by BL Mute
“He’s gone, Carmen.” I cry.
“I know.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she crawls in beside me and holds me.
“Don’t leave me, please,” I beg as I turn over. I can’t bear being alone, but I don’t tell her that. I’m sure she already knows.
She scoots her body closer to me, pushing her front to my back, and wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Carmen has never been the best with showing emotion, but she always knows exactly what to say or do in situations like this. She’s able to maintain her composure because she picks and chooses what to care about. Most people don’t get this side of her, but I do. A perk of being friends for so long, I guess.
I lace my fingers with hers and pull her hand to my chest. “I love you,” I whisper.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LYDIA
ONE WEEK LATER
“Are you ready?” I turn from the mirror in my bathroom and see Carmen perched on the edge of my bed. For the past week, she hasn’t left my side, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
I blow out a breath and smooth out the front of my black dress. “I guess so.”
She stands, her long dark hair swaying behind her as she walks toward me. Carmen has always been beautiful, any man’s fantasy, but no one has gotten her to settle down yet. All she cares about is money and good dick. I can’t say I blame her. Pretty soon we will both be adults and expected to make a living of our own instead of living off our parents. And the only good lay I’ve ever had was Malcolm… and it just makes me sick to even think about at this point.
It’s been an entire week. Seven full days since I was with him—since my dad died. And the guilt is still thick. As much as I want to relish in those few forbidden moments we shared, I just can’t. I should have been with my dad at the hospital, holding his hand, telling him I love him one last time, but I wasn’t. I was playing pretend—acting normal—telling myself everything would be okay.
I know it isn’t my fault. None of us knew how that day would end. It was supposed to be a noninvasive procedure, so why would I be there? More thoughts I try and tell myself, but what’s the fucking point.
“Everything is going to be okay. We will go say goodbye one last time, then come home and veg out, okay?” she says, breaking the thoughts that have been running in my mind for days.
She moves behind me and lifts the locket off the counter. It’s the last gift my dad got me. He intended to give it to me on graduation day, but he didn’t make it long enough. I think he had an inkling he wouldn’t too, because he bought it months ago and instructed my mom to give it to me early if anything happened. Now, it’s been a permanent fixture around my neck. Something I wear to feel close to him.
I nod to her statement as she clasps it around my neck, then walk out of the bathroom and exit my room. I still haven’t told her about Malcolm, and I don’t think I will. I know she wouldn’t care or judge, but I don’t want to replay it in my head again—for the millionth time—when it’s already a struggle to tell myself to stop thinking about it.
When we make it to the bottom of the steps, my mom is standing by the door waiting. She’s in a simple black dress, not too tight, with sensible black shoes. She looks put together and better than the day everything happened, but I can still see the pain in her eyes.
I know she’s missing my dad, but I think she’s angrier at herself for slipping up, drinking, and probably swearing in private when no one was around. She holds her relationship to God close to her heart. Maybe closer than anything else. So, to know she failed him in a way, all while losing the love of her life, is probably gutting her more than I can comprehend.
No one speaks a word as we step out of the door and slide into the waiting car. The entire drive is silent. Too fucking quiet, and it does nothing but let my mind wander more and more.
In the past seven days, I’ve come to the conclusion I don’t like my thoughts. I don’t like feeling trapped inside my own head with words and memories I can’t escape. The only thing that helps is booze, or weed, and Carmen has been the best at obliging and making the trips to have the older men she keeps on speed dial get it when I want it.
I never used to indulge in things to make me feel better. I was a good kid, and I had a good life. I didn’t need to escape anything. I only went to parties to keep Carmen out of trouble, but now, I need an escape. I need to feel something other than hurt, and drugs give that to me.
Malcolm even gave that to me…
When I was with him, nothing else existed. It was only him and I. A tangle of naughty touches and forbidden kisses.
As we pull through the gates of the cemetery, I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing. Nothing else. Not Malcolm, not my mom starting to sob quietly next to me, and not Carmen rubbing my arm reassuringly.
When the car stops, we all step out and walk to where everyone has already gathered around. White chairs are set up in rows, facing the hole in the ground with fresh dirt piled high next to it. I scan the faces of everyone gathered in the small spot as we make it to the front, not studying anyone for too long. They just kind of melt into a blur. Everyone starts taking their seats as we pass, leaving the first row of five chairs empty.
My mom takes the outside spot, and Carmen sits next to her, so I fall into the third chair. As the pastor from the church stands, motion to my right grabs my attention. Malcolm sits next to me, unbuttoning his suit jacket, and gestures Carter to take the last chair beside him.
I bite my lip hard, trying to keep my mouth shut. I’m here to say goodbye to my dad, and no one will take that from me. Not even Malcolm.
The pastor’s words turn into inaudible mumbles as I zero in on the closed casket he’s standing in front of, trying to keep my mind focused on something other than the pig next to me. The ebony wood shines in the sunlight with its glossy coat and silver handles, and I know I should feel something—anything—but I’m numb.
