She knew my name. She just preferred to never use it.
“I wanted to let you know that I think your daughter may need some help. She’s been getting into a bit of trouble, and she’s struggling. I wanted to give you a heads up to see if—”
“Aren’t you the one who used to smoke pot and get drunk with my Monica?” she barked, holding her purse tight to her side.
“Well, yes, but—”
“No buts needed. My daughter is fine, as long as you keep your toxic self away from her. I know you, Harrison boy. I’ve heard stories about your dark, dark soul. Keep away from my daughter, do you hear me? You’re no good for her.”
Was she even hearing what I was saying?
“Look, hate me all you want, but Monica is sick, and she needs her parents—”
“She has her parents. Don’t come here telling me how to raise my daughter. She is fine. Now get off my driveway before I call the cops. If I see you anywhere near Monica again, trust me, there will be consequences.”
She wouldn’t listen to me. She couldn’t get her head out of her own ass to realize that there was a big issue at hand. She couldn’t deal with the possibility that she was slipping as a mother.
I left her place, then sent KJ a text message to cuss him out for selling to the most unstable teenage girl alive.
I walked back into my house. In the living room sat a huge grandfather clock that was ticking loudly. Monica was right about one thing: the ticking in my mind was growing louder and louder with each passing day as my birthday approached. I was working hard to avoid the explosion, though.
That night, I couldn’t sleep, so I finally built up enough nerve to open the notebook Shay had given me to reveal my truths.
I read her question at the top of the page and felt a bit nervous about writing down my answer for her. Her handwriting was beautiful. The letters curved against one another and the ink danced across the lined notebook.
What makes you sad?
I didn’t overthink my answer. I didn’t wring my brain out trying to not sound a certain way, trying to not come off as a complete loser. I wrote my truths. Every single word held a piece of me, and the next day, I placed it in her locker.
22
Shay
The next day at school, I found the notebook in my locker.
I quickly grabbed it and flipped to the first page where he’d written out his thoughts to me. I read his words over and over, wanting to drink in all the things that made Landon the person he was, and each time I read them, I felt myself falling a little more and more.
Chick,
What makes me sad? That seems like a loaded question, and one I’m not even sure how to attack it right off the bat. So, this may just be a lot of rambling, but whatever. This is what you wanted, right? My random messed-up thoughts.
The Bulls make me sad, and so does the crappy season they played this year. It makes me sad that I didn’t get to experience the greatness that was Michael Jordan on the court, and I am left to only old videos of him playing. I didn’t believe there was magic in sports until I watched those clips of him playing.
Ham makes me sad when he chews the heels of my Nike shoes. He only chews the left shoe, too, never the right. The least he could do is make the shoes evenly screwed up. The little bastard. If I didn’t love that dog so much, I’d hate his freaking guts.
But then again, I’m guessing these aren’t the kind of answers you were looking for. You seem like the kind of girl who wants deeper thoughts.
So, here goes.
Being alone makes me sad, and for a while I thought I’d get used to it. I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought the sad part of it all would disappear, but it stays. Every night, I sit in bed and loneliness swallows me whole. I struggle with sleeping and overthinking. It’s a buzzkill, and I hate it.
Some day I hope I can get past it. Some day I hope I can fall asleep and be happy.
The whole being sad thing is exhausting. I’m tired. All the time. Have you ever been so young but felt so old? That’s the kind of tired I am. I’m the ninety-years-old kind of tired, the kind of tired where everything aches right down to my bones.
This sounds real emo and I am seconds away from ripping this whole notebook apart and ditching this whole idea, so I am going to close it now and shut the hell up.
-Satan
I went to my next class, holding the notebook close to my chest, and instead of listening to the teacher, I read Landon’s words over and over again, taking it all in, taking him all in. Then, I returned the notebook to his locker so he could respond to the other questions I left for him. From that point on, we exchanged that notebook back and forth. Reading his replies felt like a special passageway into Landon’s heart, and based on the heaviness of his replies, I knew it meant a lot for him to share such a part of himself with me. I hoped writing was helping him, too, the same way words helped me. Getting one’s thoughts down on paper can make the emotions easier to deal with sometimes. It’s as if the written word is a great escape from being swallowed alive by one’s own mind.
What’s your favorite time of the year?
Chick,
I love the fall. There’s something magical about watching the leaves shift colors and float down to the ground. It’s like the trees are dying, only to come back to life in a few months. People seem happier around the fall, too. I haven’t really figured out why, but maybe it’s because they know the best holidays are right around the corner. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas…it’s like the trifecta of happiness.
Is it stupid that I love holidays? Mom never travels during the trifecta, so it’s nice to have her around. She takes that holiday shit seriously—especially Christmas. It’s like she’s Mrs. Claus and she expects me to eat every cookie known to mankind. The only problem with that is my mother is a terrible baker. She thinks baking soda and baking powder are the same thing, which is beyond problematic. Still, I eat her nasty cookies because she has the biggest look of pride about the crap.
