by Loretta Lost
“You’re just so close to him, Soph,” Zachary says as though it gives him pain. “And you guys have so much history together! Can you forgive my jealousy? I just didn’t want to lose you.”
I find myself staring at him with my face twisted up in disgust. “You’re a real piece of work, Zack. Cole saved my life. I don’t know if I’d even be here if it weren’t for him. He’s the only person who ever... It doesn’t matter. Do you know how miserable I’ve been? You let me think that my brother had abandoned me, just like my parents did.”
“I know. I’ve watched you getting depressed and I knew I was responsible. I just didn’t know how to stop lying. I wanted you to have no one else, so that you would need me,” Zachary admits. “This isn’t like me, Sophie. I haven’t been the same since I got home. I’m really fucked up in the head… but I do love you.”
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I try to fight back my anger, shock, indignation, and above all, overwhelming relief. He never stopped writing to me. Unshed tears of joy replace my tears of rage, but there is no time to let them fall. Once I break the seal and let a few tears slip, I’ll never be able to withhold the rest. Besides, I won’t give Zachary the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
Lifting my chin proudly, I glare at him while mentally planning my trip to California. I don’t care if I lose my job—Cole is all that matters now. I inwardly calculate how many of my belongings I can quickly grab before rushing out of Zachary’s apartment. It’s been a while since I had to abandon ship in a hurry, but I’m pretty sure I remember how it’s done. I just need to stuff some clothes into a backpack and…
“I have all the letters,” Zack promises. “I always meant to give them to you, but—”
It’s easy to ignore Zack as I rush around and begin packing. A pair of jeans and a few tops, some underwear and a bra. Just the essentials. A toothbrush, a hairbrush, a razor. Everything else should already be in my purse.
“Sophie?” Zachary sounds genuinely guilty now, as he clears his throat. “This might be a bad time to bring this up, but I think I saw something about your brother on the news recently.”
“He’s always on the news,” I say in annoyance as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. There. Done. All packed, in record time.
“It was different. I think he was hospitalized.”
I am halfway to the door of our apartment when I swivel around. “You didn’t think it was important to tell me this sooner?”
“I thought you would have seen it. I know you’ve been spending time at Starbucks lately…”
The fact is, I haven’t been to any coffee shops. I’ve been working late, and lying about my whereabouts. I frown deeply. “You know I don’t watch television, Zachary.”
“I didn’t take it seriously at the time. You know those Hollywood types and their drugs and rehab; it’s always drama with celebrities on the West Coast.”
“Cole isn’t a celebrity. He’s an architect.”
“He’s a celebrity architect, Soph. But if you think something is really wrong, I will do whatever I can to help out.”
Considering this for a second, I nod. “Get me your phone,” I demand. Zack scrambles in his pockets for his phone, but realizes he left it in his jacket, and has to limp over to the closet.
It may have been a while since I was last in the same room with my brother, but it’s been even longer since I’ve touched a device that could connect me to the internet. I was banned from going online for years after I was caught hacking, but even after the ban was lifted—my employers thought it best that I do all my work with a paper and pencil. It was safer.
They wouldn’t even let me have a landline.
For the longest time, I thought I needed this restriction. I thought it was healthy.
I was an addict, after all, and putting a keyboard in my hands gave me way more power than any one girl is supposed to have. It was worse than giving Zack, and all the members of his squadron, fully-loaded, high-powered assault rifles. It took me a while to detox from the thrill of my cybercrimes, but I was reformed and I had repented. Besides, I enjoyed my new job, and they certainly paid me well enough.
When Zack returns from the closet with his cell phone, he extends his hand containing the slender object toward me. I stare at it warily, like an alcoholic looking at a gorgeous, perfectly mixed cocktail. I am about to reach out and take it, but when my fingers are a few inches from the tiny piece of technology, I hesitate and withdraw.
No. There are other ways to get information. I can find out what I need to know while getting away from here. Heading to the door of our apartment, I unlock the bolt and turn the doorknob so I can march out into the hallway.
“Wait!” Zack calls, limping after me in his sweatpants.
I see it then, at our neighbor’s doorstep. A newspaper. Stooping to snatch it off the floor, I quickly rifle through to the business section. I am scanning through the pages rapidly when I see Zack pointing to the newspapers in my left hand. His face is ashen and his eyes are wide.
“Soph…” he breathes.
My forehead creases as I turn back to the front page. The front page of all the sections. For a moment, the hallway spins around me as the headline grows blurry in my eyes. I stare at the letters so hard that I can see the molecules of ink staining the cream-colored newsprint. I can’t seem to focus on the individual words. In a caffeinated frenzy, my eyes dart around the paper like it is an encrypted message, and each symbol and image is a clue to decipher.
I feel suddenly weightless; the sentences on the page are alive and malicious.
The words swirl around in a maelstrom of black ink, and I know that they want to drown me.
