Used

by Kate Dunbar

  Our dad told him to cut the tree limbs before he got home from work that day. The house was quiet. My Mama was volunteering at the Cancer Clinic, reading to patients. Lucas knew we would be alone and told me to come straight home after school. Instead, I called my mom and went with Lizzie to do homework together at her house.

  I knew he’d be mad and make me pay in some way, but I didn’t think he’d cut off my roses.

  He said it was an accident. At least, that’s what he told our parents. The chainsaw had gotten away from his control when he’d yanked on the string to start it, and down came all the roses. But I knew it wasn’t a mistake. He left the stumps as a reminder, glaring at me when I looked out my bedroom window. There was always a reminder.

  And the only roses missing were the yellow ones.

  I realize I’m still standing out in the open and bend to grab the rose off the ground, intending to throw it directly in the trash. But a thorn pricks my finger when I seize the stem. I glower at the tiny spot now dotted with blood, and the fear and anger I’ve been holding at bay comes roaring out of me.

  “AAAAAGGGGHHHH,” I yell and snatch the rose, throwing it over the railing and into the bushes by the parking lot. “NO. ENOUGH. YOU CAN’T HAVE ME!”

  I rush into my apartment and slam the door, forcing my shaking hands to turn all the locks. Tears stream down my face and drip onto my shirt. My nose is running. And I don’t care.

  He can’t have me. I can’t let him get me. Enough. No more.

  I grip the television, struggle to move it off the table it’s sitting on and place it on the floor. Then I push the table in front of the door.

  Not this time. I am my own person. No more.

  I yank and tug the armchair in front of the table. It’s heavy and my arms hurt, but I don’t care. I shove and press with all my might.

  No. He can’t have me. No more.

  The only thing left to move in the room is the couch, but my adrenaline is crashing, and I don’t have the strength to change anything else. My whole body shakes. I sit in the corner and curl myself into a ball. Sobs escape me—deep, guttural sounds coming from the depths of my soul—but I can’t make them stop. I can’t halt the trembling or the tears. I can only make myself as small as possible in the corner of the couch, pray no one will find me, and cry out to whoever is listening. Rocking. Weeping. Shaking. Begging this nightmare will end and be over for good.

  No shower is happening tonight. There will be no sleep.

  Instead, I succumb to the fear and stare at the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Five missed calls. Two from my agent and one each from Micah, my mom, and Trevor.

  Trevor has called and texted multiple times since the night on the stairs. Truthfully, I never thought I’d hear from or see him again after that night, so the voice messages and texts every now and then have given me hope. I was almost positive he’d decide my crazy was too much for him. It’s too much for me most days.

  But maybe we’ll be friends again someday. The way it used to be before the night by the lake. Before Lucas came back.

  Before.

  Maybe there is a chance—albeit a slim one—that we can find our way back to each other.

  No, I can’t have those thoughts. There is no going backward, only forward. Lucas is out there leaving notes and roses and continuing to haunt me. There can never be anything with Trevor. I can’t put Trevor in that position.

  Lucas has always believed I’m his in some sick way. He still does if the notes are any indication. I can’t risk Trevor knowing how tainted, dirty, and—used—I am. He can never know I’m not good enough for him. And my brother can never know how important Trevor is to me. Lucas is a live wire who will snap at a moment’s notice. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. And Trevor is too important to risk like that.

  I look at the names glaring back at me. Sighing, I hit the number for the person I least want to talk to. No, it’s not my mother. It’s my agent. She’s going to have my hide, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I deserve it.

  The phone rings once before the drawl of my name crosses the line. “Sabra, you’re finally calling me back. I hope you have a good excuse, darling. That audition you missed yesterday was everything. Where have you been?”

  “Hi, Eleanor. I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well, and the audition completely slipped my mind.”

  That’s not true. I watched the clock on the microwave from the couch for hours, knowing I should get up and move. I should dress and go to the audition. Move on with life like I always do and have. Hell, I should’ve called Eleanor and lied to her. Told her I had the flu so she could call the casting director. That, at least, would’ve been slightly acceptable even though I’d still be blowing a huge opportunity, and one I’ll regret for the rest of my life. But every time I stood, the terror of what might be on the other side of the door would stop me, and I’d sit back down and stare at the clock some more, watching the two blinking dots move steadily.

  It was a vicious cycle I couldn’t break no matter how hard I tried. And I know it’s weird, but those two flashing dots comforted me. They were proof that somewhere beyond the door people were moving about and living life. Someone should have that.

  It’s been thirty-seven hours since I found the rose and barricaded myself in my apartment. I haven’t slept. I’ve barely moved. I’ve watched the hours tick by, jumping at the slightest of sounds outside. Running to the bathroom to throw up twice. Getting a glass of water once. Longing for the day when it was night and for the night when it was day. I found myself back in the same spot in the same corner of the couch no matter what happened, watching and waiting. For something. Anything. A sign to tell me this nightmare was over.

  Turns out that something was Trevor. Something happened to me when my phone buzzed with his name. A wake-up call of some kind. A trigger in my brain flipped a switch I hadn’t been able to find lying in the fetal position no matter how hard I tried. Once again, Trevor’s saving me. And this time, he isn’t even aware I need saving. This time, I’m alone with my crazy.

