The Day She Cried

by K. Webster

  Do you remember that first day in biology class? I’d already started taking notes and you were watching me with curiosity. When I looked over at you, you said, “Do you ever feel like fate pushes two people together on purpose? Like it knows one isn’t as brainy as the other?” I was confused at your words. Then you whispered, “I’m glad I was paired with someone who actually knows what’s going on in this class. I don’t know anything about biology.”

  Not long after I was talking to you as Logan, you asked me almost the same questions in our message. “Do you ever feel like fate pushes two people together on purpose? Like it knows one isn’t as strong as the other?”

  It was a heartbreaking moment to realize the girl of my brother’s dreams was messaging me. As I sat in bed that night, I wanted to hate you for tricking me—to demand why. But when I replayed our conversations, it felt real. Maybe it started off as some stupid joke, but we both know it wasn’t a joke. I knew it was real. Selfishly, I wanted your friendship and I believe you did too. So I kept it up knowing it would most likely hurt in the end because I knew I would fall for you. Eventually, I did fall for you. I was betraying Rome but it was our little secret.

  I’m happy we found each other. It may have been based on some lies, but most everything I said to you was the real Raven Louise Murray. And the things you said to me, I believed them. Even the parts where you claimed to love me. I love you too, Courtney.

  I’m sorry that Jackson McConnell thinks he has the right to shame you, but this is a lesson I want him to learn. The things he did to me were deplorable and he won’t get away with them. If it means exposing to the world how I traded sex in hopes that he’d help my brother, then so be it. At least then, they’ll also learn he was screwing someone illegal. The crimes against him are endless. Jackson will have the best lawyers; this I am certain. And he’ll most certainly challenge my character as he defends his own to a jury. Unfortunately for that asshole, I have a plan. It’s a plan I hope you’ll find my brother for and help execute for me in my absence. After what’s coming, you’ll definitely need each other to lean on.

  Don’t let Whitney control you anymore. She thinks you’re a sheep, but you’re not. You’re so much stronger than she’ll ever know. Much stronger than I could ever be. You once asked about the scars on my abdomen. I’d given you a copout answer. A coping mechanism. Truth is, I just wanted to feel. Since Mom died, my life has felt foggy. I’ve felt disconnected. For those few moments as the blade tore through my flesh, every nerve ending in my body came to life. I was free. I was flying. Ravens were meant to soar. Soon, I’ll soar out of this hellish earth. I love you, Courtney. I’ll miss you incredibly so.

  See you in Hell…

  Kidding!

  Make my brother happy and I’ll save you a place on my canoe. You once wondered where we go when we die. I always imagined I’d go to Lake Borden, push away from the shore in a tiny canoe, and listen to the birds as I sleep. Something tells me the canoe will drift along and eventually I’ll find Mom. And Edgar Allen Poe (I have a LOT of questions for him). And maybe even Kurt Cobain. Tell Rome I’ll get him a shirt. ;)

  Love,

  Raven

  My stomach feels hollowed out. I feel fucking duped. I’ve been fed lies by my sister. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. As Courtney curls into a ball, clutching her stomach, I read the next letter addressed to me.

  Rome,

  I knew, despite your hating my non-rhyming poems, that you’d understand my message and find my journal. Good job, big bro.

  A pained sound escapes me. Her poem was so obvious. I read it along with everything else in her desk drawers. The sticky note was written in a frantic way, unlike her normally neat scribbles. It called to me. Fuck, it called to me, and I didn’t listen.

  I’m listening now, Raven.

  With a gutting ache in my chest, I continue to read.

  Whitney is a psycho and you’re probably going to see some really embarrassing things about Courtney and me. I swear, Rome, I didn’t know it was her at first. But she draws you in with her golden locks and flawless smile. I remember being so captivated by her any time she spoke to me in biology. I’d had a major girl crush. Yet when I first started noticing how into her you were, I was rooting for the both of you. I wanted her to wriggle out of Whitney’s clutches and fall right into your arms. You two were always apart but somehow existed in each other’s atmosphere. I’ve written poems about the almost palpable energy I could feel between the two of you. Cackling and hissing, the universe slotting together to make it happen. Which is why when I finally discovered it was Courtney who was my beloved Lonely Logan, I was crushed. For you. She’s yours. And by God, Rome, you better stop acting like an antisocial asshole so you can land the girl of your dreams. All you have to do is ask her out. Something tells me she’ll say yes.