VISIONARY CEO MURDERED IN HOSPITAL HE BUILT
Cole Hunter, the prodigy of the architectural world was known for his cutting-edge designs, and responsible for hundreds of landmark buildings all over the world. He was not even thirty years old when he was gunned down late last night…
The paper seems suddenly very heavy, as though all the little black letters are made from lead. My arms sag with the burden. Gunned down? Cole’s name is littered throughout the article, and I can’t look at it any longer. The news slowly sinks into my veins, and saps my energy. Gunned down. I move back to lean against the wall, and clutch the paper against my stomach as my knees grow weak. There is a deafening silence in the hallway, and a ringing in my ears.
“Sophie,” Zack is whispering, and his arms are reaching out for me.
I flinch at his touch. When I look at him, anger flashes through me, and I see the monster who stole my brother. But I do not have the energy to sustain my anger, and it dissipates as quickly as it comes. When I look at Zachary again, it feels like I am seeing him through thick, cloudy goggles. The air around me has grown heavy, as though we are underwater. Zack’s hands are warm, and they gently rub my shoulders and pull me back to reality. I am about to push him away when I am struck by a terrible realization.
Zack is now the only person on the planet who cares about me.
He is the only person who gives a damn that I exist.
And I could really use a person right now—any person. For this reason, I let him put his arms around me, and I sink against his chest with the vile newspaper crushed between our bodies. I am alone. All my deepest fears have been brought to the surface. I feel like a child again, stripped of everything that made this world good. Stripped of any reason to wake up in the morning.
And it’s my fault. I could have been there for Cole. I could have helped him.
A broken sob escapes my chest, and then I push Zachary away.
“I need to go,” I tell him as I struggle to straighten my body. Moving almost mechanically, I feel my shaky legs taking me to the elevator.
“Wait!” Zack asks, grabbing my arm. “Where are you going?”
“Airport,” I mumble.
“You can’t drive in this condition. Let me take you.”
“I don’t think I can look at you right now, Zack.�
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“You don’t have to; I understand. I know you’ll never forgive me for this, but I want to be there if you need me. I’m coming to California with you, Sophie.” Zack’s face is suddenly filled with determination, and his eyes are set like steel. “Whoever wanted Cole dead might also want to hurt you. I’m not going to let that happen.”
I open my mouth to protest, but the truth is that I don’t want to be alone right now. “Fine,” I whisper, ripping my arm away from Zack’s grasp. I see his cell phone sticking out of his pocket and I reach for it with sudden conviction, and clutch it tightly in the palm of my hand. I can almost feel the wireless signals piercing through my skin.
It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t have to try so hard to be good.
None of this would have happened if I hadn’t taken this job—if I had allowed myself to use the goddamned internet. None of this would have happened if I had stayed close to Cole. Why was I so afraid? I could have prevented this. I know I could have prevented this.
“Get dressed,” I tell Zack bitterly. “I will need to see every single one of those letters you hid from me. And for god’s sake...” My voice is so cold that the words taste like shards of ice against my tongue. “Get me a fucking computer.”
Jolting up to a seated position in bed, all my muscles are tensed to their limit. Was I dreaming, or do I really smell smoke? The air is hot. Sweat drips down my bare chest as I pant and survey my surroundings in panic. A guy my age should not be having nightmares like this. I can feel the fire entering my nostrils and making all the tiny hairs singe and curl.
But there is no fire.
My eyes are burning as I search for flames rising from the floorboards, expecting to hear them crack and splinter. I hold my breath as I listen for the sounds of the house collapsing beneath me, but the only noise is the thunderous pounding in my chest. I grasp my ribcage with both hands in an attempt to keep my heart from beating hard enough to tear my skeleton in half.
When I glance at the clock, I am annoyed to see that I have only been asleep for ten minutes.
“Ugh,” I grunt at myself in disgust. These damn nightmares just won’t let me be. Running both of my hands through my messy brown hair, I feel a thin film of sweat coating my scalp.
Since the night my parents died, I’ve had trouble sleeping.
Bottles of insomnia, anti-anxiety, depression, and ADHD medications lie on my bedside table, but I ignore the drugs. No one seems to understand that I want to be awake. I need to be aware of my surroundings at all times. Bad things happen, and I don’t want to be numb when they do. Alertness keeps you alive.
Maybe if I had been more cognizant six years ago, instead of sleeping blissfully under the stars in our backyard, my parents would still be here. I could have warned them, or woken them up at the first sign of danger. But I had my priorities all mixed up. Once I got permission to camp outside, building an awesome castle out of tree branches was all that mattered to me. I didn’t have a single care in the world.
When I was woken up by the sound of screaming sirens, I tried to rush into the house to help out, but it was too late. My whole world was burning, breaking, and literally crashing down around me; it was impossible to get upstairs where my parents were sleeping. A firefighter was able to pull me out in time, or I would have died there too. I vowed, that day, to never sleep again. Not for real. Not until I’m dead.
A few seconds pass, and the stupid muscle in my chest finally stops thrashing about like a fish out of water. I am able to breathe and get out of bed, reaching for the baseball bat I keep close at hand. Moving to the door, I place my hand against the wooden panel, expecting to feel heat radiating through the thin material. This has become a routine for me; but like the thousands of other times I have done this, the wood is cool to the touch. Next, I turn the knob and step into the corridor, breathing deeply to try to detect any hint of smoke.
