Claire's Song

by Ashley King

  The bell rings and the hall clears within minutes. People actually care about being late to class. I don't. I take my precious time at my locker, switching out books, even though I never do the homework. I feel her presence before I actually see her.

  Lindy is pressed up against my side in the empty hallway, her voice a low purr, "Hey, Ryder."

  I step away from her, taking in the way she wears too much makeup, how everything about her looks fake, plastic even. I can’t even believe I hooked up with her and decide to blame it on the drugs.

  "Get away from me," I growl as I slam my locker shut. Never have I ever been in such a hurry to get to class. I hear Lindy's heels annoyingly click clack on the tile. She puts her hand on my arm, and I jerk it off and spin on her. "Get off me."

  Her eyes are huge, but she doesn't give up. "Look, Ryder, I think we're good together and I want to give it another shot. We just…we just have to be more careful, that's all." Is she serious? I can barely believe what I'm hearing. Her words piss me off and it takes everything I’ve got to keep from cussing her out right here in the hallway. The anger pulsates beneath the surface, and I can almost hear it throbbing in my veins.

  "You're nuts. Stay away from me. I can't believe I hooked up with you to begin with, because look at how fake you are. Then there's that part where you ruined my life more than it already was. So, no, I don’t want you. I'll never want you, ever. I was high when we hooked up before. Now leave me alone. Or else," my voice is sinister, but it does the trick. Lindy looks like she's about to cry, her eyes all wide and glassy as she turns on her heel and runs off down the hall. I rub my hands over my face, not believing what just happened. She has to be on drugs. Or she really is just nuts. Either way, I go to class, and decide that I'll be on time to every class from now on.

  If Lindy does still have a crush on me, then she’ll be even crazier than usual to Claire and will probably start spreading more lies about me just to keep her away. Wait, what am I even talking about? Claire and I, we're not together or anything. I don't even know if she's able to think of me like that. Either way, I've got to stop thinking about Claire and how cute she is when she looks at me through those thick black lashes of hers.

  So I shrug in response because on the inside I’m doing this really pansy back and forth thing. I hope she can’t tell.

  “Well, for the record, I don’t believe any of the rumors and I think you’re one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met,” Claire gives me this genuine smile, the one that tips both sides of her lips up and dimples into her cheeks. She’s looking at me like I’m a good guy, like I’m not psycho or sick. I can’t take it because I’m not a good guy.

  “Look, I gotta go,” I get up so quickly that I slam the computer chair back into the desk, intensifying the awkward tension between us, making it a tangible, strange creature.

  Claire hops up from the bed and blocks the doorway with her petite frame. “No way. You can’t just run away whenever someone is nice to you, Ryder. I want…I want to be your friend,” she stammers. She looks so hopeful and the way her beautiful face is turned up to meet mine tears me into pieces. If I move half an inch, I could kiss her if I wanted to. And I wanted to. The feeling is driving me insane, weaving itself through my mind and down into my heart. A panic attack is right on its heels, the squeezing in my chest, my airways tightening. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to steady my breathing.

  “Look, Claire. I really gotta go. I’ll do the bottom half of the assignment and bring it to school on Monday, all right? You don’t understand, but I really gotta go.”

  She must see the desperation in my eyes, because she backs away, completely defeated, shoulders hunched and it makes me want to hug her. The urge nearly overwhelms me because I want nothing more than to take her in my arms and hug her and tell her I’m sorry that I’m a jerk, but that’s all I’ll ever be: a jerk.

