"Here, from her ashes you lay. A broken girl so lost in despondency that she will never see, feel, taste, or touch life the same way again."
~Amanda Steele
➳♀♁➳
"Help m-me," Cora stutters again, hiccupping through an evident panic attack.
The tears fly down my face, escape pilots fleeing to deliver bad news, and land in sporadic drops on the ruffled bed sheets. The mattress springs scream as someone tumbles onto the bed, jostling me and Cora, then again when the body is thrown off. I turn away and draw Cora's face to my chest so she can't see the fight behind us. Grunts and uncontrolled sobs fill the room, a juxtaposed symphony of horror and pain. The only light slices through the open door, and unforgiving ray reaching half way across the dirty floor.
Something topples, and a book flies across the room, another one landing next to me on the bed. Lolita. I can't help but notice the irony.
Cora screams. Maybe I scream—I can't tell. There's so much noise. It mixes in with the stereo downstairs, the loud music blasting through empty halls.
At some point, I begin singing. "You Are My Sunshine" had been Cora's favorite since she was a young girl. I rock her body and mine in rhythm to the song, voice cracking with each slam, punch, and crack I hear behind me.
"It's gonna be okay," I say, a salty tear slipping through my lips. "It's gonna be okay."
I murmur the song through the noise, trying to be louder than the fighting. Cora shakes, huddled up in my lap, and whimpers. My heart breaks, shattering like the shadowed vase in the corner. The fight feels like hours, but I know it lasts only a minute.
Someone swears, so angry his fists hit their target and the target cracks.
Cora sobs. I rock us, stroking Cora's head. Her blonde hair is ratted into knots, wet with tears and an act that cannot be undone. Finally the room falls silent. No more screams, no more fighting. Cora seems to hold her breath.
Oliver comes to the foot of the bed, fists clenched, seething. He sits calmly on the mattress, shifting the weight, running a swollen, red hand through his hair. When his fingers fall back into his lap, I notice the cracked skin around his knuckles and the bruises already forming. A story unfolds through the marks on his fists. In the shadowed room, I see the clench of his jaw, the anger in his eyes. I shiver at the emotion he tries to hide.
Gratitude warms a small part of my heart, surprising but present nonetheless.
I know there's a body, unconscious, behind me on the floor. Cora knows it, too—I can tell by the way the muscles in her back relax. She buries her face deeper into the fabric of my shirt.
Everything stays silent - the whole world - for a moment. The hot blood that pumps loudly through my ears is the only thing I could register. Everyone breathes in and out, filling the room with shallow exhaling. The choppy breaths taken by a hiccupping Cora, the air sticking in her throat like thick honey. Oliver's ragged breathing, accelerated by the fight and his own anger. Mine, which was slow and disbelieving.
Even the body on the floor. His breaths are whispers.
My best friend's face hide's in the crook of my body, my shirt stained with her tears and mine. Hurt spreads through my chest. No one deserved this, least of all Cora.
Park was going to murder.
Park.
This was going to break his heart even more than it was breaking mine.
Thick tears well up in my eyes, my lips starting to tremble. I bite down, hard. It's enough to draw blood, the metallic taste of it exploding across my taste buds. My lungs flutter with cries for the oxygen I'm not giving them. I hold my breath even longer, the pain making me focus.
Don't cry. You can't cry.
"Cora," Oliver says softly, his voice cutting through the void of silence. "I am so, so sorry." The warm hum of his voice reminds me that it's okay. Because he's there. "What can I do?"
The sincerity of his voice makes my heart break further.
"Get him out of here, please," Cora whispers, voice muffled against my shirt.
He stands, walks towards the back wall, stops. "Would you like me to call the police, Cora?"
She doesn't answer. There's a long groan, but it's not from anyone in the room I can call by name. Emotion floods my chest and head like a cacophony of red.
"Yes," I whisper, attempting to control my anger. "He deserves whatever punishment he gets."
Oliver leaves the room, dragging the body unforgivingly across the floor. I stroke Cora's hair, pretending not to notice the streak of blood that stains the carpet. I don't ask Cora the many questions that race through my brain. I don't ask, Who is he. I don't ask, How did you get up here. I don't ask, How far did it go.
