by Vera Hollins
That time had been the most awesome period of my life, and I’d loved him more than anyone in this world.
But then, three and a half years ago, that Halloween night had happened, and I’d spiraled down the path that led me further and further from the happy, normal girl I’d been. Soon after, Steven had met the crowd that led him closer and closer to the wreck he was today.
Our relationship wasn’t the same after that.
I pushed the bittersweet memories away and checked my phone once more for any messages from Steven, but all I found was a big fat nothing, and it was difficult to ignore the sudden chill of disappointment and fear. This better not be another episode of Houdini Steven.
I went inside and disarmed the security system, welcomed by echoing silence. It was as quiet as a tomb.
“Steven?” I called. Nothing. “Steven, are you home?”
More silence. I could almost hear crickets.
I checked the GPS app again, but there was no trace of him. He could have his phone turned off, but I was sure he’d already deleted the app I’d installed on his phone. I’d have to up my secret agent skills to find him if he decided to disappear again.
My footsteps echoed off the marble floors as I crossed to the split grand staircase. The front hall was spacious and adorned with crystal chandeliers that cost a small fortune, and paintings from some of the world’s most renowned artists hung on the wall above the landing. My mom was a sucker for art.
She was also a sucker for wasting money, proving addiction could come in many forms.
Steven’s room was in the east wing, next to mine, and I headed there now. Our mom slept in the west wing to give us some privacy, but I loathed that privacy, as it allowed Steven to smuggle in drugs. It allowed him the freedom to destroy his life a little more each day, and I alone wasn’t enough to make a difference, no matter how many times I raided his room and flushed his drugs down the toilet.
Mom had ignored his addiction until only recently, when she finally recognized his problem was real and wouldn’t magically vanish, but by then it was too late. Now she had no parental authority over him.
I walked into his room without knocking. I expected to see him passed out on his bed or sitting hunched over his laptop, but the room was empty.
“Steven?”
I looked over the unmade bed and piles of dirty clothes strewn around, scrunching up my nose at the stale smell. He could use his room as a gas chamber, it was that bad.
“Where are you, moron?”
His bathroom was empty too, and a jolt of panic rippled through my chest. What if he’d come home only to pack his things?
I rushed over to the closet and wrenched open the door. His clothes and suitcase were still there, which meant he hadn’t left home. Yet. So, where the hell was he?
I dialed his number and tapped my foot as it rang through to his voicemail. This was a familiar scenario. If I only had a dollar for every time he ignored my calls. I felt sorry for his future wife. She would need to have nerves of steel to handle him, especially if we took into account his constant farting and verbal diarrhea.
“Answer the goddamn phone.” I hit the end button and called him again, tapping my foot faster with each ring. “You’re avoiding me, huh? What else is new?”
I tapped the screen forcefully to end the call.
“I don’t want to see you ever again, and I mean it.”
Shit. I punched the wall, welcoming the explosive pain that surged through my hand. Everything about today sucked, from Steven snorting coke in the bathroom, to me getting suspended, and to top it off, at lunch, I’d found Barbie sitting at my table, talking shit about me to my friends. If I had my choice, there was no way I would let him sit there. Over my dead body—no, over his dead body.
I strode out of Steven’s room and into mine, impatient to get out of my clothes. The fabric of my shirt and jeans felt tight and constricting, like they were suffocating me. I dropped my backpack to the floor and yanked off my clothes, appreciating the cool air as it skimmed over my heated skin.
My room was like a cave. It was cool, huge, and dark—dark wood furniture, black bed sheets, skull-pattern black carpet, navy-blue walls, and dark-gray curtains, which were currently drawn over the floor-to-ceiling windows. I liked to joke that this darkness reflected my soul. Steven liked to joke that my room was worse than a coffin.
Better a coffin than his gas chamber.
Idiot.
Irritated, I crossed to my punching bag in the corner and put on my hand wraps. The punching bag was my buffer against destructive emotions. It helped me convert something totally damaging into something less harmful and to chase away my demons, although they were never really gone.
My demons were like my shadow. They stayed close by me, tearing me down little by little, and now it was as though the sun had never existed and all there would ever be was darkness. It was an endless black void that stole my real smiles and replaced them with those weak versions I used when I wanted to mask my real feelings and show myself as carefree.
So, I punched. I punched over and over again, and when that wasn’t enough, I would do countless laps in our indoor pool, train in Krav Maga, or read, which was why I had a huge-ass bookshelf containing over a thousand books. I was surprised I hadn’t gone blind from all that reading, spending hours upon hours in fictional worlds to help me drown out the scary voice that always reminded me I wasn’t whole anymore—I wasn’t really living.
My fist slammed into the hard leather, and I mumbled, “Chaotic thoughts, be gone.” I followed that up with a series of quick punches, glaring at the punching bag like it was the source of all my troubles, and that only spurred me on.
My muscles burned, but I punched harder and harder. I lost track of time, feeding my body with the much-needed pain and exhaustion, and I could finally feel myself relaxing.