  I don’t get the chance because I leave her house and hop in my car. I don’t even know if I'll make it back to the trailer, the urge to cut is gnawing angrily inside my brain. My mind is clouded and all I can think about is dulling the pain. I have a razor in my glove box that I keep for days like this and I know my wrists have healed from the last time, so what’s stopping me? Claire’s pretty green eyes looking at me with desperation stops me momentarily, but then I speed out of her driveway, determined to cut away every memory of her in my brain, to get back to who I really am, not who she makes me want to be.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CLAIRE

  There's no way for me to go after him and the worst case of déjà vu gnaws at me, eating away at the carefully glued pieces I have managed to salvage since Jamie’s death. I have no idea where Ryder lives and unease begins to settle deep in my bones. Jamie keeps flashing in and out of my memory with that smile, those sad eyes, and the thought of him dying, alone. The guilt continues to mount with each step I take towards my car and suddenly it feels like I’m chasing after Jamie instead of Ryder. Maybe I can make it in time. My hands are trembling as I shove my keys into the ignition and that familiar panic begins to creep over me again. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to make it go away, to push Jamie out of my head, just for now, just because I can’t really take it much more. Lindy’s words still burn and I wonder if that’s what everyone else thinks. His parents didn’t think that, nor did his sister, although I can’t be positive since they sold their house and moved right after it happened. To them, Jamie never existed. To me, he was everything. An unhealthy amount of everything.

  Each breath hurts and becomes laborious. My chest feels like someone’s stabbing me and nothing can quiet the overall feeling that I’m losing it. I reach into my pocket for Ryder’s pick and it’s not there. Panicked even more, I just try to breathe slowly and back my car out of the driveway a little faster than intended. My parents would flip out if they knew I was driving during an attack and there was a small part of me, the responsible part that cared, that wondered if maybe I should just let Ryder go. But then Jamie, those gorgeous brown eyes, that perfectly messy black hair and calloused hands comes into view again and I know I have to do it. Concern for my own life does not even become a priority.

  I speed up because I can’t find Ryder’s beat up car. He couldn’t have gotten that far, not this quick. The October sun is starting to fall to its knees and kiss the trees. I look at the clock and know I haven’t much longer before I should turn around. I’ve never been good at driving at night and I’ve had a few accidents within the past few years, all at night. My hands are clammy around the steering wheel and the stabbing pain in my chest almost doubles me over, but I keep driving, desperately seeking Ryder. His eyes, they were so much like Jamie’s that final night. This cannot be my lot in life, to sit by and watch people take their lives for granted. This can’t be it!

  A small voice whispers, isn’t that what you’re doing?

  The thought hits me just as the sky becomes a navy blanket, the car lights beginning to poke holes through it and blind me through the windshield. I can’t see anything and my heart speeds up, nearly pounding out of my chest.

  Squinting further and realizing I can’t see anything, I decide to turn around. Just as I do, a car horn blares. Blinding lights bleed through my car and I instinctively throw my car to the side of the road. My eyes are squeezed shut so tight, waiting for impact, for my last moments, to realize that small voice, that tiny voice was right. But the impact never comes. Just several more car horns and curse words as I sit on the shoulder.

  Tears begin to stream down my face and Jamie invades my mind. My therapist says that this is normal, to have these worries intensify when you’re tired. I’m more than tired physically. I’m tired mentally. I almost got killed trying to chase yet another boy who doesn’t want my help. Lindy’s ugly nickname, Black Widow, ripples through my head and the tears are coming faster, dripping down my nose, onto my shirt.

  “I’m sorry, Jamie,” I whisper between the sobs that rack my already tightened chest. “I’m sorry I w
asn’t enough.”

  “But you were enough,” I hear Dr. Robinson say. We've gone round and round about the topic millions of times, but to no avail. “He left you a note. Don’t forget what he said in the note.”

  I try to recall the note, but I can’t. I read it once and even brought it to therapy, but I haven’t read it since. You’d think the words would be emblazoned in my mind, but I tried more than anything to forget them, to let his words fall away along with his body, deep down into oblivion.

  The speed of the cars flying by cause my own car to rock and shake until finally I pull my cell phone out of my purse and do something that I haven't’ done since Jamie. Rely on my mother.

  “Claire Bear? Where are you honey?” her voice sounds warm through the phone and I hope I’m not interrupting her date with Dad. They need it. They deserve it after having to put up with their train wreck of a daughter.