I swallow, bite my lip, and ask, "Are you okay?" My voice hitches in the back of my throat.
My best friend sits up, wipes the tears from her cheeks, smearing mascara and lipgloss, and shakes her head. "No. Not really." Her chest rises and falls in quick staccato rhythm. "But you saved me. Oliver saved me."
Oliver. I dare to hope, face lifting. Maybe it's okay—maybe she'll be okay. "Soon enough?"
She knows what I mean. Did we save you before...
Her eyes drop. She forces a sad smile. "No. Not soon enough."
It's then I realize how alone Cora must have felt. The music pumping, laughter from other party guests - everyone else was just having a normal night. Even I was sitting under the stars, oblivious.
And she was on a bed, helpless.
I turn away so she doesn't see the tears running down my face. Wiping them away, I blink rapidly to stop the flow. Loneliness, regret, and sorrow settle in my gut. My chest empties itself of air, a shaky sigh slipping into the atmosphere. "I'm so sorry, Cora."
She touches my arm, her hand cold and small. My eyes meet hers and she's void of emotion, eyes blank, lips forming a straight line. "It's okay, Skylark." She grabs the edge of the bed sheets, lays her head back in my lap, and smooths the cover over herself, tugging it up to her chin. She clutches the thin sheet like it will save her from danger. "It's okay. I'm used to it."
I shut my eyes. Force my mind blank of evil boys and wicked fathers who don't know boundaries. Cora was the last person who ever deserved this.
She remains silent, eyes closed, for the twenty minutes it takes for the sirens to interrupt the night. They slide into existence like sleek shadows, all encompassing once revealed. All other sound drops away.
They stop outside the house, giving one last cry before the native sounds of night take over.
The music drains to silence downstairs, annoyed fingers pressing it "off."
The darkness settles, for real this time. Whatever party stragglers had been there before are undoubtedly gone now, fleeing at the sound of police sirens. There's no music, no wafting laughter, no conversation. Just the pattering footsteps of large boots thumping up the winding staircase.
Cora grips the sheet so tightly her knuckles turn white. I put what I hope to be a reassuring hand on her arm.
The murmuring of voices slides across the walls outside the door, slipping into the room and bouncing into our ears. Shadows belonging to the voices dance in the light that slices across the carpet.
I turn to see Oliver enter. Two policemen, one significantly taller than the other, step into the room behind him, uniformed and somber. Oliver murmurs something to them quietly, and the taller officer immediately exits out of the broken doorway, returning shortly with the boy. He's bruised and bloody, but awake now, his wrists cuffed behind his back. The sight of him makes me sick. Cora buries her head in my lap and starts to cry again, softly.
Anger floods every inch of my insides, a ferocious beast living in my body, taking over its host. I get my first real look at him, and it's enough to make me nauseous.
His light skin sits in stark contrast with his black hair, long and knotted at the nape of his neck. His baggy T-shirt sags over his wiry frame, his shoulders perpetually slouched towards the ground. I can hardly see his face past the swollen, dripping cuts made by avenging fists, but he looks simple; not like a monster, but I've learned by now that monsters hardly ever wear their real masks. His dark eyes are trained on a spot of carpet, refusing to look at anyone else in the room. Coward.
Cora whimpers.
A lump clogs my throat. I force out, "Please get him out of here."
The boy continues to look at the floor. The taller police officer grabs his cuffed wrists and pulls him backwards. "Will you be pressing charges, ma'am."
He says this aimed at Cora, who blinks, opens her mouth, closes it, and looks up at me, helplessly.
I clear my throat. "Yes." Aiming my words at the dark haired boy in cuffs, I can't help but add, "And I hear the prison sentence for a convicted rapists is up to ten years, you sick bastard."
He spits on the carpet.
Oliver stands posted at the door, his face unreadable as the tall officer pulls the man out of the room and down the stairs. With him now out of the house, Cora's shoulders relax.
"Ma'am," the remaining officer says quietly, speaking to me. He stands at about five foot five, his stout figure a harsh juxtaposition next to Oliver's tall and muscly one. He attempts to smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. I can tell he's been in this situation before, his eyes a mix kindness and sorrow. I wipe a stray tear from my face and clear my throat.
