I fumbled through the weekend, just like always. I woke up on Saturday, wondering what I was doing with my life. And then I woke up on Sunday, also wondering what I was doing with my life. Then I woke up on Monday, and I remembered what I was doing with my life: Failing at it.
"Come on, get up and at it, Alyssa," I heard my mother say as she shook me awake. I cracked one eye open and stared at her through sleepy lashes, pondering whether or not waking up was even worth it. Of course I was exhausted. The nightmare visited me last night, the same one that haunted me more and more often since Chloe Maxwell died. It seemed like every bad thing that happened in my life only enhanced my deepest fears more, and it always came back to the one thing that hurt me the most.
The one thing that played inside my dreams every night I went to sleep.
I reluctantly sat up, staring into the bright, golden eyes of my wide-awake mother. Screw morning people. She coaxed me out of bed, forcing me to my feet before pecking my forehead with her lips.
"I gotta head in to the office early today, alright? I love you," she told me, brushing long strands of tangled hair out of my face before kissing me again. "There's some French toast left on the counter. Bye!" With that, she dashed out of the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Screw French toast. I didn't feel the need to fuss over breakfast, so I just slipped on some sweatpants and a t-shirt with an elephant on it before heading out the door, throwing my hair up in the messiest messy-bun ever known to man.
And that is pretty much the summary of a Monday morning for me.
Unfortunately, Maya and I didn't get much of our assignment done over the weekend, because she was "dying," so we'd have to really crack down tonight if we wanted to get the astronomical grade I hoped to achieve.
I trudged through the day, and Maya - who was still dying - trudged alongside me. Screw Mondays.
When we arrived in history class for our last period, both of us looked like extras straight out of a zombie movie. Our attentiveness level was at a minimum, and so was our tolerance level. I pretty much spent the day working on my assignments in between periods, and Maya pretty much spent the day whimpering about the horrors of French class.
The first thing I noticed when I arrived in history, however, was Anthony Meyers. I hadn't seen him since Friday, but I now noticed the purple-and-red bruises that had swollen up around his left eye and lower lip. He looked like someone hit him with a truck.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Anthony was such an arrogant douche bag that one of these days someone was bound to teach him a lesson. This particular lesson just happened to be the puffy discoloration on his face.
For the first time since Jax and I stopped talking, Anthony didn't say a word to me. In fact, he didn't even look at me. Sometimes his gaze would flicker to me and then he'd hastily avert his eyes, as of he'd catch a disease just by making eye contact. Chris Stallings also kept his distance from me, and for that matter, so did a lot of guys. In fact, almost all of them were leaving me alone. I had just been too tired and cranky to notice such a heavenly blessing.
I didn't know why boys suddenly acted like I had the plague, but I wasn't complaining. I hadn't felt that kind of security since Jax and I were friends, and so I happily reveled in the boy-proof bubble that suddenly enclosed me. Most likely, Anthony was so angry at me for pushing him away that he made up rumors about me having STD's or something.
I didn't really care.
When the final bell rung, everyone shuffled to their feet and flooded out of the classroom, Maya and I drifting in the current.
"Come over this afternoon so we can finish the project, okay?" I said to Maya, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder. She stared at me blankly before nodding.
"Fine, but you should know that I really am going to die. I didn't sleep at all last night," she mumbled. Yeah, me neither. Clips of my nightmare swung at me. Maya was aware of my anxiety problem, but she didn't know about the nightmares and she definitely didn't know why I had such an issue. It was one of those things that I simply had to deal with by myself.
My fear of what happened to me was almost matched by my fear of what others would think. I didn't want to see the look of pity on everyone's faces, or worse: the look of disgust. And I was already treated like fragile glass by my mom and Maya any way. If they knew about this, I could only imagine how they'd react.
So yeah. If anyone found out, I'd be living a nightmare far worse than the ones in my sleep every night.
"Oh, and if you aren't already dead by the time you get home, you should look over the presentation notes," I suggested.
"I'll try, but don't get your hopes up. I may very well be in the grave," she informed me, reluctantly taking her bag before migrating to the exit. I slumped toward my car and tossed my bag in the back. Exhaustion found me, and I struggled to process everything that had happened over the past few days. The situation with Jax had thrown me off completely, and I found myself thinking about us more and more.