  I sob into the phone despite my attempts to sound strong, “Can you…can you and Dad come get me?”

  There’s a pause and I can almost imagine her looking puzzled. “Where are you? Aren’t you at home? It’s dark out…”

  “I’m not at home. I’m on the side of the…the road in my car across from the mall,” I answer, still struggling to speak through the tears.

  My mother is not known for hysterics, but the tone of her voice scares me a little. “Claire! Why are you out past dark? And why are you crying? You could’ve killed yourself…” She trails off, the term now having a new, literal meaning in my family thanks to Jamie. “Never mind. We’ll be there. Let’s go Greg. Love you, Claire.” And she hangs up. I wrap my arms around my waist, thankful that even though we’ve drifted apart, mostly because of me, my parents still care.

  They show up in less than ten minutes and my father wraps his arms around me, the scent of his aftershave so homey to me. Mom wraps her arms around us and we stand there on the roadside, huddled and hugging. For some reason I thought they'd be more upset.

  "Claire, are you okay, honey?" Dad asks as he pulls back, studying me. His hair is grayer than it used to be, matching his mustache and beard. He's got this look on his face like I might break, but does he know that I already feel broken?

  I bury my face further into his chest trying to collect myself. Finally, I let it out. "I'm the reason Jamie's dead. I could've stopped it if I'd have just gone to his house. I knew something was off and I called his sister instead. I…" then the tears start again because that's all I can do when I think about Jamie. "I miss him."

  My father pulls away and I hear my mother's sharp intake of breath. I meet both of their harried faces. "You are not the reason Jamie is dead," Dad says as he holds my shoulders and gives me a stern look. My mother nods in agreement although she looks like she’s about to cry too.

  "Jamie made a choice and you couldn't have possibly known that. You did the right thing calling his sister. You can't go through life blaming yourself, honey," Dad continues, his gaze boring into mine, as if he can make me understand.

  "And remember what Dr. Robinson says," Mom interjects. "She's right, you know. Jamie loved you and would hate for you to think you're the reason for all of this."

  I want to tell my parents about what Lindy said, about what all the other kids at school say about me. Telling them that their daughter is the Black Widow would probably break their hearts and I can’t do that to them. Actually, there's no one to tell. The school counselor doesn't really do anything about bullying and it would probably just spur Lindy on even more if I told him about it. There are the teachers, but what can they do? It's the last thing I need on top of not properly grieving my best friend. I keep counting the months until graduation, but it seems so far away and I wonder how I’ll make it.

  "We love you, Claire. Okay?" Dad pulls me and Mom in for a hug.

  I nod against his chest.

  "Now let's get on home before it gets too late," he smiles and heads for my car. I follow him as Mom gets behind the wheel of their SUV. Things feel normal but screwed up at the same time and my mind won't stop worrying about Ryder. I don't know how I'll manage until I see him again, just praying that I actually do see him again.

  RYDER

  It's Monday morning and I'm on my fifth beer. I'm lying on my mattress that's on the floor and staring at the ceiling. I'm finally feeling the buzz, letting go a little bit. Shelly and Donald have the harsher stuff, but I like my teeth so I stay away from it. Alcohol fits my needs for now.

  Even though I'm trying to forget Claire, I keep thinking about her. Hell, that's part of the reason why I didn't go to school today. I don’t want to face her. Leaving her house like I did was the wrong move and she deserves better.

  Part of me wonders what it would be like to just give in, to not worry about how it'll end up in the long run or who it'll affect. I want to kiss her before I die. Besides, I won't be here for the fall out and she's tough.

  Wonder what she thought about me not showing up at school.

  "You in here?" Shelly calls from the door. She looks like death. My mom used to be decent looking in her day, but now her cheeks are sunken in, her teeth rotted and missing. Her eyes are bloodshot and I know she's tweaking.