I glance to my mom to see how she’s taking this and see her eyes closed with her hands folded in front of her. She’s probably praying, asking God for more things he will never deliver on. I shake my head. I’ve run out of tears, so there is no more crying. I’m not sure I even would if I could.
When I face forward again, Malcolm’s hand reaches out and squeezes my knee. To anyone looking on, it would seem innocent. A small show of comfort, but I know it isn’t that. Considering the moments we shared, it can’t be that. It takes everything in me not to scream and push him away. I can’t make a scene right now. And really, is it his fault? I’m the one who approached him. I’m the one who asked for what he gave me. So why am I so mad at him?
Maybe it’s the grief. Being mad at someone other than myself is easier, just like it’s easier to escape through drugs and alcohol.
With that thought, I stand and raise my hand to my mom and Carmen when they try to stand with me. “Stay.”
They look at each other skeptically but luckily don’t question me. I hurry to the back of the cemetery, my heels digging into the soft ground with every step, and hide myself behind a crypt. I give myself a minute to make sure no one is following before I open my purse and pull out the pack of cigarettes; opting for nicotine would be better right now and not give off as strong a stench. The last thing my mother needs right now is to see the apple of her eye killing her lungs. I’d rather keep her image of me pure, even if that’s turning out to be the furthest thing from the truth.
I pluck the last stick from my pack and bring it to my lips, sparking the lighter. The orange flame bobs and weaves before eating the end of the cigarette as I inhale.
“Tough day?”
I jump and throw the cigarette down and stomp it out with my heel. When I turn and look, I see Carter. “Fuck. That was my last one,” I groan.
He doesn’t laugh like I expect. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a new pack. After he opens it, he hands me one. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you. I just wanted to make s
ure you were okay.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh as I take it from him. “Okay? That would be the understatement of the year.”
He steps closer, then sparks his lighter and holds it out to me. I look into his eyes as I lean over and light the cigarette.
“Are you halfway okay though?” he asks.
I blow out a long puff. “No. But I guess I will be.” I shrug.
He nods but doesn’t question anything further.
Drag after drag, I smoke until the cigarette is gone. When I stomp it out, I look back to Carter, who has stood there silently the entire time. “Why are you here, Carter?”
“Mac made me come.”
“So, that’s it? You only came because your dad made you?”
He nods, unbothered.
“Then why are you here?” I spread my arms out, gesturing to where we are standing.
His tongue juts out and licks his bottom lip. “Damn, Lydia. You sure know how to make someone feel wanted. You know what, I guess I don’t know why I’m here.” Something flashes in his eyes. As he starts to back away before turning around completely and walking away. I’m not sure if he took my comment the wrong way, or he really is just a dick, but his answer kind of stings.
Once he’s out of sight, I drag my feet to go back to where everyone is. My dad’s casket is already lowered into the ground by the time I make it back next to Carmen, and honestly, I’m glad. I’m not sure how well I would have been able to maintain the numbness and composure I have if I would have seen him go down.
The pastor finishes his prayer, then motions to my mom. She walks up and grabs a handful of dirt, then tosses it in the hole. I follow her lead and do the same thing. After a few silent beats, everyone starts to break up, some walking to the deep hole and throwing in flowers or dirt, while others disperse amongst the cemetery. I fall back and watch everyone mingle or talk to my mom, not really wanting any part of it.
“Hey, kid,” someone whispers behind me.
Turning, I see my uncle Bill. A welcome face that almost mirrors my late dad. They share the same blue eyes, gray hair, and tall frames.
“Bill?” I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
He frowns. “Couldn’t miss my own brother’s funeral. How are you holding up?”
“I’m decent.”
He nods. “What about your mom?”
Both of our gazes trail to where she stands. Her shoulders shake with silent cries. “As well as she can be, I guess.”
“Well, I’m going to go say hi. My flight back to Pine Hills landed later than I expected, or I would have been here sooner.”
I lace my arm with his. “It’s okay. I’m just happy you’re here.”
It isn’t a lie either. Bill has always been my favorite relative. Every Christmas, he’d show up bearing gifts and funny stories. He’s so much like my dad it almost hurts to think about.
We close the open distance in front of us and stop in front of my mother. “Bill!” she practically shrieks. “I’m so glad you made it.” The small smile she painted on her lips falls. “I’m so sorry.”
Bill leaves my side and wraps his arms around my mom. “Don’t apologize, Claire. It’s not like any of us knew what would happen, and he’s in a better place now.”
She pulls away and wipes her nose with the tissue in her hand. “You’re right.”
“You must be Bill. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure to meet,” Malcolm’s deep voice vibrates from behind me.
I don’t even turn around as Bill does. I stay facing forward, looking at my mom as she watches their interaction. Her eyes leave them for a second and look to me. Her brow furrows, and her lips purse. She steps forward and grabs me by the arm and leads me away from the crowd of people.
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Concern is evident all over her face.
I don’t even know how to answer her, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I just feel I need to get out of here, Mom.”
