{twenty-four}
blood
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i hadn't realized how far the police station was from my neighborhood. on foot, i found myself becoming unnerved by the silence as cars splashed through the puddles along the old country road. rain from the storm earlier slips from the trees above, dropping from the leaves and falling onto my head with a thud. my arms curl around my stomach, as the reality of today begun to throb through me. as the numbness subsided, pain ricocheted through my legs and it dawned on me that i possibly wouldn't make it back anytime soon.
the further i made it down the road, i saw a familiar barbed wire fence enclosing the wetland that i have spent far too much of my time in. there's this sense of excitement when i near closer to the humid sticky air that surrounds the marsh as the trees tower over me in greeting. it always felt like a relief to come to this part of town, in the middle of the wilderness and towards the swampy waters and mangrove trees. for some odd reason, this place gave me comfort -- yet, after that day i had stumbled into a crime scene that took place near the pond, i never returned. as i crouch onto the muddy ground and climb through the hole in the fence, i find that curiosity persuades me to do things i typically wouldn't do.
i think of the times i used to come here, usually after i did something immoral and depraved. it felt like forever ago, as i amble past ancient trees and twigs that snap upon my entry. i didn't feel like that person anymore, the kid who lived amongst the shadows and obsessed over girls who didn't even know i existed. the kind of guy that people suspected nothing of and never left a trace of occupancy anywhere my presence drifted from. i didn't want to be invisible or withdrawn anymore, i wanted to be someone that people smiled at or even liked.
sitting at the pond and examining the tadpoles swimming through the algae growing amongst the rocks, strangely, i felt free. if i convinced myself enough -- i could be someone who had friends and did things teenagers usually do. the more time i glide through the lull i cherish, it occurs to me that life is only what you make of it. a weight feels lifted from my shoulders, realizing that the only person who could save me from my misery was myself. not zayn and his exhilarating nature or latching onto anger just to experience something. i had to take control and take risks, on my own. without constraint, without fear, i wanted to learn who i really was.
it doesn't even surprise me when i hear a bike tread through the mud.
i'm in a state of calm, when really i shouldn't be. seeing patrick in that condition, taken away by the police for a horrific death of someone i'll never let go of. it should send me in my habitual tailspin, where i'm gasping for answers and cinching onto zayn for his command. thinking of patrick's red, distraught face and mandy becoming just a lost memory of mine. it's not as though i stopped caring, i just became cognizant that i didn't have the power to change anything anymore.
i let it wash over me, i let go of my restraint and experience what it feels like to be at ease in my mind. because when i hear zayn's voice in the middle of the wetland, i'm glad i still have him. at the end of the day, i'll always prefer his company over anyone else's. as i turn to take him in, his hair is askew and his skin is glowing with a sheen of sweat. he's got a certain smugness burning in his dark eyes and i can't believe that i ever doubted his ability to coerce just about anyone to give into him.
"how did i know that you'd be here?" he smirks, dumping the bike that had been a little too big for him onto the ground. it's yellow with red handlebars and appears to be the antithesis of the boy in front of me. i wondered where he found it and how he manages to slither from one incident to another. i actually laugh at his audacity and let it bubble through my chest with warmth, shaking my head with awe.
"i'm guessing you're a free man." i breathe out, a funny feeling creeping up my throat. that i possibly felt endeared that someone like zayn who was completely unattainable had found me in the middle of the woods to his own accord. it does something to my heart, making it beat a little faster than usual.
i knew i was being hopeless when he threw his body down next to me, snickering, "yeah, it's funny what a married policeman with kids who, shockingly, has a thing for brown boys will do for you."
he pierces me as casual as ever, without even meaning to, yet i swallow it. i knew the sergeant and the teenaged boy had a nondisclosed agreement, i just didn't know what it entailed. my mind goes haywire with my imagination, wondering if zayn did anything with the older man. was that their arrangement? zayn would get up to no good and end up in the same office with the same man and set up a corrupt pact to keep it all quiet. that the sergeant has a sick fascination with really young guys that will do just about anything to keep out of the slammer.
