by Carian Cole
He wouldn’t do that.
He loves me.
The front door swings open and he stumbles in. I sit up quickly and watch him maneuver through the tiny space.
“The hell you doing here?” His voice sounds worse than I’ve ever heard it, hoarse and garbled.
“I…I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to be with Poppy. And I was worried about you.”
He steps farther into the room and, as my eyes adjust to the dark, I see the mask on his face, crooked and seeping with blood. My heart leaps up into my throat, my stomach sinking as I scoot back against the arm of the couch.
“Wh-whats going on?” I whisper.
“With?”
“You.”
He falls into the chair across the room and puts his feet up on the old steam trunk he uses as a coffee table.
“Everything and nothing.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, Holly.”
“Are you bleeding?”
“Probably.”
“Did you crash your bike again?” Panic seizes me when I realize he could be hurt.
“No. I was in a fight.”
“What? With who? Why?”
He yanks the mask off, and tiny blue sparks of static electricity light up his head.
“A paid fight.”
My confusion and frustration mount. “I don’t know what that is.”
He sighs and leans his head back in the chair, staring at the ceiling. “It’s when people get paid to beat the shit out of each other. Like boxing, only dirtier.”
“When did you start doing that?”
“Years ago. I told you this once before.”
“But…why?”
He shrugs. “I only do it now when I need it.”
“When you need money? I’ll give you money; I have a bunch saved up. I don’t want you getting punched…or hurt…”
“No,” he croaks loudly. “Fuck. Not money.”
I stare at him, completely lost as to what’s going on here.
“Just stop, Holly.”
Ignoring him, I go to the kitchen and wet a paper towel. When I turn on the floor lamp next to him, I gasp when I see his face, blood dripping from his nose, some dried at the edge. Leaning over him, I gently wipe his face, and I smell alcohol on his breath.
“Isn’t this dangerous for your face?” I ask. “To get punched after all the skin grafts you’ve had? And what about your throat? What if you got hit there?”
Without warning, he grabs my arm and pulls me onto his lap. “Stop fussing over my fucking face.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“A little.”
“Ty…” I’m confused and disappointed, and not at all sure what to say.
“You shouldn’t be here. I’m in a real fucking bad mood.”
“Then go to bed. I’ll stay down here.” I push his hair off his face. “I don’t understand what happened,” I say, resting my hand on his shoulder. “We were having such a nice date. I thought we were happy.”
His hand slowly slides down the outside of my thigh, the warmth of it seeping right through the fabric of my jeans.
“Because that’s what happens.” He swallows. “Nothing good ever lasts for me.”
“But it didn’t have to happen. We’re fine,” I protest as his hand grips my leg.
Snaking his arm around me, he pulls me down on him until I’m lying against his chest, my head on his shoulder, my face against his neck. I don’t move, unsure of his motive and equally unsure how I feel about being so close to him when he’s acting so strange.
“You have no idea how bad I wanted this.” I can’t deny how sexy his voice can be when his raspiness touches the right words at the right time. My thighs tighten in response, warmth radiating from within.
“I want you to be happy,” I whisper.
His arm tightens around me. “You make me happy.”
I relax into him after hearing his words and close my eyes as his hand lightly trails up and down my arm, over the uneven texture of my scars, without hesitation.
Yes. Bring the happiness back. Please.
“You really don’t know, do you?” he finally says.
“Know what?”
“I was there,” he finally says.
“Where?”
“The boy you grabbed for help. The one he pushed into the fire. It was me.”
A jolt of pain slices through me, almost blinding me in its ferocity.
I sit up, almost falling off his lap, but he catches me and holds me against his chest. “What?” That can’t be true. We couldn’t have been in the same place at the same time so many times. That’s the kind of thing that happens on TV and, even I know, doesn’t happen in real life. “I don’t believe you.”
“Holly, it’s true. You described the entire night exactly how it happened. It was me. Look at me. Think back.”
The blue eyes…the shaggy blond hair.
“No…” I don’t want it to be him, I don’t want the horrible screams I heard to belong to him, the man who’s become my best friend, taken care of my dog, and given me special blankets and a dreamcatcher.
The man I love.
“I could have saved you. I was drunk, and I forgot you afterward. I never told anyone. Maybe if I had…” He gulps and coughs, and I close my eyes, hating his pain and struggle. “I could have described him to the police. I looked right at him. They could have drawn one of those pictures. He was a teacher. Someone would have recognized the photo in this small town. I fucked up, Holly.”
My heart is breaking inside, cracking and shattering, its tiny pieces coursing through my veins. “That’s not how I see it,” I say tearfully. “Not at all.”
He turns his face toward mine. “Really? How the hell do you see it?”
“If I hadn’t grabbed you, he never would have pushed you. You never would have gotten burnt, you never would have—”
His lips come down hard on mine, silencing me as I ramp up into hysterics.
“Shh…” he whispers. “Are you fucking crazy? You were just a little girl looking for help. You didn’t do anything wrong at all.”
