Used

by Kate Dunbar

  “No worries. I know where to find you.” He steps off the stairs. “See you later, Songbird.” Lucas throws a wave my direction, then turns and walks away to the parking lot. The darkness seems to swallow him whole, where he belongs.

  My knees weaken and shake harder when I turn to look at Trevor. He follows my brother walking away with a frown, and then he turns his head to peer at me. “A brother, huh?” The blood drains out of my face. “Sabra, are you okay?”

  I climb up a couple of stairs, taking two steps to distance myself from him, and throw my hands up. “I’m fine.” One more step. “I’m perfect. Thank you for checking on me.” I wave at him, forcing a weak smile to cross my face. My door is above me, a beacon calling me to safety and solitude. I turn and walk to it, trying not to run or look petrified. “Have a good night, Trevor.”

  It feels more like a final goodbye than it does a good night. More final than it did in the car. As if one chapter of my life—the one I most want to stay open—has concluded. The happily-ever-after fairy tale is disappearing, and the nightmare has returned. The part of the story I never wanted to revisit again is here. I’m living the dark moment.

  I unlock my door with shaking hands and slip inside, taking extra care to bolt the two different locks I added and turning the lock on the handle. Lucas’s parting words echo over and over in my head.

  See you later, Songbird.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen Trevor. Fourteen days since that horrific night on my stairs. He’s called a couple of times, but I’ve avoided him. I can’t avoid the texts he’s sent my way to “check in” and see how I’m doing, but I’ve kept it light and impersonal in return.

  The last thing I want to do is answer questions about my brother and explain that relationship to Trevor. I don’t want him to look at me differently or watch the pity fill his eyes when he hears how bad it was—is sure to be again if Lucas has his way—so I keep it easy and make it seem like there’s no reason I didn’t mention having a brother to him. No reason except the hate and loathing I feel deep in my bones.

  And so far, I’ve avoided anything to do with Lucas. I haven’t seen a hint of him roaming around my place. There’s been no unexpected visits, texts, notes, or phone calls. Unless you count my mother.

  Rebecca Valentine has been calling and texting me nonstop to come by the house and “see your brother.” She even emailed me once. She doesn’t understand. She’s never seen it. Both of my parents had, and have, no idea of the kind of pain Lucas brings to my life. To them, it’s just a normal dose of sibling rivalry, fighting, whatever.

  I’ve avoided her calls and all invitations to dinner, lunch, brunch, and anything in between by saying school has kept me too busy since starting back.

  I never thought I’d be thrilled to proclaim that my day-to-day activities are keeping me from having a social life. Getting my master’s degree, acting classes, assignments, bartending at the lodge, and auditions all help me avoid the realities of the rest of my life. I thankfully fall into a blissful sleep every night out of exhaustion. Who knew I’d ever love going to work and school?

  I reach for my phone when it buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans, expecting it to be more of the same—my mother. I’m pleasantly surprised when I find Micah’s name flashing on the screen.

  “What’s up, bitch?”

  “Bitch? Is that any way to speak to your best friend who has fresh, straight-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies for you? You should be nicer.” She laughs. “What are you doing? I’m headed to your apartment.” Micah’s voice has the lilt of someone filled with joy. Someone thankful to be alive, which she is, given her past. Micah has seen and lived through more than one person ever should and come out on the other side. Knowing her gives me hope.

  “I’m not home. I have to finish this assignment from my acting coach because I need it for my next session. Tomorrow.” I sigh into my phone. “I can’t concentrate in my apartment. It’s too quiet, so I’m headed to the library.”

  Micah huffs into her phone. “The library?” Shock colors her voice. “Are you sick? What’s going on? Wait, do you even know where the library is?” Micah laughs loudly.

  Her question is a valid one. I try to avoid libraries and any real studying, at all costs, unless it’s studying for a show. It’s been that way for as long as she’s known me. Even when we were roommates, I would find any reason I could not to do homework.