We had been the two kids who didn't have anyone to make cards for on Father's Day, and the two kids who always seemed to get paired up for everything. We were the two kids who became best friends just because our moms were, and we fit into our roles nicely.
Everyone said we were inseparable. Everyone said nothing could break us apart. Everyone said that we fit together perfectly.
Everyone was wrong.
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When I got home, I wandered into the kitchen and grinned when I found ice cream in the freezer. Aha. So this Monday wasn't absolute death after all. I hastily scooped it out into a large bowl and drenched it in chocolate fudge before tossing some banana slices in there. Unfortunately, we ran out of whipped cream, but I could live without it.
A smile played about my lips when I remembered making ice cream sundaes with my mom. It used to be our special thing, just her and me. My mother and I had a lot special things like that.
And then my stepfather entered the scene when I was nine years old. I didn't know why my mom was so desperate to get back out on the dating field. Even though it was just the two of us, I thought she was satisfied. I thought she was happy. But one day Troy came home with her, and I felt my relationship with her dwindle.
At first, I liked Troy. He was nice, and he used to bring me lollipops from where he worked at the bank. He also used to call my mom beautiful and make her blush. At the time, I only wanted my real father. But Troy made my mom happy, so I forced myself to be happy, too.
Except Troy didn't stay like that. He always had a bit of an alcohol issue, but my mother and I ignored it because he usually didn't come home too drunk. Then, when I was thirteen, he lost his job.
That changed everything.
He was officially unemployed, and so he spent his time lazing around our house and drinking. A lot. Troy constantly smelled like beer, and he made the house smell like it, too. That's why my mom started using lavender-scented items religiously. It was the only thing strong enough to overpower the stench of bitter alcohol that constantly hung in the air.
Troy started yelling more, and kicking our furniture. He got in fights with my mom all the time, and my mother just let him use her.
One time, I tried standing up for my mom because I was sick of her never standing up for herself.
That was mistake.
I shuddered to think about Troy any longer. Unfortunately, things only got worse and worse until my mother finally kicked him out a couple years ago. It happened when I was in my room, painting. I was working on a remake of our family photo - our real family. Troy had stumbled into my room, and when he saw me painting the picture with my mother, father and I, he burst into one of his temper tantrums.
He came over and ripped my canvas away from me before smashing it on the floor. I started trembling when his words came back to me.
"That's not your family, bitch! I'm your family now, you hear me? I'm your family," he had screamed, grabbing my hair. "I'm your family!"
The memories battled inside me and I had to shut them out. I was starting to breathe erratically and my chest was closing up. I hated thinking about Troy.
I hated thinking about what he did to me.
Suddenly, as I looked down at my ice cream, it didn't seem so appealing any more. Instead, I just saw a bowl holding what I used to be. I used to make sundaes with my mom.
Used to.
I tossed the ice cream in the garbage and walked out of the kitchen, shivering from head to toe. Drawing and painting used to be an outlet for me. I had always been an artist at heart, but ever since that day when Troy smashed my canvas, I couldn't enjoy it anymore. My paint brushes and pencils were still in my room, hidden in a box somewhere. I didn't dare take them out. I used to be an artist.
Used to.
Jax had helped me deal with my stepfather. Of course, I never told him about the full extent of Troy's temper. Jax would've been livid if he thought I was being threatened in any way, and there was no doubt in my mind that he would've marched right down to my house and dealt with Troy himself. Jax had a temper of his own, but it usually only made an appearance when it came to protecting those he cared about.
Still, I went to Jax when I was frightened or upset. I told him things had been really hard ever since Troy lost his job, but that was all I said. Sometimes, I thought that Jax suspected something more, but I never let him find out. After Troy's anger started surfacing, I didn't invite Jax to my house anymore. I couldn't risk him seeing what was really going on.
Jax always took care of me when I needed him. Sometimes I regret not telling him everything that Troy was doing, because if I had, Jax would've stopped it. But looking back, it was a good thing I didn't. Jax would get himself killed to protect me, and I had a feeling he wouldn't have practiced any restraint when it came to Troy.
