The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

  We’re only two minutes late when we wander back inside together with flushed skin and wrinkled clothes, our hair in utter disarray.

  Amelia snorts, causing Ms. Katherine to pause mid-sentence, her own cheeks staining rosy red as she looks our way.

  Because she knows we fucked. Everyone in this room knows we fucked.

  A drowsy smile stretches across my face as we make our way over to our respective chairs, Melody trying desperately to hide behind her curtain of blonde locks. Amelia spares me a humored, knowing glance as I settle into my seat with a hard exhale. I meet her eyes. They almost look violet, just like the streaks in her hair. “What?”

  I’m expecting teasing or ridicule, maybe even some sage wisdom that borders on creepy. But Amelia just smiles back at me, and there’s a softness there, something almost whimsical. “I’m really happy for you, Parker.”

  A frown creases my brows, but not my usual menacing scowl. I guess I’m a little surprised by the sentiment. “Why?”

  “Because you found a way out.”

  “A way out?”

  “Of the hole.”

  I blink. Our voices are hushed, so only we can hear each other. Ms. Katherine presses on about one of her favorite quotes, something about having two lives, but it sounds dumb, so I drown her out and keep my attention on Amelia. A fresh cut peeks out through the hem of her dark sleeve, and for the very first time, I’m not filled with derisiveness. A pang of empathy shoots through me instead, and I wonder why that is.

  Swallowing, I nod at the new carving. “Adding to your story collection?”

  A smile beams to life. “You remembered.”

  “About you calling yourself a storyteller because you like to give yourself morbid tattoos? Yeah. Kind of hard to forget.”

  “It’s nice when your words stick with people. It feels good to be heard,” she says quietly. “To be seen.”

  My frown deepens. “Is that why you do that shit? To be seen?”

  Amelia tucks her limp black hair behind one ear, showcasing her stretched earlobe and multiple piercings. “I guess so. But once you’re really seen, you can never been un-seen… you know?”

  “Not really.”

  “Once you leave your mark on people, that’s it. You’re carved into them, permanently engraved. You become a part of their story. And that’s a little intimidating.”

  Melody catches my eye beside Amelia, our gazes locking for a striking moment. Her warm, sunny smile entices my own, and I realize we’re just sitting there, smiling stupidly at each other from a few feet away.

  When I bring my eyes back to Amelia, her own smile greets me, and she says, “I’m glad you got your happy ending.”

  A deep-rooted part of me wants to say something scathing, to repel her kind words with barbs and steel. But I don’t because a bigger part of me doesn’t want to do that at all. A bigger part of me feels like a total jackass for adding to her heavy weights and despair with my snide remarks and apathy. My teeth gnash together as I duck my chin to my chest. “I, uh… I’m sorry for being a dick to you. I know that doesn’t mean much, and I’m not really good at this nice-guy shit, but for what it’s worth…” I lift my eyes, straining my jaw. “For what it’s worth, you’re actually kind of cool, and I know you’ll have a lot of stories to tell someday. Good stories—not the bloody kind.”

  “I like the bloody kind.” Her grin broadens, a metal retainer and silver lip ring gleaming back at me. “But thank you for that. I won’t forget it.”

  I send her a curt nod, feeling mildly uncomfortable with my foray into sensitivity. But it also feels sort of… good.

  Ms. Katherine interrupts our weird bonding moment, turning her attention to Amelia while she clings to her leather-bound journal. A soft expression decorates her made-up face, and she bobs her head with encouragement. “Why don’t you finish off the starting points for today, Amelia.”

  Amelia twists the hem of her dark lace dress, sending me a final smile of gratitude before facing Ms. Katherine. She breathes out a contented sigh. “My hamster, Nutmeg.”

  —TWENTY-SEVEN—

  “My hamster, Nutmeg.”

  The room fills with Amelia’s willowy voice, her familiar response causing a smile to tip on my mouth. She really loves that hamster.

