by Callie Rae
“So where are we going?”
“A cemetery,” I tell her.
“Okay …” She puts the car in reverse to back out of the parking spot and scoffs. “Not starting to regret this at all.”
“Fallon, no offense … I mean, I knew you were kind of off, but this is a whole new level,” Mira says as we stare into the cemetery lit up by the glow of her headlights.
I side-eye her. “You've literally been dating a scumbag so shitty he helped my psycho ex kidnap me.”
She gulps and drops her eyes to her lap. “If I’d have known—I didn’t know. I knew he was angry, but I didn’t know he was capable of—”
"You can go," I say as I swing my door open and slide out of the car.
I put my hurt foot on the ground and wince. I’m thankful for the boot; it lessens the pain. I’ve been standing on it in therapy, but I haven’t really tried to walk on yet. But I’m not waiting in my chair, and I’m definitely not going to try to roll it through the cemetery grounds.
"W-what?" she stutters. "You want me to leave you out here?"
I shrug my shoulders. "Worse things could happen. Leave my chair before you go."
"You're insane!" she squeals. "It's dark, and we're in a cemetery."
"Look, I guarantee you someone will be out here within the hour. Hell, there's probably an entire search party looking for me already. Cherry Creek is not that big, and they have to have noticed I left by now," I say as I balance on my good leg.
"Fallon, I can't leave you out here. Jesse would kill me."
I dip my head to look in the car and shrug. "That's on you. Not my problem."
I back up enough to slam her door, not giving her another glance. I used her for a ride. We're not going to be besties, and we never would have been. She chooses to be ignorant about the shit around her. I can't risk having a friend like that.
I make my way past several headstones, a twinge riding up my leg with each slow step.
According to the funeral home, Marcus was placed in his family's mausoleum. The rich pricks honored his evil. Who the fuck does that?
There are only a few mausoleums on the cemetery grounds, but I know exactly which one I'm headed to. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the most elaborate mausoleum would belong to the Hennings family. It's always a pissing match with the rich—who can be bigger, or better. They try to prove their status by flaunting their material items.
I reach the mausoleum and stop in front of the gated door. It smells like a mix of dirt and death. The stench of death might solely be in my mind, but when it comes to Marcus, it’s something I welcome.
I suck in a deep breath, steadying myself, my mind. I didn't plan to come out here. Sure, I looked into where he was buried in an effort to convince myself this was all really over. But it never occurred to me to come out here until I was looking at Mira and I saw an opportunity to escape. Our minds sometimes like to trick us; we’re told something, we hear it, we see it on their faces. But sometimes the words don’t make it real. Sometimes we still need to see it to believe.
Standing at this door, I’m not so sure I want this after all. What does it really mean if he’s gone? I’m still wondering where I go from here.
But in that moment of freedom, I brought myself to this place. To see for myself. To see whatever is left of him, what little remains. I think part of me always knew I'd end up here—that eventually, I’d need proof.
I lift my hand to reach for the door and it begins to tremble. I squeeze it into a ball trying to steady myself. My world starts to spin, and I clamp my eyes shut, hoping it will stop.
What the hell am I doing here?
"I'll help," the smallest, sweetest voice echoes in my head.
I open my eyes and look around. There is no one here.
"It's okay, Momma," the voice says again.
This time, I look down to see the same small child I saw at the game standing next to me. Her hand reaches up toward me. I close my eyes tight and open them again, sure I'm imagining things. But she's still standing there and reaching for my hand. The dream I had of her—of Luna—felt so real, but then I woke up in the hospital. Part of me is wondering if I've fallen asleep. But this feels so real too.
"Me and you, Momma," she says.
"I—okay," I whisper.
I am otherwise speechless. This can't be real—she can't really be here. I can't actually see her. This is all in my head. Why is my head playing these games with me?
She walks forward. I try to control my breathing. She glances back at me, waiting for me to follow, and before I even realize it, I am. I reach for the door and slowly pry it open. The gate is heavy and there isn't a lock. There should most definitely be a lock.
I walk in and glance around. The musty wetness assaults my senses and almost makes me turn tail out the entrance, but I continue on. I notice the plaques on the wall with names I don't recognize. I trace a hand over each one as I continue to look for the name I need to place my eyes on. I spot a shiny plaque in the back left corner that looks newer, not aged like the rest. I walk over to it and the engraved name of Marcus Hennings glares back at me.
So, he is here. I step forward to lean in closer and my feet hit something hard. I look down and find fresh flowers in a ceramic vase sitting at the base of the wall. It’s a wildflower mix. but I notice the perfect blue butterfly pea flowers dotted throughout the bouquet.
Even in his death, he fucking mocks me. I take a deep breath as rage builds inside of me. I curl my hands into fists as I try to control the emotions swirling in my head. But it's too much—too fucking much.
My foot smashes down on the vase before I even realize what I’m doing. The moment it connects and the vase shatters, my chest cracks wide open. The pieces of pottery and bits of dead, broken flowers scatter across the floor in time with the pieces of my heart, freeing all the feelings I’ve stuffed down. I’m suddenly suffocating in all the shit he put me through.