"nilsen?" i try to hide the hurt in my voice because unavoidably, zayn and i were just strangers. i fell in love with someone intangible and he simply got addicted to being my captor. i don't know why i ask, as i try not to think of zayn's mouth around someone else's, "what did you do?" i knew i should have asked what nilsen did instead, but something told me that the boy in front of me had all of the power here.
"you don't need to worry your pretty little head about that." he smiles, even if it doesn't reach his eyes, and ruffles my hair.
i find myself needing to change the subject, trying to reign in control over my emotions. it's hard though when he touches me like he adores me and has a redness smudged across his skin along his neck. like someone has ravished him and he wasn't even troubled by it. he lets go of the collar of my shirt, biting his lip, as i murmur out what i can't stop musing over: "patrick was arrested."
"yeah, i know." he doesn't flinch, just shrugs his shoulders and leans back on his elbows. he lets the tip of his shoe touch the murky water beneath us, carelessly adding, "could've heard him screaming bloody murder from a mile away."
i can still hear him, patrick, fighting for his life. still with the false hope that someone would save him from this entangled mess. it sticks to the roof of my mouth like molasses, wondering why it feels astray to see who i had suspected from the beginning taken away by the police. i should feel reassured that a monster had been captured -- yet it seems wide off the mark. i ponder aloud, "he was begging me to help him... just -- what the fuck?"
"killing his little lover and pleading with a stranger to save him. i guess desperate people really do desperate things -- who knows what will happen next, maybe jailbreak?" zayn laughs recklessly, finding it all to be some big joke. it should concern me, his cavalier and heartless nature, yet it doesn't even boggle me anymore. i was just consumed with my speculation.
"he's not that smart." i declare, reaching zayn's distant eyes and concluding, "i don't think he did it."
"ha! i'm thrilled by your distrust of the law enforcement." zayn congratulates me, pleased with himself, "i've taught you well."
i disregard his cynicism and twist around to stare at the bike in the mud behind us. an idea sparks inside of me, although zayn is consumed with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. he lights it as the amber end sparkles from the breeze sweeping through us, puffing away with delight. the scent of his distinctive tobacco travels towards my nose, helping me find my train of thought.
"i wanna go to his house." i decided, impulsively. zayn doesn't hold me back though, in fact, i think he enjoys my rashness. he raises a brow as i reel closer to him, searching for an answer out of his unreadable brown eyes. his lips quirk up with a devilish grin as he leans back and sucks on the cigarette between his fingers. he lets his head slump onto the grassy patch of grass behind him, blowing out rings of smoke from his opened mouth. i place my hand by his face and lean over him, gazing at his pretty lips and striking collarbones. seemingly forgetting what i've said, i absorb his beauty and the drags he takes along the ground beneath us. his shoe sloshes through the water by our feet as i drift towards the exposed flesh from where his shirt began to ride up his hips. his chocolate eyes finally land on mine and there's something sweet swimming in them.
"could be fun." he licks away the words on his bottom lip and before i can even pull myself out of my trance, he's sitting up. his foot withdraws from the pond as he shakes out his hair and raises from the ground. i push my body up as my knees crack from the change of position, brushing off the dirt from my pants. yet my eyes never leave him, as he flicks his cigarette into the water and it hisses. he strides over to the cutesy, glittery bike and sits across the seat, jerking his head towards me teasingly.
"hop on the back." he is irritatingly handsome when he says this, his hands wrapped around the handlebars. my heart soars with his inviting presence, wondering how long this gleaming version of him will last. i swing my leg over the back of the bike and hook my shoes onto the bars on the sides of the wheel. my hands clasp his shoulders tightly and without even meaning to, i run one of my hands through his raven hair. he seems to like it though because he quickly reaches around and grasps the back of my leg, rubbing his finger along the inside of my thigh.
it's a new thing between us — the affectionate touching — so i relish in it.
