by J. B. McGee
“Do you think I look like a whore like my father said? Are you embarrassed to take me out?”
“Goddamn, Cam. I just said I don’t give a fuck about what people think of me.” I brush my fingers through my hair. “Wear the shoes if you want. But you’re going to be uncomfortable, and you’re going to draw unnecessary attention…and we’re already going to have plenty.” Hell, word spreads fast in this community. People probably already know she’s broken up with Oliver and that we were together being way too comfortable with our close proximity at Rind ‘N Grind.
She nods and walks away. I sigh. Her words from earlier echo in my mind. I can’t do this. I know she says she didn’t mean them the way they came out, and I’m typically a pretty secure guy, but I can’t shake all the doubts that keep going through my head. Damn my father. Damn her father.
“Holden! Wait up,” Cammie says. We’ve not spoken since the day at the pool, and as much as that’s killing me, I can’t let today be the day I break. Turning into the boys’ bathroom, I walk into a stall and slam it shut before sitting on the commode and letting the water slip past my lids. Not because I miss my best friend, the girl I’ve been fantasizing about since I noticed how pretty she is. No. Because for a second, I pretended her voice was Vi’s, and I almost gave in and turned around. And it’s like someone’s stabbing my chest right now.
Violet made it three months after that day in the hospital. I was surprised because the doctor said her condition was grave. She was so sick, I thought when we made those promises to each other it would be my last moment with her. But I got more time, just not enough.
A lifetime wouldn’t have sufficed.
It’s only been a week since our last conversation “I love you, asshole,” she mumbled. I feigned shock the best I could, trying to twist my face in disbelief, but the only thing I could manage was the goofiest grin despite my quivering chin.
“I love you, Vi. I’ll make sure to live up to that nickname.”
“You promise?” she whispered.
I let out a small laugh. “Hell yeah.”
“You better.”
I grabbed her hand, bringing it to my lips. “I will.”
Mom and Dad didn’t even ridicule us for our language. They acted like they weren’t in the room, like they were giving us time, but their sniffs gave that away.
A few minutes later, after we’d all said our goodbyes, she slipped into a sleep she never awoke from. I pictured her like they portray people in the movies. Her dressed in a flowing, white gown with her hair in loose curls blowing in the wind as she looked over herself. She watched as we all said goodbye, and then when she had that peace, she turned her back on us and walked into the blinding light that had been at her back. I wanted to yell for her not to go, that I’d never steal her toothbrush again, and she could take all the damn time she wanted in the bathroom. But I knew it was pointless. Her body was frail. She’d lost so much weight. There was nothing left to sustain her.
A knock on the door jerks me out of my memories. “Holden, I know you’re in there.”
She came into the boys’ bathroom? That’s bold. “You should get out of here before you get in trouble.”
“I don’t care.” She huffs, and I imagine her crossing her arms across her chest. “I’ve been patient. I gave you space while—”
“Don’t say her name. And go away.”
“I know you’re hurting.”
I stand up, fling the lock on the door to the left, unlocking it, and push the door out, hoping she is paying enough attention to not get hit by it. I don’t want to physically hurt her. I know I’ve already done enough damage emotionally to last a lifetime.
She stares daggers into me for a second, her brows point down and it’s like she’s about to say something, but I beat her to it as I step closer to her, pushing her to the wall. I tower over her petite frame. Damn, she’s gorgeous. It just makes the splinters in my broken heart twist and slip deeper. I’m convinced they will eventually slip all the way in, making it impossible to ever remove them. I’ll forever be damaged.
She reaches up and brushes the skin beneath my eye. It’s wet.
I grab her wrist and stop her.
“It’s okay that you’re hurting. It’s normal. Let me be there for you. You don’t have to go through this alone, Holden.”
I eye her up and down, wishing these circumstances were different. But all I hear is her dad in my ear telling me to stay away from her. When he said that, I had no intention of actually listening to him, but then Vi died, and now there’s no place in my heart for anyone. The hole is too gaping big.