Unable to hold myself up anymore, I crash to the ground.
"’S okay." I hear her tiny voice again. "You okay, Momma."
"No! I'm not fucking okay!" I scream through the ache in my chest. "Why? Why are you fucking here? Why did this happen to me?”
"Momma okay!"
"Stop saying that," I clutch my chest.
The pain radiates through me as the first sob escapes unbidden, unwanted.
I can't control it. I can't control my heart or my breathing.
Or my pain. It's there, all-encompassing, all-consuming. Like someone has shoved a cold metal rod of panic through my body. The sobs continue to wrack my body as I barely hold on. I’m drowning, I’m slipping under …
"Just stop! Make it stop!" I plead.
"Fallon! Shit, Fallon!" Another voice echoes through my head.
It’s not real. I cover my ears with my hands and squeeze my eyes shut tighter to make it go away. It can’t be real. None of it is real …
Chapter 13
Jesse
The moment I saw her rocking on the floor, my heart split open. My baby. My Fallon.
“What’s wrong with her?” Mira says from behind me.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I growl, hitting my knees in front of Fallon on the ground.
“Nope, you heard him. Out.” Cason speaks up and pushes Mira out of the building.
I lift a hand to brush the hair out of Fallon’s tear-streaked face. I speak softly to her using the most soothing tone I have.
“Baby, you’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.”
“I had to see it. I had to come,” she says through sobs.
“I know. I know,” I gently lift her up and pull her into my lap. I cradle her head against my chest and wrap my arms around her, running my hands through her hair.
We sit like this, surrounded by death, for at least an hour. I hold onto her while she feels whatever it is she needs to feel. That’s all I can do. I can’t take the pain away; I can’t make what happened to her better. I don’t want to
make what happened to her okay. It wasn’t okay; it will never be okay. I’m not even sure what happened tonight to make Fallon crumble into a heap, but it’s enough for me to want to vomit and murder in the same breath because I should’ve been here. I should’ve protected her from it. I keep failing her.
She finally stops shivering. Her tears calm first, then her breathing, and now her body has stilled. I recognized the panic. I’ve always recognized the panic in her, but I never understood it—not until she was ripped away from me. Then a hole formed in my chest. It kept growing until it was unbearable, and I broke. I can’t fathom the amount of strength it takes to be her—to feel that every day and still keep going. I felt that desolation in a short, passing moment and I crumbled.
My girl is a survivor.
But I wouldn’t wish I think she’s feeling right now on my worst enemy. Physical pain is passing. It hurts, but then it heals. But mental pain will consume you until you’re nothing but a shell. Empty. And that emptiness rewires everything in your life. How you process life, how you perceive it. How you stand in it. It can ruin your mind. It can damage everything.
She sucks in a deep breath and my hand, lazily circling her back, stills.
"I didn't know that I needed to see it until I was here," she mumbles. "I was standing in the hall at the game with Mira one minute, and the next, we were pulling up here."
I listen. I say nothing. I don't trust Mira, but I get it. She needed a way here. She turns to look at me when I don't respond right away.
I clear my throat. "I get it. I get needing to come here, to see the proof. I think it’s probably even necessary for you to move forward. But Fallon, I want to move forward with you too. I just don't get why you didn't ask me or Cason or Jade to be here with you."
"That's what you're worried about?" she says, incredulous. "That’s what you're worried about? Why I didn't call you?"
"Mira … she can't be trusted."
"Are you fucking serious right now?" She stands and winces the moment her boot hits the ground.
I scramble to get off this dirty fucking ground.
"And what? You want me to trust you?"
"I—"
She holds up her hand before I can say anything more.
"Do you even know where I met up with Mira? At a basketball game. Your basketball game."
She’s glaring at me like I’m the enemy. Like I’m the cause of all of this … and maybe I am. But the way she's looking at me right now makes everything in my body hurt. All two hundred and six bones feel like they are snapping in half right this fucking minute because of the look in her eye. The desperation, the despair, the anger—all written on her face. She is looking at me with a look that mirrors the way I have felt since she woke up.
Still, her comment makes me pause. "Shit."
I make a mental note to pummel Cason for not fucking warning me.
"Yeah. Shit. That's exactly what that was. When would you have liked me to call you, Jesse? Before or after you show up late, if you show up at all? Or maybe while you were lying to me about whatever the fuck is going on here?"
"It's complicated. But I need you to know that I'm here for you. That everything I’m doing is for you," I plead, reaching for her.
She turns away from me before pulling her hand through her long, maroon locks. She showed up at the warehouse with her hair dyed this color. I didn't ask why; I didn't question it. But as her hand runs through it, I see her glance at it and swallow before dropping her hand.
She turns back to me. "It sure as hell doesn't feel like it. Just feels like more bullshit. Another war, another fight." She reaches for the door but stops and visibly sags, dropping her chin to her chest. "I'm tired of fighting."
I nod to her back with a swallow that sends a sharp pain down my throat.
I knew she was tired of living like this. I knew the moment she woke up that I needed to do something or I’d lose her again. For good.