"where'd you get the bike?" i ask him, as he lets go of me with one last squeeze and pushes off to start peddling.
"stole it." he says, sounding quite pleased with himself. "some rich kid left it on their porch."
a chuckle passes through me, wondering how on earth he could get away with stealing a vehicle and a silly, expensive bike within the same day. i don't question him, because i'm far too happy with what it feels like to be with him on the back of this stupid thing. we ride through the pine trees and weave through the wetland towards the hole in the barbed wire fence enclosing the wilderness. it's so beautiful from above as i hold onto his shoulders and inhale a deep breath of freedom amongst the green haze that clouds my vision. it fills my lungs with a buzzing joy that spreads through my body with such tender warmth.
i smile, my fingers pressing into his skin, "of course you did."
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we arrive half an hour later, as zayn chain smokes the whole way completely unaware of how many people stare at us we come flying past. it's a monday morning and everyone seems to be at school, except us. older women in my neighborhood glare from their white picket fences with horror, as if they could just sniff out our homosexuality plaguing their town. it didn't change how i felt in that moment with zayn though, it only made me hold onto his flannelette a little tighter with adoration. i loved him and his wild ways and how during the way he would use one hand to steer the bike and the other to occasionally touch my thigh heedlessly.
our closeness is a strange intoxication illusion and it makes everything flash past me in a fuzzy blur. i wonder why this troubled boy suddenly felt the need to touch me whenever he had the chance. intimacy was strictly only during sex with us, so this was all new to me. however, i don't question him, because i'm afraid if i do -- he'll realize what he's doing to me and stop.
we pull up on the curb and he stubs out his cigarette onto the pavement as i jump off the back. i take in patrick's familiar home that is now littered with policemen entering the property and a couple of local news reporters standing in the grass. the first thing that catches my eye is patrick's red mustang parked outside of the garage, just where i had remembered it from the party only days ago. where he was desperate for some sort of alliance with me -- and now i understand why. 'i don't want to live my life as someone everyone hates,' he said to me, long ago, as if that'd save him. he knew what was happening then and now there's no escaping that fact. public affinity didn't change his reputation, it didn't stop anyone from pointing the finger at him. but to think he was that foolish to believe that he could change anything makes me hesitate. i mean, the dumbass thought throwing a party only weeks after his girlfriend passed was a good idea. good riddance, i guess.
all of the doors of the vehicle are opened wide and there are forensic investigators dressed in white searching through it. my heart stammers as i'm reminded of when i had seen the same detectives collecting evidence in the wetland long ago -- just where zayn and i had been sitting together in the dirt. i just couldn't understand how the crime scene led from there to patrick's stupid car. what proof did the lead detective, jane melrose, find that was so damning to incarcerate the kid?
a blonde journalist holds a microphone to her chest as she begins to address the camera held in front of her face. my ears perk up as the neighbors in the street gather closer to the commotion playing out on the front lawn. they stand anxiously, awaiting the news with bated breath. it's as if the entire town has been stuck on their inhale ever since this happened, in awe that such a beloved young girl had been killed without an afterthought. everyone's shoulders are stiff and tense, as i feel myself get swept up in the grief that invades everything we thought we knew.
the cameraman counts down to three and suddenly they're rolling. swiftly, the young woman shifts into an animated news reporter the second she opens her mouth, "a nationwide manhunt has ended in a residential neighborhood just in a four miles radius from amanda seymour's home. the police have informed me that they have arrested ms. seymour's ex-boyfriend -- patrick brown -- this early monday morning. brown has been placed under custody which, of course, brings so much frustration and sadness to an end, yet there are still so many questions."
more local broadcasting vans pull up to the street as i try not to wig out at the amount of people that crowd around zayn and i. the blonde journalist doesn't even blink as what feels like the entire town watches her steadily. afraid of what they might miss.
