Instinct

by Mattie Dunman

I’m really starting to hate this place.

  Once inside I feel as though I’m alone on a stage, a spotlight trained on my every movement. Eyes follow me wherever I go, whispers poking at the tender meat of my brain as I make my way through the crowd. Several people stop to say things to me; based on their sympathetic and encouraging expressions, I assume condolences or words of comfort and so I smile and nod, feeling like a hollow bobble-head doll. My head begins to pound from the harsh glare of the florescent lights bouncing off the reflective surface of the linoleum.

  I make it to my first class early, not bothering to stop by my locker. Only a few seats are filled and I take mine, carefully avoiding the looks being thrown my way. Mrs. Sullivan gets up from her desk and strides over to me, casting a suppressing glare at the students who watch me closely from the other side of the room. Abashed, they return to their conversation. I pretend it’s not about me.

  “I was raped in college,” Mrs. Sullivan says, her eyes warm with concern as she takes a seat in the empty desk to my left. I cough to cover my gasp and rub my hands over my eyes, trying to push back the tears that seem to be ever present.

  “I’m sorry?” I say resignedly, beyond trying to figure out what was really said.

  “I said I think you are very brave. Please, let me know if I can do anything for you. You’ve been through a rough time since coming here.” She pats me gently on the shoulder before returning to the front of the class, nodding at the sudden influx of students.

  I clench my jaw and stiffen my limbs as Phillip enters the room, his golden hair brushed back from slightly pink cheeks and emerald eyes. I wonder how I ever found him appealing. He makes my stomach turn now.

  His eyes meet mine and he holds my stare as he maneuvers down the aisle, his approach sinuous and predatory. I force myself not to look away, not to show him how terrified he makes me. I haven’t seen him since his impromptu hospital visit and I am on edge, waiting for his next move.

  Dropping into his former seat behind me, Phillip reaches out a hand and strokes the fading bruise along my cheekbone. “I was so sorry to hear about your little altercation, Derry. You do have a habit of making the wrong people angry.”

  My breath hisses out of me like a punctured tire and I slap his hand away. “Don’t touch me, Phillip. You don’t scare me. Your little visit in the hospital just proved how twisted you really are.”

  He leans forward, pasting a confused expression on his face. “What are you talking about, Derry? I didn’t come to see you. I wanted to, but I was afraid it would upset you. I know we’ve had our differences lately,” he murmurs. I whip around, ignoring the stab of pain in my head and fix him with a severe look.

  “Don’t try that bullshit on me, Phillip. You and I both know you were there, and what you said,” I whisper angrily, ignoring the quiet buzz of conversation around us, my whole universe centered on the treacherous glint in his eyes.

  The faintest trace of a smirk pulls at his lips before he straightens up, his expression morphing seamlessly into bewildered concern. “Derry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know you’ve been traumatized recently, but please don’t try to shift blame on me. I’ve been so worried about you,” he declares, voice slightly raised, drawing the attention of the rest of the class.

  I dart a glance around the room, taking in the avid faces of my classmates. They seem hungry, eager for conflict, and I realize the trap Phillip has set for me.

  “You’ve had a head injury, Derry. It’s no wonder you’re confused. I just want to be here for you,” he continues, his every breath mocking me, every word driving hot needles through my skin.

  Though my classmates whisper, I can still hear them and the truths they are holding back, many of which indicate they believe I’m making everything up for attention. The injustice of this sears me from the inside out and for a moment I think I know how Jake feels when the rage overtakes him. The urge to dig my fingers into Phillip’s neck, to watch panic flood his eyes as he struggles for breath is nearly overwhelming.

  “You liar,” I whisper, my voice low and furious. Phillip just raises his eyebrows and shakes his head at me sorrowfully.

  “I think all this trauma has really messed with your head, Derry. You should be more careful.” He holds my gaze for another moment and then turns away, digging through his bag, clearly dismissing me.