By the time I was done, I was covered in sweat and ready to drop. There was no better magic than punching-bag magic. Now all I needed was to talk to my mom and it would almost be as though this awful day hadn’t even happened. Almost.
I took an extra-hot shower, standing motionless under the current of water as it cascaded down my body. It was heaven that could compete with that of a cup of hot coffee. Or a serving of greasy, hot fries and an ice-cold Coke.
But heaven couldn’t last forever. Mom arrived home a few hours later, and I braced myself for confession time, knowing she would flip out and I would feel like shit for making her worry.
As much as I danced with trouble, I was the “good” kid. She could count on me and brag about me to her friends. Steven was the problematic one—the one who didn’t want to go to college and had no aspirations. The one our parents argued about the most. The one who’d brought our dad so much shame that Dad had promised to disown him if he didn’t clean up his act.
Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen. It was more likely for Dad to win an Oscar, and he was a terrible actor.
I went to find Mom in the kitchen and plastered a grin on my face as I entered. “Just know that I love you more than a gold digger loves money, and I’ll always be for world peace and fight for it ‘til my last breath. And I’ll leave all my future fortune to the local animal shelter.”
As she leaned against the counter, she crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at me. She was wearing her light-gray business suit, which was impeccable and without creases. Actually, it had less wrinkles than her face, which was a feat, seeing as she’d spent the whole day in it. I couldn’t keep my shirts unwrinkled for an hour, let alone a whole day.
Speaking of her face, it was hard not to notice how worn out she looked, with lines and creases intertwining around her eyes that defied the anti-aging creams she used religiously every day. Her deep-blue eyes were dimmed with fatigue, which erased the effect of the mascara and eyeliner that she wore in an attempt to look more sophisticated. Steven and I took after her in the looks department, but I kept my fingers crossed I would age b
etter than she had. Or at least look my age.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would ask if you did something.” Her voice was raspy, as though she’d been using it all day, and maybe she had been, since she had so many different meetings she had to attend every day. Or maybe she’d just had one cigarette too many.
“Well, I kind of did. Okay, I totally did.”
Her eyes widened a fraction. “If this is you telling me you brought another stray dog into our house without my permission, you can return him to the street right now.”
“Oh, come on! It only happened once! And I was twelve.”
My mom was allergic to dogs, and even though we now lived in a place big enough to house half of Enfield’s population, and she wouldn’t have to come near the dog, like ever, she still wasn’t allowing me one.
“I wouldn’t put it past you to do it again.”
“If I did it again, I would bring home a horse. Or maybe an alligator. Yes, I’d keep an alligator as a pet and call him Luigi. Or Mario.”
She sighed and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Okay, Meli, what is this all about?”
I picked up an apple from the counter. “Do you want the bad news or the extremely bad news?”
She frowned. “Meli, spit it out.”
I threw the apple in the air and caught it with my other hand. “I-may-or-may-not-have-got-suspended,” I said in one breath.
Her frown deepened. “What?”
“I got suspended.”
She gaped at me, then burst into laughter. “Okay, for a moment there, I thought you were serious.” She opened the fridge and took out a water bottle. “Don’t joke like that, okay? I’m a little tired today, so your usual jokes might be a bit too much.”
“Actually, I’m as serious as a heart attack.” It was best to tell her everything at once. I took a deep breath. “Steven bought drugs from a junior at school this morning. When I found it out, I went to confront him, and then his mouth was going faster than his brain, and I got a little carried away. I punched him and probably broke his nose, the principal saw that and decided to suspend me for the whole week, and Steven is now MIA again and hasn’t been answering my messages or calls. The end.”
I bowed, holding out one arm while pressing my other hand against my chest, ready to receive the award for the biggest humanitarian in the world.
There was no applause or tears of joy. No, she remained motionless, completely bereft of speech. I’d think she hadn’t heard me had it not been for the fact that she was clutching the water bottle a little too tightly.
I scratched the top of my head. “Now’s the time for you to (a) get pissed off and yell at me, (b) fling that bottle at me, although I hope that won’t happen because then I’d be forced to call CPS, or (c) remember that I love you very much and tell me everything is going to be okay, even if the end of the world is coming.” I smiled widely, almost wanting to give her puppy-dog eyes, except I hated when people did that and would rather smell my feet than do it myself.
Her eyes darted back and forth between each of mine, the three horizontal lines on her forehead growing deeper than the Grand Canyon. “How about (d) none of the above, and (e) ground the both of you until the day you die?”
I grimaced, tossing the apple back and forth between my hands. “Come on, Mom. Grounding is such an outdated form of punishment.”
“Would you prefer me to beat you both with a belt?” She shook her head, placing the bottle on the counter. “Now, seriously. You hit your brother again? What did I tell you about hitting him?”
“But he hit you that time! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and cheer for the whole world to hear what an extraordinary brother I’ve got?”
She touched the spot on her cheek where he’d hit her when she refused to give him more money, her gaze flicking to the side. She’d had a bruise for days, but even then, she’d brushed it off like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t done one of the worst things he could do to her just because he was desperate for more drugs. Like everything he did could be excused because he was her favorite.
