Surviving Slater

by Regan Ure

  My mom had done everything right and I was still fucked up.

  Not only did I feel the pain from my own childhood, I now felt sad for his.

  All I had known about his past was what Taylor had told me. She had told me he had grown up living next door to Sin. The only time Slater had mentioned anything from his past was when he had told me about his sister.

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Jordan?" my mother called out. "Are you okay?"

  I stood up. "Yes, I'm fine."

  When I opened the door, I fixed a smile on my lips so I wouldn't worry her.

  "You okay?" she asked again, taking a closer look.

  I swallowed the need to cry. "Yes."

  She had just lost her brother. She needed me to be strong, so she could lean on me. And I could do that for her.

  It was only a little later, once it was dark and everyone had left, that I finally went through my phone. I had missed calls from Taylor and even one from Slater. Why were they calling? I had a couple of voicemails but I decided to just call Taylor.

  "Jordan, where are you?" she asked, sounding worried. "You didn't show up for classes and when I went around to the apartment Levi told me you had left for a couple of days."

  "Sorry, I had to leave suddenly," I explained. "I was going to call you."

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "My uncle died," I told her, and I waited for her reaction.

  "I'm so sorry," she said. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "Really?" she asked, sounding unconvinced. I knew I wasn't supposed to be okay. I was supposed to be upset and grieving the loss of a close family member. But I wasn't. I felt only relief that my nightmare was finally over.

  "Yes."

  "Do you need anything?"

  "No," I said, walking over to the bedroom window.

  "When's the funeral?"

  "I don't know." How could I explain I didn't care?

  "If you let me know when it is I could come with you," she offered.

  "Thanks, but I'll be okay," I told her.

  After what happened to her parents, the fact that she was prepared to go to the funeral to support me meant a lot.

  "We weren't really close." I felt the need to explain why I didn't need her here.

  "Okay," she said. "When will you be back?"

  "I'm not sure," I replied. The date for the funeral hadn't been set yet. "I'll let you know."

  "Sure. If you need anything I'm just a phone call away."

  After I ended the call, I stared at the phone. Taylor was a good friend but I didn't want to endanger her emotional state with a funeral, which would remind her of her parents' deaths. Besides, I was okay.

  I didn't feel sad like the rest of my family. I knew him for who he truly was. I let out an emotional breath. Then I remembered the missed call from Slater.

  For a moment I considered returning his call but decided against it. It didn't matter why he called. I had told him to stay out of my life and I had meant it.

  Was he concerned like Taylor? Did he somehow know I had left town and thought it might have something to do with him? That seemed most likely. He felt responsible and that's why he had felt the need to call.

  * * *

  The next couple of days dragged on. I grew tired of keeping on guard, pretending I was grieving for my deceased uncle. My mother was still struggling to cope and my Aunt Janet was like a zombie, unable to function.

  Even in my own screwed-up way I felt guilty, but I hid it well. Two days of keeping it up was draining me, though. I just wanted the funeral over and done with so I could leave, to have time to deal with everything away on my own.

  The day of the funeral had finally arrived. The cloudy weather outside matched my mood. I hadn't been sleeping well. The nightmares had stopped but I couldn't seem to fall into a deep sleep.

  I felt on edge. Maybe it was because I was tired, and keeping up the facade took energy.

  "You ready?" my mom asked from the doorway.

  "Yes," I said, turning to face her.

  It began to drizzle as we stood beside the newly dug grave as the priest continued with the service. It was difficult to look at the big picture of him to the right side of the priest.

  My mom began to cry and I put my arm around her. My other hand held an umbrella over us. My eyes fixed on the coffin that held the body of my deceased uncle.

  I couldn't wait for it to be over. I planned on leaving the following day. My mom had her family and my Aunt Janet to mourn with. I couldn't pretend anymore.

  It stopped drizzling by the end of the service and I closed the umbrella as they lowered my uncle into the ground. I couldn't even pretend to cry. My mom grasped my hand in hers.

  After the service my mom left me on my own, to thank some friends for attending.

  Lack of sleep and feeling emotionally drained kept me in place by the grave. Would his death finally set me free? My childhood memories had been tarnished by the very person who was supposed to protect me. Now that he was gone, would the lingering pain go too?

  I let out an emotional breath. It was time to get on with it, so I turned to leave…and then stopped.

  A few graves away stood Slater. He was dressed in a black suit and a long black coat, and he stood unmoving. My heart stirred to life as our eyes met. Why was he here? How did he know where I was?

  I walked to him.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, checking over my shoulder to see if my mother had noticed us yet, but she was still busy speaking to a friend and wasn't looking in our direction.

  "I was worried about you." My eyes connected with him.

  "I'm okay," I said, shrugging my shoulders. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. I should be mourning the loss of a close relative. Did it set off alarm bells that I wasn't?

  "I'm sorry for your loss."

  "Thanks," I said, unsure of what to say.

  "Were you close?"

  Uncomfortable with his question, I shrugged again. His eyes narrowed, studying me more closely, like he was looking for something. Then I realized why.