  “I told you, my house was too quiet. And yes, I’ve been to the library before, Micah.”

  She laughs harder, and I pull the phone away from my ear, rolling my eyes even though she can’t see me.

  “But have you ever been to the library for more than making out in the stacks?”

  “I’m hanging up now …”

  “No, wait,” she yells into her phone. “Seriously, you’re at the library?” The disbelief in her tone makes me smile.

  “Yes, I’m seriously at the library. I’m walking up to the doors right now.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you there. I have things I want to talk to you about. And I need to plan for the recital coming up. I can do that at the library while you work. Do not ask me why I said yes to directing this show. Every kid taking part refuses to practice outside class.” She pauses to take a breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  Does she know something? Did Lucas …?

  “I saw Trevor today.” Micah interrupts my thoughts. “He said he hasn’t talked to you in weeks.” I open my mouth to tell her I’m fine again and exactly what I think about her talking to Trevor about me, but she rushes on. “Look, I know something happened. And I know you haven’t been ready to discuss it, but I’m still your best friend, Sabra. And I’m here for you. For anything you need, whenever you need it.”

  I can’t decide if I want to hug her or strangle her. “Micah, I’m not ready to discuss anything. But you’ll be the first to know if and when I am, okay?”

  There’s a long silence at the end of the other line before Micah whispers, “Okay. I get it.”

  “You know what I am ready for?” I listen to one more beat of silence before she finally answers.

  “What?”

  “Those cookies. Are you on your way here or what?”

  “I’m already in the car headed your direction.”

  “Good. Don’t eat my damn cookies on the way.” Micah laughs again on the other end of the line, and I feel the tension between us lift.

  “I made the damn cookies, so I’ll eat all the cookies I want.” She snorts. My Micah—the easygoing, roll with the punches friend—is back, letting my aloofness and weirdness slide off her shoulders. “See you in a bit,” she sings into the phone. The melody rings in my ears as she hangs up on me before I can reply.

  As I walk into the library, I realize Micah is right. I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing. Where does someone go to work on an assignment when they don’t have to look up anything in a book? Or research the life of Edgar Allan Poe as I had to do my freshman year for Literature 101? Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure this is only the third or fourth time in five or so years that I’ve been in this library for a real reason. That’s just sad. And how have I made it through so much schooling without the library?

  The first time was for my Edgar Allan Poe research paper. The second time was for a study group in a science course my sophomore year. We met in the library in a room walled in with glass. It creeped me out and made me rethink this whole school thing. People kept walking by and staring at us like we were fish in a tank. I half expected someone to smoosh their nose to the glass and tap on it, hoping we would move. It was the first and last time I was in one of those rooms. The entire study group moved to my apartment every week after that. It was an easy sell when I promised free food and drinks.

  And in my senior year, I came to the library and hit the fifth floor. Schoolwork wasn’t exactly going on that evening, but I remember a cou
ple of things vividly from that night. One, a boy named Ryan seriously knew how to use his hands—and his mouth. And two, the fifth floor was extremely quiet with limited foot traffic.

  I hike my book bag farther up my shoulder, figuring a quiet floor with a small amount of people is probably the right place for me to tackle this assignment. The fifth floor is exactly what I need as long as no couples are in the stacks.

  I’m waiting for the elevator when I think I hear my name. I turn and glance around the entryway of the library, then at the circulation desk. The hairs on my arms stand up, and I can’t keep my mind from going down dark paths. What if …?

  The elevator bell dings, and I almost jump into the guy standing next to me. The super-hot guy looks at me like I’m crazy and continues to stare at me as we step into the tin box of death.

  “Hi,” I squeak before he turns his head away and scrolls through his phone.

  I swear I can be so stupid sometimes. Honestly, I’m at the library. A public place. What could possibly happen to me here besides dying of boredom? Or getting an imprint of books on your back for an excellent reason.

  Pull yourself together, Sabra.