“C’mon, Fallon. I'll take you home."
Chapter 14
Fallon
Cason picks me up on Monday. No Jesse. Jade got a ride earlier with a friend. I had no clue what to think after everything that happened at the cemetery. I don’t know where we stand. I hate being unsure, but I’m just thankful someone is here. I spot Cason leaning on the front of his Jeep when I come out. He pushes off the Jeep and meets me at the door, grabbing for my bag. I shake my head before he can take it.
“I’ve got it,” I say, quick and harsh. He throws his hands up in surrender, backing off.
“Just trying to help,” he murmurs.
I drop my head and sigh. “Thanks. I’m sorry, I just—”
He grabs my arm, making me pause. “Hey, I’ve got you. I get it. You don’t need to explain it to me.”
I nod my head and squeeze his arm with my free hand before beginning my roll to the car. My leg is becoming stronger each day, but just being up on my feet is still tiring, so in order to get from class to class, I’m going to have to use my chair. My therapist provided a pair of crutches I’ve been practicing with, but I’m not quite used to them yet. They hurt my arms.
Cason opens the door for me and helps me climb in. I’m ready to get my first day back to school over with. He throws my chair in the trunk before he hops into the driver seat and reaches into his console. He pulls out a plastic bag and hands it over to me.
“What is this?” I ask.
“A gift. Open it.”
I open the bag and spot a pack of black fingerless gloves at the bottom. “Gloves?”
“Yeah, you know, to protect your hands between classes.”
“Oh! Thank you,” I say as I pull them on. They are soft and snug, fitting my hands perfectly, like they were made for me.
He clears his throat. “They’re from Jesse.”
I look at my hands and barely manage to hold back the tears that spring forward. Somehow Jesse is always in the background, making sure I’m okay when I’m not.
And right now, I’m definitely not okay.
Cason follows me to my first class. I doubt I’ll ever be alone in these hallways. That’s just what it means to be in their lives; you have to accept their protective side—at least to a certain extent. My stubborn side puts up a good fight when I think they’re being ridiculous, and it’s something they’ve had to accept in return.
I look into the classroom and see all the people hanging out before the bell. They’re all joking around and laughing with their friends. Sitting on top of the tables. A paper airplane flies across the room. I swallow, feeling the itch to run starting in my hands and spreading across my body. My hands twitch on the wheels. I’m ready to reverse out of here.
“Fallon? You okay?” Cason grabs onto my shoulder, jarring me from my thoughts.
I look up to find his brows furrowed in concern. I push back the anxiety to give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. It probably looks fake as hell, but it’s the best I can do.
“Yeah, I’m okay. You should get to class. You’re going to be late,” I say, rolling closer to the door to open it.
“You sure?” He knows my smile was fake.
I nod anyway. “Yes, go. I’ll be fine.”
He relaxes a bit and smirks. “Okay, Ruth. But don’t go knocking people out with those wheels in there. We know how you like hitting things—metal rods … Jesse.”
I laugh. Typical Cason. But there was a purpose to his words—a reminder that we have each other’s backs. I swat at him as he backs away. He gives me one last wink before he turns and heads to class.
I watch him disappear around the corner and then I look back in the classroom. Where there are people. People who have me seriously considering running. I grab onto my wheels and squeeze tight. Try as I might, I can’t force myself to go in, so I roll back, shutting my eyes.
When I open them, the panic is still there. Cason’s joke lessened it in the moment but now it’s back in full force, barreling toward me like a runaway freight train. I turn toward the b
athroom. It’s not far; I can make it in there and hide out until class is over. I can do that.
Maybe.
I close in on the door. At this point, I’m trembling so hard, I’m barely able to keep my grip on the wheels. I kick the door open with all the strength I have in my good leg, slamming it against the wall. I roll into the bathroom and the moment the door swings shut, I throw myself onto the floor, using both hands to brace myself against the fall. I crawl to the far side of the room, leaving my chair in the middle of the floor. The cool tiles are a welcome chill against my back as I slump against the wall.
I glance around the bathroom while I try to control my breathing. I feel so disconnected from myself. I look around again and my eyes swim a bit as they try to focus. It’s like I’ve taken a step back from my body but yet I’m still present. Things are happening around me, but it feels like a dream. One I don’t want.
I don’t know what is happening to me.
I put my head in my hands and grip the roots of my hair tightly in my fists as I start to rock back and forth. I can’t be here. I need to leave. I need to go home, or just … anywhere. Anywhere away from here, from people.
It hurts. It hurts so much.
I don’t know how long I’ve stayed here rocking on the floor. I’ve lost track of time, but I register the sound of the bell ringing and I know I need to get up. But I can’t go out there; I can’t be around people. It’s too much for me.
It’s too much for me to pretend everything is okay. To go to school and continue on with life like this is just how things are. Things aren’t the same—not for me. It’ll never be the same.
Things are not okay, I am not normal, and neither my mind nor my body feel like playing pretend.
I think I hear the faint sound of the door opening, but I’m not sure because I can’t see or hear anyone. I think. Maybe I just imagined it; nothing really seems real right now.