  "I'm not taking anything," I told him. Not that it was any of his business. "I stopped taking them the day after you told me to get my shit together."

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  "Thanks for coming but I'm really okay," I said. He shoved his hands in his pockets and it reminded me of what Connor had revealed about his childhood.

  "You're welcome. I'll be staying at a nearby motel in room twelve." He gave me the name of the place. I knew where it was. "If you need anything I'll be there."

  "Thanks." What I needed from him he wasn't capable of giving me.

  He left, and I watched him go.

  "Is he a friend of yours?" my mom asked, walking up to stand beside me.

  I didn't want to go into the details of what had happened between us so I just said, "Yes."

  I slid my hands into the pockets of my jacket. Technically that's all that was left of what had transpired between us. We were just friends. Hell, I didn't even think we were really friends…more like acquaintances.

  But an acquaintance wouldn't attend a funeral to make sure you were okay. I didn't want to analyze the motive or reasoning behind his actions. All that mattered was that I had to find a way to move on from him.

  When we got back to the house I kept busy making sure everyone had something to drink or something to eat. It ensured there was no time to think of Slater in a motel literally down the road from where I lived and that it would be so easy to go and see him. I wanted to. But I knew it wasn't a good idea.

  I had managed to avoid my aunt but when I found myself in the kitchen with her, there was no way to exit without being rude.

  "How are you doing?" I asked her, taking in her small, sad frame. Her dark green eyes lifted to mine, the evidence she had been crying clear in her tear-streaked cheeks. Her usual creamy skin was paler than usual against her red hair that ended just below her ears.
/>   I hugged her for a few minutes before she pulled away from me, wiping her tears.

  "I have something for you," she said as she produced a pristine white envelope from her bag and handed it to me.

  Confused, I looked at the name scribbled on the front.

  Jordan.

  "What is it?" I murmured.

  "I found it in your uncle's will."

  I didn't want anything from him but I couldn't refuse without it raising questions I didn't want to answer.

  "Thanks," I said, clutching the envelope in my hand.

  She smiled at me. "He loved you so much."

  I gave her a tight smile and a slight nod as my stomach turned. I hurried out and managed to reach the bathroom just before throwing up the contents of my stomach.

  I washed up and went to my bedroom with the envelope still clutched tightly in my hand. Once I entered my room, I put it down on my dressing table and looked at it with horror.

  What could he possibly have to say to me? There wasn't anything he could say that could wipe clean my childhood that he had ruined.

  I began to pace as I argued whether it would cause more damage to read it. I wanted to put this to rest and I wasn't sure I could do that without reading the letter.

  My heart rate escalated and I felt like the blood was pounding in my ears. I sat down on my bed and rubbed my hands over my face, trying to keep a lid on the torrent of emotions pushing to break free.

  Not here, not now. I had fought hard to keep the secret from the family who would be devastated by it. I had to get away before I spiraled out of control.

  Feeling like a caged animal and needing to escape so I could feel free, I grabbed the letter and shoved it in my bag. I found my mother in the hallway talking to a neighbor.

  "I'll be back later," I told her. She looked at me with concern.

  "Okay," she said. "Don't stay out too late."

  I weaved myself through the throng of cars parked in front of my house and breathed a deep breath in as I made my way down the familiar road.

  I had only one destination in mind.

  Outside, it was overcast and as I walked, breathing hard, it began to drizzle. I walked faster as it began to rain harder, not feeling the water, or the cold.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was only when I found myself outside the door marked "12" that I questioned whether it was a good idea. Someone who had made it clear they couldn't handle the emotional baggage I carried wasn't going to be the best person to witness my breakdown, but I didn't have a choice. I had nowhere else to go. I wanted to keep any whisper of my issues far away from anyone else I knew, for fear it would find its way back to the family I was protecting.

  Drenched, shivering and cold, I knocked on the door. There was a rustle and then the door opened.

  "What the hell?" he muttered before dragging me inside and closing the door. The warmth of the room surrounded me but didn't ease the coldness inside of me.

  "I…" I began to say but stopped because I was shaking so hard. My teeth were chattering together.

  His warm hands on my arms made me shiver more. Then he turned and walked away.

  The action hit me straight in the chest, like a rejection yet again, and I began to tear up before he returned with a towel. He helped me out of my jacket before he wrapped me in the fluffy cloth.

  "What happened?" he asked. His eyes were filled with concern. "Are you okay?"

  His eyes scanned me as water dripped off my face. I had lost count of how many people had asked me that same question today. And every time I had replied with the same practiced answer—saying yes and fixing a smile to my face to assure them it was true.

  But this time I didn't. I began to tear up again as I finally admitted the truth. "No, I'm not." I shook my head gently.

  There was a moment when he studied me before he put his arms around me and hugged me. I let go and allowed myself to cry…for everything I had lost and endured.

  He didn't say a word or question me while he held me, and I stayed in his arms until the tears eased and I felt emotionally raw.

  "Let's get you in the shower and warmed up," he said, and I let him take control.

  He led me to the bathroom and helped me sit down on the toilet before he turned his attention to the shower and adjusting the water temperature.

