Ravel

by Ryan, Shari J.

  He wanted to know how it happened. I tried telling him he wouldn’t want to know, but his voice deepened and almost growled when he demanded answers. I told him every detail. I told him if I had known what was about to happen, I would have taken the goddamn bullet for him. He thanked me, but I’m not sure what for. Maybe it was for sitting with Rex until the corpsman came. Maybe it was for talking to him even after he stopped breathing.

  I saw people die before Rex. After the first one, it got a little easier to digest. I guess I could have just been numb to what my mind couldn’t comprehend, but it was easier to handle when I didn’t know the person. Watching your best friend get killed right in front of your eyes, though, that’s not something anyone could become numb to.

  Shit. I have to pull down those nude posters before his parents come in tomorrow. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fine. I’m just going to go do it. Get it over with.

  I check out of Sleaze-Ville Motel and hop back on my bike. I can do this. It’s only three miles down the road and I just have to go take a couple of posters down. I should be able to manage this.

  I feel okay through the first two miles, the vibration from the bike running through me like a calming drug. One more mile. I can do this.

  The second I see the complex in the distance, I know it ain’t happening. Nope. Nope. Nope. I can’t do this.

  I veer off the road and head down a street in the opposite direction of my apartment. I keep going with no desire to turn back around. They’re just posters of nearly naked girls. I’m sure his parents have seen them before. We’re guys. It’s what we decorate walls with. They probably won’t even notice them—Gisele Bundchen blends in nicely with the cream colored walls.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CURRENT DAY

  DAPHNE

  I’M ALMOST AS NERVOUS to walk into my parents’ house as I was to walk into Trent’s. “Anyone home?” I shout. Both of their cars are here so I know they are.

  “Daphne?” Mom responds. I walk down the hall, watching things fly out of their bedroom, but Mom comes from the other direction to greet me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, pointing to their bedroom.

  “Dale!” Mom yells, “Daphne’s home.” She sounds annoyed. Geez. Don’t sound too excited about me being here. Dad climbs over the pile in front of their door, wiping his hands off on his pants.

  “Hey honey, what are you doing here?” Besides the fact that I technically still live here, I’m pretty much just here to shower and change my clothes. I haven’t actually slept here in two years, and I only come by when they ask me to join them for dinner or a holiday, which is maybe a handful of times a year. I supposed I’d ask me why I was here too. “Oh my God. What in the hell happened to your face, Daphne?” I forgot about the bruise on my cheek since last night feels like it was a week ago. I realize I’m giving Dad a blank stare, which is only bringing up more questions. “So help me God, Daphne, did Trent do that to you?”

  “Dad, I can—“

  “Aw hell no.” He stalks back into his room, and I already know what he’s getting.

  “Dad, please don’t!” I run toward the room, meeting him at the doorway, and grab his arm to keep him from leaving the house.

  “Don’t try and stop me, Daphne. That kid has gone too far this time. Why in God’s name are you still with that asshole? Have you looked in a mirror lately? Are you unaware that you could be with anyone?” What? My dad has never told me that before, and that’s definitely not what Trent tells me. That’s not what he’s pounded into my head over the past few years. I don’t believe that. Or at least I didn’t until last night.

  “Dale, maybe we should hear her out,” Mom says.

  “Carly, don’t start with me. You want to hear someone out, maybe you should shut the fuck up and listen to me for a change.”

  Mom stomps across the hall and up to Dad’s chest, pointing her finger in his face. “Oh yeah, you think I should listen to you and your perverted ass? Maybe you should tell our daughter where you were the other night. Huh? I’m sure she’d love to know you were screwing Marlene.” Marlene? Oh God. My old babysitter who still lives down the street? “Daphne, your dad was just packing his stuff up because he’s getting the hell out of here so he can go be happy with Marlene.”

  Dad lets out a throaty laugh as if Mom just said something hilarious. I think I may have missed the humor in all of this. “Yeah well, maybe if you spent a little less time watching soap operas and shopping and paid some attention to me, this wouldn’t have happened. You can’t blame it all on me, Carly. We both know you’re a bitch.” Mom slaps him and tries to get some punches in too. It’s basically a Jerry Springer episode in my very own living room. How lucky am I?

  And just like that, it ceases to be about me and the giant bruise on my face. It’s always about them. This is why I don’t come home. “Guys,” I shout. “Can you stop for just a minute?”

  “Oh yeah, right. Where is he, Daph, at his parent’s house?” Dad asks, remembering what started this scuffle.

  “Please put the gun down, Dad,” I plead.

  He gives me a long, hard look and lets it drop to his leg. “That kid has a death wish. You better tell him to watch his every move,” Dad says, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “Could you please do everyone a favor, and dump his fucked-up ass?”

  I sigh quietly to myself. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Don’t even tell me you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to stop me. So help me God. I will rip his head off with my bare hands. I don’t even need the gun.”

  “Oh God, Dad. No. I’m not pregnant.”

  “So what then? What’s stopping you from leaving him?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah, if you ain’t pregnant, there shouldn’t be anything holding you back,” Dad adds in.

