Mid-song, I interrupted him, letting it truly sink in that I was too comfortable around him. “I, uh, I have to go. My mom will be worried.” It wasn’t a lie. Listening to him, living in the moment, I’d selfishly forgotten about how Mom would be freaking out. She always did when she didn’t know exactly where I was. This would bother most kids, but knowing what all Mom went through, I just accepted it as part of who she was. Even though I was no shrink and definitely didn’t have the education to be one or have enough letters behind my name, I thought my mom had PTSD. It was a fact I was almost positive of. The internet could convince you that you were dying, but it was also helpful when trying to figure out what caused your mom to behave the way she did. She was an introvert, but I didn’t blame her. I didn’t really care for a lot of people either. When you were social, you were vulnerable. To be vulnerable meant stepping out from your defenses and extending an open invitation to death. It meant tearing open every healed wound you’d worn as proof of battle. It was an unintentional call to arms. It was an involuntary battle cry. Most would argue at eighteen that I didn’t know enough about life to be aware of war, that my lifetime hadn’t sufficed the adequate length to hold importance. Those argumentative people were idiots. Regardless of age, a person could be enlisted into a war of their own. I was drafted at the ripe age of three, and the way my life was going, I wouldn’t find leave until I crossed the battle line and drew blood. I wouldn’t find relief until I accepted death’s invitation. This was war, after all.
“I have to go,” I was quick to murmur and get to my feet, putting my earbuds in and turning on the first song I could find so it would be easier to ignore whatever he had to say. Using my thumb to turn the music up full blast, I bent to check the knots on my shoes.
“Go ahead,” he said with a smirk, rubbing the back of his neck, and then shaking his head slightly to move his hair out of his eyes once more. He stood before I was able to take off and pulled an earbud out of my ear. “You’re still not getting off that easy. See you around, Jaci Blue.” His raspy voice wrapped around my name, and it was almost enough to make me stay and find out why he’d called me Blue. If I hadn’t replayed the guy’s voice from the night before last so many times in my memory and dreams, I would think it was the same person. It wasn’t. Last night, the guy had a roughness to his voice, almost like the one you’d expect to come from a fifty-year-old biker, like Mar’s dad, not someone I would guess to be around my age. It was deep and gritty. They had similar voices, but I could tell the difference from them in a heartbeat. I couldn’t deny the curiosity tapping in my head as to why two people had called me “Blue.” It must be my eye color.
At eighteen, I was sure the hormones in my body were just as high as anyone else’s my age, but right then, his voice slammed down on the pedal and forced them to shift into overdrive.
I mustered up the best smile I could and let my feet take me back down the dirt road and onto the pavement that would lead me home. My hormones told me to lie down on the grass and see what we could do. Hormones were assholes. They showed up, usually uninvited, in the middle of the most inconvenient situations and tried to convince you to listen to them, that their idea was the best idea that had ever been discussed. I preferred a rush of adrenaline over these unwelcome hormones. I denied listening to their voice today because there wasn’t room in my already overcrowded life for them.
Thirteen
Cal
Holding a grudge against Jaci was ridiculous. There was no real verbal agreement for us to meet up again, but I thought she would want to see me as much as I wanted to see her. I was wrong. After drinking her whiskey, I shouldn’t have returned…but I did.
That was the thing about having an addictive personality. Although you were fully aware when something wasn’t good for you, if you liked it, you did it anyway. The aftermath was rarely considered, especially if the high was worth the comedown. I’d thought Jaci was without question worth more than whatever was waiting for me at the bottom of the buildup. Now going on night two, I wasn’t sure.
Getting mad at her wasn’t fair, but that didn’t reduce my irritation in the least. I needed her to be as broken and lost as I was, just to let me know I wasn’t alone in that fact. Truthfully, I had no idea if she was or wasn’t, but if the lack of her presence was my indication, the answer was obvious. I was still alone.
