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Page 5
Tossing the strap on my backpack over my arm and adjusting it on my shoulder, I lifted my window and hopped out onto the grass. When I first started sneaking out, my heart would pound uncontrollably erratic, and sometimes it still did. Other times, like tonight, my pulse only found a slight increase. Just a few extra beats of excitement found its way into my bloodstream, but the tiny change was enough to make me want to continue doing it. It wasn’t right to do things just to know you were alive. I wasn’t oblivious. If I wasn’t truly messed up when I was in the psych hospital, I definitely was a little fucked in the head now. I just did a good job of hiding it from the outside world. Unless you were looking, you’d never notice. That was the thing about being a fox amongst sheep. After spending so much time with the herd, you learned how to wear the wool well. I wasn’t a horrible person, but I didn’t try to tell myself I was the epitome of a saint either.
Walking down the street, I did my best to stay out of the streetlights for no particular reason really. If Mom figured out I wasn’t home, I’d be in so much trouble, but being less noticeable gave my mind a little ease. I was a breathing contradiction. When I inhaled, the weight of the world swirled in my nostrils and burned as it passed my throat, but when I exhaled, it only hardened my exterior. I only let the people in my life know about half of who I was. The other parts, the bad parts, were the ones I neglected to mention to people.
People said it was disrespectful to walk on gravesites, but when you were almost dead yourself, I didn’t think it really counted. That’s how I felt. I never had a chance to live. How could you live when you didn’t even know your true identity, or you were constantly looking over your shoulder?
Finding my usual spot on top of Derek Sutter’s memorial bench, I stretched out and let my feet and head hang off the ends. My fingers scooped up the bottle of whiskey, and I laughed as I sat up and let the liquor flow into my mouth. This was one of those fun things that most would think was morbid, but it was like coming home to me. I was a pyromaniac’s wet dream. I spent every day balancing on a thin line of gasoline, and sooner or later I would give into the flames and let them engulf me. After Dad passed, it became a tradition for me to sneak off. Eventually, I found myself in a graveyard, talking to a random headstone. Those were some of the best conversations I’d ever had. If the conversation was one-sided, you were rarely wrong.
After the third gulp, I recapped the bottle and slid it back into its spot for safe keeping, and I lay back to close my eyes. It only took three big swigs to give me a buzz. That’s all I needed tonight. I didn’t know when Mar was going back to her dad’s house and could snag me another bottle, so I was going easy on the whiskey. She never asked why I wanted it or to drink it with me. She was more of a vodka girl.
“That can’t be sanitary,” a husky voice broke into the silence of the night. Instantly, my eyes jetted open and my heart pounded against my ribcage. A small smile found its way to my lips, but quickly faded. I got to my feet, wrapping my hand around the nylon strap on the top of my backpack.
“What’s it to you?” I asked into the night, fumbling with the zipper, and my fingers wrapped around the cold steel of the gun I had stolen from our gun cabinet. Keeping it concealed was the only advantage I had right then. The mystery man could be anywhere, so the element of surprise was definitely his.
“I don’t give a shit if you eat dirt. I was just stating the obvious.” He laughed, and his voice was a little louder than before, so he must have been getting closer.
“Thank you, Captain—”
“You can do better than a mainstream, expected insult,” he interrupted me, and his voice was even closer this time. Fear slithered up my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it down into the depths of my stomach. I’d seen and been through much worse than this, and I wasn’t going to let him scare me…even if I did like it a little.
“You can suck the end of a cold dead dick. What are you, some type of freak hanging out in a graveyard?” I spat out. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but he didn’t need to know that.
He stepped into the light, and a smile was visible in one of the ski mask holes before he full-on laughed at me. Out of all of the things that happened since I heard him, this was the noise that scared me. I jumped at the sound, and the backpack fell off my arm, letting the gun shine in the streetlight’s flood.
“What the hell?” He continued to laugh, bending at the waist and holding his knees for support. “I’m the freak?” He stood, questioning me in between laughs, and walked to where I was. “You’re as much of a freak as I am,” he whispered once he reached me and stole every bit of air that my lungs had. Most people would be weirded out that a man had approached them wearing a ski mask, but then again, I’d bet those people wouldn’t be in a graveyard after midnight. Instead, my heart raced with excitement as the man whispered the endearing insult. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t dreaming, or perhaps I’d drunk a lot more than three swigs tonight, but I didn’t want it to end.
He took the gun from my grasp and set it onto the bench, keeping his eyes on me as much as possible. His hands were cold as they crept up my arms, and I shivered beneath his touch, but it wasn’t in response to the chill of his skin.
A mischievous smile danced along his lips as he bent down and picked up my whiskey. He used his thumb to spin the cap off the bottle, and it spun one last time before falling to the ground. After taking a drink similar to the ones I’d taken, he smiled and wiped the residue off his lips with his forearm. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and then blew out a huff of air.
“Whiskey, huh?” he plainly said, taking another pull, and then bent to find the lid to recap the bottle. Every nerve in my body told me not to trust him. He had unarmed me. For once, I tried to listen to the logical part of my brain, but it didn’t happen. Without any real reason, other than he didn’t shoot me when he could have, I trusted him.