  I look back and forth between the two of them, debating how to respond. Should I even bother? I’m the one who walked in here with a black eye. I brought it on myself.

  “I don’t think either of you would understand,” I reply, but while I may have started at the center of this fight, they’ve already forgotten about me and returned to their own argument. I lean up against the hallway wall with my eyes clenched shut, closing out the screaming battle between the two of them. I slip past them and close myself into the bathroom to take a quick shower. I do my best to ignore the pounding on the walls and the shouting. I want to drown my thoughts. I need a change. I need to get away. I feel like I’m locked in a room with no windows or doors, no lights, and no chance of freedom. There’s only one way out...only one way.

  I lower myself to the floor of the tub and pull my knees into my chest, holding myself as the hot water streams down my back. My tears blend with the water from the shower and the heat does little to soothe the ache in my chest. Would they care if they knew how much I’m hurting everywhere? How many times can I tell myself I can’t do this anymore before I come to the point where I actually make a change? A scary, life-altering—ending—change. Sometimes I wonder if everyone would be happier if I were gone.

  Pressing the drain stop, the water fills up around me, sucking me in until I slip under the hot water. I clench my eyes and hold my breath until my limbs start to tingle and my head feels heavy. There’s nothing left here for me. No one loves me. No one would miss me. No one would care.

  Another pounding on the wall startles me into sucking in a lungful of water and I pull myself up, gasping for air. Air I didn’t intend to want anymore. I can’t do this either. I have no control, even over myself.

  I pull the drain stop and let the water release around me. What am I doing? Shaking and cold, I pull myself from the shower and wrap myself up in a towel, looking into the foggy mirror at the skin surrounding my eye, which is black and blue and puffy with little red dots speckled throughout it. I let someone do this to me, and I’m too scared to get away. Who am I? This isn’t me. More pounding on the wall startles me again. That’s it. I slip my clothes on and tie my hair up before grabbing m
y bag and sneaking back out of the bathroom.

  Mom and Dad don’t even notice when I walk out of the house and let the screen door slam shut behind me.

  I drop into my Jeep and reach into my bag to pull out my journal. I need to write—pour out my feelings, make the tears dry, and ease the pain. Flipping through the hundreds of pages until I find the next blank one, I do my best to ignore the words on each page because I refuse to ever read my past entries; nevertheless, as I scan through, it’s easy to determine the type of mood I was in for each entry just by seeing the thickness of my letters or the lack of straight edges, or the wrinkles and smudges on many pages, caused by dried teardrops. God, I just need a chance at something better…just one measly chance.

  I press my pen down against the soft paper, quickly writing about last night. Kemper and Trent. Good and evil. Being stuck between them both. Being stuck, period.

  I don’t make it past the first page when Dad busts out the front door, jogging toward my Jeep. “You’re not going back to his house, Daphne. I forbid it.”

  “I’m not going back there, Dad. Besides, I’m twenty-three and you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

  He rips my door open and slaps his hands over the roof of my Jeep, causing a loud thud to echo within it. “I don’t give a shit how old you are. You are my daughter and no one...” He pushes away, scraping his fingers down the side of his face. “Fuck, Daphne. No one lays a finger on my daughter. You hear me? No one.”

  “I should go, Dad.”

  “Daphne, look at me. I know your mom and I suck as parents. I know you know we hate each other, but, I just—I just want you to know I love you, regardless of what you might think.” I can’t say anything in response. I just look at him, hoping he sees even an ounce of the pain I feel inside.

  “I gotta go,” I finally say, pulling the door from his hand. “Send me your new address when you have one.” Dad has moved out and back in ten times. My life has been filled by a series of boxing matches with no winner. Mom is lazy as shit—she doesn’t do a thing around the house and hasn’t worked a regular job a day in her life. Dad, while he works and pays the bills, should never have settled down, and I don’t think he planned to until I came along.

  From what I can remember, they both did try to embrace the whole parenting thing for a while—maybe until I was about five or six, but after that, all they did was fight.

  I pull out of the driveway, looking at Dad in my rear view mirror, holding his head in his hands. Fuck up much? I want to ask him.

  ***

  How has this day felt so long and it is not even noon yet? I don’t know where to go, but as usual, I end up at the bar, and now I’m glad I did. There on the front steps is Kemper. He came back, and so has my smile. Maybe he would miss me if I were gone…

  He walks slowly toward my Jeep as I roll up the window and pull the key out. I begin to open the door, but he takes it from me, opening it the rest of the way. “Did you break up with him?” I wish I could say I did, but instead I left things hanging like I’ve done so many times before.

  “Almost,” I say, embarrassed for not being strong enough to do what I should have done years ago.

  “Well dammit. I was so hoping you would have said yes because I’ve been sitting here for the past hour dying to kiss those pretty little lips of yours, darlin’.” That should be reason enough to break up with Trent. Now I want to go back and do what I have to do, just so I can come back here and taste him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.

  “Just do it,” I whisper. “Kiss me.”