“He was completely wrong, but you shouldn’t have hit him. And now, you not only hit him again, but you also might have broken his nose? And you got suspended?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of all things . . . you should’ve known better.”
She massaged her forehead, suddenly gaining ten years more in appearance. She almost resembled Gandalf. She only needed a gray beard and hair, and the next thing she would say would be, “You shall not punch!”
“I’m sorry, Mom. He was way out of line, and I just lost it.” She didn’t know what that idiot had said about her, and it was better it stayed that way. She didn’t need another reminder of how little he respected her or Dad. “I didn’t even think, but I know it was wrong.”
“Where is he now?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. As I said, he’s giving me the cold shoulder.”
She reached for her purse on the table and pulled out her phone. “I have to check if he’s okay.”
“Good luck with that,” I muttered.
She met my gaze as she put her phone to her ear. “Are you sure it’s true? That he bought drugs at school?”
She still wasn’t allowing herself to believe it. It was always easier for her to refuse the truth than face it, but she needed to wake up sooner or later.
“Yep. I’m one hundred and twenty-three percent sure.”
I didn’t intend to tell her I’d caught him using. She didn’t have to be privy to all the disgusting details. It was already bad enough.
Her eyes watered, and I felt sorry instantly. My mom always cried easily, but it never failed to make me want to erase everything bad from her life in any way possible.
“He’s not answering.” She put her phone on the table, looking and sounding defeated.
“Mom.” I took her hand in mine. The first tears slid down her cheeks, making a slash in my chest. “Don’t cry. You’ll ruin that crazy expensive makeup, and you’ll look scary enough to traumatize little kids for life.”
She sniffled and covered my hand with hers. “Meli, help me out. Don’t make problems, too. We’re already in over our heads with Steven and your father. You’re the only one I can rely on.”
My gaze fell on our connected hands. I was riddled with guilt reminding me that I had to do better for the sake of our family. For Mom’s sake. She had a hard enough time with the divorce and Steven’s actions, so I had to reassure her I would be a good girl. That meant continuing to smile and act normal when I would rather crumble and scream. That meant going through that Student Code program and passing it with flying colors.
Anything to make those worry lines disappear from her face.
I forced a smile. “Sure, Mom. I’ll be as good as a saint.”
The next morning brought the bitter realization that Steven was trying to prove his point again. He hadn’t come home at all, and his phone was turned off, which set me and Mom on edge. I’d hardly slept last night and now I had dark circles under my eyes the size of my ass, and I’d had to cover them with layer upon layer of concealer.
It hadn’t helped that when I’d finally fallen asleep, I’d dreamed of Steven with fangs, a black cape, and bloodshot eyes. He’d ripped through the walls to reach his stash of drugs, only to consume it all and end up unconscious and foaming at the mouth under the starry sky.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had that kind of nightmare, and in each version, I was always too late. But this time, it affected me more because I was the one who had driven him away. A big round of applause for me.
“There is something else I want to talk about,” Mrs. Aguda said.
I raised my gaze from the chipped, black polish on my nails and met her piercing, dark-brown eyes. I almost shivered, hit by a wave of authority and a “Don’t mess with me” attitude that I respected big time.
She’d chosen the wrong profession. She should have been a drill sergeant.
Actually, scratc
h that. This school needed her. Some students needed to get rules drilled through their thick skulls. Barbie was chief among them.
She’d spent the last ten minutes describing yesterday’s disaster to my mother and emphasizing the importance of Student Code, which I would start tomorrow. It was a great program, on all accounts, since it connected low-income families with help they wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise, and it was also a way to deal with problematic students.
But—and this was a gigantic but—my issue with this whole situation was that I didn’t feel I should be treated as a problematic student. I wasn’t the Hulk. I didn’t go on rampages in the blink of an eye, no matter what Barbie thought. I did have anger issues, but I was the one who had to suffer from them the most. I had to fight against myself constantly, beat myself with imaginary fists of reason every time I hit the skids, and what others saw was just a tiny fraction of the inner storm I had to weather.
“Your son didn’t come to school today,” Mrs. Aguda said.
“He didn’t?” Mom glanced my way. I didn’t know why she was surprised. It would be a surprise if he’d actually come.
“No. I know he was injured yesterday. Was he not well enough to attend today?”
Mom shifted in her seat. “Steven, uh . . . stayed somewhere else last night. I’m sure he’s fine, though.”
“Well, then I regret to inform you that due to his repeated absences, if he doesn’t come back to school by next week, we will be forced to expel him.”
Mom gained fifty new wrinkles on her face just from that last sentence, her Dior blush not hiding the fact that she’d turned pale as a ghost. She held herself well, but I knew that underneath her calm, business-like appearance, she was losing her bearings. The need to punch Steven reared its ugly head again.
I hoped brain transplants would be possible sometime this century. Steven needed one ASAP.
I covered her hand briefly and then pulled it away before I exceeded my limit of sappiness for the day.