***
The speeches were long, mundane, and cliché. Some were downright unnecessary, and I wondered how the hell the speaker had gotten it approved for the ceremony.
When I walked across the stage and accepted my diploma and shook the hand of the principal, the director and the owner of Rosewood Academy, it was as if a weight I had been carrying inside was pushed aside and thrown away. When I was back at my seat and our school song played, we graduating students flipped the tassels on our caps. My hat went into the air, and I could feel all the weight of high school and the last year and a half fall from my shoulders as my hat cascaded to the ground with the thousands of others right next to it.
I was done with high school. I was free.
I ran to find my brother and spotted him immediately. He was wearing a button down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, which showed some of his prominent tattoos. Aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, and his hair was gelled to look perfectly askew. I rushed to hug him, and Everett took a picture of us. Soon enough, people started to take notice of whom I was with. I heard the whispers over the thousands of laughs and conversations taking place. I took one look at my brother and saw he had been crying.
When I made mention of it, he said, “It’s allergy season,” while he dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief.
“All right, saps. Who’s ready for some food?” It was Rian who said this, and he took the sudden increase in attention in stride. It was just like him. Rian was ninety percent ego and ten percent alcohol. Although if you asked him, I believe he would change the variables around a bit. While we were debating about what to get to eat, I saw Rian taking pictures with some girls behind us, and signing their programs while the rest of us did the work.
“I want pizza. LA doesn’t have pizza like we do here,” Grayson said. Grayson, next to Everett and my brother, was probably one of my favorite people. He was engaged to his high school sweetheart, and they had an eight-year-old daughter together. I still remember when she was born, and how after that Ben was determined to scare me out of ever having sex. Unfortunately, his tactics never worked on me.
“Let’s get out of here. I want to spend some time with my favorite sissa,” Ben said, wrapping an arm around me. I beamed with pride when he called me his sissa. It was his thing, his really, really odd and silly thing to call me.
Most of the graduating students were on their phones, and others were taking pictures with their friends. I spotted Crosley talking with Frank and a few other guys, and I caught his gaze. I waved goodbye to him. This would be the last time I saw him, and for that I was glad. High school was behind me now, and I wanted to forget about the last four years as quickly as I could. I wanted to start my life somewhere else. In that moment, though, I had to spend time with my brother. High school came and it went, as did the people you met while you were there. With Ben, I knew he would never leave my side now that we were together again. The further we walked away from the crowd of people, the closer he hugged me to him. He missed me just as I had missed him, and I was sure he never wanted to go this long without seeing me again.
***
We ate at a small pizza pub in Times Square, and every five minutes, I was getting notifications on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook. The embrace between Ben and me had instigated a whole new level of excitement among the graduates as well as the guests. It had been hard to leave once they recognized him along with the rest of the band, and I knew I wouldn’t be much of a secret by morning. The whole confidentiality thing was complicated. Ben never hid the fact that he had a sister—though, the subject never came up often, nor did he choose to talk about it candidly. When he did, it was only of how close he was to me, and how he wanted nothing more than the world for me.
When the band was starting to get a lot of hype, he and the record label he was signed under drew up a confidentiality contract. No one was to mention that I was his sister. It wasn’t really that difficult to hide. Most people wouldn’t guess that I was his sibling, considering how much we differed in appearances. His chestnut hair, coffee bean eyes, and the tone of his light skin differed greatly from my raven-haired, green-eyed and porcelain-don’t-even-think-about-tanning skin. I really didn’t look like anyone that I’ve ever known in our family. Then again, I had very little family that was still living to compare myself to. Ben hated not being able to speak openly about me. It wasn’t to protect himself, though; it was to protect me and my mother. No one really knew the state of our mother’s health, and they didn’t know much of me at all. Ben was determined to let me finish school without cameras flashing in my face and people asking me questions about the band 24/7. It was going great until tonight, since everyone now saw that I was the sister he so fondly spoke about on occasion.
The pizza pub wasn’t really crowded, and so we were able to eat and talk in peace. Ben said that now everyone had figured out our relation, he was going to have to call his record label’s legal sector and talk about a new agreement.
I put my hand on his arm, and smiled at him. “Don’t bother.” He looked at me with a quizzical glance, and I shrugged. “Everyone is going to know by morning. They’ll be asking who I am if they don’t already know, and if they don’t know, someone is bound to tell them. Ben, I’m eighteen. I think it’s time people know who I am.”
The boys all agreed with me—though, they didn’t want to say anything in front of Ben.
As we all filed into the apartment that night, they told me exactly what they thought in the tiniest of whispers.
When we got home, Mother was gone. Ben didn’t worry as much as I did—although, this gave me the grand opportunity to pack for the first leg of his tour he had invited me to accompany him on.
