by Sadie Allen
Before I could ask him if he was okay, he jerked his head back at me, his blue eyes searching.
“You know you’re different, right?” he asked quietly, the sound of the horn bleating outside almost drowning him out.
I sucked in a breath. What did he mean by that?
Before I could ask, he stepped forward, bent down, and pressed his lips to my forehead.
I closed my eyes and breathed in his cologne. He smelled nice. He always did, due to the expensive cologne he wore. The contact of his lips was also nice, but it didn’t make my heart race or my skin tingle. Still, it was comforting, familiar.
“Love you,” he whispered.
I didn’t say it back. I rarely heard those words so I was out of practice. That didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have said them anyway. I didn’t feel that for him. Not like he meant them. I guessed I loved him as a part of my childhood, as a friend. Anything more, though? No. That had been gone for a long time.
He was just a label now.
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
Mom eventually came back with groceries, her face strained. She looked tired.
My chest constricted, wishing I could get up and help her with those bags, and guilt ate at my insides like a cancer.
I couldn’t think about the pills she needed that were currently buried under the seat of my car, so I reached for my phone for a distraction, only to come up empty.
I scanned around the couch for it, but I couldn’t find it. Panic swelled in my chest at the thought of my mother finding it and going through it.
After I lifted all the pillows and dug into the cushions, I called out, “Have you seen my phone?”
“Yes, honey, I put it on the charger in your room. It was dead,” was my mother’s reply. I heard her moving around the kitchen, the rustle of the plastic sacks, the sounds of cabinets and the fridge opening and closing.
A familiar sense of self-loathing reared its ugly head when I thought of my mom in there, lifting and bending without anything to take the edge off the pain she must be feeling. At the same time, I felt relief at my phone being dead when she had found it. My stomach churned, and my head began to pound from the conflicting emotions battling in my head.
“Do you want me to go get it? I’m sure it’s charged by now.”
“No,” I shouted, hastily getting up. I began limping back to my room double time.
I saw my mom at the mouth of the kitchen, one hand braced against the counter, her expression wan.
“Are you okay?” she asked slowly and suspiciously.
Oh no, that wasn’t good.
“I have to pee.” I made a wry face and imbued my voice with enough desperation to make it somewhat, if not wholly, believable. I did everything but place my hands in front of my crotch and dance.
Her face cleared. She seemed to buy the lie. Well, it wasn’t so much of a lie since I really did have to pee, but it wasn’t an emergency like I was playing it up to be.
I made it to my room and over to my desk where I saw my phone charging. I grabbed it and pulled the connector out as I walked to the bathroom. As I sat down gingerly, I pushed the button on the side to power it up. My good leg bounced as I waited for the white background to fade into my lock screen.
Once I had done my business and washed my hands, I tapped out my code to open the phone and … holy moly! My phone was lit up with so many notifications I was surprised it didn’t just go ahead and shut back down.
I clicked on my Instagram account that had blown up and checked my notifications as I stumbled over to my bed and sat on the edge, taking the weight off my bad leg as I scrolled through them.
Evidently, my accident was the biggest news right now. I clicked one that someone had tagged me in and saw it was a video. I hit play then felt the little bit of food I had eaten this morning rise and threaten to escape. Someone had recorded my race. Someone had recorded my race, added circus music to the background, and posted it online.
Tears welled, hot and fast, as I watched in horror and embarrassment as the reason I was laid up this weekend played out on social media for the world to see.
My lungs were gripped in a vise, and I couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on me. It felt like an elephant sat on my chest as the tears fell down my face like tiny rivers. I tried to suck air into my lungs, only able to get short hiccupping breaths before blowing them out. I needed to calm down, but all I could think was: who would do this?
I looked at the username and felt heat suffuse my whole body, hot and swift.
Sarah freaking Burns.
It looked like she had posted it right after they had left my house, waiting until the weekend of the party, which meant they were probably all in on it. No way they didn’t know. My guess would also be that Laura orchestrated it, and all because of Miles. This whole situation was so jacked. Somehow, I was going to have to get myself out of it.
I finally got ahold on my breathing and cleared my Instagram notifications. From the glance I had of the comments, I knew I didn’t want to go back and read them. I didn’t want people to feel bad for me.
On the heels of my anger was the sting of betrayal and humiliation. My heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute, yet it felt hollow at the same time.
I wondered if Miles knew. One minute, he told me he loved me, and the next, he was partying with the same people who had humiliated me.
My body bucked with a sob. Wasn’t there one person on earth who cared? Who genuinely loved or even liked me? I would take just one person. What was so wrong with me?
My fingers trembled as I closed the app, held the button down until the icon shook, and then clicked the X in the top corner. Instagram gone.
I held the phone tighter in my hand, tempted to chuck it at the wall.
Why did I think I could handle this? Why did I keep trying? There was no hope. No future. I would always be this …
I could feel the will leaking out of me, leaving me cold, as my eyes lost focus and my mind blanked. I just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. I didn’t want to exist anymore.