Kicking over her empty bottle from sheer frustration, I cussed into the night. This was pointless. There was no reason to act like this, at all. If it was easy for her to forget me, then I would do the same. I shoved my fingers into my pants pocket and found the pocket watch. Disappointment was quick to replace frustration, and then they mixed.
I was pissed at her for not coming back, and I was disappointed in myself for feeling that way. It was absurd to be upset with her, especially considering there was no way she knew it was me. Both times we’d been around one another my face was covered in one form or another. None of this was her fault. It was entirely mine.
Blowing a puff of air from my lungs, I got to my feet. I just needed to go home and sleep it off. There was no reason to be so emo about things. The first step was always the hardest, and this time was no different. Forcing my feet to move should have been easy, but it was as if they were in protest of my decision. Perhaps it was just I’d mentally exhausted myself by arguing internally. Shaking my head that was filling with possibility after possibility of why I was so hung up on her and my anger with myself growing by the second, I practically ran out of the graveyard—afraid if I stopped I’d never leave.
I passed my house and continued my journey, by the time I reached Marshall Bridge, my chest was heaving and burned from the determination pounding in my veins.
This. Had. To. Stop. There was no place for me to go, but over the railing. It wasn’t a question, I wasn’t planning to jump down onto shallow water and rocks, so my stupid body wouldn’t be going anywhere else for now. I’d spend the remainder of the night here, if it meant some form of my sanity returning. Being crazy was the only plausible possibility I found that would cause me to act so irrational.
Gripping the cool steel beneath my fingers felt good. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. There was no reason to behave this way is what I kept telling myself, and after about the thirtieth time, my body got the memo my brain was sending. I was stubborn, so it only made sense that my body was, too.
Crickets chirped, and frogs croaked around me. I just stood there, perfectly still, soaking it all in, afraid if I did anything else I would backslide. It was a move I was notorious for. It was hard for me to quit things, because as a general note, I avoided them at the first sign of trouble. If you avoided the bad parts and only soared in the greatness, you never had to land. So, I tended to seemingly forget the harmful parts of things and live in the good parts, over and over, knowing I was doing more damage than any amount of benefit.
The sounds stopped, and silence overtook the night, but it was those moments I found peace with myself. I blamed the feelings from last night on the half of bottle of whiskey I’d killed and the rest on the hangover after, even if I didn’t feel the least bit sick to my stomach, I was taking that answer and running to hell and back with it. It was the only logical thought my brain had found in days, so I was holding onto it as tightly as the steel beneath my palms.
Fourteen
Jaci
“Can you believe we’ll be among the youth sitting in uncomfortable desks like the rest of America’s pained teens in less than two weeks?” Mar sang a little off-key, snatching a sweater out of my closet and slow dancing with it across my room. Just after she dipped her “partner” and was going into the kill zone for their kiss, I lost my composure and laughed.
“I’m not sure they’re going to let you stay with a piss-poor attitude like that, Mrs. Lemelle.” I used my best stuffy teacher voice to scold her. Her lips she was about to plant on her partner parted as she fake fainted on top of my sweater.
“I can’t believe
you think my attitude is anything less than excellent, Mrs. Romero.” She spoke in a flustered tone, her eyes remaining closed. Then she peeked up at me from where she lay.
Grabbing the nearest pillow that wasn’t supporting my weight, I chucked it at her. “Let’s hope you don’t fall on your prom date like that.” I laughed, shaking my head at her general craziness.
Her body flipped over, and she pretended to hump my sweater beneath her and panted, “Let’s hope I do!” She howled with laughter as she stood, brushing her knees off out of instinct, I guess. My floor wasn’t dirty, or at least I didn’t think it was. I vacuumed the carpet yesterday, along with the rest of the carpeted areas in the house and swept the rest with a broom.
“Thanks for the good time.” She carefully scooped my sweater into her arms and laid it onto my bedspread. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” she lied with a click of her tongue and a flip of her blonde hair, never once letting even so much as a smirk break her acting. With most, it was hard to distinguish if she was being serious or not, but I could tell. Obviously, I wasn’t referring to this instance. It was just a general observation.
