It Started with a Bet... (Watty Awards 2011)

The Scene. If you've read this before, you know what I'm talking about.

 tw: self-harm

The Scene. If you've read this before, you know what I'm talking about. This is The Scene.

It's Friday now. Trevor hasn't come over for a week. He's still mad at me. I don't know why. I tricked him. I knew it would surprise him but he acts as though I betrayed him. As though he trusted me. As though he was never betting on this relationship at all. I don't understand. I don't talk to him anymore, either. I only talked to him when he spoke to me anyway. It's one less person to be perfect around.

But now I'm at home. The Nanny is on and I'm lying on a beanbag alone. And I feel something weird. It's a hint of something. Some feeling. It's a feeling about Trevor. About the fact that he's not here. And he should be here. But what feeling? And this feeling of loss seems to tug at some old memory. Some old feeling much older than this. And much stronger. It scares me because I'm so close to remembering. But remembering what? What am I remembering? I slowly get up and walk to the kitchen. What is it I'm remembering? Why do I feel so lost? There's the cold sting of metal in my hand as I grab a knife from the drawer. The rough edge scrapes against my thumb gently, leaving nothing in its path but a pleasant tingle. And then I remember. For just an instant I remember. Pain. Loss. Agony. Grief. Blood. And then it's gone.

I put the knife away slowly, my hand shaking. And I start to walk. The kitchen is empty. So is the living room. And the guest room. I jog. The bathroom. The master bedroom. I run. My room. Empty. I don't recognize anything anymore. I look. I look hard. The stuffed bunnies from the carnival in third grade, our picture from the middle school graduation party, the large 'Karaoke-ers of the Year' trophy. Gone. I can't find them. And I feel myself shaking. Unravelling. And the knife is calling. Calling from the kitchen. Telling me to remember. Remember the feeling. But I don't want to. They'll take me away again. They'll scrub me clean again. Erase everything. Again.

"Haley, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?" Trevor. On the beanbag. With his arm around me. Watching The Nanny. I turn off the lights. All the lights. I leave the house. I lock the door. And I walk down the driveway and to the house next door. I ring the doorbell.

"I need to talk to Trevor." It's a woman. In a flowered apron, her hands wet with dough. Baking? She takes one look at me and wraps me in a hug.

"You poor thing." If this were a movie, I would cry. I would feel comforted and I would cry. But I promised myself. I promised her. I would never cry. So the tears. They never come. But I feel better. A little better. Because someone knows.

"I need to talk to Trevor." She brings me inside. Trevor comes from down the stairs.

"Who is it, Mo-" he sees me. He stops. "Haley? Haley, what's wrong?" I can tell him anything, right? No. He lied to me. He won't understand. He will be scared. And he will leave me. Alone. I shake my head.

"I'm fine." But it's a whisper. A small whisper. And he doesn't believe it.

"We'll be upstairs," he tells his mom, who nods and goes back to the kitchen. He puts an arm around me and leads me upstairs to his room. We sit down on his bed. "Are you okay?" I nod, but he holds me tighter. Puts his head on my shoulder. "Haley, you can't tell me anything. You know that, right?" I pause. Will he leave me? Will he call them? Will I be erased? I open my mouth. But I can't say anything. He rubs my back.

"You won't like it," I say finally. "You'll be scared." He doesn't move away.

"I'm not scared of you."

"You will be."

"I won't."

 I take a deep breath.

"Don't let me near any knives tonight." He will move. I can already feel him. Jumping up. Running. Calling someone. Someone to take me away again. Erase me. I wait. I tense.

But he doesn't move. His head is still on my shoulder. His arms still around me tight. He doesn't speak.

"You're scared," I say. I knew it.

"I'm scared for you. Not of you." I don't say anything. "Relax, Haley." I can't. He rubs my arm. "Please. I won't hurt you." I let out a sigh. A small one. I try to relax. But I can't trust him. "Why tonight?" He asks. I remember why.

"It's your fault," I say.

"My fault?" He's surprised. I explain. I tell him how I felt something. Something wrong. Something cold. Because he wasn't there. And he was supposed to be. And how that small something reminded me of a big something. A big something I was trying not to remember. And when I touched the knife I remembered for an instant. And how the house is empty. My room is empty. Nothing is mine. And how he said I could tell him anything.

I see his mom through the crack in the door. A plate of something in her hand. She's heard some of it, but I am not afraid. She understands. She understands more than anyone. I don’t know why, but she does. When I'm finished I look at her and she looks at me. Trevor is silent.

"You can," he says. "You can tell me anything." I nod. His mom comes in.

"I made cookies," she says with a smile. "Would you like one?" Chocolate chip, nice and soft. I remember these. We used to make them all the time, Trina and I. I feel better just looking at it. And I remember how scared Trevor must be.

"Thank you so much," I say with a brilliant smile. "Nestle, right?" I take a bite. Trevor is happy. I can tell. To him I'm getting better. I'm back to normal. But his mom frowns. She's not happy. She doesn't like this. She likes me better quiet. I like me better quiet.

"Are you sleeping over?" She asks. I nod. "Well, why don't you sleep here and Trevor can sleep on the couch. I can feel him frown on my shoulder. He pats me on the back and gets up, pulling his mom outside. He's explaining, I think, why I can't sleep alone. But she doesn't like it. Then he says something. About us having done it before, I think, because her voice rises. "You did WHAT?" And his voice murmurs softly. She still argues. She'll sleep in this room with me, Trevor can sleep with his father. But Trevor refuses. He says, loudly, that he knows me best. That I know I can tell him anything. I still don't know if it's true, but it's a nice thought.

"You don't know her at all, Trevor!" It's a yell. An exasperated yell. "You don't understand anything that's going through her head!"

"Mom, she's obviously feeling better." Trevor is trying to reason with her. "Look at how she responded when you offered her that cookie. She's going back to normal."

"She's not, Trevor. She's burying herself so that everyone thinks she's normal."

"Mom, you're being paranoid. She isn't some heroine of one of your book club novels. It's been four years. She's over it all. She just gets panic attacks sometimes."

His mom whispers something. Something so quiet I can't hear it. But I can feel it. It's hope and despair. Advice and warning. And love.

Trevor comes back in and motions for me to get off the bed. He singlehandedly pushes it against a corner and motions for me to get in. He changes into his pajamas and gets in next to me. I see now. I'm trapped. A wall on one side, Trevor on the other. Against my feet, another wall.

"I won't let you near the knives tonight," he whispers reassuringly. I nod and smile. A small one. A real one. He didn't run away.

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Ooooooh, snap. This is probably the chapter I am most proud of, so comments would be totally awesome!

Awkward Econ Teacher Quote #7
1/20/10: This doesn't seem awkward, but when you keep in mind that Utah is a very Mormon place, it's just...odd:
"I'll buy all my beer and cigarettes in Utah."