Broken Dreams (Spiraling Book 2)

by H. L. Karhoff

  The sun shone bright through the window by the time he opened his eyes. He rolled onto his back, yawned, and smiled at me. “Good morning.”

  “Hi,” I replied, watching him for signs of distress. Surely, you can’t go through something like that and be just fine.

  Devon leaned up on his elbows. “Is something wrong?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”

  “You were screaming.”

  “Oh.” He sat up, folded his hands in his lap, and stared at them. “Sorry.”

  “Do you have nightmares like that a lot?”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

  “What are they about?” I scooted closer to him.

  Devon slouched as if he were trying to make himself smaller. “I’d rather not talk about it.” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “If that’s okay.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  He looked back at his hands, taking a deep breath before he turned around, the fakest smile I’d ever seen plastered across his face. “So, this is what you look like first thing in the morning.”

  I took his cue and let him change the subject. It’s just a nightmare. Everybody has nightmares sometimes. No big deal. “Yeah. I know. I look awful.”

  “No, you don’t.” He cupped my face in his palm. “You look beautiful.”

  I smiled as he kissed me.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too,” I replied.

  He kissed me again. When his tongue brushed my lip, I opened my mouth. His hands wandered over my body and tangled into my hair. I tugged at his sweat-soaked shirt. He leaned back, pulled his shirt over his head, and tossed it on the floor. Wrapping his arms around me again, he laid me back on the bed and positioned himself between my legs. We moved against one another, passion wiping remnants of concern from my thoughts. I unfastened his belt. My fingers slid under the waistband of his boxers.

  Then his alarm went off.

  Devon glared at the offending mechanism before slamming his palm down on the bells. The clock flipped onto its back, slid off the table, bounced across the floor, and resumed ringing. Cursing under his breath, Devon rolled off me. He squinted at the clock as he shut off the alarm and set it back on the table.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “I have to get ready for work,” he answered.

  “What time is it?”

  He squinted at the nightstand. “Nine-thirty?”

  I glanced at the windup clock. “It’s after ten.”

  “Shit.” He rushed to the other side of the room and pulled open the top drawer of his dresser. “I knew I should have put my glasses on when I set that damn thing. The numbers are fucking tiny.”

  Not really. I looked at the clock again. “I thought you didn’t have to work until tonight.”

  “I switched shifts, so I could have tonight off.” He took a neatly folded pair of boxers and socks out of the drawer, closed it, and opened the next one. “You’ve been complaining we haven’t done anything in a while, so I thought we could do dinner or something.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “I worked it out last night.”

  Flopping back, I pulled the blanket over myself, folded my arms on my stomach, and stared at the ceiling. Of course, he’d have to work.

  “I’m sorry, baby doll.”

  “It’s okay.” I sighed.

  Devon stopped collecting his clothes and looked at me. His brow wrinkled as if he were thinking. “Fuck it.” Setting down the shirt in his hand, he crossed the room. “I’m already late. I can be a little later.”

  I wrapped my arms around him as he got back in bed.

  Twenty-Eight

  Joy and I sat on the front steps. I glanced up and down the street, hoping to see Carter’s car rumble into view, but the street was empty.

  “Maybe he forgot,” Joy said.

  “He didn’t forget,” I replied. “I talked to him earlier. He said he’d be here around five o’clock. What time is it?”

  She looked at her yellow watch. “A quarter to six.”

  “That’s it.” I stood and stomped toward the front door. “I’m going to call him.”

  She rose to follow me into the house. “He probably has a good reason for being late. It’s not like Carter to just blow us off, right?”

  “Not really.”

  “Maybe something happened.”

  “Maybe.”

  Joy and I walked through the front room and into the kitchen. The cordless receiver wasn’t on the charger. I walked back to the doorway, looking around the front room. Mom and the twins sat on the sofa. Chris lounged across the arms of James’ chair.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Do you know where the phone is?”

  “James has it,” Mom replied.

  “Hey, Chris, can I—”

  “Not a chance.” Chris shook his head.

  “See, this is why I need a cell phone, Mom,” I said.

  “You don’t need a cell phone,” Mom replied, not turning from the television. “You can just wait until James is done.”

  “But, Mom,” I whined. “It’s not fair. Chris has his own phone.”

  Mom looked at me. “Yeah. A regular phone. That doesn’t mean you need a cellular one. Maybe we’ll have a jack put in your room and you can share with your brother.”

  “No way.” Chris spun to sit up straight in the chair. “I don’t want all her stupid friends calling my phone.”

  “My friends aren’t stupid,” I retorted.

  “That’s debatable,” he said. “You’re not using my phone.”

  “It’s not up to you. It’s up to Mom, and she said I could.”

  “God, you’re such a brat.” Chris huffed, flopping back in the chair.

  “I know you are, but what am I?” I laughed before dragging Joy up the stairs into my brother’s room.

  As far as slobs were concerned, Chris was one of the worst. His room smelled like dirty gym socks and rotten food. Beside his bed, four pizza boxes balanced on a messy stack of jeans. Empty soda cans, potato chip bags, and dirty plates scattered from there to the desk where he kept his new stereo. James had taken the speakers after my party, but the large stereo, headphones, and countless CDs covered most of the desk top.