  Parker’s vulnerable words to the troubled teen gallop through my mind as I straighten in the plastic chair, my head shifting left to peek a glance at him. His expression mirrors his stance, a little rigid and contemplative, lost in thought. Pensive. He’d apologized to Amelia only moments ago, releasing his burden of casual disregard to the girl with a beautiful old soul and ugly stories on her skin. My heart warmed.

  Parker is changing, evolving before my eyes, and the hardened man I’d been drawn to for reasons unexplained is slowly cracking, his shell disintegrating little by little. I spent a lot of time studying him, trying to learn him, taking notes—he carried his pain so well, and I was desperate to know his secrets.

  But his pain was never tempered.

  It was buried.

  He was a master at hiding, camouflaging in the dark, and if I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that there is no healing in the shadows. Parker’s graveyard of broken bones is breaching the surface, coming up for air, while golden shafts of sunlight rupture through the soil.

  He called me a revolution that night in my rain-soaked backyard beneath angry clouds and black skies, and I’d been offended at the time. It sounded like an insult—anarchy, riots, disorder.

  But maybe he didn’t mean it like that at all.

  Maybe I’m… reform.

  Maybe I’m those glimmering sunbeams, eager to reach beyond the dirt and warm the cold, hollow remains underneath.

  His confession slices through me as I study him. His past. His horrible, horrible past. Parker gave me a gift on his couch one week ago, and it was more than just his first kiss. It was more than his body molding into me, moving with me in perfect time, as his palms cradled my face like I was truly special to him.

  He gave me his trust.

  And as I watch him from my perch in the red chair with Ms. Katherine’s voice posing as a comforting score to my musings, I know that I’m falling for him, too.

  Parker finally feels the heat of my stare, lifting his chin and meeting my thoughtful gaze from around Amelia. They blaze into mine, flickering green, and visions of my backseat grip me in a hot hold.

  My thighs clench.

  I wonder if he knows what I’m thinking about because his lips turn up, another smile surfacing. It’s a smile that evaded me for months, one I craved to witness, to experience for myself, and now it’s mine. It’s just another offering of trust he’s given to me.

  I promise to keep that smile safe.

  Smiling back, I duck my head, trying not to be ambushed by images of working Parker to oblivion with my mouth while I’m sitting in the middle of a suicide prevention meeting.

  The class ends a short while later with Ms. Katherine issuing us her parting words. I’m not exactly sure where to go from here, considering the only time Parker and I really see each other is at these meetings. His communication leaves a little to be desired, and I understand why now, but there is already a part of me that’s yearning for more—a part that’s desperate to run with the connection we’ve been building, to keep it blooming and growing.

  I want to water it, so it never wilts.

  Knowing that will likely take initiative on my end, I rise from my chair, only to be hindered by Amelia.

  She stands with me, tucking an inky tress of hair behind her ear. “What do you think is in there?” Amelia nods over to Ms. Katherine, who is flipping through her journal pages. “Do you think it’s a secret diary?”

  The curiosity grips me. “I’m not sure. I figured it was probably class notes. Ideas for the meetings. Projects or homework assignments.”

  “Maybe.” Her dark eyes narrow thoughtfully before she blinks back over to me. “I’m going to make a coffee for the
road. Come on.”

  My eyes move over her shoulder to Parker. He still remains seated, watching our interactions with his legs outstretched. He nods his head, just slightly, a fleeting gesture to reassure me that he’ll wait.

  I follow Amelia over to the table with coffee and snacks, clearing my throat. “I like your dress,” I tell her, making conversation. I do like it. It’s long and lacy, black as per usual. Kind of witchy. “Where did you get it?”

  “I made it,” she perks up. Amelia’s obsidian eyes glide over to me when we reach the table, glowing with a purple hue beneath the recessed lighting. “I like your dress, too. It matches your personality.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s sunny and warm. Inviting. Beautiful.”

  A smile blooms with gratitude.

  Amelia flicks her finger at my mouth, her nose crinkling. “Just like your smile. I used to think it was too cold for you here… in this sterile space with all these ghosts.” She returns her attention to the coffee selections, fiddling with the flavors. “I was afraid we’d haunt you. Scare you away. But you stayed, and you’re exactly what we needed.”