  Shaking with rage, I turn around, facing forward, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. For a moment, I am filled with doubt. Did I imagine his appearance in the hospital? The whole thing was so surreal, almost dreamlike in my memory. The more I think about it, the more I wonder why the nurse hadn’t said anything about seeing him. Or that no one had noticed him. Had our conversation just been one of my nightmares, made real from stress and pain?

  I shift around to look at him again. He glances up and gives me a smile, his teeth glinting whitely. I narrow my eyes and turn back around. That way lies madness.

  I am unable to concentrate on the rest of the class, Phillip’s presence behind me making my skin buzz painfully the entire time, reminding me that nothing about him can be trusted.

  When the tone finally sounds, I make a beeline for the door, needing to get as far away from him as possible. I nearly make it out the door, but a hand grips my arm in a painful squeeze and I halt, knowing without turning around it is Phillip.

  “Derry, I don’t want you to be angry with me. We need to work on our project, remember? Why don’t we meet up this afternoon at the café by the tracks? I know that’s one of your favorite spots,” he suggests, eyes cold, like a creature that has never touched emotion, only lives with a view to kill.

  “Get your hand off me,” I growl, pulling away sharply. “I’m not Miranda. You can’t break me.” He releases me and I make my escape. I understand the threat. He knows where I like to go, tracks my movements.

  He can find me when he wants.

  Biology is as slow and mind-numbing as usual, but at least no one bothers me. Even Tasha avoids my eyes, and when the period ends I am disappointed. It was peaceful for just a little while.

  I head towards the cafeteria with a sense of dread, thinking that maybe I should just go find an empty classroom somewhere to eat. I turn around and start to do just that when I am interrupted.

  “I’m sad that Phillip is interested in you,” Ruth’s voice penetrates my stupor of indecision and I wince. The last thing I want to do is hang out with anyone even remotely connected with Phillip.

  “Hey Ruth,” I mumble, looking for a way out of this conversation.

  “Do you want to sit with me? Phillip said he thought you looked a little lost. He’s very worried about you,” she explains, gesturing to the back of the cafeteria where Phillip is sitting at a table, watching us. He lifts his hand in a wave and I feel my teeth grind together. He is toying with me. The way he played with Miranda before destroying her.

  “No thanks, I…” I break off as Megan drops down at a nearby table and my shoulders slump in relief. “I’m joining Megan. But thanks,” I say, hurrying over to the table before Ruth can protest.

  Megan looks surprised to see me, but makes room at the table, gesturing me to an empty chair across from her. “I’ve got a crush on Shane,” she says in the most civil tone I’ve heard her use to date. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay. Wishing people would stop asking me that,” I return with a smile. She gives me a sheepish grin, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, I guess I would too in your position. Let me just say though, that Shockey is a creep and we all knew he was a perv. He deserves whatever he gets,” she assures me. I appreciate the gesture, but thinking about his hands on me, the feral light in his eyes when he attacked sends a cold rush through me. I just nod and open my brown paper bag, fishing out the sandwich Mom made for me last night while she was still feeling domestic.

  I am quiet through lunch, listening absently to Megan and her friends chatting and making appropriate noises every once in a while. The sandwi
ch is lead in my stomach and the thought of three more hours of pretending everything is fine, ignoring the curious stares and barely whispered commentary is draining. I put my head in my hands and swallow, still feeling the stiffness in my throat from all the inflammation. The urge to call Mom and ask her to come pick me up drowns out the inner voice telling me to brave it out, to show everyone that it doesn’t bother me, to show Phillip I’m not weak.

  As though reading my thoughts, my phone buzzes in my bag, and I dig through it eagerly, hoping for some escape. A smile spreads across my face when I see the text message from Cole.

  I’m defying my father.

  I blink and the words reform.

  I’m outside the school. Come meet me?

  Without thinking too hard about it, I reply YES! and grab my things, standing up hurriedly.

  “Where are you headed?” Megan asks curiously, noting my sudden change of mood.

  “Gotta go,” I answer, dumping the remains of my lunch in the trash and hurrying toward the doors to the student parking lot. I am almost home free when a voice calls out, stopping me in my tracks.

