by Riley, Gia
I’d never seen a person create something out of nothing. But that was exactly what she had done. She had taken boring, frayed denim that looked like it belonged in the scrap pile and made cutoff shorts that hugged her hips and barely covered her ass. The inside of the pockets peeked out beneath the fray, and I decided they were the hottest shorts I’d ever seen. I’d watched her try them on, and that was how I knew they were for her. Like I said, creeper status.
It wasn’t my fault though. I couldn’t help the way Winnie fascinated me. She had life working against her, yet she still managed to keep going. So many times, I wanted to walk in the classroom and talk to her. I didn’t know what I would say once I was standing in front of her or if she’d even listen to me, but I knew I wanted to hear her sweet voice and listen to her say my name.
Maybe, if I showed interest in her work, she would open up to me. It was a stupid idea really. Winnie isn’t the girl who sits around, wasting her time making friends or exchanging gossip with social circles that don’t mean shit. She’s the type who keeps her head down and minds her own business.
That’s probably why last night meant so much to me. Winnie’s a tough sell, but she wasn’t just taking my help; she was accepting it, and she wasn’t pushing me away.
Life was good, better than I had expected, and I thought waiting for the right time to make my move was worth it. And then I saw the razor. All the time I’d thought I had suddenly vanished.
When she’d needed me, I had been asleep. I’d like to think that, if I had woken up five minutes before she got out of bed, I could have kept her from making that decision. I could have convinced her that what she was feeling didn’t deserve validation.
Yet there she was, in the middle of a panic attack, and I didn’t know what to do to help her. Reaching for the razor wouldn’t make her problems go away, but I did it anyway. At least, if I had that, she couldn’t use it to hurt herself.
Once the blade was in the trash, I saw her eyes start to shine. As much as she wanted to cry for the ache in her chest, she put my pain before her own. Getting sucker-punched in the face wasn’t ideal, but the reason my face is swollen was worth it, so I don’t care about the ache or the bruise. All I care about is that I was there when Winnie needed me. And that maybe, the next time she picks up a razor, she’ll see my face or hear my voice, and she won’t use it.
I’m so lost in thought as I climb through the hole in the fence, I don’t notice the gunmetal Charger parked at the end of the cul-de-sac, facing my house. The driver-side door opens, and Trey steps out. He tosses his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out the flame.
He walks closer, his boots on the paved street the only sound I hear. “I need to talk to you,” he says.
“About what?” I ask him.
I know what he wants to discuss. I just don’t think I want to listen. Not if he’s going to tell me to stay away from Winnie.
Just like I thought, he says, “Winnie.”
“What about her?”
The chain hanging from Trey’s pocket rattles when he kicks the toe of his boot against the side of the curb. Some dirt falls off onto the ground, and I wonder where he was before this. Probably a grave, burying the last person who tried to get close to Winnie.
“She’s not like other girls, Jasper.”
“That’s why I like her.”
“You’re not hearing me,” he says as he takes another step closer to me.
The intimidation factor is about to explode, but I stand tall. The proof of how unafraid I am to go to battle is clear as day on my face. Trey eyes the mark on my face and smirks. Let him laugh; it won’t change how I feel.
“I heard you, Mr.—” I pause because I don’t know his last name.
My mom always taught me to respect my elders, but in this case, I think she’d be okay with me calling him by his first name. After all, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to offer up information. All he can do is stare a hole through my chest and wait for me to say something stupid enough to warrant another blow.
He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. The pressure as he digs his fingers into my clavicle almost sends me to my knees. He lets up just before I bend in half like a flimsy cardboard box.
“I’m not going to hurt Winnie,” I tell him. “I’m not going to stay away from her either.”
“Don’t give me a reason to come back, Jasper.”
He drops his hand, and I see it in his eyes—the same look I saw in Winnie’s. If I needed any proof of their connection, I just got it. Suddenly, I believe Trey would do his worst on me. Because that’s what you do for the one you love. And it seems we both love the same girl.
