feeling of being loved and looked after and protected is foreign to me, and warmth drives away my terror. My aunt strokes my hair, calming me with her mere presence. I look at the scene in the mirror across from my bed, feeling like I’m watching a film. This is what a mother should do. This is who a mother should be. It makes me sad knowing that women like my Aunt Rachel don’t have children but people like my parents do. My parents, who are so deranged they don’t even deserve the title.
“Why don’t you have kids?” I ask, breathless from gulping my water.
She smiles a sad smile that adds years to her youthful face. “I can’t. I’m sterile. But there’re plenty of kids out there who could use someone to love them, and I’d happily oblige. Just because I didn’t birth them does
n’t mean I can’t love them the same way I would love my own child,” she says, kissing my forehead.
I wonder if I should be embarrassed; I’m a senior in high school for goodness sakes! I shouldn’t enjoy being babied by my aunt. However, I’ve never been one for traditional beliefs, and I soak up her attention like a sponge.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?” she asks, getting more comfortable on my bed.
“Did you know? About my father?” I ask, darkness creeping into my voice with every word.
She looks confused. “You’ve gotta be a little more specific than that, sweetie.”
“Did you know he hurt us?” I clarify, speaking for my mother, brother and myself.
A clouded look enters her eyes at my question and I get the distinct feeling that she doesn’t want to answer. “Not until your mom sent you here.”
Confusion must be splashed across my face because my aunt elaborates. “You really think your mom wanted to send you away? That she didn’t think she could help you more than I can?”
“Then why did she send David away?” I ask, still slightly unsure.
“David needs help, honey. He isn’t going to heal by himself. Your mom told me that from the moment you woke up in that hospital after your… accident, that there was a light in your eyes that only came with sanity and understanding. She said you finally felt again; that you showed emotions again. Your brother is not in a good place right now, Katherine. He needs professional help.”
My mother sent me here to protect me. The thought makes tears spring to my eyes, but I hold them back. I am so fed up with this crying business.
“It’s okay to cry, Katie. No one is expecting you to be strong all the time.”
I clench my teeth and force the tears back, refusing to let things I can’t change break me. There’s no use dwelling over the bad. The point of life is to make the best of things and to do what God expects us to do: help others, try to forgive, and be the best we can be. However, my heart is still to broken to fully forgive. I know that, with God’s guiding hand, I can eventually become the full, complete person he said I will be. But for now, my heart is still mending. For now, there are still missing pieces.
Chapter 13
The next morning, I awake to a breeze blowing across my face. It’s chilly enough to raise goose-bumps on my skin and all I want to do is burrow deeper under the covers. A hand gently touches my shoulder and I would have been terrified had I not recognized the feeling that accompanies Tristan whenever he comes near me.
“Good morning, beautiful. I heard you had a rough night. It’s earlier than usual, but why don’t you get up and we’ll go get coffee?” he asks in a sweet voice that reminds me of how he speaks to Dino. I smile.
He moves in to kiss me, making me move away. His face is so shocked I can’t help but release a tiny giggle. I want to brush my teeth before he kisses me. Wouldn’t want to scare him away.
“You’ve got thirty minutes before I drag you to my truck, ready or not!” he calls as he walks out of the room. Rachel must already be gone for work; her schedule is so unpredictable.
I decided to shower, thinking the hot water would help me relax my nerves, which are on edge thanks to the revelations from the night before. The water works wonders on my skin, which was pale when I woke up but is now a healthy looking rose color. My eyes look especially green today, so I apply some mascara to intensify their already bright color. It isn’t often my eyes are this shade of green, so I intend to make the most of it.
“How much time do I have before you kidnap me?” I yell through the house jokingly, pulling on underwear and snapping my bra. I completely forgot to close my bedroom door.
“Katie, are you trying to kill me?” I hear an exasperated voice say from the hallway and I turn around to see him retreating down the hall. “Close your door next time!”
I laugh, hard, but feel a little insulted. He is my boyfriend… doesn’t he want to see me this way? “It’s my house! I can prance around totally naked if I felt like it,” I reply, still laughing to myself.
I hear a groan, followed by what sounds like the knocking of a head on the cupboards in the kitchen. “Katherine! You’re seriously testing my will-power,” he calls back.
Not five minutes later I enter the kitchen, wet hair piled on top of my head and uniform in place. I walk right up to Tristan and grab his hands in my own, standing several inches away, only our hands touching. His eyes move over mine, like he’s seeing into the depths of my very essence. It’s a frightening feeling, really… to be so totally connected and enthralled in a person.