"I'm Skylar," I say.
"Officer Pike," the man responds, pulling a small notebook from his back pocket. His voice is soft. "Skylar, is your friend willing to speak?"
Cora wraps her hand around my wrist, fingers clenching hard when he says this.
"No," I respond, blinking up at the man.
Officer Pike writes something down. "I understand," he says softly. "We can save all that for later, in a more official setting." He looks apologetically at Oliver. "We'll take the subject in immediately, but I also have bring you down to the station."
He simply nods, eyes calm as if he knew this was coming. "Do you need to cuff me?"
Officer Pike shakes his head, sliding the notepad back into his pocket. "I don't feel like that will be necessary." Oliver nods and steps back to lean against the wall, eyes falling shut. I want to cry and hug him simultaneously.
"If you wouldn't mind," Officer Pike continues, turning towards me once more, "we do need to speak to this young lady about what happened tonight, in order to best dole out the consequences."
I nod. Anxiety coils in my gut like a heavy, metal snake. As much as I want to protect Cora from the aftermath of this, I won't be able to. I reach down and smooth her long, blonde hair with my fingers.
The officer sighs, a silent pause encompassing the room. "If," he stops, studying Cora's helpless figure. "If you could follow us in a separate car downtown, we can handle this all accordingly—if the young lady doesn't mind." His feet shuffle awkwardly, only inches away from a pile of blood. "We are all very sorry about the events of tonight, and we wish her only to feel safe from this point on."
I shift down to the broken body in my lap, swaddled in bedsheets that hold too many memories. "Cora," I start, "these people want to help you. I want to help you." I move the hair from out of her face. Her eyes blink, emotionless and glassy, at the back wall. "Will you please come with us?"
She doesn't answer, and I'm about to ask again when she sits up, wipes her face, and fluffs her hair. Standing, she replies, "Yes. Yes, let's go."
I blink, suddenly very tired. All I can think is, why.
Breathing out a shaky sigh, I stand up from the sunken mattress, adjusting my clothes, and step up to Cora, enveloping her collapsing body in a hug. She lets out a heavy sigh, wet with tears, and we exit the room.
But even as we leave, as we step down the stairs and out of the front door of her family's cottage, I know the darkness of the night will never really go away. Even when the moon falls along with the stars to be replaced by the blinding sun, Cora will never forget.
"It's okay," I murmur as her head falls onto my shoulder.
We head down the driveway. The police car sits at the base, occupied by a law enforcer and a law breaker.
I push Cora past it, stepping up to her cherry red car. Officer Pike guides Oliver to the police car, where he'll have to sit in the backseat with a man who deserved every ounce of his beating. I open the passenger side door and help Cora into the seat, adjusting her dress so it covers her, and buckling her seat belt. She stares out the window, at her wide, brooding cottage, the windows dark and empty.
I close her door and round the vehicle to the other side. Before I get in, I glance towards the police car. Officer Pike guides Oliver into the backseat, shuts the door, and hops in the passenger side. As they pull away, Oliver's eyes meet mine, a pane of glass separating our worlds.
"I'm sorry," he mouths.
I turn away, because tears well in my eyes again and I don't want them there. Sliding into Cora's car, I start it up and pull out of the driveway. Cora presses a knob and the radio clicks on. We drive down the winding road, faces dark and hearts heavy, listening to Michael Bublé.
I sigh. Cora closes her eyes.
We drive.
➳♀♁➳
It's not until we slip onto the highway that I begin to process the events of the night. Only an hour ago, Oliver and I were sitting with our feet in the sand, talking about his parents. Now we're driving to the police station. I let out a deep sigh, Cora's initial scream replaying over and over in my head.
The entire day suddenly feels like a year in and of itself. Kissing Oliver, fighting with Park, the party—it all seems like a dream, or a nightmare.
