Black Flowers, White Lies

by Yvonne Ventresca

  Could I be that sick? Sick enough to hurt my pet? I trace my spiral out of control: ever since Mom and Stanley left, and the handprints appeared, and Gavin liked me then didn’t, and I lost my phone, and Mom bought books about the hereditary nature of mental illness.

  “El, are you okay in there?”

  I turn off the water in response.

  If only I could stop thinking and quiet the noises in my head. I hum to drown out the sound. Anything to make it stop.

  I emerge into the kitchen, clean and dressed in shorts and a plain T-shirt.

  “You’re humming?” Blake stares at me.

  I don’t bother to answer him, because I can’t explain about the refrain in my head. I can’t explain anything.

  “I called the hospital,” he says.

  “Are they doing any better?”

  “Not the Paris hospital. A hospital for you.”

  “You need to call Paris,” I say.

  “I will. About the other hospital—I’m not technically your legal guardian, but if you describe what happened, how you’re feeling, they’ll admit you. What do you think?”

  Legal guardian. If Mom dies, I will need a guardian. The thought’s too complicated to process. I rub my eyes, ignore his question.

  “They can help you, El. Should we go there?”

  I’m about to argue when I catch sight of Oscar’s water bowl on the floor. “Yes, I’ll go. But you have to get an update about Mom and Stanley first.”

  “Okay.” He takes a crumpled paper from his back pocket and calls the number.

  I pace around the apartment chanting please, please, please silently in my head as Blake speaks French in a low, calm voice. Please let Mom be all right. Please let her come home. Please let me be okay, too.

  Blake hangs up. He’s silent for a moment, as if composing himself.

  “Tell me.”

  He sighs. “They’re not sure how long they’ll have to stay in the hospital. Stanley has a broken leg. He’s on a lot of pain medicine, and they wouldn’t let me speak to him yet. Your mom … she’s unconscious, but they said she’s stable.”

  “She’s unconscious? Like in a coma?”

  “I couldn’t understand all of the medical terms. According to the person I spoke to, it seems they both are improving.”

  “You should still fly there without me. You can leave today.”

  Blake looks torn. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. Is there anyone you can call?”

  I silently run through a short list of friends and distant relatives. “Not really.”

  “I need to be here with you, then. At least until you see a doctor. Why don’t you pack a few things? In case they want you to stay for observation.”

  I stall. Stay for observation sounds like a euphemism. “My room. There’s so much blood. I can’t go in there. Not yet.”

  “Sit,” he says, guiding me into the kitchen chair near Oscar’s water dish.

  “Where’s Oscar?”

  “He’s … I took care of it, for now. I can bring him to the vet later if you want them to handle his remains.”

  His remains.

  “I’ll take a quick shower. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”

  “All right.”

  The bathroom door clicks closed behind him.

  “All right,” I repeat to no one. I imagine I hear Oscar meow weakly in agreement. Poor Oscar.

  I need to pack, but it requires too much energy to move. Motionless, I listen to the sound of the water running, the clock ticking. I memorize the details of the kitchen, as if I’ll never be back here again.

  Blake’s phone charges in a nearby outlet. I miss my phone. I wonder if he has any old messages from Mom or Stanley. I would give anything to hear Mom’s voice. What if I never get to talk to her again?

  No. I can’t let the fear consume me. I need to regain some type of control over this whole situation. I need to make arrangements for the store and find out more information about Mom’s health. As much as I don’t want to talk to Henry, I unplug Blake’s phone and call the bookstore anyway.

  “It’s El,” I say when he answers.

  “I’m glad you called,” Henry says. “A boy with bluish hair stopped in. He asked when your stepbrother would be moving to college. I offered to give you a message, but he said to wait until Blake was gone, then to tell you to call him.”

  Gavin. It all sounds odd but I can’t focus on that—him—now. I break the news to Henry about Mom’s accident. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have more information. Once I get the hospital phone number, maybe you could call and check on her.”