  "I'll get you some clothes," he said before leaving me. I didn't have the strength to get undressed and into the shower. Instead, I sat staring at the white clinical tiles.

  He returned a minute later with some folded clothes. "They might not fit but they'll have to do." He put them down on the counter.

  "Do you need me to help?" he asked when he realized I hadn't moved.

  I looked up at him and nodded. It wasn't like me to ask for help but this time I needed it.

  He pulled me to my feet and I allowed the wet towel to drop to the floor. He peeled my wet shirt from my skin and helped me out of the black skirt I had borrowed from my mother.

  His eyes met mine briefly before he helped unclasp my bra. There was no embarrassment; he had seen it all before. It dropped to the floor.

  He bent down as he slid my underwear down, and I lifted one foot and then the other. The briefest of touches warmed my skin.

  "Thank you."

  He stood up. "You're welcome." His eyes met mine.

  I turned to face the shower and got in. The water felt great as it warmed me from the outside. Water streamed through my hair, down my face.

  After my skin temperature warmed, I washed myself, including my hair, needing to remove the remains of the day from my body. Once I was done I got out and there was a new, dry towel waiting for me.

  I dried myself before I reached for the clothes Slater had left for me. I pulled on the oversized shirt that smelled just like him. I breathed the fabric in, holding on to the smell of him. It warmed me inside. I slid into the sweatpants, which I had to tie in the front to stop them from sliding down my hips. Slater was much taller than I was so I had to roll the bottoms up too.

  I found a motel hairdryer in a drawer and used it to dry my hair. I looked awful as I looked at my reflection in the mirror. There was no brightness in my eyes, only dark marks signifying my lack of sleep.

  Slater was seated in a chair when I entered the room.

  "You feeling better?" he asked, and I nodded.

  "You want something to drink?" he asked. "There's soda or whiskey."

  I needed alcohol.

  "Whiskey, please."

  He opened a small bottle and poured some into a glass for me. He handed it to me before sitting down again. I sat down on the bottom of the bed and stared at the light brown liquid.

  I took a gulp and it burned all the way down my throat. I liked the pain; it detracted from the pain inside me. Now that I had admitted I wasn't okay, I felt more vulnerable. The alcohol warmed my blood and I felt a fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

  Coming here had been a mistake. Burdening him with this hadn't been fair. I had to leave.

  I finished the drink in a few more gulps before I stood up and put the glass down. But the reality was my clothes and shoes were still wet. I couldn't walk home barefoot in Slater's clothes in the rain again.

  Slater watched me quietly as I walked over to the window and opened the curtain slightly to see it was still raining quite hard. I could always call my mother to come and pick me up but she still had a household full of visitors.

  "I'm sorry," I said to Slater before I turned to face him.

  "Why are you sorry?" he asked, looking a little perplexed.

  "For showing up like I did." For the first time the repercussions of my actions began to dawn on me. "I should leave. I shouldn't be here."

  He stood up. "Don't leave. I told you if you needed anything I was here."

  I didn't believe he actually meant it. They were hollow words people said to make themselves feel better.

  "Okay." I felt nervous so I clutched my hands.

  Knowing more about his past
made me look at him differently. It made me care more about him, despite knowing it wasn't a good idea and it would only lead to more pain.

  "Why did you come here?" he asked, watching me closely.

  "I didn't have anywhere else to go." I swallowed hard, dropping my eyes to the patterned brown carpet.

  Memories began to seep in, reminding me of the disgust I felt for myself. I felt dirty for the actions of another and I didn't know how to fix it. Even his death hadn't released me from the demons. Some fear had disappeared with his death, but it didn't erase it.

  "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

  My eyes lifted to his and I bit my lip. I wanted to tell someone but opening up to him would burden him with my deepest, darkest secret. The last time I had given him the choice, he had walked away. This time I didn't think I could cope with that.

  I shook my head. "I can't."

  "Why not?" he asked. He was somehow closer to me than before. That strange feeling in the bottom of my stomach felt like a flutter at being so close to him.

  "Because you don't want the responsibility of knowing. We've been here before and we know which option you went for the last time. Once I've told you, there is no going back."

  I paused.

  "Every time you look at me you will think about it. It will change how you see me. There won't be a time that you don't see it in my eyes or wonder if I'm thinking about it, but it won't matter because it will be on your mind. It will always be there, a part of me."

  I expected him to close down and walk away again, but he remained fixed to the spot.

  His eyes searched mine. "Tell me."

  I was a little stunned. It wasn't what I had expected. I swallowed. Now I wasn't sure if I could do that. Had I only decided to tell him because I had been convinced he wouldn't want to hear it? I didn't know if I could open up and allow him to see the true me—the one who carried the wound of childhood abuse.

  But then I remembered he walked with the same wound. We had both been abused; maybe it was the reason I felt he, above everyone else, would understand.

  "I'm here. And I want to know."

  I walked to the bed and sat down again. I inhaled and exhaled an emotional breath before I started. He was here, ready to listen. Now it was my turn to reach inside and find the strength to finally release my secret out into the open.