  I head to my project hell destiny, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. As if I’m being watched. Which is stupid again because hot guy got off on the third floor, and I am alone in this elevator.

  For months after Lucas went to prison, I would still look over my shoulder everywhere I went. I expected to see him standing around every corner at the house. I’d brace myself when I turned into the hallway that led to our bedrooms. Tighten my body waiting for the inevitable punch to the stomach that was sure to come. The shove into the wall that would greet me as I walked past the open bathroom door. Or worse, the whisper of my name from my own door right before I would walk into what was supposed to be my safe place.

  Walking in fear is nothing new in my life, but I haven’t felt this way in so long, and it feels foreign to me. Yet I’m becoming reacquainted with it all too quickly since Lucas got out.

  He’s out.

  I find an empty table and make quick work of taking out my notebook, then staring at the blank page. Alex Reynolds, my acting coach, wants a three-paragraph monologue about our favorite toy from childhood. It sounds easy, but my focus is off every time I try to sit and write the damn thing. I can’t seem to find the words. Then my phone will chime with a notification, causing me to leap at the distraction. I’m avoiding the topic of not only my favorite doll but also of my childhood altogether.

  Because no one wants to hear the truth of my strongest memory with Baby Sarah. Lies would be much easier to write. A story that seems feasible and easy to memorize. I’m an actress, after all. Pretending is my thing. And this assignment is due when I walk into my session tomorrow at five p.m.

  But I can’t seem to bring myself to write the lie, no matter how hard I try. I can’t seem to do anything but remember the last time I held Baby Sarah in my arms. Even my favorite childhood toy has been tainted by him.

  TEN and THIRTEEN

  “Sabra Renee … hurry or you’ll be late for the party. We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m coming, Mama. I need to get Baby Sarah and my bag. Lizzie said to bring her with me for the sleepover.”

  “All right but be quick about it. We have to go.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m coming,” I yell, running down the hallway toward my room. I slip through the doorway and go straight to my bed to grab Baby Sarah. But she’s not there. The spot where I always leave her is empty.

  I glance up when I notice a shadow dance across my comforter and see a rope dangling from the ceiling above my bed. Baby Sarah is hanging at the end of it with a knot tied around her neck. Her head turned at an odd angle.

  Gasping, I cover my mouth with my hands and take a step back, right into something solid, hard, and warm. A scream bubbles up, but a hand covers my own hands and mouth, pressing on them.

  “Don’t scream. Don’t make a sound or you’ll pay,” he whispers. “This is nothing.”

  My body tightens. I stand as still as I can be squeezing my eyes tight and wait for his next move.

  Lucas drags me backward toward the door and shuts it with a soft click. “I know what you were planning, Sabra. I read it in your diary.” He pulls my hands away from my face, yanking them behind my back. Pinning them with one of his own.

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My shoulders tremble. One tear slides down my cheek. But still, I don’t scream.

  “So, you weren’t planning on telling Lizzie about me coming in your room last night? That wasn’t part of your plan?” He moves his other hand to cup my face. “Don’t deny it. I read it in your diary this afternoon.” He has me from behind, and his fingers pinch my chin and cheeks. The palm of his hand rests on my neck.

  Lucas whispers, hot breath in my ear, “See your Baby Sarah hanging there?” I shake my head with my eyes shut. I don’t want to see her like this. I can’t.

  “Open your eyes, Sabra.” Lucas uses his hand to shake my head and more tears slip out. He grips my cheeks harder, and I let out a squeak as I slowly open my eyes.

  “You tell anyone, ANYONE, about me coming to your room, and that will be you.” His voice is calm as if he’s discussing what Mama’s making for dinner or how he won his basketball game last night. “You’ll be next. Do you understand me?” He waits. “Answer me.”

  He drops his hand to my hip, fingers digging into my side. “I … won’t.” I gasp and choke down the rising sob. Don’t let him see you cry. I hate when he sees me cry.