She licks her lips. She’s looking at me the same way she did in her bathroom that day when I’d planned to kiss her before the planet seemingly turned upside down. Maybe it’s best we didn’t kiss. I don’t know what I’m missing, and neither does she. For a moment, I do allow myself to envision the alternate scenario where I crash my lips against hers and let our tongues tango, doing the dance of lovers. Does she taste like that strawberry lip gloss she’s always applying? I love strawberries.
“Holden…”
We were never more than just friends. Talk’s cheap, so who cares that I told her I wanted more? When it was time to show it that weekend, I bailed. And that’s what I’m about to do again. Maybe she’ll get the picture this time. Fuck the dance of lovers. Fuck lovers. Fuck every damn thing. That makes me think of Vi and her secret filthy mouth, and I let the words fall from my lips. “Fuck this. You don’t really know anything.” And she doesn’t. I drop her wrist and walk away.
“I’m not going anywhere, Holden. You’re grieving.”
I swear I hear her choking back a sob, and I speed up my pace. Fuck, this hurts. I think that’s my new favorite fucking word. I slap the concrete. Every thought going through my mind leads back to Violet, and it hurts so much.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
I look at the ceiling, shaking my head. We’ll see about that.
Driving home from school, I reflect back on this day, and I wonder if this is how my life is going to be now? Poor Holden. He’s hurting. Let’s fix him.
No matter how hard I tried to focus on something other than Violet, I failed. Failure. That’s me. Because I don’t even care whether I pass. When Mrs. Espino pulled me aside after class to hand me the paper that had a red forty-three on the top, I didn’t even flinch. “I know you’re hurting, Holden,” she said.
“No, actually, I’m peachy.” I stared in the distance, never looking into her wide brown eyes.
“Holden.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat, opened my mouth, but didn’t say anything. I glanced back at her. “Do you need anything else?”
“Would you like to make this up later when you’ve had some time? It’s only been a week.”
Snatching the paper, I shook my head. “Nope.” I flinched a little at the harshness of my tone, but quickly recovered. “I don’t want special treatment.” Because God knows there was plenty of that over the last few months. And I tried to avoid it at every turn. I quit going out, quit hanging out with Brody and Amie because Brody and Amie were always with Cammie, and I couldn’t be around her. I used Violet as my excuse, and it was the truth. I wanted to be with my sister as much as possible while I could. The only voice I wanted to hear was hers, her snarky comments, her calling me an ass, her being a bitch to me in an attempt to lighten the mood because she and I both knew it was all an act. And even though I used to think I couldn’t wait for her to grow up, to quit with her attitude, I suddenly found I never wanted it to end. But here we are. “Is that it? Are we done?”
“I’m just trying to help you, Holden.”
I nodded. “I don’t need your help.” By the end of the sentence my head was shaking instead of nodding. “I’m going to be late to my next class.”
That is how my entire fucking day was spent. Even when I tried to forget about Violet, to get her off my mind, someone was bringing her up. Cammie, M
rs. Espino. It killed me to be an ass to either of them because Mrs. Espino’s my favorite teacher. She’s also in charge of the coding club. I joined because I needed something to focus on. Something that challenged me, but gave me the chance to get my mind off all this shit. Before Violet died, no one tiptoed around me. It was like everyone wanted me to feel normal, to feel loved.
Now, everyone’s trying to fix me. I know I’m broken, but what if I don’t want to be put back together? It’s like everyone wants me to get back to the Holden I was that day at the pool before everything in my life fell apart. People are all about putting time limits on grief. Like, “Oh, it’s been a week. It’s time to start talking to Holden about how he can go back to normal.”
Well, guess what? Holden will never be normal again. So, everyone can just fuck off.
Forever.