  "What?" I ask as I raise the bottle to my lips.

  "You ungrateful little idiot! Give me that!" She yells as she snatches the bottle from my hands. I don't even make a move for it. I already know what's coming next. It's a movie that plays every week.

  "You gonna drink beer, you best be buying it for yourself. When I come in here looking for you, you say ma'am. You hear me?"

  I nod. Just get it over with, I think. It's hard to believe how crazy her eyes look. Wonder what good ole Dad would think of us now or if he would even care.

  "We need money. I know you got some stashed around here or maybe I'll just take the guitar," Shelly says as she starts scratching her neck and it sounds like her fingernails brush against scales.

  I sit up. "No. Not the guitar. Dad bought that for me, so it's not yours."

  Her eyes get bigger and she moves closer, the bottle hanging loosely from her skeletal grip. "You don't mention that man in my house. And since it's my house, I'll take whatever I damn well please!" She smacks me across the face, the burning sensation moving from my cheek to my lip.

  The joke's really on her because I hid my guitar. I knew she'd pawn it again and I need it now more than ever. I can't risk losing it or I'll have to go through with things without playing on stage somewhere. And I really don't want to have to do that.

  "Now where is it?" She looks around, starts turning over everything in my room. I stand there quiet, not sure what to say or think. My face still burns, but she's done worse and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach that she hasn't even done her worst this time.

  Shelly starts to shake as the anger builds and mounts. She turns her hateful gaze on me and then I know it’s coming, that it's almost over. She raises the beer bottle in her hand.

  "Tell me where you hid it!" she holds the bottle near my head, a clear and present threat.

  I say nothing.

  "Fine," is all she says before she busts the glass across my head.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CLAIRE

  Ryder didn't come to school today. I stared at his empty chair and then I decided to finally tell Mrs. Weathersby.

  "I don't think he's okay," is all I manage to get out. It feels like I'm tattling.

  "What do you mean?" she asks as she pushes her glasses into her hair. She looks so young as concern fills her features.

  "He came over to work on the project Saturday and he kind of left abruptly. I…I wondered if you could tell me where he lives so I could check on him? I've got this…this gut feeling thing and it's usually never wrong," I sputter.

  Mrs. Weathersby pulls her purse out of her desk drawer and fishes car keys out of it. "That's all I needed, Claire. I've been wondering the same thing. I'll just head over there since I've got planning next period. You better get to class so you're not late,"
she offers me a small smile.

  I cross my arms over my chest. "No way. You go, I go."

  Her eyes widen a fraction, and then she smiles a conspiratorial smile. "Legally, I can't tell you where he lives or take you there. But I can't help it if you follow me of your own volition." She gives me a wink as she turns and walks out of the room.

  A smile forms on my own face as I hitch my bag over my shoulder and follow her to the parking lot. One of Lindy's minions yells out at me, "Black Widow! Where's your latest victim?"

  Mrs. Weathersby turns on her heel sharply and shoots the girl a withering look. It works because the girl doesn't even look at me again as she sulks away. My teacher doesn't say a word about it, just continues down the hallway, well aware that I'm on her heels.

  Even as I get in my car and follow her, I feel the sting of those words and pray that Ryder's not a victim. I pray he's okay. Mrs. Weathersby leads us through the nicer section of town and then farther into the outskirts where the poorer people live. We finally reach a trailer park nestled among the pine trees. It’s so run down that it doesn’t even look like anyone lives there anymore. Mrs. Weathersby slows down on the dirt path as she searches for Ryder's home.

  The ill repair of the trailers, most rusted with busted out windows, takes me aback. A couple of them have rebel flags covering their windows. My heart sinks as I think of Ryder out here. He doesn't belong here. We stop at the worst looking trailer of them all. This one is rusted and the bottom is falling apart, the steps leading up to it decrepit and ready to topple over any minute. The blinds are torn in a majority of the slats and there are several windows that are actually broken.