Wounds to the soul didn’t just bleed; they ate at your very being. They fed on everything good, everything right, until you were hollow. Until you were a husk of the person you once were. Until you crumbled to dust and blew away in the wind. I was ready. I was past ready to leave this world on a breeze.
The phone vibrated in my hand, and I looked down to see a familiar gray rectangle on the screen, the yellow Snapchat icon in the top left-hand corner, and “from perfecttragedy5” in the box.
I sniffed and shakily wiped my face with the hand not holding the phone. Did I want to look? Heck, did I even care anymore?
I laid back across my bed, decision made, and went to the app.
The first snap was one of the ones I had missed earlier. It was a picture of a black ceiling fan in motion and the text strip read, “Good luck @ doctor’s! Your biggest fan.”
A surprised giggle erupted from me. I didn’t know what to do with it. Just moments ago, I was in a downward spiral of self-loathing, and now I was giggling at corny Snapchats.
But, how did he know I went to the doctor’s?
Then I remembered. I saw Elodie Thomas in the school office when I was signing out. She must have overheard me tell the secretary where I was going and had told Sterling.
Elodie was a sprinter on the track team, and she was in theater … with Sterling. She had beautiful almond skin, with freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks; large dark eyes; and short, fluffy hair that didn’t know whether it was wavy or curly. I didn’t know her well since she was always quiet and soft-spoken.
The next snap that followed was a selfie of Sterling with the puppy dog filter. I pressed both the side button on my phone and the center circle at the same time, saving the picture to keep for later. Then I froze when I realized what I had done.
He would know I saved his snap. The app would alert him. Crap!
Before I could
work myself into a real panic, the next picture came on the screen. It was a picture of a white coat hanger lying in the grass, and with it read, “Hang in there. It gets better.”
My stomach dropped. He didn’t know … Sterling Chapman with his freedom, with his choices.
I rubbed my chest and wished for some control over the emotions swirling inside me. I was just so tired. I was tired of feeling … everything.
I sighed then clicked out of Snapchat. After I did, a notification popped up that said perfecttragedy5 was typing. I clicked on the app again and waited, a tingle of something fighting the tiredness I felt, and then the blue dialogue box showed up.
Perfecttragedy5: Are you okay?
AllyEver16: No.
Perfecttragedy5: Meet me at Westbank Park @ the pier?
Could I? I had never snuck out before. I was supposed to take it easy, but my dad was gone, and my mom, well, I didn’t know if she was still in the kitchen. Would she go to bed after putting the groceries away?
Guilt sliced through me, sharp and deep. She had to be in pain, and I doubted she had refilled her Tramadol today. They kept track of those kinds of things since they were habit-forming and could be sold on the street.
I shouldn’t try it. I didn’t really deserve to.
Reluctantly, I typed …
AllyEver16: I can’t.
Instead of telling him what an awful person and daughter I was, I turned my phone off and positioned myself on my good side where I could lay my head on the remaining pillows. I stared at the wall that held my white wooden desk, blush pink chair, and the clotheslines of posed pictures of family and friends artfully arranged above it. I wanted to rip every single one of them down.
I both loved and hated my room. It was cute and girly, but I hadn’t picked anything out for it when my parents had let me redecorate it my freshman year. Mom had called in her interior designer, Rosalind, and I told her a few colors that I liked. She ran with it and started working on it while I was at school.
My bed was plush with a white bed sheet and a blush pink blanket draped over the end. The accent pillows were different sizes in the same blush as the blanket and shades of gray. A couple even had fur, which I hated. My headboard was slate gray and padded. The night tables on either side were light pink and gold, with rectangular mirrors hanging above them. I liked the accent wall she had painted behind the bed. It was white with irregular-shaped gray dots and the words “Hello, gorgeous” stenciled in gold. The top was in print caps and the bottom was a curving lowercase script that rested directly above the headboard.
As I lay there, trying not to think of the unfairness of my life or things I could have done differently, an insistent tapping started, coming from my window and drawing me from my dark state. My mom hadn’t come and checked on me, so I assumed she must have crashed. Besides, she wouldn’t be the one tapping at my window.
I peered over my shoulder toward the window, not expecting to see anything, yet there, framed in the glass, was Sterling Chapman. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating as I carefully rolled to my belly, and then stared. Sterling was still there.
He lifted his chin, and then looked around like he was expecting someone to sneak up behind him. We didn’t have blinds because my mother declared they messed with the design aesthetic, which I imagined was really Rosalind’s words. However, we had a security system.
He lifted a finger and curled it in a “come here” gesture.
My mouth dropped open. Sterling Chapman beckoning me to him was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen in my life.
I gently got out of the bed and limped toward the window.
He made a gesture that I assumed was for me to open it, but I pointed at the little, white, rectangular box attached to the pane. If I moved it, the alarm would beep. If the alarm was armed, it would trigger the actual alarm and alert the police. I was surprised it hadn’t beeped with all of Sterling’s tapping.