Pressing the button for the garage door, the first thing I see is Vi’s car. I wish Mom and Dad would move the damn thing. But since they haven’t, I’ll give them some incentive. Putting my car in park and shutting off the ignition, I stomp to the corner of the garage where all my sports equipment is stored. I grab a bat and swing as hard as I can against the trunk. The relief I expected doesn’t come when the bat dents the metal. So, I hit again. Harder. Still nothing. Godddammit. I swing at the lights. Glass and plastic scatter all around me. I squeeze my eyes closed tightly to avoid losing one of them. Still, there’s no relief. Slinging it against the back window, the glass cracks, but doesn’t fall the way I expected, so I slam into it again. Yes. That’s it. That’s the way my heart feels. It’s like it’s still been intact, but just barely hanging on, just barely staying together. And today when I walked away from Cammie, from Mrs. Espino, when I decided I’m not keeping any of those damn promises I made to Vi except to be an asshole because that’s the only thing that feels good, my heart finished falling apart like this window. All those splinters are finally free, but there’s seriously no way to recover, to mend it. It’s fucking destroyed.
I go to each of the windows and continue to smash them. Each time I let out a yell as I swing as hard as I possibly can. When I get to the windshield, the last one, I feel wetness streaming down my face, but nothing on the outside of my body hurts. If glass cut me, I’m too numb to sense the pain. I slam the metal bat against the last remaining glass on Vi’s car. “Why, Vi? Why?” When the pieces fall from the frame, my knees buckle. I drop down onto the concrete, shards slicing into my skin. The bat drops between my legs, and I hunch over as sobs escape. They get louder and louder, like some monster has possessed my body.
The door swings open from the house, beeping from the security system alerting me. I swallow back any evidence of my despair, but I can’t hide the other evidence of my agony—my anger.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Dad says.
Can’t do what? Holding my breath, I refuse to sniff in an attempt to hide my presence. Snot drips down my nose, and I don’t even bother to wipe it.
“You can’t do this anymore?” Mom asks incredulously. “Can’t do what? Can’t be a father? Can’t be a husband? Can’t what?” She’s screaming so loud, I’m surprised the whole neighborhood can’t hear. It’s totally out of the norm for her to behave in such a way that would alert anyone to our family’s problems. Of course, I was the pre-show. Violet didn’t care what people thought of her, and I am not going to ever give a fuck, either. Mom pushes his chest. “Never mind. Don’t answer. You checked out the moment we got the diagnosis, Eddie. Not that you were ever around much before it came. And that’s the problem.” She swipes the tears falling down her cheek. “You feel so fucking guilty you weren’t around more.”
Whoa. Mom always acts like she’s perfect, clean mouthed. I’ve never ever heard her say a bad word. Huh.
“That you missed all the family dinners, that you weren’t there for the recitals because of business trips. You feel so guilty that you checked out even before the diagnosis.” True. All true.
He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s not fair. You refused to use any of your inheritance for us, for our family. You wanted that to pass down to Holden and Violet.”
He pauses, and I’m wondering how it is that they haven’t noticed I’m here, that the garage is open, that there’s glass everywhere. But this is the story of my life. Always second behind Violet. Even in death. Everyone’s always been caught up in her world, and I’ve been nearly invisible.
“A lot of fucking good that did because Violet’s gone, and you robbed me of the chance to spend time with her because I was always working my ass off to keep up with the Jones or should I say the Spencers? From her medical bills to dance to making sure the kids had designer clothes, a nice house in this godforsaken neighborhood, to driving cars they should have never had as tee—” He glances over his shoulder and his jaw drops. Then, his eyes wander to mine as rage fills his blue irises. He pauses, but I’m one step ahead of him.
I toss the bat aside and make a mad dash for my car. I slide into the driver’s seat, lock the door, and spin out of the driveway. I barely notice the crowd of spectators watching the fall of the Masters family.
Maybe they’ll ask if we want a second chance to redeem ourselves, to not be failures. Because it’s only been a week. But then again, if this is the first week, I can only imagine the hell the second will bring.
