Losing a Piece of Me

by K. B. Andrews

  My clothes meant everything to me. It was the only way I was allowed to truly express myself. In a house where I was expected to make good grades, attend a certain college, and live however they found acceptable, my fashion choices, or lack thereof, were the only part of my life I had control over.

  After taking everything in, I follow the route my mother took to the right, into the dining room.

  There, I find my mother at the head of the table with my older sister to her right. When Steph sees me walk in, she jumps up and runs to my side.

  “I can’t believe you’re finally here.” She hugs me quickly and pulls away, blue eyes brightening.

  I tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  She takes my hand and pulls me toward the table. “Come sit with us. We’re going over everything for the dinner tomorrow night.”

  My eyes flash to my mother, who doesn’t look pleased.

  I pull my hand back. “Actually, I need to go and hang up my things before they wrinkle.”

  “Oh, of course.” She looks quickly to the floor and then back to me. “But you will join us when you finish, right?”

  I smile politely. “Sure.”

  I head upstairs with my bag. At the top, I stop and peer down the long hallway. Somehow, its size makes me feel small again.

  I will myself to walk down the long hallway, not stopping until I reach my bedroom door. I place my hand on the doorknob and turn slowly. The door creaks inward and I peek inside before stepping in. You’re being stupid, just go inside, I chastise myself. It’s just like downstairs, everything is the same as it was when I left. Same Blink-182 posters on the walls. Same knick-knacks and trophies lining the shelves. Same photos of old friends, many of whom I haven’t seen or talked to in years. It’s been so long that I no longer feel any attachment to any of it. It’s as if it belongs to someone else entirely. My old window overlooks the backyard. When I look out, I halfway expect to see Striker standing there, waiting for me to climb down to meet him. I pull the curtains closed and begin unpacking my bag.

  An hour later, everything is put away and I am washed up for dinner. I make my way down the stairs and back to the dining room where everyone is in their proper place at the table.

  “Hi, Dad.” I place a kiss on his cheek before taking my seat across from my sister.

  My mother’s eyes watch me. I can tell she isn’t happy that my sister and father aren’t giving me the cold shoulder the same way she is.

  The maid places dinner on the table and we all begin to eat in silence. I think everyone is feeling the strain.

  My sister, trying to be the happy-go-lucky person that she is, talks about her fiancée and how they met. I’m only half-paying attention while distractedly picking at my food.

  At long last, my mother breaks her stoic silence by slamming her fist down on the table, interrupting Steph. The water in everyone’s glasses takes several moments to stop sloshing around from the impact.

  “Are you going to tell me that you’re just going to sit there and act like everything is okay?”

  My eyes flash to her, but she’s looking at my father.

  He lifts his eyes from his plate, not startled at all.

  Wiping his mouth and adjusting his glasses, he replies calmly, “What exactly isn’t okay, dear?”

  I look back and forth between them until her eyes land on me.

  “You don’t have anything to say to your daughter that ran away six years ago?”

  His eyes look to me. “It’s nice to see you, Alexis.”

  She lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  My father doesn’t look pleased but he turns to me. “We need to have a talk about what it is that you’re doing with your life.”

  My shoulders unintentionally slump down at this. I knew this was going to happen. Everyone’s eyes are on me now, and I can feel anger burning in my chest. “There is nothing to talk about. I am completely happy with my life…far away from you.” I look directly at her.

  “Is that what I get? After everything? After raising you and clothing you and buying you nice things?”

  I laugh. I don’t mean to, but it slips out. “After raising me? You didn’t raise me! I was just something to march in front of your friends at the country club. As soon as I stepped out of line, I was cut off.” I toss my napkin onto the table and stand. The chair skids across the floor behind me and wobbles, nearly tipping over.

  “I agreed to come here for Steph, not you. And I don’t need you planning out my life for me.” I walk angrily toward the stairs.

  “That’s right, run away like you always do!” my mother screams at me.

  I rush to my room, just like I did when I was a child.

  I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I hate what she does to me. She never once showed me an ounce of love. When I did something she approved of, I never got an “I’m proud of you.” No, I got, “Oh, what will our friends at the club think of this?”

  I grab my purse and keys and lift my window. Here I am, twenty-four-years-old and sneaking out of my fucking bedroom window like I’m in grade school again.

  I wander the dimly lit roads around town for a while, until I find myself sitting at the local bar. It’s not busy, but there is music blaring loudly, drowning out any thoughts I may have.

  I order a martini and light a cigarette, noticing (although not surprised to see) that the pack is already almost empty.

  “Lexi?”

  Brett, an old friend, is approaching me from the other side of the bar. He went to high school with me and is good friends with Striker.

  I stand. “Hi, how are you?” I ask, moving in for a hug.

  He squeezes me tightly, lifting me off the ground and placing me back on my feet. “I’m good. Where in the hell have you been hiding?”

  I take my seat and sip my martini. “Oh, you know, here and there,” I reply, avoiding a real answer.

  “I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back.” He bumps my arm with his elbow. “You know, you never did say goodbye to me.”