  “Do you see the phone?” I asked Joy.

  She shook her head, holding her breath and pinching her nose shut with her fingers.

  “Maybe it’s on the nightstand,” I said.

  Climbing over the mountain of clothes at the end of Chris’ bed, I maneuvered to the far side of the room. When I put my hand on the dresser to steady myself on the uneven floor, I set it in something sticky.

  “Gross.” I pulled my hand back quickly.

  “Boys are so disgusting,” Joy said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I’m sorry, Tori. I have to get out of here. I don’t know what that smell is, but it’s making me sick.”

  Joy fled the contaminated zone. I heard her gasp for air once she’d made it a few feet down the hall. If not for the resistance I’d built up during my many hours in Chase’s trailer, I may have done the same. My brother’s room should have had a “Danger: Hazardous Area” warning sign on the door—for the smut and the smell. Along with creepy heavy metal posters, pictures of nearly naked women in various seductive poses adorned his walls. When I found the phone, it was under his pillow beside a wrinkled Playboy magazine.

  “Ew.” I wrinkled my nose. “Gag.”

  Grabbing the cordless receiver, I dropped the pillow and scrambled out of the room. As I joined Joy in front of my door, I shook off my disgust.

  “Did you find it?” Joy asked.

  “Yep.” My lips drew into a closed-lipped, fake smile, and I held up the phone.

  She looked at Chris’ open door and wrinkled her nose. “How does Chris live in there?”

  “No idea.” I shrugged. “Maybe that’s why he’s bee
n spending so much time in the living room.”

  “He could just clean it.” Joy turned back to me.

  “He could, but this is Chris we’re talking about.” I chuckled. “Chris doesn’t clean anything.”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Why do boys always have to be slobs?”

  “Not all boys are slobs.” I grinned. “De—” My voice raised an octave as I quickly corrected myself. “Some boys are super neat. And some girls are super messy. Like Kenn. Have you been in her bedroom?”

  “I know. Her room’s a mess.” Joy lowered her chin, the side of her mouth drawing up in an amused smile. “But that’s not what you were going to say.”

  “Huh?”

  “You started to say something and then you said, ‘Some boys.’” Her lips spread into a full grin.

  I half-shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

  “Were you going to say Dev—?”

  “Sh.” I pulled her into my room and shut the door. “If my mom hears you talking about him, she’ll freak.” I kept my voice low, listening for footsteps on the stairs.

  “Your mom doesn’t know you’re going out with Devon?” Joy’s eyebrow arched.

  “No. She doesn’t. And she’s not going to find out.”

  “You shouldn’t lie to your mom, Tori.”

  “Says the pot,” I retorted.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been lying to your mom, too.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “So, you’ve told her you’re going out with Carter then?”

  “Not exactly,” she answered. “But it’s not the same thing.”

  “Yeah, it is,” I said. “You don’t want your mom to know you have a boyfriend just like I don’t want my mom to know I’m going out with Devon. If you don’t tell my mom, I won’t tell yours. Deal?”

  “Yes.” She sighed.

  Joy sat on the side of my bed while I punched in the numbers for Chase’s trailer. During the school year, Carter had only stayed with his brother on the weekends. All summer, however, he’d rarely gone home.

  “Yo, yo, yo,” a boy answered the phone.

  “Is Carter there?” I asked.

  “Yo, Car.” The boy didn’t bother to move the phone away from his mouth when he shouted at Carter. “Phone.”

  “Shit.” I heard Carter in the background followed by the shuffling sound of the receiver changing hands. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” I echoed, annoyed that he didn’t have a good excuse.

  “Yeah. Tell Joy I’m on my way.”

  “Whatever.” I rolled my eyes as the line went dead. Pushing the “End Call” button, I turned to Joy. “He forgot.”

  “I told you. He’s been really forgetful lately.”

  “If I were you, I would lay into him when he gets here,” I said. “It’s total crap he left us sitting here waiting while he was hanging out with his friends.”

  “People forget stuff all the time, Tori,” she replied. “It’s no big deal. We’ll just go to a different movie or something.”

  “I guess.” I flopped onto my bed beside her, lying back and staring at the ceiling. “I wish Devon didn’t have to work tonight.”

  “Does he have tomorrow off?”

  “No. He switched with some other guy, so he has to work for like ten hours tomorrow. It totally sucks because that means I won’t get to see him until Sunday night.”

  She lay on her back next to me. “Are you going to get a job?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “James wants me to, but I don’t really want to waste all my free time at some crappy job.”

  “You could get a job at Lancaster’s. Then you could spend more time with Devon.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” I smiled. “That might be cool.”

  “It makes sense. You’re always complaining you don’t see him enough.”

  “I’m not always complaining.”

  “You kind of are. I mean, I’m fine with not seeing Carter for a week or whatever, but you go into like spaz mode if you don’t talk to Devon every day.”

  “That’s not true.” I sat up. “I can totally function without talking to Devon.”

  “No, you can’t.” She laughed as she sat up beside me. “You were just whining because you have to go two days without seeing him.”