The unmistakable odor of tobacco tickles my nostrils, and I screw up my face in distaste. Professor Brown must have just walked by. That man must go through at least two packs a day, and his clothes reek with the stench of chemicals. He leaves a lingering trail behind him everywhere he goes, reminiscent of rotting flesh and decaying teeth. Sadly, it’s not the worst way I’ve ever seen a foster parent waste the money he’s receiving to help the children in his care.
The elderly “professor” has been retired for many years, and his bank account dried up a long time ago. His monthly pension and the income from fostering just aren’t enough to sustain his filthy habits. I sometimes wonder if I’ve eaten more satisfying meals while huddled around a trash can fire or spending the night on a park bench than I have in this home. This is just one of the countless reasons I am eager to head off to college and leave this cold and unpleasant place.
I had a home. I had a loving family. This is nothing like that.
Convinced that the house isn’t burning to ashes, I step back into my room. I listen closely for a moment longer, just to double-check that there are no intruders intent on murdering me in my sleep. The only sound that reaches my ears is the faint clickety-clack of my foster sister’s keyboard from across the hall.
A crooked smile touches my lips. Scarlett is one of the only reasons I have remained here. Up until recently, I’ve made it a habit to escape from my foster homes at the first sign of trouble. I would have hightailed it out of here long ago, if not for the strange young girl who lives across the hall.
Scarlett Smith is very peculiar. She has serious lips that hardly ever smile, and a mind that’s sharp as a razor blade. What really gets me is her eyes—they are pale blue, innocent, and wounded. I just don’t feel comfortable leaving this house unless I know that she’s going to be okay. When we’re sitting across from each other at the dinner table, sometimes she studies me in a way that makes me feel like she knows me. This is ridiculous, of course, because we’ve only lived in the same house for a few weeks, but I still find something about her unsettling.
I was supposed to have a sister. My mother was seven months pregnant when the fire happened. I like to imagine that my sister would have been clever and capable like Scarlett. Sometimes, living in this house with her, I like to imagine that Scarlett could really be my sister. And for a moment, I feel at peace—like I haven’t lost everything. For a moment, it doesn’t hurt.
I never had thoughts like this before. In all my crappy foster homes, I never encountered someone that I could even stand to be around. I suppose, they did bring Scarlett to live here because they thought she could benefit from living with me, due to my impressive academic record—but it was a big surprise to actually begin to think of her as family. From what I’ve gathered, Scarlett has never had any family of her own, and doesn’t seem to have any friends. She spends every waking moment sitting in front of her computer and typing away at mysterious projects. I think she must be the only person on the planet lonelier than I am.
The incessant clatter of keys comes to a halt, and I realize that I am staring at Scarlett’s room. I quietly shut my door and head back to bed, placing my baseball bat down beside my pillow and tugging the comforter up over my legs. I am determined to try to fall asleep again when my door bursts open and a dark-haired girl fixes me with a stern look.
“I’m disappointed in you, Cole.”
I blink at her in surprise. “What? What did I do?”
She marches over and dumps some papers in my lap. “You’re flunking AP European History.”
“Where did you get this?” I ask, reaching out to examine the papers. I fix her with a suspicious look. “Scarlett… Have you been hacking again? Are these my high school records?”
“It doesn’t matter about that,” she says with a dismissive wave, plopping down on the bed with a frown. “You have a paper due on the Black Death soon, but I haven’t seen you working on it. You’re not showing up to class. You’re going to fail.”
Taking a deep breath, I lean back and stretch my arms behind my head. Scarlett is wearing her thick-
rimmed, black librarian glasses that she needs to view the computer screen. I should know by now that when I see her in those glasses, it means she’s gotten her hands on some information she shouldn’t have. “You’re a year younger than me,” I remind her gently. “I’m supposed to be your role model. You shouldn’t have to keep tabs on me and show motherly concern. That’s Mrs. Brown’s job.”
“Quit changing the subject,” she says sternly. “European History! Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of genius? You’re doing really well in all your other classes.”
I have to struggle to repress a grin. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone care enough to scold me. To care about someone enough to let myself get scolded. I gaze at Scarlett for a moment, wondering if she is the reason that my insomnia is getting worse. With every passing day, I grow more afraid that I will lose her, like I have lost everyone else. The impending sense of dread is keeping me up at night and forcing me to take naps during the day at school.
“Cole,” she says softly, pushing my knee to get my attention. “Why aren’t you going to class?”
“It’s depressing,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t like thinking about shitty things that happened in the past.”
She sends me a puzzled look. “History is in the past; it can’t hurt you.”
“That’s not true,” I tell her. “The past hurts me every day.”
She looks away with an unreadable expression, and I begin to feel a little guilty. The only thing worse than my past is not having any past at all. At least I knew my parents before I lost them—Scarlett has always been alone.