Fall Out Girl

by L. Duarte

  It was my minuscule chance. I kneed his balls. He reached for his junk with both hands. “Ouch, fuck, ouch.” He stumbled back.

  I sprinted way.

  “Luna, wait. Fuck, I’m sorry, Luna, I fucked up. Wait,” Andrew called.

  I heard the remorse and regret in his voice, but I didn’t look back. With a stagger that clearly contrasted with my common swagger, I zoomed for the front door.

  My eyes were burning with tears, and my lips ached. To my despair, I had chosen prom night to release the dam that had always barricaded embarrassing tears, allowing them to stream down in public.

  I cracked the door open and a cool breeze embraced me. Grateful for the freedom, I took a deep breath of the cold air. Then I heard the door opening and closing behind me. I lurched back, ready to confront Andrew. This time, he wouldn’t have the chance to corner me.

  It wasn’t Andrew.

  “Luna, are you all right?” With long strides, Caleb stood in front of me.

  “I’m fine.” I turned and ambled away. I didn’t want him to see me crying. I wasn’t a damn maiden in distress.

  He quickly caught up with me. “Wait, what—?” He grabbed my arm where Andrew had bruised, and I winced.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Go to hell.” I jerked my aching arm free from him and continued my march.

  “Did Andrew hurt you?” He followed me.

  “No, fuck off.”

  “Luna, who hurt you?”

  “No one, okay! Nothing happened. It was just a misunderstanding.”

  “Where are you going?” He grabbed me again. “God damnit, Luna. Will you stop?” He stepped in front of me and blocked my path. “What’s…? What the hell? You’re bleeding.” He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth.

  My hands flashed to my swollen lip, finally realizing my mouth tasted rusty and salty. “I’m fine,” I said, shouldering him to get away.

  “Love, please.” Caleb’s arm slid around my waist, and he pulled my back to his chest. “You’re crying… you’re hurt. Please let me help.” His embrace was firm but feathery. His words were such a gentle whisper, a soothing plea.

  My body responded before my brain synapsed and commanded action. I leaned my head on his chest for the second time that night. My body went limp. Caleb caught me right before I hit the pavement. I curled into a tight ball in his arms.

  “Shh, love, I got you.”

  He took me to his car. I was surprised he hadn’t rented a limo for his dates.

  Somehow he managed to open the door while holding me. He deposited me on the passenger seat with the care of someone handling a porcelain doll.

  With my eyes still closed, I willed the tears to halt. But they rebelliously slid between my closed lids.

  I heard the shuffling of leather when Caleb sat next to me. “Do you want to go somewhere? Talk about what happened?”

  “I want to go home,” I said with exhaustion dripping in my tone. “Please, take me home.”

  He let out a frustrated puff of air. “Luna, talk to me, tell me what happened.”

  I opened my eyes. My tear-streaked face turned to him. “Are you gonna take me home or not?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll drive you home,” he said with a defeated expression.

  Relieved, I sank deeper into the seat and closed my eyes.

  The ten-minute ride lasted a century. Caleb’s presence, so close yet so far, was unadulterated torture. My tears subsided, and an occasional sighing was the only sound inside the car.

  My eyes remained closed. I didn’t have enough strength to see Caleb’s face and stop myself from the embarrassment of begging him to give us another chance. Though he had teased me on the dance floor (which was cruel beyond I had ever believed him to be), he had made it clear he was over me, over the silly and fleeting infatuation he had for me. No, I still had an ounce of dignity in my shattered being.

  The distant wailing of a siren started to get louder and closer. Caleb slowed and pulled over to the side of the road.

  “What? What is it?” I opened my eyes to see the tail of a red truck with a spinning light speeding ahead of us. A shiver ran through me, but I discarded it.

  “Just a fire truck,” Caleb answered quietly.

  He looked at me as if ready to say something, but he shook his head slightly and drove off.

  When he turned the corner to my street, fear clasped my throat. Fire trucks, ambulances, police cars all blocked the way to my house. God, no!