We sit in front of the table, watch crappy Hallmark movies that are all cliché, but between this notebook and me, I actually kind of like the corny shit, and we fall asleep under the Christmas tree lights.
My mom’s missing my birthday this year.
Still a little sad about that. And by a little, I mean a lot.
For a long time, I felt like she was one of the only people who would never let me down when I needed her the most. But that’s the thing about people, I guess—sometimes they end up letting you down.
Hopefully next holiday season she’ll be around, though.
And I’ll still eat her shitty cookies.
-Satan
What’s your idea of a perfect day/date with a person?
Chick,
Sex. Smoking-hot, break-the-headboard kind of sex. Is that the answer you were looking for?
If headboard breaking sex isn’t involved, I guess my next idea of a perfect day would be sitting on the sofa, eating pizza, and watching a marathon of Friends. If someone likes the same television show as you, I think that means they are your soulmate.
-Satan
P.S. If you want my first idea of a perfect day to come true, you know where I live. My headboard is quite sturdy, but with enough determination, we could make dreams come true.
Blank page. Freestyle your thoughts.
Chick,
It’s three in the morning, and I can’t sleep tonight.
There’s a thunderstorm pounding against the windows and the sound of the thunder is making my head hurt. I hate storms. I hate the way it sounds like it’s drowning me. Of course, that could just be due to the fact that tomorrow is my birthday. I hate birthdays. Not all birthdays, but just my own. I feel like my birthday had been cursed from this point on, seeing how Lance died on that day. I kind of understand my mom running off to Paris. It must all be too hard for her. How can you celebrate a life without mourning a death? I want to hate her for not being here tomorrow, for choosing wor
k over me, but an odd part of me gets it. I don’t know how I’d feel about celebrating a birthday knowing that was the day my brother took his life.
I like to pretend I’d be different, though. I liked to think I’d tell my son or daughter that the world was a better place because they were there. I’d like to think I’d give them words of encouragement to push them into the direction of never blaming themselves. I’d like to think I’d love them the loudest because I knew they’d somewhat hate themselves.
But what do I know? It’s hard to walk in someone else’s shoes when they don’t fit your feet. Maybe my parents are just doing the best they can. Maybe they are just trying to get through each day without falling apart.
I want to hate my uncle, too, for taking his life on my birthday. Though, I don’t think he even knew it was my birthday. By the time he took his life, his mental state was so far gone.
My goal for tomorrow is to just get through it. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then I’ll wait another 365 days to do the same exact thing.
I wish I was born on leap year. Then I’d only have to go through this crap every four years.
Anyway, the highlight of this night was that you crossed my mind a lot.
That has to count for something, right?
-Satan
We had rules about our notebook. We were never supposed to talk about what Landon had written inside. He wasn’t supposed to spill his truths out in a verbal fashion, and I kept my word on that the best I could. Yet, that Friday when I read the words Landon had written in his notebook, I found my way to him. He was standing in the cafeteria, seconds away from picking up his lunch tray, and I darted toward him.
Without any words, I wrapped my arms around his frame and pulled him into the tightest hug known to mankind. Everyone in the cafeteria was watching, I was sure. Everyone was staring as Shay Gable wrapped her arms around her sworn enemy. Everyone looked on as Landon Harrison wrapped his arms around me, too.
He hugged me back.
Oh my gosh, he was hugging me back, and that made me tug on his body even harder. There was no way to tell where his heartbeats began and where mine ended. It was as if they were beating as one, as if we were two willows tangled up with each other.
For his birthday, he smelled like smoky oak and dressed like darkness.
My favorite version of him—the realest one.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered, my head resting on his chest. I wasn’t even sure he heard me. The words were so quiet as they rolled off my tongue.
He pulled me in closer, kissed the top of my head, and then rested his chin there. “Thank you, Chick,” he said softly, his words cracking as if they were hard to get out.
“Always, Satan,” I replied.
I think I meant that, too.
I think I meant always.
23
Landon
It had been three hundred and sixty-five days.
The Earth had orbited the sun over the past three hundred and sixty-five days.
The moon had risen over each of those three hundred and sixty-five days.
People had laughed, cried, and celebrated all sorts of occasions.
And Lance had missed all of it.
He’d missed the sunrises, the sunsets, the thunderstorms, and the clear days.
He’d missed my birthday.
My birthday.
I was eighteen years old.
Young and stupid but feeling old as shit.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept longer than thirty minutes—except for when Shay forced me to sleep. The past week had been a struggle, seeing how she didn’t have her cell phone to call me late at night.
My head hurt from the lack of sleep, and no matter what I did, the circles under my eyes were still there, heavy and deep.
The hug she gave me in the cafeteria was more needed than she even knew. I was standing in the cafeteria while my mind was shouting at me, and I couldn’t move. Then, along came Shay with her embrace. Maybe she knew, though. Maybe she had become such a professional at reading me that whenever I was about to break, she knew to be there for me.