  “Of course.” Henry’s voice shakes. “This is horrible, but I’ll make sure the store continues to run smoothly. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  After we hang up, I sit staring at the phone as the minutes tick by, thinking about Gavin. I don’t know why he would care when Blake leaves. I decide to call him, one last time.

  Then I realize that his cell number is lost with my phone. I find the number for the hardware store and call with trembling hands, ready to hang up if anyone but Gavin answers. I can’t deal with speaking to anyone else. I’m not even sure what to say to him.

  He answers on the second ring.

  “Blake?” he says. “I don’t have anything left to discuss. I did what you asked. I’m done.”

  He thinks it’s Blake since I called from his phone. I’m silent as I try to figure out what he is referring to.

  Gavin rushes on. “El doesn’t deserve any of this. I never should have let you talk me into dating her.”

  My mouth falls open. I’m speechless. Blake talked me into dating Gavin, not the other way around. We had a whole conversation about taking risks before he bet me money that we’d go out.

  “Then, when I actually like her, what do you do? You make me break it off. I don’t know what else you want from me, but I won’t do this anymore.”

  He pauses, and I finally find my voice. “Gavin? It’s El. I’m using Blake’s phone. What’s going on?”

  “I—oh, El, I’m sorry. I’ve wanted to tell you the whole story. But you wouldn’t return my calls.”

  “I lost my phone.” The shower turns off. Blake will be out any second. “I have to go,” I whisper. I hang up, jam the phone back into the charger.

  I need to stall Blake. After he goes into his room, I rush to the empty bathroom. He finds me kneeling in front of the toilet a few minutes later.

  “Are you still feeling sick?” His voice sounds genuinely kind. At least I think it’s kindness. I’m not sure anymore.

  My head spins. Gavin had no reason to lie on the phone. He didn’t even know it was me on the other end at first. I can’t let Blake take me to the doctor yet. I need to figure this out. It’s like putting together a puzzle after Oscar swats away some of the pieces.

  “We should go soon,” he says.

  Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I moan. “I might throw up.” Sweat beads across my forehead. The fact I’m a nervous liar helps me for once. The perspiration makes me look like a genuine puking person. “The car … I can’t—”

  “It’s all right. Rest here for a few minutes. I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

  I finally managed to tell him a convincing lie.

  If I could only unravel the fiction from the facts. Blake manipulated Gavin and me, pushing us together, then pulling us apart. Why set up the whole relationship to hurt me? He must have realized how painful that would be.

  Not as painful as losing Oscar, though. I adored that cat. I loved when he curled against me, romped through the apartment, purred in contentment. He was such an important part of my day, of my life.

  Now I know. I could not have killed Oscar. I can feel the truth in my aching gut and the realization is like freedom. I would never hurt him.

  Which only leaves one possibility. Blake killed Oscar to cause me pain, the same way he had Gavin break up with me. It sounds fantastical, and yet, it’
s the only logical answer.

  Why ruin my life? I don’t understand his reason for doing this. What exactly is he trying to accomplish?

  Maybe he wants me to be weak, to be needy. To need him.

  Last night. The kiss. Could it be a game of seduction for him?

  Blake returns with the glass of water and his phone. I can’t take the chance he’ll see the call history, because then he’ll know I spoke with Gavin. He’ll realize that I figured out part of his plan, whatever it might be.

  I think of Oscar’s bloody body and start to dry heave.

  Blake rushes to my side, brushes the sweaty hair from my forehead. He’s tender in an awkward way, like he’s not sure what to do next. For once. Because he certainly seemed to have everything else planned.

  “I have some medicine that will make you sleepy,” Blake says. “When you wake up, the car ride will be over. What do you think?”

  I have to stall.

  “You’re right about going to the hospital. I need to get help. I feel so confused.”

  He rubs my back, soft caresses.

  I know what I need to do.

  25

  NINE LIVES

  “I’m lucky you’re here, Blake. What would I do without you?”