Everything in me tries to comprehend what just happened between my parents. They’ve never fought around us. As if my life isn’t enough of a mess, my parents are apparently falling apart. My car seems to take the first right in the neighborhood instead of going straight to the exit. Then, the next left. As much as I swore I wasn’t going to talk to Cammie, that I wasn’t going to allow my heart any more pain, I was completely unprepared for what happened when I got home, and the despair that’s shrouding my body like the darkest cloud is too much. Despite wanting to be alone, I’m naturally drawn to Cammie. She’ll have the right words, because in this mess, she’s the only one who is who I think they are. I’ve never heard my parents fight like they just did. It’s not realistic to think a couple could be married that long and never fight. But they never did it in front of us, their kids. Whatever problems they must have had or have, they’ve always handled them in private. And I assume they thought they were alone despite the garage being open and Violet’s car being totaled, so caught up in their own atmosphere—their own world.
When I approach her house, I ease my foot off the gas pedal. My car slows, but it never stops. I glance at it, then shake my head and gun it to the cul-de-sac, whipping the car around so fast it nearly flips. That actually doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Maybe I’d be killed instantly, this pain consuming me snuffed out and carried away like the wind takes the flame from a match, waiting to set something on fire—waiting to destroy something.
Because that’s what I am, right? Cammie’s father said so much. And I never saw the temper of my father like I did today when he realized what I’d done to Violet’s car. The rage in his eyes. But there was also remorse, like he was devastated I was there. And I’m not sure if it’s because he hates me so much and wishes I wasn’t ever around or if it was because I’d heard them fight, heard about his secrets. Probably the latter.
As I re-approach her house, my foot eases off the gas again, like it’s a programmed move. It’s not like the whole magnet analogy. That’s cliché. I am attracted to her, but this is different. This is like a duty or something. I’m supposed to be near her, to protect her, to care for her. And for the first time in my life, I’m wondering if I’m capable of that because of what her father said to me. And not even that because that was months ago. But because of what I just saw and heard in my own father.
If he can’t take care of my mother, of me, and I’m his offspring, how can I expect to be what Cammie needs?
But what about what I need? “I’ll be here when you’re ready, Holden.” Her words from earlier assault me. I slam on the brakes, my body’s propelled toward the steeri
ng wheel, and I brace it, trying to stop the forward momentum.
When I bring my head up, I stare into the angry, brown eyes of the driver that nearly hit me head-on. What the fuck?
Before I can react in any way, his car door flings open. He’s at my driver’s side in an instant, knocking on the window. His car is parked directly in front of mine, and he’s blocking my ability to go around it with his body. I’m trapped, so I press the button to roll the window down.
“She’s not here. And you shouldn’t be, either,” Mr. Spencer says. “And so help me, Holden, if I have to tell you again to stay away from my daughter, it won’t end well for you.”
I nod, pursing my lips together. “Understood.”
“I thought we had an understanding at the hospital.”
I grip the steering wheel tightly in an effort to avoid reaching through the window and punching the ever-loving shit out of him for bringing that up—for being the fourth or fifth person to mention her today. Cammie, Mrs. Espino, Mom, Dad, and now this fucker. Will every day of my life be spent with people reminding me of this pain that’s splitting me in two? And if everyone else is going to talk about her, to bring her up, I’m going to be frank as hell with them about how I feel.
I scowl at him. “Sorry if I was a little busy being with my dying sister to worry about your fucking threats, ultimatums, and whatever shit you spewed at me that day like the insensitive asshole you are.”
I expect him to reach through my window and grab the lapels of my blue gingham shirt, but he doesn’t. He smirks. The bastard actually smirks. “Did your sister teach you all those nasty words? Do you think you’re going to bait me with profanities, Holden?”
I push my door open, nearly hitting him in the face with the frame. He bounces back. And in an instant, I’m throwing a punch at his rigid jaw. He ducks and grabs my wrist. “And you just proved my point from the hospital. Like a fucking volcano. Get back in your car and get the hell away from my property, Masters. Don’t come back.”