The Damned

by Jennifer Snyder

  “Yeah, hold on just a second.”

  There was a muffling sound, and then the distorted noises of the two of them speaking. Obviously, he was telling my sister who was calling. She probably was freaking out, wondering why I would call at all, while knowing it couldn’t be anything good. The three of us siblings weren’t close after all.

  “Cole, hey.” Julie’s voice filled the silence, and for whatever reason, caused my heart to pound. “Is everything okay?”

  Swallowing hard, I wondered if there was a better way to word what I was about to say. If I had said things differently to Logan, would it have changed anything? Would he have agreed to let me stay with him? Maybe I wouldn’t even be on the phone with Julie; maybe I would still be talking with him, discussing when he could come pick me up.

  “Not really.” Closing my eyes, I hung my head back and sighed. There was no better way to say any of this. “Look, Mom got herself into some shit and she’s being hauled in as we speak. I don’t have any place to go. They said I needed to find a relative to take me in, but only until I turn eighteen.” I quickly added as though it would persuade her to let me stay with them, “That’s only ten months away.”

  “What happened to Mom?”

  Either she didn’t comprehend anything I had said after that, or else she didn’t care. This could be a good thing.

  “Apparently, she’s been under surveillance for suspicion of prostitution, and they finally got some evidence against her. They also busted her with some drugs. I’m not real sure about the exact charges or details. I’m sort of preoccupied with finding a place to live right now,” I snapped. Why I always felt the need to snap at her, I wasn’t sure. I hated myself for it, but had no way of stopping myself sometimes. The words always came out before I could swallow them.

  Screw that. I did know why I snapped at her this time; it was because she’d left me. Just like Logan, Julie had left me. I figured that she would—eighteen was the magic number in our household; it made people disappear—but deep down, I always secretly hoped Julie was different, that she would care more. I’d always hoped she wouldn’t abandon me the way Logan had abandoned us.

  I’d been wrong. She’d had those same intentions all along.

  “Oh,” Julie muttered. “I guess that was something we all expected to happen sooner or later, right?”

  “Yeah.” The three of us could agree on that at least, if nothing else. “So, um, I talked to Logan first about me possibly staying with him and Marissa.” I fished out my pack of menthols. After I pulled one out, I lit it before continuing, allowing the cool mellow flavor to sooth the hammering of my heart. “He said he and Marissa just had a baby.”

  “A baby? So I’m an aunt now?”

  I chuckled at her excitement, feeling a hint of the same again. “Crazy, right?”

  “I can’t believe this!” she muttered. “Yeah, Logan being a dad is incredibly crazy.”

  I pursed my lips together. While I could agree with her, the situation wasn’t crazy; it was sad. Sad that it took something as horrible as our mom going to jail to get us talking on the damn phone so we could learn something as important as that. I flicked my lighter, creating a flame and stared at it, watching the yellowish orange glow dance.

  “A boy or a girl?” she asked.

  “Boy, his name is Tyler.”

  “Wow.” I could hear her murmuring something to Nick, before her attention shifted back to me. “So, um, I’m guessing Logan wouldn’t let you stay with him?”

  And just like that, the family bonding moment was over, and she was back on track with why I had called. It was the moment of truth.

  “No, he said figuring out how to raise a baby is enough on their plate right now.” I took another drag off my cigarette, wishing she would flat out tell me if I was welcome to stay with them. I didn’t want to ask. When she remained silent, I pressed on. “Is there any way I could stay with the two of you? Like I said, it would only be for a few months, just until my eighteenth birthday, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

  “I’ll have to talk with Nick about it, but I don’t see why there would be an issue.”

  Every ounce of worry rolled off my shoulders at her words. I knew nothing was set in stone yet, but at least she was considering the idea. It was more than my asshole brother had done.

  “We just moved into this rental that’s got two bedrooms. I don’t think Nick will mind, but I at least need to run it by him first.”