  It’s been so long since I’ve heard his voice. The longing and desire for what we had—for him—is stronger than I realized. I thought not talking to him would be easier than the constant reminder of what I’m losing. Of what I’m choosing to walk away from. But not seeing him, not hearing his laugh or feeling his small touches, has been the worst part of all. Which is saying something since everything in my life is horrible and terrifying.

  Trevor provides me with a level of comfort and safety I’ve never had before. I knew I had to talk to him when I saw his name flash on the screen.

  Not right then. Not right now. But soon. I need to finish this conversation with Eleanor first.

  “Sabra? Did you hear me?” Eleanor’s voice is tinged with frustration. There’s some full-fledged anger happening here, and the last person you want on your bad side is Eleanor.

  “I’m sorry. What, Eleanor? The phone was cutting in and out,” I squeak. She’ll see through that lie in a heartbeat.

  Eleanor Townsend is one of the best in the business. Savvy and brilliant, she knows everyone in Los Angeles, New York, and every major city between. Losing her as my agent would be about the worst thing that could happen right now.

  But that’s not true, is it?

  “Darling, I need you to pay attention. I’m not sure what’s going on with you, but you’ve never been this flighty before. And believe me, I have plenty of clients who will never be where they say they will be or will always be late, but I’ve never had to worry about you missing an audition or not being prepared. Honestly, we can’t start doing that now. We’re on the precipice of greatness with you. I can practically reach out and touch the next step in your career, so let’s not screw this up, okay, love?” She gives a slight pause. I’m sure it’s for dramatic effect as she knows exactly how to speak to her clients to wring the best out of them. “You’re either going to go be the star I know you can
be or … you’re not. Which will it be?”

  “I’m listening, Eleanor. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Fix it and move forward. Do you think we can do that?”

  She pauses again. Long enough for me to whisper, “Yes, Eleanor.”

  “Good. Now, I spoke to the casting director late last night.”

  “You did?” A smidge of hope unfurls in my chest. This audition would be huge for me. Missing it is one of those mistakes that will follow me for the rest of my life. “What did she say? I feel horrible. I know I messed up.”

  “Yes,” she purrs. “You did. However, she apparently enjoyed your performance in Our Town in La Jolla and wants to see what you can do in this role she’s casting right now. She spoke to the director, and she’s willing to meet you for another audition. Today at three o’clock in downtown LA.”

  “Three today? But I have—”

  “I know you have to work, Sabra”—she sighs through the phone— “but this is important. I pulled a lot of strings and called in a few favors to get this meeting for you after you didn’t call or show yesterday. She’s leaving tomorrow for a job in Vancouver, so you need to take this opportunity. It could change your career. Your life. And it’s a second chance you won’t get again with her, or the director, if you miss this meeting today.”

  Eleanor softens a bit. “Seriously, darling, I’m worried about you. You’re not yourself. And you know I adore you, but I need to know now so I can call her and confirm. What will it be?”

  “I’ll be there. Three o’clock downtown.”

  “That’s my girl,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Now, do you still have the email with the script and address I sent you the other day? Do you need me to resend it?”

  “No, Eleanor. I’ve got it all.” I stand and walk over to the door where my book bag lies with my computer in it. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be ready.”

  “Perfect. Call me if you need anything and touch base with me when you’re done, okay? Talk soon.” She hangs up without a second’s hesitation and moves on, heading to the next meeting, I’m sure. Eleanor doesn’t waste time. She’s the best for a reason.

  I reach into my bag and drag my laptop out, powering it up to find the email I need. Driving downtown will take me a couple of hours, and that’s if I don’t hit traffic. Since this is LA, there’s a better chance hell will freeze over in the next five hours than of me not sitting on the freeway for the same amount of time.

  Trevor’s name stares at me in the missed calls log, and I drag my finger across the screen one more time, resigning myself to having to wait to hear his voice again. I move toward my closet to pick out clothes for the audition. I’ll call him later tonight as soon as I get home.

  No chickening out.

  It’s eight o’clock. I spent most of the day in downtown Los Angeles, and I’m finally pulling up to my apartment complex. My boss was not happy when I called to tell him I wouldn’t be at the bar tonight. Pissed is a better word for it. He was angry. Thankfully, I’m his best bartender, so he puts up with my crazy schedule. Even if he hates it.

  Micah is going to be here any minute for our girls’ night in. I want to pull on my pajamas, grab a mug of hot tea, and watch HGTV until I fall asleep, but I promised her I would not back out of this evening. Which means I need to hurry if I still want to call Trevor tonight. And I do still want to call him.

  My phone buzzes in my hand as I reach into my purse and pull it out.

  MICAH: Yo, I’m on my way. You’d better be ready for this night.

  SABRA: I’m ready, girl. You have the goods?

  MICAH: You know it. Girls’ Night In is happening. See you in a few!

  SABRA: Be safe!