Ben gave me a luggage set as a graduation gift and for the tour. Kind of like a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone gift. It was nice, and it even came with a weekender bag, something I had always wanted when I would spend weekends at Mackynsie’s house. Music played in the background as I packed. Ben stood in the doorway to my room, examining it without comment. I wasn’t the only thing that had changed since he left; my room had too. Ben would often send me allowances, and I eventually saved enough so I could redo my room. It used to look like a fifth grader lived in it instead of the freshman in high school I had been at the time.
Mackynsie had complained about how silly my room looked and how she had been determined to help me redecorate it. So off we’d gone during the weekend before our first year in high school to buy me a new room. The bed frame was a classic Victorian styled brass rod head and footboard. It was the only thing that stayed in my room after Mackynsie’s makeover. The bedding changed from my brother’s ratty old quilt to a bohemian styled comforter. It had jewel tones and bright, contrasting patterns and prints. My bed was constantly covered with decorative throw pillows and shabby chic blankets. It was a lot busier than an old, ratty quilt. The walls were no longer bare; they now had bookshelves that reached from the floor to the ceiling, filled with journals, photo books, and novels I had acquired over the years. There was also a small writing desk and an old computer that was about ready to die out on me. I had pictures hung on the walls, some of which I had taken myself, others stock photos I had bought in a store. The paintings I had made myself.
Ben appeared to be thinking really hard, and while I was refolding a t-shirt that seemed a little too ratty to come on the road with me, I tried to think of what questions to ask him. I suppose my silence and his curiosity had led him to go looking through my room, which resulted in him finding the Dartmouth shirt in the corner of my bed.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking it up and nearly squealing like a girl when he saw the imprinted name across the front.
“Dartmouth? That’s the school you’re making me pay for? Damn! Frances, I knew you were near genius status, but wow.”
It took me by surprise when he called me Frances. He always did simply because it was my first name. I preferred going by a shortened version of my middle name, Beatrice, hence why e
veryone called me Bea. Ben always called me Frances, unless I was in trouble or he wanted my attention.
I shook my head and promptly took the shirt from him and packed it away. “Shut up, Ben. It’s no big deal.”
“‘No big deal’? Bea, you’re the first in the family to go to college. You’re the one who is going to change things for this family.”
Folding another shirt and fitting it into the suitcase, I looked to my brother in annoyance. “You changed things for this family, Ben. I’m changing things for me.”
He was ready to argue, and in that moment, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to argue with him. We had never argued, and yet he was so ready to start a fight with me. Then we heard the sound of something breaking in the distance and Grayson’s voice yelling something about alcohol. Everett came in without warning, and I could smell the scent of vodka coming from the living area.
“Rian is on a bender again,” he announced, which was enough to send Ben out of the room, completely forgetting about the argument we were about have.
Now Everett and I were alone, and I looked at him with my contact-covered eyes and a cheap lipstick smile.
“You look really pretty tonight,” he told me, moving closer with every word.
“Thanks.”
Then he was right in front of me, staring into my eyes. That’s when he noticed the difference. They were violet instead of their normal green.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Contacts,” I admitted.
“Take them out—you don’t need them.”
I shook my head. “I like them, don’t you?”
Everett cupped my face, and his other hand wrapped around my waist. “I like the real you. You don’t need violet contacts to be pretty to me.”
His lips brushed against mine. It was as if I was in my own little world, and for a moment, I really was. Then I heard the wind chimes. Turning to look toward my window, I saw I had left it open—and that there was a dark, hooded figure ready to flee. I rushed to the window in a moment of panic, by the time I got the front half of my body out to see the culprit, he was gone. I went back to Everett, and he wrapped his arms around my neck.
“What do you think he wanted?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” I looked toward the window again and separated myself from Everett so I could shut it, lock it, and close the curtains.
“We need to be careful,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around myself in a feeble attempt to comfort myself.
“We are being careful. And technically speaking, there’s no reason to hide anymore.”
“Whatever you say. I don’t want to be in the tabloids in the morning, though. I’m still—”
“I know.” Sighing, we both thought to ourselves, I’m still a secret.
After the sighting at the graduation, I knew that everyone would have figured out mine and Ben’s connection by now. It was bound to be all over Twitter and most likely TMZ. I had been a secret kept under wraps for a very good reason—and now that I had been caught locking lips with a band member, well, things wouldn’t go over so well for either of us. I didn’t want any more trouble, so I decided to kick Everett out of my room. It was the best for the both of us, given our history whenever we were alone.
“You should get some sleep,” I said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
He agreed, and I could tell he was resisting the urge to kiss me goodnight, and then he left, shutting my door behind him. I wanted him to kiss me goodnight, yet I wanted nothing more than to stay a secret even if only for another day.
While I was getting ready for bed, my phone buzzed. A text message from an anonymous number:
Anonymous: Be careful, little B.
Underneath the caption was a photo—one of Everett and me obviously kissing, his hand on my backside. I hadn’t even noticed how low his hand had gotten—though in the picture, it was obvious we were hot for one another. Now I had to think: why did I need to be careful, and who was sending me this anonymous warning?
Anonymous: Goodnight, B.