  “I hate my brother,” Jake says, hastening to my side, frowning. I stifle the surge of annoyance as he puts a hand on my shoulder. Whatever happened between us before, Jake did save my life. That counts for something.

  “Hi, Jake. I’m just heading out,” I say, taking a step forward, hoping he’ll get the hint. He follows me and looks out the door to see Cole waiting on his motorcycle. Jake’s face darkens with anger.

  “So you’re still going with him? Even though he didn’t come for you? Have you forgotten who pulled that animal off you?” he growls, his fingers digging painfully into my shoulder.

  “Jake, calm down. You’re hurting me,” I say in a calm voice, trying to talk him down before he loses control. The pressure on my shoulder eases but he doesn’t let me go.

  “You’re mine,” he snarls, turning me so I have to face him. The possessiveness in his tone is as alarming as the barely restrained strength of his grip.

  “Jake, you’re scaring me.”

  He takes a deep, shuddering breath and releases me, fisting his hands in his hair, face stiff with strain. “I don’t know why I do this, I don’t know why I want you so much,” he finally whispers, his voice heavy with grief. I watch him, fighting the wave of pity that sweeps over me, urging me to put my arms around him.

  “I don’t understand it either, Jake. I don’t want you to feel this way,” I say quietly, wishing he could acknowledge the possibility that he is as gifted as his father and brother, learn to control it. But denial is written across his features and he just studies me with frustrated desire.

  “I can feel you, all the time.” He takes a step closer to me, brushing my bruised cheek gently with his knuckles. “You’re in my head when I’m alone, and when I’m near you,” he breathes in, inhaling my scent. “You are everywhere, dancing over my skin, churning in my blood. I don’t want to hurt you, but you fight me and I just lose it.” He fixes pleading eyes on me. “Stop fighting me, Derry. Please.”

  I am quaking, horrified, because deep down, some part of me wants to stop fighting him. My lips still remember his taste in my mouth, the heat of burnt cinnamon. My skin still trembles with the intense need I felt for him in that first moment, before rationality set in and told me that violence wasn’t love, just a lethal attraction that led to nothing but dead ends and closed doors.

  “I’m sorry, Jake. I’m so thankful for what you did, and I will always be grateful. But you frighten me, and until you get some control I can’t be around you.” I keep my voice gentle, soothing, praying that he will understand the words and not just hear the rejection.

  “Miranda was scared of me too,” he groans miserably, hand dropping away from my face. Forgetting Cole, who has stepped off his bike and is looking impatiently at the doors, I focus on Jake.

  “What happened with her Jake? Did you have something to do with her death?” I ask quietly, but with the force of my will behind it. I am beginning to understand how much effort I have to put into the questions I really want answered.

  He hesitates, and I can see him trying to deny it, but finally he blows out a breath and answers. “I don’t know.”

  “What happened with her?” I repeat, vitally interested in the truth, believing this might be my best chance of getting it from him.

  Jake’s stormy blue eyes meet mine briefly before he looks down at the floor, misery diminishing him somehow, shrinking him in my eyes.

  “I was so angry, all the time. I didn’t used to be this way. Dad always said I was aggressive, but I had it under control. And then I just woke up one morning and everything pissed me off, all the time. Miranda was flirting with this guy at a party…she was wearing a skimpy bathing suit and he was ogling her…” he breaks off, fury charging his eyes, tremors of rage rolling down his arms.

  “Jake, please,” I whisper, putting my hand on his arm. He stares down at it for a moment and takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

  “I lost it. I shoved her, harder than I meant to. I apologized, but she wouldn’t hear it. She said if I’d do it once, I’d do it again, and she wasn’t waiting around to be beaten on.” His voice is almost incredulous, as though stunned that she could’ve believed such a thing. Denial so strong it adds to his rage.

  “She was with Phillip and I knew something was wrong. She walked around like someone was going to hit her all the time, but she wouldn’t talk to me. Nicole even told me she was worried, thought I should try to talk to Miranda. But everything I tried, she just shot down.”