  “Jake,” I said. My voice sounded guttural, unrecognizable to my ears. My eyes scanned the chaotic scene. Was it at my house?

  “Pull over, pull over.” Before the car stopped, I flung the door open, and my legs swung out.

  “Wait, Luna. Fuck. Wait…”

  I heard a distant voice, with a tunnel-like quality. I thought it was Caleb’s, but I couldn’t focus. A bright yellow glow emanated from behind the fire engines. Was my house on fire?

  I had known the answer before I saw it. I recognized the rush of blood running through my head, the dread spreading through my body. I had felt that same way when I glanced at the surgeons who had operated on my dad.

  I sprinted toward the house, but my steps were heavy, clumsy, like walking in thigh-high mud. I lost my footing and fell. The abrasive asphalt scraped my knee and a sharp pain shot up my leg. I ignored it. I had to get to Jake.

  I zoomed toward the house, zigzagging through the maze of emergency vehicles. I had a clear line of vision of the house when a set of hands grabbed both my arms and jerked me back. I collided with a hard body. “Let go, let go,” I screamed. “Jake, I gotta get to Jake.” For the second time that night, my body thrashed, writhed, fought for freedom. But this time, the hold was unyielding.

  “Shush, love. Shhh, I’ve got you.” I thought it was Caleb’s voice. I wasn’t sure.

  Firefighters, with their powerful jets of water, sprayed the fire. Blazing flames with angry hisses, licked and swallowed the droopy house that I had so many times called hell.

  Through the inferno, I saw the burgundy shutter still hanging precariously, refusing to allow the flames to destroy it.

  “Jake, no. Jake. God, please, not Jake. Not Jake…” My body started to shiver. A cold sensation crawled through my skin. It was as if ice particles coursed through my veins.

  My chest felt restricted, and my stomach churned. Without warning, I folded my body and heaved on the sidewalk. Cold hands held my head as my body warped and expelled bile from my empty stomach. My soul, my mind vainly tried to purge the fear, the certainty of what had happened. But only the yellowish liquid came out.

  I vaguely recall the remainder of the night. An officer approached us, asked questions I couldn’t answer. Caleb responded to some of the genetic questions on my behalf.

  Time passed, minutes, hours—I lost track. The house turned into a semi-destructed skeleton with patches of black coal against the wall, smoke bellowing from the dead structure.

  “Hello, you must be Luna. I’m Jackie Smith. I’m a social worker working with DCF.” She flipped the papers attached to a clipboard. “I see here that you’re a minor for another few days.”

  “Yes,” I answered. My eighteenth birthday was a few days away.

  “I’m going to help you figure things out tonight, all right?” Probably the cops had called her in.

  I nodded.

  Although I didn’t remember Caleb calling his mom, at one point I saw Ana talking to the social worker.

  The social worker approached again and asked, “Luna, do you have anywhere you could go for tonight?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t go anywhere. I needed to stay put. Wait to find out what happened.

  “Mrs. Cahan has offered to let you spend the night at her house. Would you be okay with that arrangement?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I find Jake.”

  “Regardless of when you leave, we need to find you a place to stay.” She glanced at Mrs. Cahan. “We already di
d a background check on her, and if you don’t have another place to go…” Her words trailed off when I nodded. She rearranged her face to disguise her relief.

  Did I have an option? I glanced at Mrs. Cahan then at Caleb. From the social worker’s face, I knew it was either them or she would find a “family” to take me in.

  My heart longed for the place I used to refer to as a hellhole. It was better than the current situation.

  The social worker started exchanging information with Mrs. Cahan.

  More time passed. After the flames had been tamed and had been put out, a firefighter and a police officer spoke to the social worker and pointed in my direction. The social worker whispered to Mrs. Cahan, who proceeded to exchange a few words with Caleb. I knew exactly what was happening.

  The bodies.

  They’ve found bodies. They needed to remove them but didn’t want to traumatize me. Oh, how considerate of them. (No sarcasm inserted here).