  I push the button to bring me back to the home screen and pull up the missed calls. Trevor’s name is still there in black-and-white. I’ve looked at least twenty times throughout the day to make sure I’m not dreaming. One, because I have no desire to call him out of the blue and feel like an idiot. Two, because I am, indeed, an idiot.

  With a slow intake of air, I grab my things from my car and trek up the stairs to my apartment, trying to calm my nerves. I need to freshen up and change into something more comfortable before Micah gets here. Trevor has waited weeks to hear from me, so ten more minutes isn’t going to hurt him. I doubt he expects to hear back from me at all.

  I can’t stop twirling my key chain around my finger as I walk up the steps. It’s a nervous habit of mine. My mother was constantly telling me to stop fidgeting when I was growing up.

  Stop curling your hair around your finger, Sabra.

  People don’t like to be annoyed by tapping. Cut it out, Sabra.

  Keep your feet still, Sabra. Act like a lady.

  I’ve gotten so much better, but I still have my moments. I step off the last set of stairs when the key ring flies off my finger, hits the door, and falls to the ground. I can hear my mom saying, I told you so, loud and clear as I bend to scoop them up. A laugh moves up my throat but stops cold before it can burst out of my mouth when my eyes land on another white piece of paper with SABRA scrawled across the front. This time, it’s taped to my red door.

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  Last time, I was frightened. Scared to death at what this could be and who could be standing around watching me open the letters or pick up the rose. I’m still scared, but the more overwhelming emotion is now anger. Fury licks through my veins, even if it is tinged with an underlying current of fear.

  I rip the note down, squeezing the corners together in my fists and feel the paper crumple in my hands. I’m not going to read this one. It’s going straight into the trash as soon as I get inside.

  It takes me a couple of tries to get the key into the lock so I can unlock the door. My hands shake from the emotions coursing through me. The door shuts with a loud slam, and I drop my bag in its spot next to it.

  Before I left for the audition this morning, I’d returned the furniture to its rightful place. I didn’t want to explain to Micah how crazy I am. It’s hard enough to hear my own brain say it over and over every day. I’m losing my mind, and I can live without Micah’s voice joining in the throng.

  I march into the kitchen and yank out the trash can from beneath the sink, tossing the crumpled note into the bin. It lands with pieces of my name staring up at me. I want to walk away from this. From the notes. The fear. The roses. The anger. My brother. From everything.

  But I can’t because knowledge is power. And I know throwing this stupid piece of paper away without reading it is a mistake. Throwing it away period is stupid.

  My brother is capable of darker thoughts and actions than one person should be able to think or commit. If this is him ... If there is any chance this is coming from him at all—which I feel strongly it is—I need to know how far into the dark he’s gone. No matter how hard it is.

  And that’s why I can’t turn and walk away to go call Trevor. My hand slides into the trash can and yanks the note back out again. I open the two sides and begin to read. I can’t walk away from the what-ifs. Ignoring them puts you in positions you never thought you’d be in.

  And that’s all I’m thinking about as I spread the paper on my kitchen counter and read the heavy scrawl. It’s written in the same scratchy font and on the same heavy white paper as the one before. And it starts in the same fashion as the first note, too.

  My Sabra~

  I couldn’t stop dreaming about you last night. Scene after scene flashed before me, and in each one, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. As always, I couldn’t get enough. At one point, you were watching a movie and laughing, only to have the scene change to you snuggled up against me with your head on my shoulder, sighing in contentment.

  I love the feel of you against me, the way your skin feels under my fingers. I can’t wait until I get to experience you pressed against me again. Right before you leaned up to kiss me, I woke up moaning your name.

  I can’t wait until th
e next time I get to see you, even if it is only from afar. For now.

  Until then, I am forever …

  Yours

  ELEVEN and FOURTEEN

  My math teacher hates me. Okay, maybe not just me; he hates our entire class. You’d have to be a horrible person with a heart full of hate to give THREE pages of fraction problems for homework in one night. I hate fractions so much.

  Last night, I was complaining to my dad about fractions and how learning them was all sorts of stupid and how I bet it was useless information we would never, ever use in the real world. Not like writing or poetry or even speech.

  I was munching on one of my Mama’s oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. She makes the best cookies. I could eat only those cookies for the rest of my life. And my dad had to go and ruin them by explaining we wouldn’t have cookies without fractions.

  FRACTIONS!

  And so now I sit here staring at the hardest math problems on the freaking planet, but I’m determined to learn them. Because someday, I’m going to need to bake oatmeal chocolate chip cookies like my Mama does, which means fractions, according to my dad.

  I’m almost done with the last page, but Lucas is doing something in his room, and it keeps distracting me. I can hear him grunting through the wall shared by our bedrooms.

  He’s probably working out, trying to become all huge and buff now that he’s fourteen and a teenager. Ever since he started his first year of high school, all Lucas cares about is working out and “looking fine” as he says. It’s ridiculous. I laugh at him all the time.

  But not to his face. Never to his face. I’m not stupid.

  He’s left me alone for the past couple of months, and I want to keep it that way. I’m sure it’s because of Kyla next door. Lucas is all about Kyla and the fact she has boobs now.