  “Okay,” I muttered.

  Covering the hot metal of my lighter with my thumb, I sat still, watching as the police officers strutted around my house as though they were entitled to be here. The sting of the lighter let me know all of this was real; it was all truly happening right now. I wasn’t sleeping, and this wasn’t a nightmare I would wake from eventually. My entire life had just been flipped upside down, and now I was essentially homeless. If Nick and Julie didn’t agree to let me stay with them, I truthfully didn’t know what the hell I would do.

  “Well, let me talk to him and I’ll call you right back, okay?” There was something off about her voice, and I wondered if she was on the verge of tears.

  I was.

  Pressing my thumb into the hot metal of my lighter a little harder, the pricks of tears burning my eyes died down as the incredible sensation I got each time I used pain to bury stuff a little deeper surged through me.

  “All right.” I hung up without another word. What more was there to say? I wasn’t about to fucking beg her to let me stay with them, not aloud anyway.

  Dropping my gaze to where my thumb remained pressed against the end of my lighter, I took another drag off my cigarette and pulled my thumb away. There was a scorched smiley face staring back at me. Chuckling, I smoothed my index finger over it and smiled. It had been a while since I’d given myself one of those. When I thought back, it was probably the first act of self-inflicted violence I’d ever committed.

  Cramming the lighter into my pocket, I remained sitting in the grass of my front yard, waiting for Julie to call back, waiting for the officer to check on my situation, waiting—just waiting—for the world to cut me a fucking break.

  After I finished smoking my cigarette, I headed inside to grab the duffle bag I knew was in the back of my closet. It was time I packed some shit. Regardless of where I was going next, I knew the system wouldn’t allow me to stay here. I was just doing something I’d have to do at some point in the near future anyway.

  “Did you get a hold of someone, kid?” the officer I’d been talking with earlier asked as I passed him, heading inside.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll be staying with my sister.” I hoped at least.

  “Good, glad to hear you have some family willing to take you in.”

  There was still a shit ton of sympathy reflected my way in his eyes. I hated seeing it. It made me feel weak and small, like I was some sort of fucking victim he wished he could save. So many adults had given me the same look throughout the years. The look made me want to scream at them to mind their own damn business. I didn’t need their sympathy; it wouldn’t fix anything in my life. To know someone cared enough to flash me a concerned smile meant nothing. It didn’t change anything. When would people realize this?

  I continued through the front door without another glace in his direction. Once I jogged up the stairs, I cut into my room. There were still a few police officers in Mom’s room, rummaging through her things, searching for anything else they could pin on her to add to the case they already had. Closing my bedroom door behind me, I leaned against the solidness of it and took in a deep breath.

  I should be feeling guilty, because those had been my drugs, but I didn’t. Was it insane to feel nothing besides relief when thinking about why she was being locked up ?

  My cell vibrated in my pocket, and time seemed to stand still. That had been quick, too quick. I wondered what the verdict was, while at the same time wished I didn’t have to answer my damn phone to hear it. Why couldn’t Julie h
ave sent me a text with her answer like any normal person? I stared at the screen and swallowed hard as I gathered the courage to answer it.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey, it’s me. Um, I talked to Nick about you coming here, and he said that’s fine.” Relief pounded through me, heavy and fierce. “We can leave tonight and be there in the morning to get you. Are you going to be okay for tonight?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be all right. I’ll just crash at Luke’s or something.” Of course I would be all right for one night. Why had she even asked? It wasn’t as though she’d cared about me being here before, if so she would have never left the way she did.

  “Just wanted to be sure.” Her tone had grown softer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I should thank her. I really should.

  “Yeah, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. I’ll meet you here at the house, so I can load my clothes and stuff up in your car.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a slight pause in our conversation, one that I thought stemmed from both of us waiting to say goodbye or I love you or some shit. I took a chance and filled it the best way I knew how.

  “Thank you, Julie.” My voice was thick and heavy with emotion, more so than I liked. “I mean it.”