  Caleb returned to me with death in his eyes. “It’s been a long night. Let’s go home and get some rest.” He slid his fingers through my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “They’ll keep us informed,” he added.

  I nodded. I didn’t have any fight left in me. Caleb was aware that I knew what was happening. He pulled me into his embrace. I pressed my face against his chest and heard his heartbeat. It was soothing, like sitting on the couch and watching the snow falling outside. I wanted to scream, wail. But the cries seemed lodged in my throat.

  Caleb escorted me to his car, ushered me in, and sat in the driver’s seat.

  “Did they find him?” I asked.

  “They found two bodies. They need positive identification before making an official statement.” He grabbed my hand, his face contorted with emotion. “I’m sorry, love.”

  The car’s engine came to life with a soft roar. Caleb drove to his house in silence. I turned my face to the window and watched the landscape pass by, a meaningless blur.

  He parked inside an enormous garage and cut off the engine. We didn’t move, and a heavy silence hung between us.

  I thought the tears would fall then, but they didn’t. It was probably some weird phase of mourning. Or shock.

  Finally, Caleb opened the door and tugged me out of the car and into the house.

  I followed him in silence.

  Ana was already in the living room. She hung up the phone and came to us. “I just hung up with Detective O’Brien. He’s going to personally oversee the investigation.

  “I also got a guest room ready. I pulled out some of my clothes for you,” she said.

  I glanced at Caleb. He understood my wordless plea.

  “I’ll show you to your room.” He took me by the hand and guided me up the luxurious staircase. His father wasn’t in sight. Which was a relief.

  Caleb opened the door and flipped on the light. The room, with earthly colors, organic fabrics, a large bed, and fluffy pillows had a warm and welcoming vibe.

  “The bathroom’s over there,” Caleb said pointing to the door. “Do you want to shower?”

  I nodded.

  “Come,” he said, gathering a pair of silk pajamas from over an elegant chair. Inside the bathroom, he turned on the water, and asked me, “Are you gonna be okay?”

  I nodded.

  He tilted his head, furrowed his brows, and asked with a whisper, “Do you need me to help you?”

  I nodded.

  Caleb opened a drawer from the vanity and retrieved a hair tie. He stood in front of me, his eyes full of tenderness, and as if I was a toddler, he put my hair up in a ponytail. With patient fingers, he pulled the dress and undergarments off me. It wasn’t a sexual touch. It was more than that. It was intimate and loving.

  I wanted to understand his actions. Talk about bipolar behavior. One day Caleb didn’t deign to give me a glance, the following he was all loving and concerned. Perhaps pity motivated him. The thought was repugnant. I’d rather have his indifference than his pity. But I was too numb and exhausted to question or confront him about it. I just accepted what he was offering me. His attention and care.

  When he opened the glass shower door steam billowed from inside and exacerbated the smell of burned plastic and smoke ingrained on my skin and in my soul.

  “Go on, love. It’ll help you feel better.”

  I obeyed.

  The water was warm, clear, cleansing. Everything water should be. For long minutes, I thought about water. Its ancient tales. A human could survive longer without food than water. My mind morphed back to Jake, the flames licking his body.

  Did he feel any pain? Did he die quickly? Was there any water left in his body?

  Why was I so certain he’d died?

  I wasn’t going to cling to false hope, but since they never identified the bodies, there was a chance that he’d gone to the party.

  For a brief moment, I fantasised about Jake desperately knocking at the door, yelling at me for scaring the hell out of him. “I was at the beach luau, Luna. Don’t you fucking scare me like this again.” His arms fiercely pulling me into a desperate hug. “I thought you and Mom were inside the house. I thought you were gone.”

  I opened my eyes. Maybe, maybe… I shook my head, discarding the incomplete thought. There would be no riding off in the sunset ending for that tale. I knew life wasn’t a fairy tale. Shit happened. People died. End of story.

  I climbed out of the shower and grabbed a soft towel. Funny the way the brain works. At that moment of complete desolation, I noticed the softness of the towel against my skin. How irrelevant and futile our minds can be at times. Or maybe the mind is so overloaded with the emotions that it tries to find a detour, think of something weightless like it’s taking a break from the heavy emotions.