the woman continues, growing competitive with the other newsreaders begin to set up beside her, "as you can see behind me, they are investigating the car parked in the driveway of what appears to be a normal home." she moves to the left and we all follow her hand and where she gestures to behind her. there's yellow crime scene tape planted around the entirety of the driveway and my stomach churns with how real this has all gotten. forensic detectives pull minuscule objects from the car with gloved hands, placing them in separate plastic bags. orderly and systemically, without any notice of the audience that surrounds them. the newsreader snaps our attention back to her, as she announces what we're all wondering, "reports say that detectives have found traces of the victim's blood in the backseat of brown's car. we are still unsure of when brown will be assessed at a grand jury to issue his bail out on arrest. further investigation will commence which has prolonged his trial for final indictment. i'm afraid it isn't looking very promising..."
at that point, it all becomes a little too much. police swarm out of patrick's house in hordes and i can sense zayn becoming impatient. his eyes are beginning to dart around with clear irritation and it only causes me to become more nervous about his impulsivity. he's like an unrestrained creature that could lash out any moment -- which should frighten me -- however, instead i feel as if i want to protect him. i can see him grinding his teeth as he glares amongst the crowd, seemingly looking for something. without hesitation, i reach out and touch his arm to usher him away. away from the scene, away from the peering eyes that smother us in the flock of concerned people.
as we begin to walk away and zayn pushes the bike along the sidewalk, i feel a stunned daze wash over my body. it narcotizes me into silence, thinking about all of the times i've had contact with patrick. to think that he has always been capable of murder and that i couldn't protect mandy from something like this surges through me staggeringly. my throat tightens and i'm stuck on it all as it sizzles through my veins and flows through my body with a chill. it curls around my lungs with a squeeze, blinking and remembering when patrick seemed monstrous and dangerous, the day he mouthed to me -- you're dead. i should've known then, i could have stopped this from happening. patrick knew that i could see through him and that's why he was demanding my compliance. he wanted me to save him because he knew no one else would.
nausea crashes into me, as i ponder back to when he would fuck her roughly in the backseat of his mustang. the viciousness in how he dumped her with tears rolling down her cheeks, blindsided by his sudden disinterest in her. the way he pinched his hands around her arm to tear her away from me. mandy hadn't realized how addictive it was to be around someone bad. someone you know you shouldn't love, but you just do. she hadn't realized how easy it was to get stuck in a tangle of lies with someone you thought you could trust. when she turned to me one day at lunch and said, 'i feel like i've wasted so much precious time with the wrong people,' it loops through me rapidly. she was only starting to gain her independence and that's when he lost control. that's when he killed her in cold blood.
i halt to a stop, admitting aloud, "i just didn't think he would do it."
zayn clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, eyes vacant, "maybe the cops just got lazy and wanted to finish it off."
absorbing the hollow glow in his brown eyes, i trace back to this morning. when patrick grabbed me and begged for help. he was trembling with terror, unable to accept the handwriting on the wall. but my mind is still spinning in circles, sketching back to how empty the red-haired boy was without her. had he been far too good at pretending or did he really lose someone he adored? can you miss the person you destroyed?
i breathe out, staring at zayn with defeat, "he loved her, he did. in his own way. but... blood in the backseat of his car? fuck, how can that be?"
there's a very sudden quirk to zayn's lips that i could've missed if i blinked. but i didn't, and i'm wishing that i did, because there's the slightest grin on his cunning face. it smothers me and peels at my flesh vulgarly, searching for the fear fizzling inside of me. it feeds on my doubt hungrily, reverting zayn into his usual cold blankness. the glaze coating his brown eyes could only be seen as lifeless, as he purrs softly, "love can make you do some crazy shit -- especially when you feel them slipping away."
i don't respond after that, because i don't know how to.
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