  I smile. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t really say goodbye to anyone.”

  “Oh my God, Lexi?” Gemma walks up between us.

  “Hey! How have you been?” I stand and give her the same awkward hug. Gemma and I used to be friends. Not best friends, but we hung out on occasion.

  She leans in and presses a kiss to Brett’s lips.

  “Good! We’re married now.” She holds up her left hand to show off her ring. “Can you believe it?”

  “Wow, congratulations.”

  “Listen, I can’t stay. I just dropped by to see Brett for a few minutes before I go into work, but would you come over to our place tomorrow? We can have lunch and catch up?”

  “I don’t…” Brett starts, but Gemma cuts him off.

  “Please? Brett can fire up the grill and we can sit on the patio, have a few drinks, and catch up. What do ya say?”

  I look back and forth between them. Gemma’s dark eyes are shining and her lips are turned up into a big smile. Brett looks a little nervous. His eyes are trained on his beer; I can’t read his reaction.

  “Okay, sure,” I agree, mostly to buy myself as much time as possible away from my mother’s house.

  Gemma cheers, making her red curls bounce as she jumps up and down. “Okay, come over around noon?”

  I nod. “That sounds great.”

  “I have to get to work. Brett, walk me out?”

  He gives me a look I can’t place before nodding and following after Gemma.

  Within minutes, he’s back sitting beside me.

  “Can I ask you something?” I ask him.

  “Shoot.” He turns to look at me.

  “Why did you give me that look? If you don’t want me to come over, I won’t.”

  He blows it off. “No, not at all. Gemma and I would love to have you over.”

  I
cock my head to the side. “Are you sure?”

  He nods. “Absolutely.” He grabs a bar napkin, writes down their address, and slides it over to me.

  I tuck the napkin into my purse before finishing my drink and checking the time. My mom should be retired to her room by now. “Okay. I will see you tomorrow, then?”

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

  I wake late the next morning, not surprised to see that my mother didn’t wake me for breakfast. I roll from bed and take a long shower before dressing myself in a pair of jean shorts and my favorite black t-shirt with cut-off sleeves. My dark hair is down free, flowing as it pleases. I fix my makeup and intentionally go heavy on the eyeliner, knowing that it will drive my mother crazy.

  The irony of the situation hits me yet again. Twenty-four-years-old, living by myself, and still hell-bent on annoying her any way I can.

  I escape the house without her seeing me and head in the direction of Gemma and Brett’s.

  It only takes a few minutes to cross town to their place, where I pull into the driveway and park next to a red Dodge truck. I look at their house in a daze. It’s not a big house, just normal-sized with a nice, clean lawn. Not completely overdone, like my parents’ house; it’s just small, comfortable, and inviting.

  I step out and make my way to the door. After a few knocks, I hear Gemma shout to Brett from the backyard, so I close the screen door and walk around the side of the house to the privacy fence. The latch opens easily, and I step foot into their backyard.

  Gemma, setting up the patio table, beams when she sees me. “I can’t believe you actually came!” she says, rushing towards me. She pulls me in for a hug before latching onto my wrist, pulling me toward the table.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  She stands up straight and adjusts her white top. “I just wasn’t for sure, you know? We haven’t seen you in six years and we didn’t leave things on the best of terms.” Her eyes nervously flash down to the table.

  I wave her off as I take a seat. “That was years ago. None of that matters now.” My stomach tightens at the thought of our last conversation, but I refuse to let myself go there.

  She looks back at me and her smile returns. “Good. We have so much to catch up on.” She pours me a frozen margarita and hands it over.

  I take a drink of it and set the glass on the table before taking a deep breath. Just being back in my hometown causes me to feel uneasy. I keep waiting for the moment I run into him. I know it will happen eventually, the town is too small not to.

  “So, what have you been up to?” Gemma asks before she takes a drink of her own margarita.

  “Nothing much.” I pray that she lets me slide by with that.

  “Nothing much? You’ve been gone for six years. Where do you live? What do you do?” Her dark eyes meet mine and I see nothing but friendship shining beneath them.

  I sit up straight and brush my hair from my face. “I moved into the city. I am part owner of a clothing store on the strip.” It isn’t much, but it feels like I’m giving away a piece of myself. I want to stay hidden away from this town and especially from a certain person. My own mother didn’t know where I was until I told her two years ago.

  I was supposed to go to college, but I didn’t make it. Instead I took a different road, and in turn, got a different life. A life which my mother isn’t happy with.

  Her eyes are wide and her mouth is damn near hanging open. “All this time you’ve been in the city? I thought you left the state. Striker must have thought you left the country, the way he looked for you.”

  And there it is. Striker.

  The mention of his name rips my gaze away from my hands and directly into her eyes. “He looked for me?” A chill runs up my spine. “How long?”

  “Years. Hell, he may still be looking.” Her eyes flash to the back sliding glass door. “Although, I bet you are much closer than he thinks you are.” A grin pulls at the corners of her lips, but she won’t let it form.