  Kemper takes me by the arm and pulls me out of my Jeep. He closes the door and pushes my back up against it, bringing his face only inches from mine. He moves in closer until his breath tickles my lips. Everything in this moment feels so right—but I know it’s stupid and dangerous. “I’m not a homewrecker, Miss Daphne,” he whispers into my mouth. Homewrecker…the irony. “You do what you need to do for you, and if that decision results in my lips on yours, I’ll be right here waiting for you.” Am I even breathing? I think I might have forgotten how to breathe. I feel like my world just closed in around me, but this time, shining a little light in front of me with a path to follow. My heart is pounding against my chest, and his. My lips are begging to touch his, and I’m yearning for the sensation his tongue would offer. Kemper’s thumb sweeps across my bruised cheek and his lips curl into a slight grin. “I know I only met you a couple of days ago, but, damn, there is something about you I can’t resist. Something keeping me from walking away from a taken girl.”

  “You know, I’m not the only one who has some baggage here. What about your girlfriend?” I manage to retort, even though it didn’t come out smoothly. I know he told his buddy he was over it the other night, but is he?

  “Even if she shows up, I’m no longer available to her.” His fingers push through a few loose strands of hair on the side of my face. “I’ve learned there’s something better out there—I’m not one to let a good thing pass me by.”

  My hands are splayed across my Jeep door, holding me up, as I’m unsure of what to say or do. He backs away, turns, and walks toward the bar door. “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Helping a ‘friend’,” he air-quotes.

  “Well, Jacey, my boss is coming in today, but not for a few hours,” I tell him, following him to the door.

  “That’s fine. In a few hours, I plan to sit at the bar and pretend not to stare at you.” I can’t see the look on his face and he can’t see the look on mine, but I have a totally cheesy smile tugging at my lips. My emotions have been completely spinning out of control over the past hour, and now I’m a little glad the water didn’t swallow me whole.

  I need help. I need Kemper.

  Since the bar doesn’t open for another couple of hours, we both pull up stools and fumble with straws while we continue our fifty questions game. I know we’re both testing the waters with what we ask because he now knows what my favorite brand of shoes are but he doesn’t know my boyfriends’ name. I haven’t mentioned it because I think it might complicate things even more. Plus, he hasn’t asked, so maybe he doesn’t want to know. It’s my turn and I’m turning up the level of difficulty. “How did it happen? When Rex—” I try to ask.

  He places a cocktail straw between his teeth and tilts his head to look at me. His eyes narrow and he exhales heavily. “I’m trying to forget.” He taps his finger against his head a couple of times. “Most of those seconds blend together, but the moments that stand out make it so I don’t want to close my eyes at night.” He looks forward and breaks our eye contact as he pulls the chewed straw out of his mouth. “When I blink, I see the look on Rex’s face when the bullet went straight through his neck. He had this look of shock, like someone told him surprising news. He looked down to try and see what happened I think, but that was as long as he had. He dropped to his knees and a cloud of dirt flew up around his body. Then the rest of him hit the ground. His eyes were still open and staring up at me. I fell with him, telling him to hang on, but he was gone before I could even get a word out.” Kemper’s fists clench and turn white as his knee bounces against the foot bar on his stool. My heart hurts, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying for him.

  “Kemper, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I can’t imagine what it must have been like.” And now I sound like everyone else who doesn’t know what to say. His hands fall flat against the bar and he stands up quickly, making a b-line for the door. “Wait!” I blurt out, but he doesn’t. He leaves, and within seconds I hear the rumble of his bike and the dirt parting ways with his tires.

  I’m such an idiot—so much so that I run out to my Jeep to follow him.

  I don’t think I’ve ever gone this fast around here, but I’m thankful for how flat it is because I can see him about a quarter of a mile ahead. I’m even more thankful that he’s stopped at a red light. I don’t know if he sees me, and I don’t know how anno
yed or angry he might be that I’m following him, but I just caused him some kind of pain and I need to fix it.

  I follow him for what seems like forever. He must have seen me at some point in his rear view mirror, but it didn’t stop him or slow him down. He turns into an apartment complex and I pull into an empty spot beside him. He doesn’t look over at me when he hops off his bike, and he doesn’t acknowledge my presence as he stalks into the building. I stay close on his heels, catching the closing door behind him. I call after him, begging him to stop, but it’s like he doesn’t hear me. He shoves a key into a door, nearly kicking it open, and starts tearing posters off the walls. I run to him and manage to grab the back of his shirt, trying to stop him. The second he feels my touch he falls to his knees and drops his head between his legs. His hands fold around the back of his neck and his entire body convulses. I almost let it all go too because I can’t handle it when someone is in this much pain, but I hold my breath, trying to keep back my selfish tears as I kneel beside him, wrapping my arm around his back. “Hey. It’s okay,” I say softly. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not fucking okay,” he cries. The broken sound in his voice tears my insides out, “he’s gone and he ain’t coming back, Daphne. I can’t handle this. I can’t.”

  What do you say when there are no words that can possibly help? I squeeze my arm tighter around him, pulling him into me. He struggles against me at first, but then his body weakens and he gives into my forced embrace. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve kept my shit together for the past couple of weeks since he died out there, and—I just can’t keep pretending like I’m this piece of steel who doesn’t feel a goddamn thing because I feel everything.” He looks up from below his arm and into my eyes.