  When I stand, I don’t need to fake the wobble, because the nausea is real: nausea about what he did, about what comes next. Unsteady, I move closer and wrap my arms loosely around him.

  He pulls me in and hugs me with a frightening fierceness.

  “I’m so scared.” The truth in my voice is convincing. I burrow my face into his chest as I hug him back. My stomach squeezes in repulsion.

  I must do this.

  I run my hands slowly down to his hips. He strokes my hair as I keep my face pressed against him. He lifts my chin, kissing me harder than last night. I kiss him back, forcing myself to respond with some type of passion.

  Survival. It’s survival.

  I pull away as soon as I can. “I’m so glad you’re here to help me. I don’t know what I would do alone.” I pause, wanting him to believe that he’s won. “I don’t want to leave yet. I want to pretend that everything’s normal for a little longer. Can we stay awhile? Together?”

  Blake scoops me up, carries me to the couch. Then he’s on top of me, tugging at my clothes. Everything’s happening way too fast. I need to slow him down.

  “We could go to my bedroom.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “No one’s ever been in my bed. If it wasn’t for all the blood … Let me clean up in there for a minute.”

  “It doesn’t need to be clean, El. That doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me. This has to be special.”

  He moves from on top of me. In the safety of my room, I lean against the closed door with my cat collage crumpled against my back. I choke back a sob so he won’t hear me.

  If I could get him out of the apartment for even a few minutes, I could escape. But any excuse I can think of will spoil the romantic moment and make him suspicious. He has to believe I’m swept off my feet. Even this delay is risky.

  In a flurry, I rip off my sheets, trying not to think too long about the source of the blood on my bed. I wrap the bedding in a bundle and emerge to face him in the kitchen.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  His shirt is unbuttoned, and he moves closer to kiss me again, but I keep the sheets between us. I hope he interprets my shudder as anticipation. Behind him, I spot his keys hanging on the cat rack. His keys. If I can get him out of the apartment …

  “One last favor.” I smile. “Throw these in the wash?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, but he takes them from my arms.

  “It sounds crazy, but I’ll always remember this. The first time needs to be perfect. When you come back, I’ll be ready. Please?”

  He sighs, exasperated. “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Blake piles sheets, detergent, and a baggie of quarters into the laundry basket. “I always take good care of you, don’t I?”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Leave. Hurry up and leave.

  The minute the door closes I make sure it’s locked. He can’t get back into the apartment without his keys. It’s the best thing that’s happened all day.

  I don’t have a plan—a real plan—other than to escape. There’s no way he’s washing the bloody sheets. He’s probably dumping them in the trash instead, so there isn’t much time.

  My panicky brain won’t think clearly. I stuff an HACC sweatshirt, my book, whatever is in reach into the backpack. Focus. I grab his phone, my wallet, my keys. There’s some evidence I should be taking, too. I rush into Blake’s room, rummage around. Inside the nightstand drawer I find a prescription bottle for Zoey Hill. Is it dog medicine? Never mind. I don’t need that. What else should I take?

  A cat cries faintly. I stop moving, afraid that it’s my imagination. He cries again.

  Oscar.

  I fling open the doors to Blake’s closet. Oscar rustles inside his carrier. He’s still alive! I want to check how badly he’s hurt, but it’ll have to wait. I leave Oscar inside and carry him into the kitchen.

  The elevator opens in the hallway. Blake rattles the doorknob, and I freeze as if he can see me somehow, as if he can reach through the door and touch me.

  “It’s me,” he says. “Let me in.”

  I throw his keys into my bag and open the window to the fire escape. My head spins. Ugh. Now is not the time to feel woozy. Holding Oscar’s carrier makes the descent impossible. I need both hands to climb.

  “El? What’s going on?”

  I dump the random crap I’d packed onto the floor, keeping only the phone, wallet, and keys. Gently, I lift Oscar out of the carrier. I wrap him in the sweatshirt and place him inside the backpack, zipping it most of the way so he can’t climb out. He gives one weak meow in protest.