  She’s your fate.

  A wise person once asked me, “Do you ever feel like fate pushes two people together on purpose? Like it knows one isn’t as strong as the other?”

  She’s strong, big bro. And you’re going to need her strength for when I’m gone. But she’ll need yours as well. You’re strong too.

  When Jackson attacks her (he has pictures of her having sex with a man and I’m pretty sure she’s under the influence), I need you to come to her aid. Hopefully my proof against him will overshadow anything he thinks he can do to her in an effort to discredit me, but in the event that he gets it through his vengeful head that he can attack her, I need you to help her. She’s just an innocent bystander in this. Sure, she and I messed around online, but our friendship was real. The sexual experiences were ours to share, not his to exploit. So I need for you to do whatever it takes to hire the best lawyer you can. Take that asshole down. Do it for me, Rome.

  Oh, and I know about the arsenic. After you threw a hissy fit when I ate Dad’s food, I did some snooping. I found it hiding behind the spices in the top cabinet. I researched it and learned a lot about arsenic poisoning. Cancer. Liver disease. Diabetes. Nervous system complications. Digestive difficulties.

  Did Mom poison herself while slowly trying to kill our father? You were Mom’s golden boy, so it makes sense for you to pick up the torch and keep that going on her behalf. Once I figured this out, I realized you were doing it at a painstakingly slow pace. With his drinking, nobody would be none the wiser when he keeled over from liver disease.

  You also probably know now that the arsenic is gone.

  My blood runs cold. I didn’t notice the arsenic wasn’t in its normal place until two weeks after Raven had passed. Hell, I didn’t even crawl out of bed during that time, much less cook for my dad. For one fleeting moment, I worried the police had found it. But I wasn’t brought in for questioning and Dad never mentioned it. I thought about finding more to continue, but after Raven was gone, I didn’t see the point. Dad would drink himself to death with or without my help. I just wasn’t sticking around long enough to see that happen.

  While you slept early this morning, I flushed the contents and dropped the container in the neighbor’s trash bin. The damage is done. Let nature take its course. If anyone belongs in prison, it’s Dad, not you. By the time the giant keels over from liver failure, the toxins won’t be in his system any longer. You’ll be safe.

  He’s most certainly dying now thanks to you and Mom.

  You’ll get your wish soon.

  I’m honestly glad I won’t be around to see it, but I’m sad you’ll go through it alone.

  Maybe if someone asks a certain stunning blonde out, the journey won’t be so lonely…

  I’m signing off. I’ve got a canoe to catch.

  Look up the following email with the password I’ve provided. All of the audio and video files are there along with PDFs of my phone correspondence with Jackson McConnell. Make the lawyer question all the females who work with him. Something tells me I wasn’t the only one.

  And if you love me, burn this journal.

  Raven

  PS – Please tell Courtney this
is not her fault. I can see where she’ll think it was, but it’s not. This is so much bigger than her. Tell her I loved her until the end. Now it’s your turn, big bro. Don’t let me down.

  I drop the journal to the floor and pull Courtney against me. Hot tears leak from my eyes because had I just paid fucking attention, my wife could have avoided prison time. Instead, my stubborn ass only heard what it wanted to hear.

  I fucked it all up, Raven.

  I’m sorry.

  But I’m sure as hell going to waste no time fixing it.

  Raven

  The day she cried…

  “Nobody will believe a teenage whore,” Jackson sneers, his nostrils flaring. Dark circles paint his cheeks below his eyes. He’s definitely not been sleeping lately. Makes me wonder if he’s worried that at any moment I can make his world come crashing down around him.