  I watch as she twists around in place, her gaze darting to Parker before landing back on me. Swallowing, I wonder, “And what’s that?”

  “Sunshine, of course. You make these eternal winters so much more bearable.”

  My heart soars with affection. Amelia sends a crooked smile my way, then pops her vanilla coffee into the Keurig and turns on the machine. I observe her thin frame, collarbones protruding through the sheer fabric, while a spattering of jagged scars poke out beneath her three-quarter length sleeves. She wears her pain with pride, and it’s a peculiar thing. This young woman is far too young to be so riddled with trauma and terrible stains. I swallow. “You have a beautiful heart, you know.”

  A chuckle greets me, almost self-deprecating. “That’s sweet of you to say, but my heart is all wrong.”

  “What?” My brows pinch together with alarm. “Why do you think that?”

  “My mother told me. She said she wished for a princess daughter with fairy wings and a heart made of sugar and spice, but she got me instead. A shadow. A funeral.” Amelia lifts dark-tipped fingers to her breastbone, inching down the low-hanging collar of her dress. “I got this tattoo when I turned eighteen.”

  With eyes glistening with unshed tears, I dip my gaze to her chest, pale and skeletal. A broken heart tattoo stares back at me, placed right above her own perfect heart. My head sways side to side with disbelief. “No… your mother didn’t mean that, and if she did, she’s sick. She’s unworthy of a daughter like you.”

  “You’re sweet, Melody. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay,” I insist, fingers curling at my sides. “Nobody’s heart is wrong. We’re given the heart that is meant for us, and if someone else doesn’t see the beauty in it, it’s not meant for them.”

  Something flashes in her eyes, something brief yet poignant. It’s like she’s drinking in my words and soaking them up, absorbing their truth. But then it flickers, fades away, replaced by something else. Defeat, maybe.

  I’m angry in that moment. Violently angry. I’m furious at every unfit woman in the world who claims the title of “mother” when they are anything but. They are not a guidance or warmth or nurturing hug. They’re a disease. They infect vulnerable, innocent children, poisoning them with untruths and cruel delusions, branding them with scars they will carry forever.

  Parker’s mother.

  Amelia’s mother.

  Even Charlie’s mother, with her wicked words and sharp tongue, after she had once told me that I was like a daughter to her.

  I’m angry in that moment, I’m so angry at mothers like that, but I’m also grateful.

  I’m immensely grateful for mine.

  Amelia reaches out her hand, giving my upper arm a gentle squeeze as her coffee dings with readiness. “I’m really glad to know you, Melody.”

  A tear slips out just as Parker saunters up to our twosome, his attention shared between the both of us. “You okay?”

  I’m not sure which one of us he’s asking, but I respond with a tight nod.

  “I’ll leave you two alone now,” Amelia says, securing the plastic lid on her Styrofoam cup, her violet gaze assessing us, a slim trace of joy sparkling through the sadness. “Have a nice evening.”

  Parker clears a hitch in his throat, scuffing his shoe along the linoleum. “See you next week, Amelia.”

  His words seem to halt her retreat, and she falters, neck craning to spare him a final glance. “You said my name,” she responds through a grin. “Instead of Emo Chick.”

  “Oh, uh…” Parker stuffs his hands into his pockets, shuffling in place. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Thank you.”

  Amelia shares her smile with me, and then she’s gone, pushing through the double doors with her veil of midnight hair trailing behind her.

  Turning to Parker, I nibble my lip, swiping away the fallen tear. He’s glowering at the doors that fall shut, but his expression is wrinkled with confusion as opposed to hostility. I take his hand in mine, and he flinches at the contact, his instinct to pull back—but he doesn’t. He allows me to interlace our fingers together as his gaze trails back to me. I smile up at him, then lead him out those same doors Amelia just disappeared through.