He looked to the side, I guessed to make sure he wasn’t seen, but there was a bush that partially covered my window since the air-conditioning unit was also next to it. Sterling stood in the space between them.
Inspiration struck, and I held up a finger. Then I slowly—not that I could move quickly—and quietly made my way back down the hall and to the kitchen. My mom was nowhere in sight. I could only assume she was asleep in her room.
I went to the drawer that contained the butter knives, and then to the drawer that held some basic tools. I grabbed a package of the big command strips and took them, along with the butter knife, back to my room. I hoped, even though I shouldn’t, that Sterling was still there when I returned.
I sighed when I saw he was, and a little, fragile bubble of hope formed. He was dressed in a worn, dark gray tee that had Hogwarts written across the top. I might have fallen a little bit in love with him right there.
When he saw me, a little smile played at his lips, and he raised a brow.
I gingerly kneeled by the window and went to work. I took the butter knife and pried the sensor from the glass. When it beeped, I froze, and then I listened for movement coming from the hall. When I heard nothing else, I applied a command strip to the back of the box and pressed it to the wall next to its partner sensor. It only beeped when it moved away from the smaller strip of plastic attached to the window casing.
I opened the window and said, “Hi,” suddenly feeling shy. A flush of warmth hit my cheeks.
“Hey.” His mouth tipped up on one side, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“So …”
“So …” he said back.
There was this energy that snapped back and forth between us. The air practically hummed with it. I couldn’t think. What could I say? I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but the only one that came out was …
“How do you know where I live?”
He scoffed like that was a ridiculous question.
“Elodie told you, didn’t she?”
He shrugged, but I caught the slight pink staining his cheeks. “I may have talked to her today …”
Again, Elodie.
Elodie knew where I lived because we had thrown an end of season pool party for the whole track team last year. She hadn’t shown up, but she could still have my address since we texted the invites.
“So, um, why are you here? You know I have a boyfriend, right?”
He was so handsome that it made me ache. I could stare at him all day. Yeah, I was really worried about having a boyfriend right now. I did intend on breaking up with him soon …
He rolled his eyes, but then his face instantly sobered, and his unique eyes went intense. “I was worried about you.”
I looked down at my fingers resting on the sill while my heart soared. While my supposed friends feigned concern, with Sterling … I could see the sincerity written all over his face. He wasn’t there for gossip or to lord over my injured state. Sterling knew my deepest, darkest secret and had yet to tell anyone or blasted it on social media.
“Why? Why are you doing all this?”
“What?”
“The snaps and this?” I gestured with my hand, moving it back and forth between us.
“It’s all part of my plan,” he said somewhat cryptically.
“Plan for what?” I was confused. What kind of plan did he have that involved me?
He didn’t make me wait for the answer.
“My plan for saving you.” This was said like it made all the sense in the world.
Was I a damsel in distress? No. Well, maybe … I didn’t really know. I was confused by what he meant. I was saved in the Biblical sense, but I didn’t think that was what he was alluding to.
He wanted to save me from myself.
“Saving me? It’s too late for that. I’m beyond saving … I’m practically on life support.”
“I know,” he answered in a thick voice, and I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. He lifted a curled fist and coughed into it like he was clearing his throat before
changing the subject. “You know, you can add me as your friend on Snapchat and maybe send a few in return.” The sly look was back in his eyes, and I had to keep myself from swooning out the window.
“How did you get my username, by the way?”
“Instagram.”
Had I posted it on Instagram? Or had someone else?
“I don’t remember posting it on Instagram …”
“Maybe it was Facebook.”
I had a feeling he was teasing me, but his face was so serious.
“I never get on Facebook.”
“I have my ways.” This time, a smile stretched his lips, showcasing his perfectly straight, white teeth.
“You’re on Facebook?” Surprise leaked into my voice. I couldn’t picture him on it. He seemed … too cool.
“Isn’t everybody?” There was laughter in his tone, though that wasn’t exactly an answer.
I opened my mouth to tell him just that, but then he stood abruptly.
“Gotta jet.”
Before I could say anything else, he flicked two fingers as he strolled away.
It didn’t occur to me until a moment later that he couldn’t have parked in the driveway. So, where exactly had he walked to?
It was Monday, and I was still on crutches. Crutches sucked. My mom had read on the internet that you needed to wrap the tops so they didn’t rub blisters or make the skin under your arms raw. Therefore, we did just that, wrapping the top bar with microfiber towels and securing them with rubber bands. I was grateful because, even with the extra padding, my underarms were sore.
This weekend hadn’t gone well. I did too much last week with not enough ice and not enough rest. My mom fussed at me when she came into my room Saturday morning and saw that I had not elevated my injured leg or put an ice pack under myself. It was weird receiving her attention that way.
I knew my mother loved me, but over the years, a wall had formed between us. She had never spoken to me unless it was to instruct or relay a message, and she had never shown emotion. It was like she had been one of those robotic wives in that Nicole Kidman movie about that subdivision. Now she was acting like the wall had never existed. Again, weird.