  I will.

  Soon.

  “When did you turn so cruel?” I ask, my voice wobbling. With everyone else, I’m strong. Optimistic. Cheery. Jackson drags me down into a hole and stomps on me every time. He makes me weak. “At one time, I thought you loved me.” That’s the truth. How stupid was I?

  “Fucking your tight cunt doesn’t constitute as love,” he hisses, his voice dripping with venom. “I love my wife and daughter. Not you. Never you. You’re just a white trash piece of ass who thought she could rope herself a sugar daddy.”

  I jerk my head to the side and glare at him. I’d been so smitten with him in the beginning. Melted under his praise. Fell under his spell. He played me. I walked right into his trap and let him use me.

  “I never once asked you for money,” I bite out.

  “But trading your pussy for legal advice isn’t the same goddamned thing?” His laugh is scornful. “Do you think you can get into college with that on your résumé, Raven?”

  I don’t tell him I’m most definitely never going to college.

  “I was seventeen,” I hiss, my voice rising. “Seventeen. You took advantage of me for almost a year. Used me. Let me believe you were actually helping me build a case against my abusive father. Do you think you can get into jail with that on your rap sheet, Jackson?”

  I don’t tell him that he’s most definitely going to prison.

  “Get out of my car,” he demands. “Take this shit to your grave because if you don’t, I will ruin you. I will ruin you and your lesbian girlfriend. My daughter doesn’t need to hang out with trash like that anyway.” He waves his phone at me. “I have all the proof I need of your little chats with Courtney Moss that shows you’re a slut who craves attention from anyone, including strangers she clearly doesn’t know.”

  “Please leave her out of this,” I choke out, tears welling in my eyes. “Courtney didn’t do anything wrong. This is between us, Jackson.”

  He pins me with a glare I know he must use in the courtroom—a stare that peels me apart and exposes my weakness. In this case, Courtney. I gave that to him on a silver platter. A vulnerability he’ll no doubt try to use against me.

  “According to the shit I have on my phone,” he sneers. “I beg to differ. If you try to take me down, I’ll destroy her too. And, by the way, there is no us. You’re just a little desperate lying slut. Nobody believes trash like you. They’ll think you’re nothing but a money hungry girl trying to set up a wealthy man. This isn’t a Lifetime movie, sweetheart. This is reality. In reality, you’re worthless.”

  “Wow,” I mutter.

  “End this. Just walk away and end this,” he orders.

  End this.

  End this.

  End this.

  “End what, exactly?” I demand.

  “Whatever you think you’re doing. Fuck, end yourself for all I care.”

  When my nostrils flare with fury, he laughs. I hate the sound. Dark and evil.

  “In fact,” he bites out. “That’s the best idea I’ve had all day. I don’t think your freak brother or your pervert dad will even miss you—especially after I send your dad these conversations proving what a little slut you are. They’re too busy fighting with each other. It’s your out, sweetheart.”

  End this.

  End this.

  End this.

  “Fine,” I say in a cold voice. “You’re going to wish you never tried to fuck me over.”

  I open the car door and push it open, but he grabs my elbow before I can climb out. “I already fucked you over. I’m a McConnell and I get exactly what I wish for.”

  Jerking my arm from his grip, I storm back into the house. Dad is passed out on the couch, the room reeking of hard liquor. I make a quick pass through the kitchen, a run to the bathroom, and then take the trash to the curb. Jackson is no longer parked outside. Hastily, I make my way over to the neighbor’s trash bin and hide a certain empty spice bottle with all the other garbage. Once back inside, I take a quick peek at Rome in his bedroom. He sleeps like a wild man, limbs everywhere. With the early dawn light peeking through the windows and shining on his face, he seems younger than eighteen. Innocent. The dark bruise on his cheekbone reminds me that he’s lived for far too long under the rule of a monster.

  I make my way back to my room and write a couple of letters. My smile is genuine as I pen them.

  I smile. The real one. The one no one sees but me.

  And Courtney.