My eyelids become heavy and I have to shake my head to stay awake. I widen my eyes and try to focus on the taillights of the leading police car in front of me, hands firm on the wheel. Cora's sleeping head bobs in the seat next to mine, and she murmurs unintelligibly in her slumber. Although the ride is only twenty minutes, I didn't protest to her nodding off. She needed all her strength for when she stepped into that interrogation room and was forced to relive the horrible events of tonight.
The police car turns off the highway, with me following, onto a lazy road lined with tall evergreens. It dips and turns like a flowing river, finally passing a road sign marked "Welcome to Grove County," and depositing us onto a Main St. that looks a lot like the one in Helaci. This town is smaller than ours, or at least less condensed. Often the people here would drive the hour it took to get to Helaci to join in on our festivals, parades, or other town events.
We drive past several diners, their lights off and rooms baron. The only sign of life is the burning cigarette butt hanging off the fingers of a curly haired woman out front of the Bed and Breakfast. She follows our cars lazily with her eyes as we drive past, taking a drag of her cigarette. We turn off on a side street and pull up to the police station as the digital clock on the car dashboard hits 1:43 AM. The building is square, gray, and boring. Two wide windows sit on either side of the double door out front. The police cruiser glides into one of the dozen parking spaces, sidling up next to a blue van. I pull in to a spot a few feet down, not wanting to overstimulate Cora. The car hums and dies when I pull the key, and then I'm staring at my hands.
Not a single cell in my body wants to go into the police station. I don't want to wake Cora up, tell her it all wasn't just a horrible nightmare, and walk her in for questioning. I don't want to sit on a hard chair and wait for Oliver to finish talking to the police. I don't want to think about what he'll say—what Cora will say.
I'm just so tired.
I look up to see Officer Pike and his partner walking Oliver and Cora's attacker into the station, both officers on either side of the man, Oliver trailing behind. He looks at me through the car window as if to ask, "Need me?"
I nod my head, because I do. I need someone else to take over; I can't do it anymore.
He says something to the officers and they nod, two bobble heads holding a hellion. Oliver jogs over to my side of the car, opens the door, and crouches down. My fingers fumble with my seatbelt, but it won't come off. Tears of frustration pinprick my eyeballs as I push, trying to force it.
"It won't—" I say, but a sob catches in my throat.
"Skylar," Oliver whispers softly, reaching over. With a click the seatbelt is released, and it slides over my chest. I all but collapse into Oliver's open arms.
"Oliver," I force out, but it sounds like I'm saying it from under water.
"Shh," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around my back and lifting me to my feet. My head falls to his chest and I breath in his scent, which tickles my nose, earthy and warm. He closes the car door softly as to not wake Cora, and leans me softly against it. I can feel my tears wetting his T-shirt, but I know he doesn't care. My chest is tight with anxiety and sadness. In his arms, I release everything.
He rubs my back and smooths my hair, all the while whispering, "I'm here. It's okay, I'm here." I'm reminded again of a memory from last year. It slides into my brain like the soft snow that comes with winter.
Just nights before, it had jolted me awake, reminding me of sophomore year. Molly's cancer, my rebellion. The party where I'd gotten drunk. The party where an older kid had taken me upstairs, kissed me, and ignored my protests to "stop." I remember the dark haired boy I'd locked eyes with just before I was pushed into a dark room.
"Help," I had muttered.
And then he'd stopped the boy, put me in a car, and driven me home.
"What's your name," I'd asked him.
And it was Oliver.
I wrap my arms more fully around the warm boy in front of me, new tears wetting my cheeks.
"He's lying to you," Park's words play in my head like foreign invaders. I force them out. I can't handle anything else right now.
Instead of confusion or anger, the emotion that plagues my chest is gratitude. And a love that I can't name yet.
"Thank you," I say, my voice muffled against the cotton of his shirt. I pull back, wiping away a tear, and say it again.
His beautifully bold green eyes, like shadowed emeralds, study my face, his hand reaching up to wipe away smothering falling teardrop. "For what?"
For saving me, I think. For saving Cora. For being here. For kissing me. For the tiger balloon on our first date. For the ridiculous letter you wrote me. For calling me "Sorry."
For sending me a Cuddle Request that first day so long ago.
I smile softly, replaying it all. "For everything," I finally say. "For everything."