  He shakes his head, remembering. I don’t dare interrupt, seeing that he is lost in the memory, not really thinking of what he’s saying. The halls are growing quieter around us as students leave the cafeteria for their lockers and the next class. It feels as though we are trapped in a glass bubble, held in stasis until the poison in Jake’s mind can be released.

  “Then she called me. She said she needed to tell me something, needed my help. She asked me to meet her on the walkway at the old train bridge that night. I came, but I was angry. I felt like she was jerking me around, using me for something.”

  He is quiet for a moment, and I prompt him, needing to see this story to its end. “What happened when you met her?”

  Jake glances up at me, swirling blue depths begging me for something, forgiveness or absolution. “She wasn’t on the walkway. She was standing at the edge of the old bridge, the one Dad had blocked off since it’s so uneven and there are no supports. So I climbed the fence and came out with her. She just stood there for a while, staring down at the water, like it was whispering to her.”

  He rubs his face and I can see the reluctance to continue, but he does, little knowing he no longer has a choice.

  “I asked her what she wanted, and she asked me if I still loved her.” Jake’s eyes shine with unshed tears before he blinks them away and shakes his head. “I told her she was a slut and I was glad to be rid of her.”

  I gasp and recoil instinctively as he reaches out for me, his hands bracing on my arms. “Why? Why did you say that?” I demand, disbelief racing through me even as I feel the truth of his words.

  “Because she left me! Because she chose someone else and then let him turn her into this frightened bunny. She didn’t want me, she just wanted something from me. So I wanted to hurt her. But I didn’t touch her, I swear.”

  Suddenly the need to hurt Jake is more than I can bear, choking my air supply, burning through my skin like acid. He has to know what she wanted to tell him. He should carry that guilt, the way I carry mine.

  “She was going to tell you that Shockey raped her. She was going to tell you that Phillip threatened to hurt Nicole, that he had been methodically tormenting her for weeks. He held a damn gun to her head! She needed you, Jake! What did you ever do for her? She was damaged, broken, and that’s what you said to her?”

  Jake staggers away from me, fresh horror wiping all other emoti
on from his face as my words sink in. He shakes his head dumbly, staring at me, begging me to take it back, but I just glare at him, feeling the weight of the injustice of Miranda’s last moments press against my mind.

  “What did you do, Jake? What did you do then, when she needed you most?” I hiss, my rage rivaling his.

  “I told her she could jump off the bridge before I’d do a damn thing for her, and I left. I left her there on the bridge. And she was dead in the morning,” he sobs, dropping to his knees, wrapping his arms around my hips and burying his face in my stomach. Deep, heaving rasps rack his body as I stare down at him in disgust. Even if he didn’t push her off the bridge, he left her there to die. Either by Phillip’s hand or her own.

  Jake’s hands are not clean of her death.

  “Let me go, Jake,” I say quietly, glad that the halls are empty and no one has come looking for us. Out the doors I can see Cole striding towards us, obviously intent on finding me. Thanks to the reflective glass, I know he can’t see the scene playing out so close to him, and I am glad. I don’t know how he would react to seeing Jake and me like this. It wouldn’t be pretty.

  Jake doesn’t respond, just keeps his face pressed against me, clutching my hips as a drowning man clings to a rock. After a moment, my anger with him fades and all I can feel is pity. He failed the one he loved. I can relate.

  I place a hand on his head and stroke his hair, the silky strands parting under my fingers. Jake gives a deep sigh and his body stills, and I can feel him regaining control.

  The door swings open and Cole sees us, his eyes going dark as his gaze settles on his half-brother.

  “He’s trying to take you away from me,” he growls, marching forward, leaking fear like heavy cologne.

  “Cole, please,” I beg, panic pushing through my mind with all the subtlety of a battering ram. Instantly it disappears as Cole locks it down, pausing to take a calming breath. Jake finally releases me and stands between us, all traces of grief gone in a sudden blaze of anger.

  “Get away from her, Jake,” Cole warns, stepping toward him, fists clenched. Jake just tightens his jaw and moves closer to me, clearly staking a claim.