Mom pulls into the driveway with Lydia in the back seat. She doesn’t see us, but as soon as she gets out, I’m sure she will. Trey must be worried because he slides back into his car. One last warning glance, and he starts the engine and pulls away.
The urge to flip him off is strong, but I don’t need to give him any reasons to turn around and hand my ass to me. Trey seems like trouble. Trouble Winnie doesn’t need.
Warning or no warning, I’m not backing away from her. And it’ll take a lot more than being cornered on the street to keep me away.
Sixteen
Winnie
The trailer is so quiet, I tiptoe across the living room, toward my bedroom. Until I figure out if Tess is home, I’m afraid to make any noise. If she’s hungover, she’ll scream at me, and if she’s high, she’ll just talk to me like the trash she thinks I am.
Other than it being hot as hell in here and reeking of stale cigarette smoke, it doesn’t look like she had any wild parties last night. If I’m lucky, she came home from The Whip and passed out without checking my room. Even if she looked, chances are, she didn’t even notice I wasn’t in my bed.
I eat my words the second I turn the doorknob and open my bedroom door. The mattress is ripped off the bed and lying haphazardly on the floor. My dresser drawers are all opened, and my bras and underwear are thrown all over the room.
Notepads and sketchbooks are lying on top of the toppled-over lamp, and my blankets are in a pile by the window. The closet door is propped open with a boot that doesn’t belong to me. Judging from the size and hard tip, it’s a working boot. From a pair that belongs to a man who ransacked my bedroom and touched all my personal things. That boot wouldn’t still be in my room if he left, and that’s when I start to panic.
The boxes that were stacked along the back wall are ripped open, and everything I’ve held on to since I was a little girl is scattered on the floor next to my shoes. I dig around for the envelope I had stashed at the bottom of the one box, and it’s gone.
My hand shakes so badly, I almost drop the muffin and banana Jasper gave me onto the floor. Bile rises from my empty stomach toward my throat. The familiar, hot burn lingers at the base of my esophagus, and I swallow hard to keep it down. My stomach’s so empty that, if I throw up, it’ll only make the aching worse.
I imagined sitting on my bed and sinking my teeth into the muffin, but I set it and the banana on the floor on the corner of my comforter and step over the bedframe. I already know the board’s going to be out of place before I even touch it.
One corner’s higher than the other, and that only happens when the board is put back upside down. Whoever was in here found every single stash of cash I had hidden. As I lift the worn piece of wood and peer inside the ragged hole I carved out, my heart sinks. Every nickel, dime, and penny I had is gone.
Covering my face with my hands, I suck in the scream that’s about to unleash itself.
Why did I keep all my money in this bedroom?
Because it was safer underneath the floor and at the bottom of a box than in my pocket. I know that. Logically, it was the right thing to do. Still, it’s not easy to accept the fact that all the money is gone.
I won’t let Tess get away with it though. Not without a fight.
With breaths so shallow, my lungs ache, I grab the stray b
oot. Instead of planning my own attack, I charge down the hallway with my sights set on Tess’s bedroom door.
It doesn’t matter who might be on the other side of the wall or whether they’re asleep or not. All that matters is that I’m holding a heavy boot that’s about to be thrown at someone.
As soon as the door opens, the boot flies out of my hand and hits Tess in the head. She bolts upright so fast, she almost falls out of bed. I wish she had. Then, maybe she’d know what it felt like to be blindsided in the one place you thought you were sometimes safe.
“Jesus, Jax,” she grumbles.
Without her contacts, she can’t see for shit. She doesn’t even notice me standing in the doorway, staring her down.
She cuddles against his side, and when she sees he’s still sleeping, she finally looks over her shoulder, realizing she’s not alone. I’m not allowed to be in here without asking, and that makes this even better for me.
“You threw the boot?” she asks.