Suddenly, the sound of my phone buzzing in my pocket broke me out of my thoughts, and I reached down to snatch it out. Maya's name popped up on the screen, followed by a text message.
Maya: Sorry, can't make it tonight.
I hastily grabbed my phone and responded.
Me: You ok?
My phone vibrated again within seconds.
Maya: Nope. Just threw up Milo's leftover casserole in my mom's cactus plant.
I furrowed my eyebrows together, trying not to grin. Norah Stanton loved her cactus.
Me: Sorry, bud :( Just study the note cards for tomorrow and I'll do the rest. You don't have to worry about it.
Maya replied again, and her response made me queasy.
Maya: Yeah...don't think I'm coming tomorrow.
Shoot. I was screwed.
Me: Oh.
Maya: Yup.
Me: I'll need the note cards, then. Sorry.
Maya: You can come and get them. I'd bring them to you, but I've heard that it isn't a good idea to drive when you're dead.
Yep. I'm definitely screwed. I couldn't possibly go to her apartment. If Jax saw me while I was there, I'd be doomed. Have I already mentioned that he hates me? Because he definitely hates me.
Me: Is Jax there????
Maya: Don't know, but it doesn't matter. He won't bother you. Just please come and bring Starbucks.
Me: You can't have Starbucks or you'll only get sick again.
Maya: Fine. I'll go without the Starbucks :( But please come anyway. In most places, it's considered rude to leave your friend to die all alone, ya know.
I hesitated before responding, the worst-possible scenarios playing in my head as I considered my options. I was in no mood to redo all the note cards. Plus, Jax was rarely there anyway, right? I doubt I'd see him.
Right?
Me: Fine. I'm coming.
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I just sat in the parking lot of Maya's complex for a few minutes, deep in thought. Jax wouldn't be here. He couldn't be. He was always out, partying it up or hanging out with some girl, or maybe just lurking in some mysterious part of town. The point is, he was rarely home.
Because Jax did not consider this place home.
When he came to live with the Stantons, he practically shut them all out. He wanted nothing to do with his mother's sister or her family. It killed me to know that he had closed himself up to them, but it killed me even more to know that he closed himself up to me, too.
It killed me to know that I was the only person he could go to. It killed me to know that I betrayed his trust.
It killed me to know that it was my fault.
Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, I climbed out of my car and walked briskly into the lobby, waving to the doorman as I entered. He waved back and greeted me by name, which surprised me. It had been a while since I visited Maya's place.
Hurrying to the elevator, I hit the Stanton's floor and waited as I ascended to level fourteen. Maya buzzed me in almost immediately. The silver elevator doors slid open, revealing the vast apartment behind them. Norah Stanton was an interior designer, so of course their home looked like it belonged in a magazine. A stark contrast to my mom's mismatched furniture and beige decor.
Stepping into the bright living room, the first thing I noticed was a lump of untidy blankets flopped on the sofa. Because there was no way Norah would ever let a messy pile lay around on her couch, I concluded that the lump must've been a person.
And that person was Maya.
Coming up to stand beside the sofa, I quickly ripped the blankets off and unsurprisingly found my friend curled up in a ball, groaning into a large bowl.
"Alyssa! Cover me with the blanket!" she demanded, reaching up blindly to take it from me.
"Maya, you look horrible," I said.
"I know," she grumbled. "That's why I want the blanket." I pressed my hand to her forehead and felt a slight temperature.
"You should go take a bath and then sleep in your bed," I continued, but Maya just shook her head.
"I don't want to," she told me. "The note cards are in my bedroom. You can go get them, because I'm not moving." With that, she tore the blanket away from me and used it to shield her from the sunlight that slipped in through the windows. I sighed, patting her on the head before walking down the hallway that was located on the far side of the room.
I took a moment to absorb everything about their apartment, mentally reliving the moments Jax, Milo, Maya and I shared here as kids.
When I came to Maya's bedroom, I nearly rammed right into someone. Again. For the third time.
At first, I worried that it was Jax, because that would just be my luck, right? But instead of smelling my ex-best friend's soapy aftershave scent, I caught a whiff of Old Spice and realized immediately who it was.