I don’t tell her how I can’t face Malcolm because of what I did, and I don’t tell her how I’m sad, of course, but not sad enough to stop my life. Sure, my time with Dad was cut short, but I was prepared. I knew it would happen. It helps the sting in my chest a little bit, but I don’t feel I can function here with all the memories. I just want to leave and not look back for a while. Not have to worry about being the perfect daughter.
“Okay, we can leave. Let me grab my things.”
She turns, but I stop her. “No. I mean Bexley Falls. I need to get away from Bexley Falls. Can’t we go stay with Uncle Bill for a while?”
Her features grow softer than before. “Honey, I can’t leave. I have to help run the country club.”
I nod and look down because there is nothing left to say. I knew she wouldn’t want to leave.
“But I can see if maybe he’s open to having you for a while.”
I bring my eyes back to hers. “Really?”
Now she nods. “If you think it will help you heal and bring you some peace, then yes. I’m open to it. I just won’t be able to send you with much cash. Between all the medical bills still left to pay and funeral expenses, we don’t have a lot until your dad’s life insurance clears and I get the funds from the club settled.”
“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t need anything.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Bill when we get home.” She trails off and looks into the distance before moving her eyes back to me. “Are you sure this is what you want, Lydia? I know people make some rash decisions when they’re sad.”
I take in a deep breath, then release it. “I’m shattered, Mom. Completely broken. But I don’t feel I can get better here. The house is…”
I stop trying to think of the right word, but she finishes for me. “Suffocating.”
“Suffocating,” I mimic with a nod.
“Okay. That’s all I need to know.”
I give her a hug and slip away and into the car. Now that the thought is in my mind, all I want is to get out of here. Maybe it could be good—refreshing—to get away from this town and from all the hurt and guilt. And luckily, since I’ve always been a good kid, I think that’s why she’s okay letting me leave.
My mom has always been big on mental health and taking care of yourself too. She doesn’t question coping mechanisms either. I think she knows with Bill I’ll be safe, and I’m sure that’s all she wants.
Hell, it’s all I want now too. Safe from the hurt. Safe from prying eyes watching how I mourn. And safe from Malcolm and my lust for him.
CHAPTER NINE
LYDIA
THREE WEEKS LATER
“Here is the room you’ll be staying in,” Bill says, sweeping his arm in front of him into the empty room. “Now, I don’t have a lot of rules. Just be respectful, clean up after yourself, and don’t bring anyone to my house. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, throwing my duffel bag onto the empty bed.
“Your tutor will be here every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I’ll be working, so it’s up to you to be here and let her in for your lessons.” I nod, and he steps out, closing the door.
I was hoping I could take a few months off from school since I only need a few more credits to graduate, but one of Mom’s stipulations of me coming to stay with Uncle Bill for a few months was that I keep up my schoolwork and leave my car with her. I guess it won’t be too bad. I’ll see my tutor for two hours, three days a week, and then I’m free to do whatever I want. It just sucks I don’t know anyone here, but then again, maybe that’s a good thing.
I look around the basic room as I sit on the small twin-sized bed. I spent two weeks with Mom before I left. And in those two weeks, she’s bounced back. Maybe her mourning started early on too because she seems to be doing fine. She’s gotten into the habit of going by the club every day to check things out and get acquainted with how things run.
And me? I haven’t been back since the day my father died. I can’t. My mo
m thought it would be good to get a job there to learn the importance of money and spending wisely, but I can’t face Malcolm. And I was hell-bent on getting the fuck out of Bexley Falls.
Not only am I disappointed in myself for the shit with Malcolm, but then there is Carter. Why he would wait to express his feelings is beyond me. I can’t help but think it’s some sort of twisted game he’s conjured up in his head, so I’d rather keep my distance.
I pull my phone from the front pocket of my duffel bag and hit Carmen’s number. Within seconds, her face pops up on the screen. “Hey, babe. Did you make it?”
Instead of giving her a reply, I flip the camera and show her the small room. Nothing about it is extraordinary. The wooden floors creak when I step over them, the connected bathroom has the tiniest stand-up shower, and the closet is the size of a broom closet, but I guess I can’t complain. It gets me away from home. A place that doesn’t even feel like a home anymore.
“Ew.” Her nose scrunches as her brows pull together.
I let out a laugh and turn the camera back around. “Shut up. It isn’t terrible, and it’ll only be a few months.”
“Few months? You said a few weeks, Lydia.”
I groan internally. “I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t let me leave.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t. Who the fuck is going to hop frat parties with me now?”
“We’ve never gone to frat parties, Carmen…”
She rolls her eyes. “True, but still. Maybe we should when you get back. These high school boys are fucking stupid… Anyway, don’t you think it’s best to be with your mom right now? She needs you, dude.”
I drop onto the bare mattress. “She’s fine. She has the club, and she’s too preoccupied for me anyway.”
She chews her lip. “I think she’s just mourning in her own way. Maybe throwing herself into the club makes her feel close to your dad.”