He’s wrong. So wrong. “I’m so sorry, Tyler.” I cry. “I ruined your whole life…”
“No,” he says vehemently. “He ruined our lives. Him.”
I pull away from him and stand, feeling trapped and panicked. I think I need my pills. “Maybe I should go…” I say, looking around for my backpack. “Where is my backpack?”
He jumps up from the chair. “You’re not leaving like this.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me to look at him. “I’m all fucked up, Holly. But I’m not letting you run out of here when you’re this upset. You’re staying here with me.”
One…two…three…four…
I swipe my hand across my wet nose. “I’m all fucked up, too. Where the hell is my backpack?”
“You’re not leaving. And I don’t think you brought it today. Stop looking for it.”
I run my hands through my hair. How could I leave the house without my backpack and books? Is that why all this bad stuff is happening? “I feel sick.” I try to pull away from him, but he holds onto me.
“You’re okay,” he says softly. “I think you’re just having an anxiety attack.”
My heart races rapidly as I stare back into his eyes. “I’m so glad you killed him, Tyler,” I whisper. “I know I shouldn’t say that…but I hate him so much…even more now than I ever did. I hate him! I hate him!” I scream.
He pulls me into a hug and holds me tight, hushing me.
I hate the bad man. I hate myself. I hate my parents. I’ve never felt so much sheer anger in my life. I feel like it’s ripping me apart from the inside out. “I’m scared. I don’t want this to be true.”
“I know. Neither do I.”
We hold onto each other in the dim room, the shroud of reality enveloping us. We can’t escape this. No matter what, this is us. We’re tied together by this a
wful course of events, unknowingly walking the same path.
What’s next? Where do we go from here?
I look up at him, searching his eyes, but all I can see is the hue of the purple and blue bruising around his eye and cheek and blood trickling from his nose. All evidence of his need to self-punish because of me.
“We just need some time,” he says a little too hopefully. “To let it sink in. It’s all fucked up.”
Time. Everything in life comes down to time.
His blue eyes lock onto mine, endless pools of blue sucking me in. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“I did too,” I whisper.
Nothing could ever change that.
“Then that’s what we have to focus on, right?”
I want to believe him…but his entire life has been built around focusing on the bad things that’s happened to him. It’s why he hides out here, ostracizing himself from his friends and family. How is he going to move past that awful night, now that we both know what happened? How will I?
I wait on the couch while he showers and admit to myself that I’m going to need to talk to Dr. Reynolds first thing next week to discuss all this. I’ve always felt regret over the boy being pushed into the fire, but now that I know it was Tyler, it adds a whole new level of insurmountable guilt. I’ll probably be in therapy for the rest of my life trying to come to terms with this, but no matter what, I won’t let it come between us.
“What are you thinking about?” Tyler asks when he comes back to the living room in a pair of black gym shorts. I’m relieved to see him without blood all over his face, not to mention that terrible mask.
“Everything… how so many bad things happened to you in your life because of that one moment…I want to go back and undo it. I want to somehow change all of it for both of us.” I shake my head and try to fight back tears. “What did we do to deserve this?”
“I just stood in that shower ’til the water turned cold trying to get my head around this…because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’m going to lose my mind. And you. And I won’t let that happen.” He stares at the floor for a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheek nervously before he continues. “I’m trying to tell myself if those things hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have been living out here. I never would have found you in that fucking hole.” He sits on the couch next to me, our legs touching. “It happened the way it had to happen. I guess I was given a second chance to save you, and I didn’t fuck it up this time.”
I shake my head, still filled with so much guilt I feel nauseous. I can’t stand the fact that anything I did, accidental or not, has caused so much pain in his life.
“I don’t know, Ty,” I reply with tears spilling onto my cheeks. “I would have rather never been found, and have you never get hurt.”
A deep sigh pushes his chest up and down. “And I would fall into that fire a thousand times to be able to save you.”
An ache soars from my heart and lodges in my chest. “In my books, love doesn’t come with such awful repercussions. It makes everyone happy.”
He flips his damp hair out of his face and turns to me, his eyes filled with determination. “I think you have to let those books go, sugar. This…what we’re dealing with right here is reality. It’s ugly and it fucking hurts like hell, but it’s real. Life ain’t no fairy tale. If we want this to work, we have to accept that.”
“I need my books…” My voice is childlike, even to me. Maybe I was better off locked in the basement with nothing but books and TV and Poppy. Maybe real life is just too hard for me.
“You don’t, Holly. You’re free now. You can let the books go. Those stories are over now.” He grabs my hand in his and lifts it to his lips, closing his eyes as he kisses it. “We have each other, right? We have our own story.”
I nod. “Yes, we do.” I hope.
“Then we’ll be okay.”
I can see right through him, trying to be strong for me. But I know deep down, he’s petrified, and so fragile with guilt that he could crack at any moment.
We hold each other, kissing softly, until our hearts and minds calm down. We whisper promises to each other under our blanket, and as his clock ticks away the night on his mantle, I start to believe that he’s right. We’ll be okay.