“I thought it was disgusting?” I questioned him as he had me moments ago.
“I never said it was disgusting.” He cleared his throat and straightened his back. “I merely said it wasn’t the most sanitary habit.” His brown eyes dared me to reply, but it wasn’t possible for me to speak. He closed the space between us, and his warm breath echoed its presence along my lips. This was definitely the point that most sane people would grab the gun behind them and ram it into the guy’s gut. I loved the rush.
As his eyes squinted, they dared me to move. If that wasn’t an obvious enough clue, his smug smirk confirmed any suspicions I might have had. I didn’t, but in case I did, he made it clear. The sensible parts of my brain pleaded with me to run, but the dark parts, the ones I tended to listen to, willed me to stay.
“My mistake,” I whispered and licked my lips, playing into whatever messed up game this was we were currently spinning. With a slight nod of my head, I dared him to move, fully aware this situation was anything apart from sane. My sickened heart raced with excitement. It wasn’t until this moment that the truth was so undeniably clear. I enjoyed the danger and the rush entangled with it.
He leaned in just enough for his warm lips to meet my own, and he spoke against them, “This one’s on me, Blue.” He smiled and bit my full lower lip. Between my thighs ached in protest of his actions, and a small groan snuck out of my mouth.
“Tomorrow’s on you.” He chuckled in his husky voice and adjusted his mask, backing away from me.
I needed my mouth to form words. I had to say something as equally witty, but it didn’t happen. Never in my life had I dealt with someone capable of making sin look so appealing. It was as if he held manipulated death into something enticing. His darkness lured me to depths of my soul I was unaware existed. It was as if he’d begun an internal war inside my body of good and evil. I kept waiting for sensibility to kick into gear and tell me how idiotic I’d been to put my life at risk, but it never happened.
Running my hand over the back of my neck, I questioned things I’d never seen plausible to consider befor
e now. There was a small voice in the back of my head wondering if it were possible that Mom was right. Maybe I should see a therapist, but that wasn’t who I was. It wasn’t how I handled my problems. Talking about how things wasn’t my idea of dealing. It was a waste of time. How were you to deal with your demons, if you freely gave life by speaking of them? If you never breathed life into the sinister things that lay within, they were only capable of haunting you. They didn’t hold the strength to consume you. Talking about it gave their otherwise breathless lungs the ability to inhale. I wasn’t a fool. I wasn’t about to compress their damned sternum and save their fading soul. It worked incredibly well for some people, my mom being one of them, but the small stint I’d spent with Tiffani was enough psychotherapy for one lifetime. That was one chapter of my life I never planned to repeat.
Nine
Cal
It was her. Holy fuck!
As I lay in bed, I questioned everything that had happened between us. I wanted her to know it was me, but I was greedy. Seeing her sitting there in the middle of a graveyard was perfect. In my mind, the memories of her had always been unforgettable, but I fought to forget them anyway because of the sorrow that chased closely behind them. That’s the imprint she’d stamped into my head, and it was as if we’d picked up where we’d left off. As if the last eight years hadn’t happened, but they had and that’s why I didn’t remove my mask. I wanted to be truthful with her, especially since she held a gun, but once that wasn’t a factor, truth was the last thing on my mind. I’d made up most of what I said to her on the fly and nervously laughed a few times, sure she’d pick up on the bullshit I was feeding her.
It was wrong to keep my secret. It was selfish to let her be so close and breathe her into my body, memorizing every new detail about her, but she made one thing abundantly clear. With her, I was selfish. I knew speaking up was the right thing to do, but biting her lip was the mild version of what I wanted to do.
My emotions were all over the place, and honestly, I’m surprised I stopped where I had with her. Having her so close, her breath on my lips, and her body against mine, all conscious thoughts were out of the question. It was pure instinct at that point, and when you’re eighteen, having a picture of a female too close was asking for trouble. Having Jaci this close was beyond dangerous. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to have sex with her or wrap my arms around her and never let her out of my grasp.
Thankfully, I didn’t do either because both probably would have landed me with a restraining order. Instead, I ran home without a goodbye, knowing if another word was spoken, she’d see me like most people did. An asshole. I didn’t want that, so I just left, ultimately unintentionally slipping into the title anyway.
Ten
Jaci
I walked home in a daze and crawled into my bed without changing clothes. Mom’s light was off, so she was more than likely asleep. Her smut buddies must have passed out early tonight. Typically, she was up until three or four on a long night chatting back and forth with them. At least I thought that’s what they were doing. In reality, I had no clue what she was doing, and truthfully, I didn’t care too much. I was curious enough to wonder, but not interested enough to ask. Being so disinterested in my mom’s life made me sound like a shitty daughter, especially if you focused on all she’d sacrificed for me, but it wasn’t that I didn’t care about her. I adored my mom and was eternally grateful for her. Sometimes, I thought I loved her more than most daughters loved their mothers. It was just we were two very different people trying to survive under the same roof.