After running into two guys in such a short time frame, I decided staying home might have been for the best. Time could only tell the answer to that one, but I presumed it was the safest option. I wasn’t hiding to be safe. I just had plans with Mom to clean, and it made me tired, that’s all. The only thing it proved for me was, it was the most boring day and night I’d had in some time. Mom tackled the dishes and the bathroom. I was in charge of the floors, counters, the tables, and my room, of course. I was thankful we each cleaned our own rooms, because Mom would have to pay me to clean her mess. Her room doubled as her office. Papers were strung throughout, and random Post-it notes clung to her headboard, nightstand, lamp…well, basically any surface she could reach from her bed as she wrote.
Shortly after sunset we finished, and Mom opted to try the new Chinese takeout place right up the road. Out of all the places we’d lived, Blackwell was the most secluded area. We’d always stayed in the South, but usually there were more than a handful of places to eat out. Not here. There were a lot of options closer to the university, but that was forty-five minutes away, and traveling that far from home was out of the picture for Mom. Unless she was leaving for a book event, Mom rarely went out of the city limits. If I had my own vehicle, or a license for that matter, I would love to drive even five minutes up the road. It wasn’t far, but for Mom it may as well have been forty-five hours. She had trouble with too much distance being placed between the two of us, which was her excuse for not allowing me to go most places. I understood, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying sometimes.
Empathy played a big part in our relationship—in the fact that I held a lot of it and Mom gave a little. Wasn’t that what parents normally did, though? Wasn’t empathy kind of a prerequisite of being a parent? Truly, I had no clue, but it wasn’t ideal to compare my life to someone else my age. The majority of my peers weren’t under the Witness Protection Program. They made us adhere to some pretty stupid rules. One being I couldn’t get my license until I graduated. If I had to guess, that one was made up by Mom, but I tended to bite my tongue before I really went off and dug myself into a hole I could not climb out of with her. Guilt was all I felt when I thought of the last words I’d spoken to my dad. For that very reason, I typically was the one backpedaling and always trying to keep the peace with Mom.
I tried reading to pass the time, but it seemed like every book I opened, I closed out of boredom after only a few pages. Nothing was holding my attention. For a few minutes I would be occupied, and then my mind drifted to the guy who thought he saved me. The following thoughts were flooded with the guy from the night. The one who stole all of my inhibitions, and I couldn’t even see his face, much like knights underneath all their armor. Their true form being hidden didn’t matter to the princesses as they fought defending their honor, as long as they were victorious. The rest of the details fell by the wayside. In that moment, I decided they were my knights, even though it was undeniable their motive wasn’t my honor. The guy from the nighttime would without question be the dark knight, and it only made sense the guy from the daytime to be dubbed as the white knight. The only thing was, I was never one to believe in fairy tales. Maybe I was a bit jealous of their lives. Regardless of all the curses, singing animals, and often murder, everything seemed to fall into place and the characters found their happily ever after. Something told me my story had held too much shit to ever close in one of those, so I should kiss my knights goodbye now at the beginning of our story and prevent everyone from getting hurt.
I huffed and cussed myself for getting caught up in my feelings. They stirred around like someone does whiskey in the bottom of a sifter before they swallow the last drink, knowing it’s usually the strongest. With these thoughts sabotaging me over two guys I’d just met, I knew I had to get out of here. Even though it wasn’t late enough for Mom to be asleep, I hoped she would loosen the reins a little and let me go for a run. I never knew what mood she’d be in, so I crossed my fingers and dressed in appropriate attire for running and headed to her room.
“Mom,” I quietly said, knocking on the white molding that bordered her door.