She knows damn well it didn’t fall from the sky.
“Where’s my money, Tess?” I demand.
Laughing, she chucks the boot onto the floor and lies back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Winnie. Get the hell out of my room.”
“You trashed my room. Unless you want me to trash yours, I suggest you find the money you stole from me.”
“I didn’t do anything,” she says. “He did. And, since you live in my house, whatever is under this roof is technically mine. Including you. So, I’d watch your mouth.”
She loves to throw the fact that she pays rent in my face. I never ask her for a dime, but because of one measly monthly rent check she sometimes forgets to pay, I’m at her mercy. She doesn’t care how I manage to survive or where I get money when I need it. As long as I don’t ask her for anything, we’re good.
But, this time, I’m not above begging. I can’t afford to be wiped out completely. Not when I’m trying to save for life after graduation. I go without everything most teenagers need just to have a chance to escape this trailer.
“Tess, please. I need to buy food with that money.”
She rolls onto her side and grabs the plastic bag full of coke on the nightstand. “Your money’s in here. It’s not like I can give it back to you now.”
I knew she’d already spent it, but hearing it for myself still hurts more than I can stand. It hurts so bad that I have nothing of my own and even less than I fell asleep with last night that I grab two fistfuls of the comforter covering her and Jax and yank it off the bed.
Tess screams, and Jax turns over so fast, he knocks the baggie full of powder out of her hand. Undeniable rage. That’s the only way to describe her widened eyes and flaming nostrils. I just stole her most-prized possession, and she climbs on top of the bed so fast and leaps off, I never see her coming until we’re on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
For leverage, she latches on to my hair and tries to rip it from my scalp. She pulls so hard, my eyes tear up. We’re roughly the same size, but I’m no match for Tess when she gets like this. All I can do is scream and yell for her to stop until my throat’s raw and my voice is hoarse.
Jax is completely useless, just sitting on the edge of the bed and laughing, as Tess manhandles me and I try to defend myself. At some point, he leaves the room because the toilet flushes, and the floorboards creak when he returns.
“Thanks for breakfast, Winnie,” he says as he munches on the muffin I left on the floor.
The banana’s tucked into his back pocket, and I know that’ll be gone soon, too.
Tess takes one more shot at my head, and I let her because what’s the use in fighting? Nothing about the money will change. I’ll still be penniless, and she’ll still want to murder me in my sleep, no matter if I follow her insane rules or not.
I don’t know what changes his attitude, but finally, Jax says, “Enough, Tess. It’s not like you’re the one who got ripped off.”
The weight that was crushing my chest disappears. She’s still kicking and pounding her fists, only now they’re bouncing off Jax’s chest instead of my body. He doesn’t like it and tosses her in the middle of the bed.
Then, he kneels beside me and grabs my jaw. With a quick jerk of his hand, I’m forced to look at him. He takes his filthy finger and brushes away a drop of blood oozing from the cut on my cheek.
“You okay, darlin’?”
“Don’t touch me,” I tell him.
He smiles, and I’m taken aback by the fake veneers that shine back at me. The last time I saw Jax, he was missing a front tooth from one of the battles he fought in Tess’s name. I guess that’s his job now—to keep her safe. Lord knows she can’t do it herself. Not when she’s constantly causing trouble at work and bringing it home with her.
But, shiny new teeth or not, I hate that Jax is touching me. I hate even more that he ate the only food I had—the food that Jasper had given me as a gift. Nobody ever gives me presents.
My legs and arms are still on fire from trying to get Tess off me, but I lift my leg far enough to knee Jax in the ribs—or at least, I think it’s his side. Whatever I hit, it pisses him off, and he lets go of my chin.
But, with an eerily calm warning, he says, “You’ll pay for that, you little bitch.”
Haven’t I already paid for it?