“Yeah, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite,” I muttered, shutting off my phone for the night. By this time tomorrow, I’d be in a different city in a different state, and I could only hope that everything that was bothering me would leave when I left state lines.
One could only hope.
CHAPTER TWO
The clock on my nightstand indicated it was 3AM. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all. It wasn’t the noise outside my window, nor was it the aching thought of my missing mother that was lingering inside my head that kept me awake. Instead it was the text message and the photo evidence of Everett and me kissing that accompanied it. The words kept replaying over and over in my head. I had deleted the messages around midnight—though somehow, the words continued to echo in my head.
I sat up, aching to feel something other than what I was feeling then. I had always fought against the instinctual urge to become my mother, and tonight I was done fighting it. I knew what I wanted, and I knew where to get it. I crept quietly into the kitchen, and the only sound that filled the darkness of the box-sized apartment was the soft humming of four boys sleeping in the living room.
Ben was splayed across the couch, Rian and Everett were curled up on the love seat, and Grayson had bravely taken the floor. I tiptoed quietly went to the place where the very thing I wanted was hidden.
In the upper right cabinet, down in the very back, there was a bottle of liquor my mother drank on rare occasions. All her other liquors were in the front—although, the one in the back was by far the strongest. I needed the strength.
I thought back to the first time I saw mother drink. I was eight years old, and Ben was sixteen. He had his first girlfriend, and our mother had caught them in the throes of teenage passion. Now that I think of it, that situation had triggered her to drink in the first place. She had opened a bottle of wine that she had been saving for Christmas dinner, and I had watched her drink the entire thing.
“Frances, never do this to yourself,” she had said to me the next morning. “What have I told you about drinking?”
It seemed like she was saying it to me right then. There she was in her white nightdress, her hair a matted mess.
“Mom?” I whispered, and she shook her head. She placed her hands around mine, as if she was trying to grab the bottle (which I brought closer to me), and she giggled in this deranged way that often made me fear for her sanity. She looked at me with wild, bloodshot eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing with that, little girl?” she asked, tightening her grip on my hands.
“I’m gonna do what you always do.” I opened the twist top cap and held the bottle by the neck.
“You’re far too young—it’ll kill you,” she said, sounding concerned. Her grip tightened further.
“If it’ll kill me, then why aren’t you dead yet?”
She ignited with a burning rage when I said this, which led to her yelling, shaking me vigorously.
“You. Will. Not. Speak. To. Me. That. Way!”
I dropped the bottle, which shattered, and everything was happening at accelerating speeds. The lights suddenly were on, and Ben was trying to hold back my mother, who had already slapped me. I barely felt a thing. Everett was guarding me from my mother, and when my mother grabbed a piece of the broken bottle and held it against her pale wrist, Grayson was on the phone with the EMT at once.
I don’t know how he did it, but Ben calmed her down to nothing but chest-heaving sobs. When the EMTs arrived, one of them examined my face while the others tended to my mother. My injuries were nothing a little ice couldn’t fix. My mother, on the other hand, was in worse shape than I could imagine.
“Ma’am, do you know where you are?”
My mother looked around frantically, shaking her head like a frightened child.
“Do you know who these people are?”
She looked to Everett, Grayson, and Rian and shook her head. S
he looked at me with a blank expression, shaking her head again. She then looked at my brother, caressed his face and said, “This is my husband.”
I tried to hide my tears while Ben had to explain that this wasn’t true.
“Mom, I’m…I’m your son. I’m your son, Benjamin.” After my mother had been properly sedated, she was put on a gurney, and then they wrapped her up in a blanket for a one-way ride to Bellevue.
“Will someone stay with Bea?” Ben asked, putting on his coat.
“I’m coming with you,” I stated. He looked at me once, and that was all it took for him to realize that, as much as he hated it, I needed to be there too. Despite him trying to avoid the truth, the truth was that I knew more about mother’s drinking than he did now. He had been gone for six years, and it had been a long while since I was shielded from our mother’s deadly vices.
“Fine, grab a coat and some shoes.”
***
My first taste of hospital coffee wasn’t my preferred chai latte, but it was strong, and I needed that. I kept thinking of Mackynsie, the text messages, and even my mother. Why was her memory so bad? Why was she so violent? Even though this was something she did often, it still didn’t make sense.
I wanted to curl up into a ball so I could disappear. Ben tried to comfort me—although, nothing really could. I was numb inside, and there was no hope left to make me feel whole again.
After what could have easily been hours, a young doctor approached us with a clipboard in his hands.
“Are you here for Jacqueline Morrison?” he asked.
Ben nodded and stood up.
“I believe your mother, Jacqueline, has developed a form of dementia. I need to ask a few questions before I go any further with her treatment.”
Ben looked to me then to the doctor. “Go ahead, Doc.” He shifted his stance as if preparing for something that would hurt. I tried to pretend that the tar black coffee I was sipping was really a mocha latte from some place other than a hospital.
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