  I turn to look over my shoulder and see Brett walking out of the door with a tray full of meat for the grill. He’s turned around talking to someone behind him. When he steps out into the sunlight and I see him, my blood runs cold.

  Chapter 4

  I wake up with my face pressed to the side of the couch. Motionless, I survey the room. Nothing seems out of place or unusual, but something feels different.

  It’s her.

  She’s home.

  I haven’t even seen her, but I can feel her. I could always feel her.

  I push myself up off the couch and head to the shower. There, while the hot water falls around my lowered head, I close my eyes and am swept away in a memory.

  Leaving the gym, I see Lex standing next to the building, talking to Gemma. I start making my way over.

  “What are you going to do? You have to tell him,” Gemma says.

  I don’t think much of it. Instead, I grab ahold of Lex and pull her against my chest, pressing my lips to hers. She tastes so sweet. She melts against me and a soft whimper escapes her lips.

  When we pull away, Gemma says, “Okay guys, we’re heading to the party. See you there?”

  Lex looks at her and offers a nod and a shy smile. Her cheeks are flushed from our kiss, and her lips are red and slightly swollen.

  I take her hand in mine and lead her in the direction of my motorcycle. She pulls off her cap and gown and tosses them into a nearby trash can, and I follow suit before hopping on the bike and revving the engine.

  “I have to swing by my house before we go to the party,” I tell her as she takes my hand and climbs on behind me.

  Five minutes later, we pull into the driveway. I kill the bike and help her off before putting the kickstand down and climbing off myself.

  She’s quiet tonight. Something is off but I don’t know what. Whatever it is, I will talk to her later about it. We have a party to get to and I need to be out of the house as quickly as possible. My dad will be rolling in soon.

  I open the door for her and lead her into the dark living room. “I’ll be right back, I just need to change and grab something.”

  She nods her head and sits down on the sofa. She seems so small there. I stop when she wraps her arms around herself and drops her eyes to the floor.

  I take a deep breath and sit by her side, pulling her in close against me. “What’s going on, Lex?”

  “What? Nothing.” She looks at me. Even in the dark room, enough light shines through to clearly illuminate her face and the serious expression across it. She’s nervously biting her bottom lip.

  I place my thumb on the edge of her lip and pull it from between her teeth. Her teeth left marks behind. I run my thumb over them before moving in for a kiss.

  She’s holding back.

  I pull away. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  She nods and her eyes fall to her hands that are resting between us. “I know.”

  I place my hand under her chin and tilt her head so she has to meet my eyes. “Then tell me. What is it?”

  She lets out a long breath, taking a few moments to collect herself, but finally speaks. “It’s over. High school is over. It’s almost time to set our plan into action.”

  My hand falls from her chin. “I know. Just say the words and we’re gone,” I promise her.

  The corners of her lips turn up just a little before they press against mine.

  I shake my head clear of the memory. If I had known that she would be gone from my life only two days later, I may not have made that promise. I wanted to marry her, even at the age of eighteen. She was the one for me. It was something that I hadn’t doubted since our twelve-year-old selves shared that kiss in the stolen police cruiser.

  None of that matters though. She didn’t love me. She ran away from me, and didn’t even tell me goodbye. She left me a mess, a mess that nobody else wanted.

  I step from the shower and dress myself, avoiding looking in the mirror. I know what I’ll see. A broken man. A man still
hanging on to his high school girlfriend.

  In the process of pulling my shirt over my head, my eyes inadvertently shift to the mirror, making eye contact with myself. I look like shit. My hair is much longer than I usually let it grow, and a scruffy beard covers my face.

  Something needs to be done about the beard, so I quickly clean it up with my trimmers. A quick run of my fingers through my hair is the final straw for my mop; I decide to get a haircut before going to Brett’s. He talked me into patching up the roof on his garage, and having my hair hanging in my eyes will make the work difficult. With my luck, I’ll end up falling off the roof.

  I head to the barbershop and take a seat in the chair. No need to tell him what I want done, it’s the same haircut he’s been giving me since I was a kid.

  “How’s it been going, Strike?” Bud asks. I meet his eyes in the mirror and for the first time, I notice just how sick he really is. His gray hair is falling out and deep wrinkles have taken over his face. The cancer diagnosis came a year ago, which he stubbornly resolved himself not to fight. Said he was too old and would rather live out the rest of his life normally.

  “As good as ever.”

  The barber next to us pulls the towel from his customer’s face just as the words leave my lips, and much to my chagrin, Barney sits up and turns toward me. “I’m sure you’ve heard about our guest.”

  My eyes roll, followed by a deep sigh. “I have.”

  He stands and hands over his money for the shave. “Take it from me, keep away from her. You’ve been doing good staying out of trouble. Don’t need the likes of her to bring you back down.”

  I don’t respond as he shuffles his way out of the shop. When he’s gone, I shake my head and let it dip forward.

  Bud laughs before turning on the clippers and starting on my hair.

  “So you’ve seen her? Like actually seen her and talked to her?” I ask Brett.