  “No problem. I’m glad you called me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “See ya.” I hung up, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness any longer.

  Pressing both of my palms against my eyes, I let out a loud sigh. Well, at least I wasn’t fucking homeless anymore. It looked like I would be moving to Baycrest, North Carolina.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EMORY

  Tara pulled into a parking spot at the end of Calloway Park. It was after two in the morning, which meant I had stayed out longer than I told myself I would. Sam ran his fingers along the inside of my forearm. The tickling sensation made a wide, loopy grin twist and pull at my lips. I leaned into him, and he pressed his lips against my temple.

  I wanted to melt right there in the backseat of Tara’s car.

  “I wish I could hang out with you again sometime soon.” Sam’s voice was low and soft. It rumbled against my skin, creating a tickling sensation. “Think I can have your number?”

  Smiling, I plucked my cell phone from my pocket and handed it to him. “Sure, call yourself.”

  He took it from my fingers and tapped in his number. His phone vibrated with the incoming call.

  “You should let me meet your mom,” he insisted randomly. “Moms love me. I’m a charmer.” He flashed me a dazzling smile to prove his point, and I laughed.

  “That you are, but my mom still won’t go for it. She doesn’t allow me to date anymore,” I admitted.

  The real reason for this—not the ones I had listed to him previously—flashed through my mind. I wanted more than anything to let the secret my mother would take to the grave pass through my lips so that he would better understand, but I couldn’t. I clamped them together instead, wishing Sam would kiss me one last time to push the words away from the tip of my tongue. He was too easy to talk to, too nice, and alcohol gave me loose lips.

  Sam’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand why. You’re seventeen for crying out loud. You dated what’s his name for a little while.”

  “I know.” My eyes locked with Tara’s in the rearview mirror. She knew the reason why—the reason behind my mother’s crazy rule changes over the summer. I knew she wouldn’t say anything though. Tara would never betray the trust I had in her. “It’s just the way it is.” I shrugged. “I can date again when I’m eighteen and not living under my parents’ roof.”

  “She went old school. I guess I can respect that.” Sam brushed his lips against mine in the form of a featherlight kiss that took my breath away. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

  My stomach fluttered from the gesture. Could he be any more perfect?

  A few seconds later, Tara cleared her throat from the driver’s seat. “I hate to break this love fest up, but I’m crazy tired and would like to get home sometime before sunrise.”

  Reluctantly, I pulled away from Sam and eyed her in the mirror. “Text me as soon as you make it home, okay?”

  “Always do,” she insisted with a small smile.

  “What about me?” Sam’s lips quirked into a sly grin. “Can I text you as soon as I get home?”

  “Of course.” My mind tumbled into the pool of questions regarding Sam and me, one I would surely drown in all night while struggling to sleep, but I forced them away.

  Gripping the door handle, I leaned toward him again and crushed my lips to his once more before opening the door. I climbed out and started toward home. Tara pulled out of the parking lot and honked at me once. I waved and smiled.

  Cramming my hands into my back pockets, I made my way down the pathway leading into the playground area of the park. A gentle breeze flitted through the night air, sending a slight chill across my skin and making the swings move on their own. Stepping over a crushed juice box, I quickened my pace, hating the eerie feeling sweeping through me from being here alone so late at night. Relief flitted through me as I cut into the woods separating my backyard from the park. When my house came into view, I paused, searching the darkened windows for any sign my mother might still be awake. While she liked to brag about how spectacular her book club meetings were, I knew they were nothing too thrilling—at least not thrilling enough to last into the wee hours of the morning.

  Not seeing any sign she was still up, I crept across the backyard and headed toward the kitchen door. There was no way I would be able to climb the tree I used earlier and hoist myself onto the garage roof to slip in my bedroom undetected. I was too inebriated, and my moves were no longer precise because of it. Besides, I was freaking exhausted.