I found the notebook back in my locker by sixth hour with her next question for me: What makes you happy?
I left the page blank.
After the school day, the fantastic Four (+Raine) tried to talk me into hanging out at Hank’s house to celebrate my birthday, but I lied and told them I had plans with my dad. I didn’t feel like being surrounded by people that night. My mind was too loud, and I didn’t want to be the dramatic buzzkill for my friends.
I tried my best to not think about the fact that my parents weren’t there. Mom called first thing in the morning, which was late at night in Paris. Then she called again and again.
“I love you and I love you,” she repeated each time. “I’m so sorry, honey, I promise I’ll explain soon. Happy birthday. Please call me. Please text. Please. Okay, I love you, Landon. I’ll be home soon. I love you.” I didn’t answer her calls, didn’t feel like hearing her excuses for why she wasn’t around, but I sent her a text, because fuck me, I was pathetic and didn’t want her to worry too much about me that day.
Me: I’m okay. Hope you’re okay, too.
I would have bet that text made her cry. Mom was always so easy to make cry.
Dad hadn’t called at all. He didn’t even have to wish me a ‘happy’ birthday, because it was hard to be happy on a day like today, but a simple ‘birthday’ greeting would’ve meant the world to me.
I went home, hung with Ham, and played video games as long as I could. I heard things being tossed at my window, but my shades were drawn. I knew it was Monica trying to get my attention, but I didn’t have the energy to give her any of me that afternoon. I didn’t have the energy to give her any of me ever again.
When my doorbell rang around six p.m., I grumbled as I went to answer it. I was one hundred percent certain it was Monica coming to cuss me out for not answering her window call, but to my surprise, there stood Shay with a big box in her hands.
“Hey you.” She smiled wide, and I was falling.
I was falling so deeply in love with her, and this bet of ours was going to come to a crashing end due to me losing.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you grounded?”
“Yes, but I snuck out.”
“Chick…” I sighed, feeling a knot in my gut. She wasn’t the type of girl to sneak out. She wasn’t the type of girl to break rules, or to skip school, or to lie. And now, she was doing all of those things.
Why did I feel like my badness was rubbing off on her a little too much?
“Are you going to invite me in?” she asked, still smiling. “Or am I just going to have to stand here like a dork with this box in my hands?”
I stepped to the side.
She walked right in, heading toward the kitchen.
“What’s in the box?” I asked.
“A surprise for later,” she said, opening the fridge and sliding it inside. “No peeking.” She then turned around and I was still falling, falling, falling… “I figured we could hang out tonight and we should order pizza and watch Friends.”
A perfect day with a perfect girl.
I am falling in love with you…
“For sure.”
The nerves in my stomach were so loud, and I swore I would’ve been surprised if she didn’t hear my heart beating wildly.
We sat on the living room couch, and I was so damn thankful that she appreciated the gem that was Friends more than her grandmother. Every time she laughed at something Joey said, I’d capture her smile in my mind. Every time she chewed on her T-shirt whenever Ross and Rachel were on the screen together, I’d capture her beautiful eyes.
“You always stare at people when they aren’t looking?” she joked, peeling a pepperoni off her pizza.
“Only you. Only ever you.”
She turned to me, seemingly surprised by my words. S
he placed her pizza down, wiped her hands on a napkin, and moved in closer to me. Her finger traced my lips as her eyes studied them as they parted. Then, she placed her forehead against mine and closed her eyes.
Her mind was moving, yet still, I couldn’t hear it.
“A penny for your thoughts,” I whispered. “A nickel for your time…a quarter for your heart…” I inhaled deeply. “A dollar to make you mine.”
“What are we doing, Landon?” she asked, her voice so low and shaky.
“I don’t know.”
“Is this still a game?”
“I don’t know…” That was true. I didn’t know if we were still doing this because of the bet, or if this was becoming something real for the both of us. I didn’t know if she was beginning to feel things the way I felt them, too. I didn’t know if she was falling, falling, falling…
“It scares me a little,” she confessed. “Whatever’s happening in my heart when I’m around you…it scares me.”
“It scares me too, but I know one thing for certain,” I said, placing my fingers beneath her chin and lifting it so we were looking into each other’s eyes.
“What’s that?”
“I am going to love loving you as much as I loved hating you.”
She kissed me, and the last sleeping part of my soul finally woke up as she fell against my lips.
I tasted her heaven as I fed her my sins.
“Can we go to your room?” she asked, and I tensed up a little.
“No good comes from us being in each other’s bedrooms, Chick, and if I take you up there, I’ll want to—”
“Break your headboard?” She smirked.
I chuckled. “Exactly. And—”
She cut me off again, this time placing her mouth against mine. Then she whispered her words against my lips. “Can we go to your room?” she repeated, giving me small kisses afterward.
Landon & Shay - Part One: (The L&S Duet Book 1) Page 22