“What is it, Memphis?” She smiled, closing her laptop, and suppressed a tiny giggle. Some time after Dad was murdered, Mom had explained that wasn’t my real name, but the nickname Dad had given me when I was a baby. Apparently, when I was teething, the only thing they found to keep me from crying was a movie called Gone in Sixty Seconds and a character in it named Memphis. I tried to watch it after she told me, trying to feel closer to Dad, and I couldn’t really get into it. Every now and then, I watched parts of it to make sure I still didn’t care for it. The last time I tried, my preference had not changed in favor of the movie. If anything, I think I disliked it even more.
“I know it’s kinda late, but do you? Can I? I need to go for a run, Mom,” I finally spat out the last sentence, not knowing any other way to tell her what I needed and prayed she wouldn’t mind.
“Okay, just take your phone, and promise you’ll actually remember how it works.” She pulled her hair down from the classic “mom bun” and re-twisted it into the same puffy ball she had before she’d taken it down. She was still upset with me for not being home when she got up the other day after my run with the white knight. I knew that was the reason for her impromptu cleaning. She was usually quite thorough with her punishments. Even if she didn’t come right out and say that was what she was doing, she’d still punish me for disobeying her. It just might not be the form of punishment other teenagers were used to receiving. Mom was a bit passive-aggressive in her parenting.
My mouth opened to say something snarky in response, but I was very quick to rethink it and catch my tongue between my teeth. Mom never let me leave this late. Ever! I didn’t actually think she would agree to let me take a run, but she did, so I wasn’t about to say anything to sway her decision in the least.
“Take your pepper spray.” She reminded me to grab my keys and pushed her glasses back, reopening her laptop and immediately picking up where she’d left off in the manuscript of her current work in progress, or what she called WIPs. When I overheard her talking to someone on the phone about her “whip,” I really thought she may be more into leather than I knew about. After she heard me giggle, she elaborated for my benefit.
“Will do,” I answered, running back into my room to snag my keyring off the nightstand and tossing it into my bag, saluting her as I passed her open door. She gave me a slight nod, and I rushed out the door before she changed her mind. I didn’t think she had drunk any wine tonight, so I had no idea why she let me out of the house, but I was taking advantage of it as long as I could. She didn’t even give me a curfew, but I knew she expected me to come back at a decent time.
As soon as I was out the door, I shoved my earbuds into my ears, but as usual I didn’t turn on their power. With it being nightt
ime, I didn’t think there was a need to wear them at all, but I did. Mostly out of habit. Besides, it was probably smarter not to have the distraction of music, considering drivers might not see me.
With each footstep, my mind swerved into the exact thoughts I was avoiding. The two knights who’d inspired this run. The two I didn’t want to think about.
With a mumble of a slew of cuss words I pushed myself to run harder, my feet to move faster. I kept the exhausting speed until I neared my usual stopping place. The bridge. As I crossed the edge, a person in a maroon hoodie climbed over the railing and gripped the black iron metal backward and clung to it as they leaned their body over the river, rocking back and forth on their heels as if they were trying to decide what their next move was going to be.
Instantly, my conscience dashed into panic, and I knew the exact fear the white knight had when he found me on the bridge’s edge. Unlike him, I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, though, so I slowly approached the person, clearing my throat to make my presence known.
The person’s hands left the railing, and their body flung forward in response to my presence.
“Shit,” a familiar husky voice soaked with fear filled my ears, and my heart answered in response by beating so hard it was physically painful. In moments that were life-changing, time seemed to slow, or at least for me they did. The thudding resonated within my ears, and the pain crept from beneath my chest and sent its code down into my wrists, letting the alarm spread throughout my body.
“Shit!” I echoed his voice in a yell, rushing over to him and wrapping my throbbing arms around his stomach. I locked my fingers and pulled him back with every bit of strength I had in my body. My foot slipped with the added weight, and we both flew backward. Instinctively, my hands left his body as soon as I was sure he was over the railing, and I cradled my head, knowing we were about to smack against the concrete. After all, I wasn’t a stranger to this situation. Except this time, I wasn’t the one being pulled from the edge, and I wasn’t jumping to conclusions. Had I not caught him, he really would have fallen off the bridge.
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