Milo.
He was staring at me with an odd expression on his face. I obviously surprised him, because the watery gray eyes that matched his twin sister's were opened wide. A coating of awkwardness seemed to cover both of us as we stood there, until I spoke and made it even more awkward.
"Milo, uh, hi. What are you doing here?" I asked. Yup, making things awkward is definitely my specialty. Milo arched an eyebrow, and for a second, I thought I could see a shadow of a smile tug at the corners of his lips.
"I live here?" he said, more as a question than an answer. I flushed.
"Oh, yeah, right," I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Sorry, I...forgot." Oh my gosh, just shut up, Lissy.
"You forgot I lived here?" he repeated, and this time, an actual smile did form on his face. It had been a long time since I'd seen him wear one of those. "Wow, it really has been a while since we've talked." I smiled.
"Yeah, it has."
"How...how are you?" he asked.
"Oh, I'm good. What about you?"
"Good."
We just stared at each other for a moment, before I attempted to break the silence again.
"Don't you have football practice today?"
"Yeah, but without our main quarterback and wide receiver, we were just gonna do drills anyway, so I ditched," he explained. "Coach will kill me tomorrow for skipping, but I don't care." I studied him for a moment. Anthony was the wide receiver, and Jax - of course - was the quarterback. Both rarely missed a practice, so it was odd that they wouldn't have gone.
"Do you know why they weren't there?" I asked hesitantly, curious to know why Jax was skipping. He hadn't missed out on football once, except for the first few weeks after his mom died. But even then, he used the harsh game as a distraction from his sorrow.
Milo scrutinized me for a moment before a sad smile formed on his face.
"Well, my best guess is that they didn't show up because of you," he said softly. I gaped at him, confusion flickering in my tired mind. I cleared my throat and managed to respond.
"Me?"
"Yeah, you. I think Anthony is still terrified because of what happened after he harassed you," Milo said, and I felt heat flood my cheeks.
"Oh, you know about that?" I asked sheepishly. Milo raised his eyebrow again.
"The whole team knows about it," he informed me sadly, and I realized that this was the first time in ten months that I had actually seen Milo show the slightest bit of emotion. "But Jax kicked his ass and sent him running, almost in tears." This time, my jaw fell all the way open.
"Jax kicked his ass?" I gasped, incredulous. Milo looked at me like I had two heads.
"Didn't you see Anthony's black eye today?" Milo asked.
"Yeah."
"Who do you think gave it to him?"
No words came to my lips at that moment. Of course, it only made sense. I mean, I should've known. But at the same time, it didn't make sense.
It didn't make sense at all.
"B-but why would he do that?" I sputtered, uncertainty filling me all over again. Milo just shook his head, and that sad, wistful smile returned to his face before he met my gaze again.
"Alyssa, Jax stopped talking to all of us when his mom died," he said, his eyes crowding with pain as he spoke. "But do you really think he just forgot about you? It's not like he's suddenly okay with people hurting you just because you two had a falling out." This time, I stared at Milo like he had two heads.
"But...how could he not have known what people were saying about me? I mean, they've been doing it ever since Jax and I stopped speaking," I said softly, still contemplating each word Milo said. Milo shook his head.
"The guys on the team have a challenge to see who can bed you, Alyssa. And I hate it. I really do. But I've overheard enough of their disgusting conversations to know that the challenge isn't just about who can persuade you to sleep with them. It's about who can get you without Jax catching them and killing them," Milo explained, anger rising in his eyes. "They think it's just a fun game, but they don't get it." He paused, his gray eyes landing on me before he continued. "They don't understand that Jax will literally tear them apart limb from limb if they touch you."
I just gaped at him, unsure of what to think.
"Jax despises me," I reminded him.
"Jax was hurt, Alyssa. He still is hurting," Milo said quietly. "But he would never want to hurt you. He'll act like you don't matter to him because he wants to pretend that nothing matters to him. But he cares about you. I can tell." The words hit me with a force that was stronger than I could've anticipated.
He cares.
And I realized, then, that's all I've been waiting for.