People would probably ask me why I don’t bother getting closer to others. If I had told them the truth, that I feel like I have all I’ll ever need and all I’ll ever want in Tristan, they’d call me a co-dependent girlfriend on the road to a teen pregnancy and heartbreak. But if they knew our story, our connection… if they felt a fraction of what I felt for the angel standing before me, they’d understand.
When God gives you all you’ll ever need, there’s no reason to go searching for something else. I’ve made “friends” at school; people you say hello to in the hallways and smile at and laugh with at moments. I use the word friend loosely because I think people need to earn the title. For now, they are merely friendly acquaintances.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, brow furrowed.
I smile and shake my head, not wanting to put my feelings into words. “Let’s go!” I say, tugging on his hands and out the door. The day is overcast but still bright, so I fish my sunglasses out of my backpack as Tristan opens my door.
“You seem rather chipper for someone who I was told had a rough night,” he says, sliding behind the wheel of his pick-up.
“I’m not, really. I’m just embracing a new motto I claimed last night. I’ll explain it to you another time, though. Let’s just try to forget last night happened,” I say. Avoidance is not a ticket to happiness, but it’s all I have at the moment.
We arrive at a little coffee shop not far from the school and I take a seat as Tristan goes to order us two iced cappuccinos. The tiny café has elevator-music playing, which is irritating… why does everything have to be so bland and unoriginal? A bell dings, signaling someone has entered the shop.
“Hey, Katherine!” says an annoyingly cocky voice from behind me.
Turning, I see Scott walking towards my table for two. He’s either oblivious to the fact that I’m here with Tristan and doesn’t even notice him standing twenty feet away, or just doesn’t care.
“Thanks for saving me a seat,” he winks. But it doesn’t even look like the smooth, debonair gesture he was aiming for; it looks like a twitch. I stifle a laugh by coughing, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to my own ears.
“I’m here with-” I begin, but a genuinely debonair boy cuts me off.
“Her boyfriend,” Tristan says, sounding pleased and not unkind.
“Hey, Trist. Congrats, man,” Scott says awkwardly, but he doesn’t stand. Instead, he says, “Pull up a chair! Party of three,” which makes me snort playfully. Tristan can’t help but smile.
“How’ve you been, T? I haven’t… really… talked to you since you, uh, came… home,” Scott says, and I’m somewhat surprised to hear true concern and regret in his choppy sentence.
“I’m great now, Persico. Found what I needed,” Tristan replies, sipping his iced coffee and passing me mine as he drags a nearby chair over to the small, crowded table.
“Well, I should get going. Don’t want to be late, right? Later, T,” Scott says, squeezing Tristan’s shoulders, which makes him cringe ever so slightly. “Later, Katherine!” he twitches again, this time deliberately making a fool out of himself.
The bell dings again; Scott didn’t even get a coffee. “That was weird,” I say, trying to make light of an uncomfortable situation.
“He’s an idiot but he was always a good friend. You find out who your real friends are after tragedy strikes, because t
hey’ll still stick by you. I guess I didn’t have any real friends,” he says bitterly, which makes my mending heart ache.
My hand reaches across the tiny table and grasps his, which is so much larger than mine it’s comical. The feel of his skin on mine is comforting and as I rub tiny circles onto his palm, I don’t know what I’d do without him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I say, feeling a heaviness in my chest thinking of how I felt before I almost took my own life. So full of bitterness and hatred that I stopped believing in the good things around me.
He just smiles, which is nice because we don’t need words. Here, in this tiny little coffee shop that smells like burned toast and espresso, another piece of my heart clicks into place. It’s a feeling like no other and I can’t anticipate when it’s going to happen, but I love the feeling it brings. A peace settles over me, warming my skin and making the world a little brighter. I have a feeling Tristan knows exactly what’s happening to me, because his face takes on a softness that contrasts his rugged looks.
“Come on. Let’s get to school, shall we?” I say, standing up and tucking my arm through his.
When we get to school Tristan shucks his leather jacket and tosses it in the almost non-existent backseat. His strong jawline and somewhat shaggy hair look silly attached to a body dressed in a preppy looking school uniform. I lean over and plant a kiss on his jaw, but he moves so I end up kissing his neck instead. A sexy half-smile graces his face as he unlocks and opens his door to get out.
“So what do you think Sorren will have to say today?” he asks, taking my hand as we pass a group of rowdy boys throwing a football back and forth. Some of them smile at me and I offer tiny waves to the girls sitting on the grass.
“Hey, Katie! Hey Tristan!” shouts Alexis, the girl in my AP Spanish class who I’ve helped with her homework. We both wave and Alexis’ friends Ellen and Justine shout their greetings.
“Is it strange how things… completely turned around?” I say as another girl, one of Malaya’s friends, says hi to me.
Pieces of a Mending Heart Page 16