  I crept to the fake rock in the flower bed and retrieved the spare key, making a mental note to put it back sometime tomorrow. Once I unlocked the door and stepped inside the quiet house, I smelled the leftover snacks from my mother’s meeting. My stomach rumbled and I grabbed a cream-filled pastry, knowing I would regret it tomorrow, but not caring at the moment. I popped it in my mouth, letting the explosion of sweetness burst across my tongue. I would do extra sit-ups or something tomorrow to burn off the massive amount of calories I’d consumed tonight, but as for right now, I was going to enjoy this little bit of dessert and think of it as the perfect end to a perfect night.

  As quietly as I could manage, I made my way up the stairs toward my room. The door was still closed, and I wondered if my mother had taken a second to peek in on me at some point. Gripping the knob, I opened the door and stepped inside. My heart lurched to my throat, and I nearly choked on the puff pastry in my mouth.

  The room was dark, but I could clearly make out my mother’s slender frame sitting on my bed, staring at me. Reaching over, she flipped on the table lamp on my nightstand. The soft glow illuminated the room, making her angry face clearly visible. My heart hammered inside my chest as I waited for her to speak. She said nothing, but continued to glare at me with cold, unforgiving eyes. The moment I dropped my gaze from hers, she started in on me.

  “I see you were smart enough to use the spare key instead of climbing that tree, which is how I assume you snuck out.” She crossed her legs and placed both hands in her lap. I could still feel her eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I couldn’t even swallow the bit of food in my mouth. I was too shocked that I had so obviously been busted. “First off, do you know how dangerous climbing out your bedroom window and down that tree is? What if you had fallen and been seriously injured? What then?”

  I swallowed the food in my mouth so I could speak. “I wasn’t thinking about that,” I admitted, but mostly, I had said it because the other words that came to mind—the “I don’t know” answer—would have enraged her.

  “I’m sure you weren’t. I’m sure you weren’t really thinking at all.” She sighed, and I finally gathered enough courage to lift my eyes to meet h
ers.

  They were blazing with anger and disappointment. It felt strange seeing it directed at me so blatantly. Normally, Chelsea would be in my place and I would be watching from the sidelines, wondering what I could do to make our mother happy again. Not this time though.

  “You could have broken something, Emory, and then where would that have left you in your chance at nationals? And what are you eating? My leftover pastries?”

  I nodded, but didn’t speak.

  “You know you shouldn’t be eating before bed; it goes straight to your hips. Lord knows you don’t need anything more there.” Her words dropped an octave, letting me know the true questions were about to start. “Where have you been? And where on earth did that top come from?”

  Fat. She thought I had fat hips. My mother had never called me fat before. I crossed my room as slowly as I could in the hopes of her not being able to tell that I had been drinking, and then slipped off my sandals before taking a seat at my desk.

  I tried to think of what to say, how to answer her questions. She was so angry with me. There was no way to lessen what I had done, no way to make it seem better than what it was. My stomach rolled and my bottom lip quivered as I found myself on the verge of tears.

  “I wanted to hang out with my friends for a little while.” I brought my knees up to my chest and set the remainder of the pastry I wouldn’t be finishing on my desk. Locking my arms around my knees, I met her hard stare again. “The tank top is Tara’s. She accidentally left it here a while back.”

  Silence bloomed between us, and I wasn’t sure what more she wanted me to say.

  Mom rubbed her forehead. “I am so disappointed in you, Emory. This is something I would expect from your sister, but not you. Wait until your father hears about this.”

  My stomach flipped. I hated the fact that the only things she ever spoke to him about when it came to my sister or me were all negative. According to her, that’s all there ever was worthy enough to report. While mostly she blabbed about how horrible Chelsea was—what rehab she had checked her into this month, how much money she’d stolen this week, the drunken, drugged out state she had last come home in—I felt as though ever since the incident a few months back, she was making it out as though I were a mini version of Chelsea now, and I wasn’t.