  I also make sure to write Rome a sticky note poem that will give him the answers he needs—answers that no one else needs to find. The heavy weights that always seem to be dragging me down feel as though they’ve lifted.

  Is this how a raven feels as it’s about to jump off the ledge and take flight?

  Free.

  Free.

  Free.

  I plug in my phone to my laptop and download my newest audio clip. From the moment I began to suspect Jackson was playing me, I started protecting myself. Every encounter with him was recorded. Every threat. Every touch. Every lie. All preserved in time in case I needed them later.

  Now is later.

  Once I make sure they’re saved, I clean the audio clips and videos off my phone and computer. I don’t want Jackson somehow getting ahold of this stuff. It’s safely sent to an email that only my brother will have access to. It will be his ammunition for when he needs to go to battle.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  You lose, Jackson.

  As soon as I tuck my journal away under my mattress, I sit down on the edge of my bed. I pick up the bottle of prescription pills I’d been given when I fell at work and hurt my back. I’d only taken a couple out of the entire bottle. I have nearly thirty Oxycodone.

  “This better work,” I mutter. My heart is pounding in my chest. Funny how the first time I feel truly alive is right before I die.

  Alive. Alive. Alive.

  With handfuls that make me gag, I chase the pills down with a bottle of Dad’s Jack. It takes several times before I get them all down. I feel like I might throw up, but that will ruin everything. I chug down as much as I can of the liquor without barfing. Daylight is creeping in and I have a niggle of worry that this won’t work. I’m supposed to work the late breakfast shift at the diner. If I don’t show up, someone will call looking for me.

  I will be gone.

  Gone. Gone. Gone.

  Shuddering, I swallow down some more of the disgusting alcohol. My stomach roils, but I breathe deeply to keep it from expelling its contents. Before I lose my senses, I rip out a sheet of notebook paper from a notebook on my desk and scribble out a note.

  Rome and Dad,

  I’m sorry. I just can’t take this life anymore.

  Love you always,

  Raven

  I gather my phone, the empty pill bottle, the near empty bottle of liquor, and my suicide note. Clumsily, I make my way into the bathroom without turning on the light. I yank the shower curtain open and sit down in the bathtub. The dark room spins and I close my eyes. My heart is racing, but my thoughts are murky.

  Hurry.

  Hurry.

  I’m re
ady to fly.

  I must pass out for a bit because I’m vaguely aware when bright light tries to infect my darkness. My eyes crack open and Rome sleepily makes his way over to the toilet. The sound of him peeing has me suddenly aware of what’s happening.

  I’m slipping.

  I’m not flying.

  I’m falling.

  Bringing my phone close to my face, I check the time. The room spins but when it stops, I find the last picture of Courtney that Whitney sent. I stare at her long blond hair. The slender curve of her neck.

  I can’t breathe.

  Oh, God.

  When I suck in a gasp of air, Rome shouts at me. “What the fuck?”

  Black. Black. Black.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Where’s the canoe?

  Slap!

  My eyes blink open and I’m staring in the mirror. Straight into the soul of my other half. Rome. My brother.

  “What did you do?”

  I try to smile, but I can’t.

  A loud, ugly sob escapes me.

  Rome’s not supposed to see me cry. I’m supposed to be brave for him.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  I’m crying.

  He’s screaming for our dad and using my phone to dial someone. Then, he’s pulling me out of the tub and into his arms.

  Courtney.

  Go find Courtney.

  Are the words leaving my mouth?

  I whimper and stare at him helplessly.

  Go, go, go.

  But he stays.

  His palms stroke my face as he cries. My tears fall in perfect harmony with his. We cry together, just like that first day when we left our mother’s womb.

  I’m sorry, Rome.

  God, this hurts.

  It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

  Where’s my canoe?

  Mom?

  Mom?

  Black. Black. Black.

  Slap!

  “Stay with me!” he screams, slapping my face so hard I’m surprised my teeth don’t go flying out.

  Black. Black. Black.

  Mom?

  Mommy?