Suddenly, Boomer and Poppy’s heads both shoot up from their sleeping positions, their ears twisting around like little antennas. A car door slams in the driveway.
“Is someone here?” I ask. “Its four a.m.”
Ty kisses my forehead before rising from the couch. “Stay here.” I pull the blanket over my lap as he crosses the small room and opens the front door, and a man steps inside, his heavy boots clomping against the wooden floor.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ty asks. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Lighten up, scarface. I had a huge fucking fight with Darcy. I had to leave.”
“She kicked you out?”
“Not really, it was just better for me to give her some space.” He finally notices me. “Shit, I didn’t know you had company, man.”
Ty runs his hand through his hair, and looks from me to the man. “Tanner, this is my girlfriend, Holly.” I smile at the term girlfriend. “Holly, this is my brother, Tanner.”
A brother! I never would have guessed this person was a relative. They look nothing alike.
“Sorry to barge in,” he says, fingering his beard. “Nice to meet you, though.”
“It’s okay.” I reply, wondering if I should leave them alone since Tanner is clearly going through some kind of stress. Ty’s brother is a bear of a man, a few inches taller than Ty, and even more muscular. He’s wide like a wrestler, taking up a huge amount of space in the tiny room. His brown hair is shaved on the sides, but the center part hangs well past his inked shoulders.
He’s dark and intimidating in comparison to Tyler’s light hair and eyes and boyish smile.
“I should go…” I say. “So you two can talk.”
“No,” Tyler barks. “You’re staying.”
Tanner puts his hands up. “I’m gonna go, man. I’m sorry…you’re always alone, so I thought I could crash here.”
Ty grabs his arm. “Fuck you. And you’re not leaving either.” He coughs. “Do you need to talk or you just need somewhere to sleep?”
His brother picks up Boomer and throws him over his shoulder like a ragdoll, stroking his hand down his back. Boomer starts to chew on his hair. “I don’t wanna talk, Ty, but I gotta say it’s good to hear you talking so much. My brains just too fucked right now. I need to sleep and I’ll be out of here tomorrow.”
“All right. We were just about to go up to the loft anyway.” Our eyes meet across the room and I nod as my heart does a little trot. “You can try to squeeze your ass on the couch.”
Tanner shrugs. “I’ve slept in much worse places than this.”
I stand and shyly offer him the blanket. “If you sleep with this, you’ll feel better. Its magic.”
Smiling with charm I didn’t think such a towering, brooding man could have, he takes the blanket from me. “Thanks, sweetheart. I need all the help I can get right now.”
Don’t we all?
28
Tyler
She cries in her sleep, and her body twitches as if it hurts. I watch her, wondering what’s happening in her mind right now—what she’s seeing and feeling. I worry about what demons could be brainwashing her.
I lie on my side and watch her sleep, taking in every delicate detail of her face, the length of her eyelashes and how they rest on her cheeks like little feathers, the way her lips part as she breathes. I want her in my bed like this every day, with the sun shining down on her golden hair like a halo.
Earlier, I teetered on the edge of letting guilt and regret consume me. First my father, and now this…this insane fucking regret that’s eating me like a virus. The night of the fire is still a haze in my memories, but I keep going back there, replaying every moment. If Wendy wasn’t such a se
lf-centered bitch, she probably wouldn’t have laughed and ignored a terrified little girl. If I had been sober, I probably wouldn’t have fallen when he pushed me. If I had just remembered everything when they questioned me at the hospital, maybe they would have found her.
So many fucking ifs.
The escape of drugs is so fucking tempting. To go back to that place where nothing hurts, where I don’t have to face all these unfair twists and turns of life, to go down that rabbit hole of numbness would be a great vacation right now.
But if I put myself in that place again, I’ll let Holly down. And this time, knowingly so. I’ll lose her, and all the happiness that comes with her. I’ll drag her happiness down with me. If I don’t hide how much the guilt is killing me inside, it will tear her apart.
For her, I’ll stay sober and straight.
For her, I’ll put on the strong and happy mask.
For whatever crazy reason, she loves and trusts me. She sees past all my fuckups and ugliness and just bad shit. Is she so lost in her fairy tale that she’s blind to it all? Or does she honestly love me enough to accept it?
I don’t even fucking care. As long as she’s here, in my life and in my arms.
She’s everything. My past. My present. My future. My twin flame—the one who shares the path of my soul.
Tanner’s already gone by the time we go downstairs for breakfast, and now she’s staring at her food, lifting the pancakes with her fork, flipping them over. She catches me watching her from across the small table and quickly puts her fork down.
“I wasn’t doing that,” she says. “I was just looking at them.
I raise my brows at her. “You think I would drug you? Or try to bribe you?”
She looks down at her plate in guilt. “I can’t help it. I just do it.”
“I know, sugar. I just want you to be able to eat without being afraid of it.”
“I do too.”
She slowly cuts up her food into tiny pieces and takes a cautious bite from her fork.
“Can I ask you something?” she asks.