He stole my money. Everything in my bedroom is torn apart. The only way Jax could hurt me more is if he hit me. At this point, I don’t think I’d even feel it. My heart’s beating too fast, my face and scalp ache, and my limbs feel like jelly. Another blow would knock me down, but my spirit is already asleep.
“Do what you have to do,” I tell him as I stand up and watch Jax pop the last piece of my blueberry muffin into his mouth.
He even licks his sticky fingers, making me hate him more than I already do.
Fresh tears fall from my eyes, and I realize that my life will always be like this. Even when I move out, how will I be any better than this trailer? I have no money, no opportunities waiting for me after graduation. I thought I could do this, but I feel like I’m destined to fail.
My bedroom is a disaster, and all I want is a hug from my dad as he tells me that nothing is as bad as it seems. This seems bad though. So much worse than anything else Tess has done to me. The older I get, the less boundaries her vengeance abides by.
Like Dad is listening from heaven, I spot a little pink box sitting on top of a bra, and I open it. I forgot I still had this, and a rush of good memories come floating back to me, wrapping me up in comfort.
I couldn’t have been much older than five or six, and I wanted to be a princess. Every Disney movie I watched would make me want to transform into something more beautiful than the mousy, little string bean I was.
Dad worked some overtime and gave me diamond earrings, complete with a crown and magic wand. I even had a pair of those cheap plastic high heels to waltz around the apartment in. He said, if I was going to be a princess, I needed to look like one.
But, as I got older, realizing Tess never tried to steal those earrings, I knew they weren’t worth more than a couple of dollars. The studs might have been worthless to her, but to me, they were worth more than all the gold in the world. They were special because Dad had given them to me with the best of intentions—from his heart. And, to this day, when I look at them, I feel every bit the princess he wanted me to be.
But those earrings aren’t tucked in this particular box anymore. At some point, I moved them to another hiding spot, and they were replaced with something more valuable—razor blades. The blades don’t make me a queen or anything close to royalty, but they take away the sting of reality. They transport me to a faraway kingdom where I’m treasured instead of tortured and loved instead of hated. Tess can make me out to be the villain all she wants, but the fairy tale my father created is destined to have a happy ending. He would have wanted that for me more than anything.
But Dad doesn’t understand how hard it is to keep that dream ali
ve without him. On days when it’s easier to give in than fight, I unbutton my pants and slide them down my legs, revealing the line of scars. I trace over them each time. I’m not proud of the little white reminders of how many times I’ve let myself down.
Guilt morphs into hopelessness, and a few times, I turn my wrist over and stare at the bluish veins hidden beneath a thin layer of olive skin. Instead of going over the same hallowed ground on my leg another time, I could make one single cut on each forearm, and there wouldn’t be any more days like today.
No more fighting.
No more trying to live up to the unrealistic standards I’ve created for myself.
I don’t think anyone would even be surprised if I failed—whether I lived or if I died. My father overdosed. It’s gotta be in our blood or something—the screwed-up Dawes family. A mother who ran away from her boyfriend and daughter. A father who succumbed to his new girlfriend’s powers of persuasion. A daughter who was cursed before she was old enough to stand.
A fresh razor blade lightly traces over the first thin blue bump on the inside of my wrist, the path I’d take if I were ready to leave.
You’ll never be able to do it, Winnie.
Do it, Winnie. End it.
You’ll regret it.
You can’t regret anything once you’re dead.
Let yourself live.
I don’t know how.
You need help. You’re crazy.
I’m not crazy.
Crazy.
The familiar rumble of an engine gets closer and closer until it stops next door. I drop the little piece of metal back into the box and run to the window, praying I’ll get a glimpse of him this time.
Leather gets off his bike and glances at our trailer, and if I could see his eyes, I’m sure they’d be roaming over the flimsy roof that needs to be repaired and the worn shutters that could use a new coat of paint. Eventually, they’d land on my bedroom where I’m trying to hide behind the curtain. There’s no use though. If I can see through it, so can he.