  We traipse through the parking lot, hand-in-hand, and it’s such a simple thing, holding the hand of someone you care about. But with Parker, it feels like a big thing. I catch him glancing down at our interlocked palms every now and then as the hot summer air coasts along our faces, and when we reach my car, I’m reluctant to let go.

  Turning to face him, I maintain our hold. “Do you want to go do something? Maybe grab dinner?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yes… you know, so we can talk. Spend time together.”

  Parker blinks at me, the glow of the burgundy horizon reflecting in his green orbs. “Like a date?”

  My smile is instant, just like the colony of butterflies that awaken in my belly, their wings dancing and dizzy. I nod up at him. “Sure. A date.”

  “Oh…” His unoccupied hand snakes back to scratch at the nape of his neck, his eyes darting around the parking lot, as if he might find his answer there. When they float back to me, it appears he did. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Really?”

  “I don’t see why not. I worked up a bit of an appetite earlier.”

  His subsequent wink might as well be an arrow to my heart. My balance teeters. “Is that so?”

  “Yeah.”

  Parker releases my hand, raising both palms to cup my face, gently pushing me back against the trunk of my car. Jade eyes swallow me up, leaving just enough for his lips to taste. Our mouths lock beneath a painted sky, my heart thundering in my chest, stunned by his unexpected kiss. And when his tongue dips out to flick along my bottom lip, a request for entry, I oblige with my own starved tongue, and we lose ourselves for a few blissful seconds.

  Pulling back with a low groan, Parker dusts his thumb along my cheekbone. “Maybe after dinner we can go back to your place. I seem to be insatiable lately.”

  My insides clench with anticipation. I drift away for a moment, fantasizing about a future that feels within reach. A fresh start.

  A new man.

  The concept is both compelling and… difficult.

  I never truly believed there was any hope left after Charlie. The prospect of a new relationship, a different man in my bed, was harrowing, and it drenched me in guilt. Even now, a touch of doubt pinches at me, trying to sneak inside my healing heart.

  But this feels right.

  I don’t know why—I don’t know why I’m so drawn to this mysterious man with towers of baggage and high walls, but I’m determined to break through each and every barrier.

  One smile at a time.

  A grin pulls at my cheeks, and I lift up on my tiptoes, breathing my reply against his parted lips before I lean in for another kiss.
“Sounds perfect.”

  We officially had our first date.

  I feel giddy, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Parker trails behind me in his pick-up truck as we make the respective drive over to my house from the Mexican restaurant, and the smile hasn’t left my face since we shared an order of flan and a parting kiss.

  Parker likes flan.

  He also likes burritos.

  And spicy salsa.

  Honestly, I think he just likes food.

  Memories of the last hour embrace me with warmth as I pull up to the red light right before my subdivision. We didn’t do a lot of talking, but that didn’t bother me, and our gaps of silence were more reflective than awkward. Parker felt notably out of place, unsure of how to act or what to say, but the fact that he tried—that he agreed to the date, to spend time with me, was enough.

  I asked him about his sister. Her name is Bree, and apparently, she’s a robot. She works long hours in the medical field, yet she still finds time to help Parker with his construction business. She’s always going out of her way to help people, especially him, and it tickles my heart to know that he’s had someone in his corner throughout his life.

  I can’t wait to meet her.

  The light turns green, and I glance at his headlights behind me, reflected in my rearview mirror. I’m swept up in a swarm of flighty nerves as my mind wanders to the future events of the evening. Should I take him into my bed or use the guestroom? I’m not sure how I feel about bringing Parker into the bed I shared with Charlie.

  Maybe I should get a new bed.

  I’m in auto-pilot mode as I make my way down the familiar street that leads to my house, approaching the driveway. Parker follows a car-length behind, pulling in and parking beside me when we reach our destination.

  Heaving in a calming breath, I yank the keys from the ignition, swipe my purse, then exit the vehicle as the dusky evening air wafts around me, sending a tingle of excitement up my spine.

  I hear Parker’s truck door slam behind me as I turn to face my house, and that’s when I freeze. The humidity manifests into a bone-chilling draft, casing my skin in goosebumps and causing my legs to tremble.