  “Well, it really sucks. It’s like I barely get to see him because he’s always working.”

  “I think you’ll live. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything.”

  “It might be,” I said with mock seriousness. “You never know. The fate of the entire world could depend on me and Devon.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I’m joking, Joy.” I set my hand on her arm. “I know it’s not the end of the world if I don’t get to see Devon for a few days. It still really sucks though.” I moved my hands to my lap and sighed. “I miss him when he’s not around.”

  Mom insisted on driving me to Lancaster’s. We needed groceries, and she didn’t trust me to get the right things. I had gotten the wrong kind of milk once, so my credibility was forever damaged.

  “You don’t have to wait,” I said as we got out of the van. “You can just go after you’re done. I was thinking I’d walk around and see if there’s any other places hiring. Can’t hurt, right?”

  “Okay, sweetie,” she replied. “Be careful and don’t forget to smile.”

  I waited next to the customer service desk to speak with the manager. She told me there weren’t any open positions, but I could fill out an application, anyway. I did, not expecting anything to come from it. As I walked through the automatic doors on my way out of the store, I looked around to make sure Mom had left. I didn’t see the minivan, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t nearby.

  Sticking a quarter into the pay phone on the side of the building, I dialed my house. Mom picked up on the third ring. She was home. Good. I told her that Lancaster’s wasn’t hiring after all—the person who told me must have been mistaken. She offered her sympathy, asking if I wanted her to pick me up.

  “No,” I answered. “I’m going to walk around and see if anybody else is hiring. I just wanted to make sure you knew I was leaving.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need a ride.”

  “It’s all right, Mom. I’ll just walk home when I’m done.”

  Mom agreed. I hung up the phone and looked at the bank clock down the street.

  Almost five. Devon gets off work in a few minutes. I can hang out until he gets off and see if he’ll drive me to get applications. Or skip the applications altogether. It’s not like I really want a job.

  I got a soda from the vending machine by the doors and walked to the employee lot. Devon had parked his truck on the last row, away from the other cars. I set my soda can on the ground and pulled the latch for the tailgate. Heavier than I expected, it dropped with a loud bang. I looked around to see if anyone noticed. Nobody looked back. Picking up my soda, I hopped onto the tailgate. I sat with my legs crossed facing the store front and my feet dangling in the warm air.

  Devon walked through the automatic doors shortly after five. Loosening his black tie, he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and took his cigarettes out of his pocket. He put one between his lips and lit it, then looked at the truck and squinted. I smiled even though I knew he couldn’t see me clearly from fifty feet away without his glasses.

  “Hey, baby doll,” he said as he walked up to me. “What are you doing here?”

  “Mom dropped me off,” I answered. “She thinks I’m looking for a job.”

  “Does she now?” A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  “Uh-huh.” I nodded.

  He stepped closer. I spread my knees, so he could stand between them. Sitting up as tall as I could manage, I grabbed his tie to pull him toward me and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “So, what are you doing tonight?”

  “Haven’t decided yet.” He turned his head, took a drag from hi
s cigarette, and exhaled before turning back to me. “Looks like you’ve got an idea, though.” Mischief danced in his eyes.

  “Yep.” I smiled. “Hanging out with you.”

  “I think I could handle that.” He chuckled. Stepping back, he put his cigarette between his lips, gripped my sides, and lifted me off his tailgate. “Come on.” He slammed the tailgate up before leading me to the driver’s side door of his truck.

  Mom glanced at me when I stepped in the door. She sat on the sofa with a blue blanket draped diagonally across her chest to hide my newborn brother, Terrance, suckling at her breast.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” she said. “How did it go?”

  “Not good,” I answered.

  “Did you get any interviews?”

  “Nope.” I walked around the end of the sofa, plopped down next to her, and laid my head on her shoulder.

  “What’s that?” She sniffed. “Is that you?” Turning her head toward me, she sniffed again. “Victoria, why do you smell like cigarettes? Have you been smoking?”

  I sat up and shook my head. “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You smell like you’ve been swimming in an ashtray.”

  “I wasn’t smoking, Mom. I promise. It’s probably from when I went to Twyla’s. The lady had me sit in the smoking section to fill out the application and there was this guy like chain smoking right beside me.”

  “Well, go change. That’s disgusting, and it’s not good for the baby.”

  “Okay.” I got up, grabbing my purse on my way up the stairs.

  After I pulled off my stinky clothes, I slid into the powder-blue mechanics shirt Devon had lent me. I wasn’t sure if he wanted it back. He hadn’t asked for it, so I kept it. His scent lingered in the unwashed cotton, and I liked how it made me feel close to him.

  Instead of going back downstairs, I sat at my desk. My sketchpad lay open on top with a new box of charcoal sticks. Before that summer, I’d never worked with charcoal, but it had become my favorite medium. I spent hours experimenting with different lines and curves, holding the stick at various angles, applying more or less pressure, and blending different shades together to see the result. Charcoal sounded a lot like granite scratching against the thick paper. Before long, I fell into a trance, forgetting the world around me in favor of the one I created on the page.