  With automatic movements, I donned the pajamas.

  Back in the room, Caleb was sitting on a chair, his head between his hands.

  “You all right?” He looked up.

  I nodded. I walked to the bed and slid under the covers. I heard a rap at the door.

  Caleb opened the door.

  “Can I come in?” Ana peeked her head in.

  “Sure, Mom.”

  “I made you some tea.” She placed a silver tray on the nightstand, poured tea into a cup and handed it to me. “It will help you sleep.”

  I didn’t respond. I just obeyed, forcing the hot liquid down my throat.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands. “I just got off the phone with Detective O’Brien.” She inhaled a deep breath of air. “They identified the bodies.” She smoothed unseen wrinkles in her suit pants. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry. According to Detective O’Brien, it was your aunt and cousin.”

  Caleb grabbed my hand and squeezed it. My body felt petrified.

  “Do you need anything?” Mrs. Cahan stood up.

  “We’ll be okay, Mom.”

  “Well, I’ll let you rest then.” She walked to the door. “Please, come and get me if you need anything.”

  I wanted to say something, but my lips remained still.

  Caleb took a long breath. “It’s almost morning. You want try to get some sleep?”

  My eyes must have spoken the words I couldn’t push out of my mouth because he asked.

  “Do you want me to stay until you fall sleep?” His voice sounded apprehensively hopeful.

  I nodded.

  Caleb’s scrunched-up face went smooth as if he was relieved I had said yes.

  That was an inopportune time to think or wish for things like that, but my poor heart couldn’t help but hope he had a spark of emotion left for me, and we could rekindle our relationship. The thought reminded me of how little self-worth I had.

  He slid behind me and pulled me into an embrace.

  There were no more tears shed that night. My body was numb and unable to disperse the salty liquid produced by intense grief or joy. I sighed deeply and repeatedly, like a two-year-old after a fit of crying.

  After a brief and fitful sleep, my eyes sna
pped open. Hazed with sleep, I wondered why Caleb’s scent was so pungent in my nostrils. Then, an avalanche of thought hit me. They were jumbled and fragmented memories. When I attempted to understand them, it felt like trying to put together pieces of a nightmare. Panic threatened to grab hold of me and deprive me of the little sanity I had remaining.

  I tried to move, but heavy arms draped over my waist, grounding me to the bed. I willed my coiled up muscles to relax. Finally, I relaxed against Caleb. I inhaled a deep breath of air. I wanted to imprint his heady scent in the blueprint of my soul. Then, slowly, I peeled his arm from my waist and climbed out of bed.

  Fumbling in the dark, I found the jeans and sweater Ana had placed on a chair. I quickly changed and exited the room without another look at the sleeping Caleb. Later, I would have to thank him.

  Holding my boots, I found my way to the front door. I held my breath and slid the door open. I exhaled in relief. The alarm didn’t go off. Thank God for small favors.

  I pulled on my boots and marched to the front gate. It was dark, and I was clueless about the time. It didn’t matter. At the gate, instead of buzzing for help, I just climbed out like a criminal.

  Then I walked down the quiet road. My mind wandered through other days. To times when my father wrapped his arms around my shoulder, wiped my tears, and kissed my boo-boos away. To times when Jake’s melancholy laughter echoed on the wall of my room. Two people I loved and briefly held. Both gone.

  What hurt the most was to know Jake had been such an unhappy soul. And I couldn’t save him.

  Life was a solitary and sad business.

  WHEN I ARRIVED home, a predawn light tinted the horizon, deceivingly promising a brighter day.

  For a long time, alone and pathetic, I stood by the yellow tape barricading the house.

  No tears found their way out; instead, anger swept my body. The burgundy shutter had survived. I wanted to destroy it, burn it to ashes. I hated that piece of wood. It was irrational, crazy even, but I didn’t care if I was going loony. It was inconceivable that inert object had survived the unforgivable fire, yet Jake had perished.