  “It’s only for a few minutes,” I promise him.

  Blake pounds on the door and the loudness makes me jump.

  Time to go.

  I take a deep breath, strap the backpack across my chest, then open the window. Blake’s still calling my name as I put one leg over the ledge.

  26

  SHELTER

  When I reach the street, there’s no sign of Blake. I flag down a taxi and hop in the back. I need to get Oscar to the vet. It feels like déjà vu.

  “Washington and Sixth, please.”

  As the cab drives away, I glance back. I hope Blake hasn’t figured out that I’m gone. He might be worried that I’m not answering the door.

  Yeah, right.

  I spend the car ride rubbing the top of Oscar’s head, trying to calm both of us. I can’t tell the extent of his injuries, but he’s definitely sleepy, as if he were drugged.

  After I pay and get out at the vet’s office, I realize my mistake. Blake will easily figure out my destination. The vet is an obvious guess, because he knows keeping Oscar safe is my top priority. Blake had already convinced the doctors to release Oscar to him once. I couldn’t take the chance they would do it again.

  Think, think. I have to take Oscar someplace else.

  The animal shelter! They would let me leave him temporarily, and he could get medical care there, too. I turn off Washington and hurry toward Hudson. It’s less crowded, so it will be easier to notice if I’m followed. I don’t slow my pace until I’m safely inside the shelter.

  Sneaking into the bathroom, I wash the blood off Oscar despite his meowing protests. I can’t find an actual wound, but there’s no time for a thorough exam. Once he’s clean, I take a damp Oscar to Skyler and give her a condensed almost-true version of my dilemma: My parents are away and my stepbrother despises cats. I’m afraid he’s been hurting him, and I need to keep him safe for a few days.

  “The doctor’s due here soon. I’ll have him check Oscar out,” she says. “We’ll keep him in cattery two with a ‘not available’ sign. Cage eight is empty. I’ll let the staff know he’s yours.”

&n
bsp; Eight. My lucky number.

  “I’ll call your cell if we need you,” she says.

  “I lost my cell.” Who can the shelter call? I can’t use my home number, in case Blake manages to get back into the apartment. I’m not sure whose side Grace is on. I don’t remember Gavin’s cell number. Wait—it’s programmed into Blake’s phone.

  “Call my friend Gavin.” I give her the number. He’s my only option.

  “We’ll take good care of Oscar,” Skyler promises.

  “Thank you for helping me.” I give Oscar a kiss before putting him in her arms. I turn to go before I can change my mind about leaving him.

  Outside the shelter, sweat drenches my armpits, a combination of summer heat, exertion, fear. I see a woman who looks like Mom and pain rips through me.

  I will get to Paris soon, I promise myself. For now, I need to find someplace safe to stay. The bookstore feels like my only option. I could use Blake’s phone to call Henry before I show up in my unraveled state.

  Blake’s phone. I pause for a minute, wondering what I can learn from it. He had Gavin’s number. Who else’s? I scroll through: Me. Gavin. Grace. His mom. Stanley. Zoey. Wasn’t that the dog he looked after? It must be the number for Zoey’s owner.

  He cleared his texts but not his photos. I skim through a few of the ocean. The next one makes me gasp.

  It’s a photo of the muddy handprint I left on Dad’s grave. Blake must have followed me to the cemetery before he left for the beach with Grace. Why would he take a picture of that?

  Blake’s phone rings in my hand and I jump, nearly dropping it. The caller ID says it’s Gavin. I answer but hesitate before speaking.

  “Hello?” Gavin sounds uncertain. He must be worried Blake might answer.

  “It’s me,” I say.

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  The hairs on my arms stand up. I imagine Blake standing right behind him, telling him what to say, trying to find me.

  “I can’t tell you. But I have to get away from him.”

  “I left work early. I’m home. You can come here.”