  “Good.” He pushes me away from him. I dart to the other side of the bed, staring at Baby Sarah still hanging there. “Now be a good girl and get your bag so you can go to Lizzie’s house tonight.”

  His face smooths out. There’s no pinch between his eyebrows or frown turned toward me. He’s taking Sarah down. Removing the rope from the ceiling. And I can still see little holes where the nails held it. Reminders for me of what could be. There are always reminders.

  I’ll be next. His words ring in my ears.

  “Besides, no one will believe you if you tell them. I heard you when I came in your room last night. Heard your whimper while I was here. Heard your sigh as I was walking out of your room.” He pauses and holds Baby Sarah out to me. “You like it when I come visit you, don’t you, Sabra?” He smiles. “I can tell.”

  He shakes Sarah at me and takes a step forward. “Here you go.” I timidly reach out my hand, and my fingers go around her arm. But as I’m about to bring her to my chest, Lucas yanks and pulls me and Baby Sarah against him. “Don’t forget, Songbird. No one will believe you.” He places his hand on my cheek. “Don’t make me do something bad,” he warns, kissing me on the forehead and brushing a tear off my face. “Be good at Lizzie’s.”

  Lucas walks out without a backward glance. I listen to him whistling as he goes downstairs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Sabra? Sabra.” I snap out of it and find Micah’s sapphire blue eyes peering at me. Her hands are on my shoulders, and she looks scared out of her mind.

  “What?”

  “What do you mean ‘what’?” Her eyes flash like lightning. “Don’t ‘what’ me. I’ve been calling your name for the past few minutes.” Micah looks at me like I have demons flying out of my head. “I stepped off the elevator and saw you sitting here from behind and started singing your name. Loud. Because you know I don’t care about library rules. You didn’t even turn around. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I brush off her concern, flapping my hands in the air so she’ll back up out of my space. “I guess I was concentrating on this monologue,” I say, pointing at the paper in front of me.

  A blank piece of paper. Crap.

  “Yes, I can see you’ve gotten a ton done and how hard you were working.” Micah scoffs and sits next to me. She starts pulling things from a tote bag next to her and placing them on the table. A thermos,
Tupperware, and napkins. “How long have you been here?” She peeks at the only thing on my paper. A title. “And who’s Baby Sarah?”

  “My childhood doll,” I reply, watching her continue to yank things out. “Who are you? Mary Poppins?” Her eyes bug out when I say the name of her favorite fictional character.

  “No, but I wish.” She flourishes her hands at the spread on the table. “This is my version of a spoonful of sugar.” She opens the Tupperware and hands me a chocolate chip cookie. I don’t know how she did it, but they’re still warm and gooey.

  I moan when I take a bite. “Oh my gosh, these are so good. Why are your cookies always delicious? And big?”

  “That’s what she said.” Micah unscrews the thermos and winks at me. She hands me a steaming cup of rich, melted chocolate. “Hot chocolate makes everything better.”

  I snatch it from her and take a sip. “What exactly are we making better?”

  “Life. What else?” Micah nudges my shoulder with her hand. “Now, why do you only have a title? Haven’t you been here for a little while already?”

  “I can’t seem to get this monologue started.” I shrug. “Guess I have a mental block for this one. I feel like if I can get it going, I’ll be fine, but I don’t know where to start.” I sigh and flick the pencil lying on my paper. It flies across the table, hits the chair, and lands on the floor just out of reach.

  “Seriously, Sabra? How old are you?” Micah stretches and grabs the pencil. She hands it back to me, pulls her chair closer to mine, and points at the paper. “Okay … so it’s about your favorite doll?”

  I prop my chin in my hand and groan. “Yes. It’s supposed to be about our favorite childhood toy. The strongest memory we have about it.”

  “That doesn’t seem so hard. Do you already have a memory you want to focus on?”

  “I wanted to …” Micah’s still staring at the paper, but at my hesitation, she turns to me. Water pools in the bottom of my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I don’t know …”