Eventually, after Mar hooked a millionaire, Mom and I would finally become best friends. She and I had joked that we’d share a two bedroom, much like the one we had now, and have a herd of cats. I wasn’t sure how many cats you had to have to make a herd, but I was pretty sure it was more than we’d be able to remember all of their names. It didn’t matter, though. It was our retirement plan. It wasn’t a future paved in gold, but it was a promised one. At times, those were the best features. There was a guarantee that you’d have something to look forward to. Nothing was left to the unknown. It wasn’t an extravagant dream, but it could have been much worse. Besides, we both agreed we’d name at least one of them Dog, just to stir confusion with anyone that came to visit us.
When I closed my eyes, his face was the first thing I saw as my body was taken over by sleep. It was one of the dreams where I knew I was asleep, but it felt like I was awake. There is nothing to fear, I told myself. This was a replay of what had happened earlier, but something was very different. When he approached me, I didn’t feel the rush of excitement crashing against the walls of my veins. A new emotion now tidal waved through my blood. Fear. I was terrified to be near him. To remain calm as his fingers wrapped around the gun and his eyes tried coaxing me was out of the question now. My head spun into battle as part of my brain told me I was dreaming, yet the other half, the sensible half, was screaming in terror. None of it made sense to me, but I couldn’t stop the fear snaking into my bloodstream that called him the devil. That was a bit of an overstatement. I was aware of that in my barely sleeping state, but I couldn’t prevent the visible portions of his face form turning red and horns from mounting his head.
“Tomorrow’s on you,” he purred in his seductive, sin-laced voice, and that was the only thing to bring me peace. The thought of seeing him again, despite his appearance, brought me a chilling solace. It was that fact in itself that truly disturbed me. I found comfort in the darkness, and I started to think it wasn’t him that delivered it into the night. It may have been me.
As I awoke, it was clear the dream rattled me by the sweat-soaked sheets I lay upon. Sitting up, I denied the rational portions of my thoughts room to grow, telling myself it was only a dream. Dreams were something I could deal with; they could be shoved beneath the water and quieted. It was the reality of the world that was deafening. Being one person among countless others, you were incapable of controlling life. Sure, you may have been quite proficient in handling your own day-to-day, but it was everyone else’s shit that tended to complicate things. It was everyone else that worried me.
Knowing my alarm would be going off soon, I disabled it and hopped into the shower, not wanting to wake Mom. Neither of us was what you would refer to as morning people, but she fit the description less than I did. After dressing in something suitable for running, I snagged a quick cup of coffee and set Mom a cup aside in the microwave. I inched my toes into my running shoes and smiled, mentally thanking Mom for the new insoles she’d bought me. Every time I touched my left shoe, I always thought back to the days it used to hold my address. To anyone else, those times would be bizarre, but to me, they held my joy.
Topping off the double knot and then doing a few stretches, I was almost ready for my run. I wiggled my earbuds into a comfortable fit and flipped my regular playlist on to set the mood. Dishes. Being in such a haze, partly hungover from my dream, but mostly still asleep, I’d forgotten the sink of dishes that had to be rinsed and put into the dishwasher before I could take off. I didn’t mind doing them by hand or loading the dishwasher. It was unloading the dishwasher I hated. Flipping open the door, I prayed Mom found pity on me at some point and had unloaded the dishes from the previous wash. Much to my surprise, she had. Since it was just the two of us, Mom expected me to do my fair share around the house, and typically the dishes were my responsibility. Food was hers. Either way, I wasn’t questioning it. Jamming out to Fifth, my favorite indie band, I rinsed the leftover food off and strategically placed the dishes in the racks just so. You almost had to be an engineer to properly load a dishwasher. Yes, there was a specific way to do it. There were two types of people: those who understood this and those who got on the other people’s nerves. Obviously, I didn’t fall into a category with the latter. If I hadn’t learned anything else from moving around a lot, I’d learned the less mess you made, the easier it was to leave. Ironically, the same could be said for most aspects of life, too.
As quick as possible, I threw the last few plates into any small nooks, knowing I’d become a latter person. I didn’t care. Stepping outside and remembering to lock the door behind me, I flipped my music off and let my therapy begin. I never bothered to take my earphones out. If by a small chance I met someone, they’d assume I was listening to music and not bother talking. That was my hope at least. The very few times I’d met someone, they never offered more than a nod.
Eleven
Cal
“Where are you going?” my brother asked, raising an eyebrow, and popped a frozen pizza into the microwave as he shook his head. He probably thought I was heading out to get a fix, which technically I was, but what I craved couldn’t be bought. For her, I knew the better option would be to fade out of her life, but I had to see her again. Although I had absolutely no clue what I would or wouldn’t do when we saw one another again.
“None of your business,” I joked with him and smiled. I was quick to judge him and jump to conclusions about not just him, but everyone. I just assumed people figured I was chasing a high, probably because I generally was, but it wasn’t typically chemicals. I liked to push my body to its limits. It reminded me that I was still breathing and not six feet beneath the dirt.