I woke up with sticky sweat clinging to the back of my neck, heart racing, blood roaring. My cheeks were wet with tears and I could taste salt in my mouth, tangy and unpleasant. Why now? The dull ache throbbing in my chest pulses, slowly consuming my soul. I could feel it eating away the caverns of my heart and wanted it to be over. I was so sick of hurting all the time. I don’t bother to flick on the lights –it was only a flashback, nothing more- and creep from my room, the floorboards barely creaking beneath my feet as I started a brew of coffee. It’s late. Or early. The sky is pitch black and the moon is new, so there is only the faint illumination of streetlamps to guide me. When the coffee is done I perch on my father’s old chair, folding into myself, wanting to be small and insignificant. The coffee makes my stomach feel warm for a moment, but it’s a temporary warmth. The noticeable kind. I ache as it disappears, the tired feeling in my sore bones weighing down my thoughts.
There is a faint breeze –or maybe it’s just my imagination- that brushes against my senses. It’s the smell of stale cigarettes and booze and sweat and tears. I taste gray-purple jelly on my tongue, warm and slimy. Revolting. The air is stiff and dusty in my lungs. I can feel it catch in my throat and even the coffee cannot stop me from wanting to cough.
“Samantha? Honey, is that you?” There is a soft voice that glides through my ears, wrapping around my shoulders securely. No. It is not me. Me is gone. Me is sleeping. You never knew me. Me died five years ago.
“What’s wrong?” Tara flicks the light on and I blink, eyelids lingering close longer than they should.
“Nothing.” Robotic words exit a robotic mouth from an empty robotic girl who does not exist. She reaches for me, fingers outstretched and trembling, but pulls back, afraid I will flinch and scream and cry. I am not fragile. I am not broken.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Are you having flash blacks again?
“Not very tired.” No. I want to. I’m scared to close my eyes.
“You’re drinking coffee.” I know you’re lying.
“I’m cold.” If I don’t, I will keel over and never wake up.
“You want me to turn the thermostat up?” Do you want my help? Should I tell your father?
“No.” No.
“Honey, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” I’m worried. I worry. I’m scared for you. Tell me what’s wrong.
“Yea.” No. I can’t.
“Ok. Just wanted to remind you.” Do you need to see the doctor? Did you stop taking your pills? Tell me. Tellme. TellmeTellmeTellme.
“Night Tara.” Goaway. Go away. G o a w a y. G o a w a y. A w a y. Go.
She hesitates.
“Good night Sam.” Ok.
xxx
I’m trudging through the hallway at school when I notice something about Gabe I had never really taken the time to notice before. He’s walking towards me, in the opposite direction I have class in, and everything about him is displayed for me to observe. He can’t see me. His head is tilted upwards, nose pointed airily into the air, eyes fixated on the space ahead of him. There is slowness in the way he walks, yet a slight jump to his step, as if he knows he could kick the ass of anyone who accidentally steps into his path. His eyes are too close and cold, flat blue; the endless, unforgiving blue of an ocean you’re drowning in. A freshman darts around his leisurely amble and there isn’t even a flicker of acknowledgement, dreary eyes still focused on nothing I can see. Today, he’s wearing a shirt with weed on it. Cute.
My eyes dart back to his face, which is now openly turned towards me. He’s noticed me staring and a smirk is hooked on his thin lips.
“Nice shirt.” I mutter as he passes me, air stirring between us. I keep walking even though he shouts something after me along the lines of an overconfident “I know.” There was no need to double check.
Something wraps around my bicep, tugging me to the side of the hall. Mia is there, eyes narrowed, artificially tanned skin dark against the pale lockers. Ice freezes her eyes, which are a murky green, and a frown mars her brow. She’s pretty, in a simple way. Her nose is buttoned and her large eyes are set evenly between her ears. Simple. I wait for her to speak but all she does is drag her eyes over my face as if she’s searching for something.
“Gabe said you flipped over pot.” The length of my spin stiffens. The thoughts in my mind go numb.
“Ok?” If you act like you don’t care, they can’t use it against you.
“Are you some sort of anti-weed freak? You aren’t going to bust him, are you?”
“Uhm, no?” The voice exiting my mouth is too shrill. I can feel her plastic nails digging into my sweater. “It’s none of my fucking business what he does in his free time.” The answer doesn’t appease her. My skin is pinched beneath her claws. “Let go.” I insist after a moment, lightly testing my ability to pull away. Instead, her nails pierce deeper and she jerks me closer even though I barely moved.
“Not so confident now, are you?” The hiss escapes her lips menacingly and unease coils through my stomach. Her icey eyes were daggers and I meet them head on, unflinchingly. People didn’t scare me the way the used to.
“I don’t care if other people smoke. I personally don’t care for it. Fuck. Off.” Mia is smirking now, cool and venomous. Can she read the fear in my eyes?
“You’re a coward.” The simple words slice through my skin worse than her steel nails and the air grows thick. Yes. I am a coward. You caught me. I pull back my elbow, acting as if I’m going to draw away and her own arm retracts, jerking me back in her direction. I use the force to slam her against the locker. Several people stop, mouths gaping to see what happened. I don’t scream. There’s a fire in my chest but I do not scream. I can’t feel her nails in my arm anymore.
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” It’s hard not to spit in her stupid, pinched face. One hand is gripping her shoulder and I can feel hatred stewing in the air between us. Her eyes flicker to something and I follow, seeing Dalton watching our confrontation. He does not come to my defense. He does not save me. He doesn’t say a word. How long had he been watching?
Sighing to myself, I turn to Mia, waiting for her to push me back, waiting for the sound of her clawed fist colliding with my cheekbone. There is no victorious last words. We watch each other for a moment, hard eyes and grim lips. Mia looks away first. I don’t challenge her further or acknowledge Dalton, whose gaze is setting my skin on fire. There is no point.
I head to my next class.
xxx
There are crescent marks on my arm when I get home after school. They sting, so I rub some soap on them to make them sting more, because that’s the only way I could process the confrontation. There was something more to it. She wasn’t angry over the weed. That was an excuse. She wanted to know what had happened. She wanted to know why it happened. She wanted to know if I could be trusted. She wanted to know something else. My fuzzy brain couldn’t come up with an idea.
“Dinner!” Tara’s voice is strained as she calls Tyler and I for the family meal. Sighing, I let my sleeve fall back over the red skin, lightly walking down the hall and to the table. My father is sitting at the end, Tara next to him, Tyler at the opposing end. I take my seat between Tyler and my father. Tara is smiling, although it seemed forced at the edges. There is tension in her shoulders. Were her and my father fighting again?
“Can you pass the pepper?” Tyler questions, fingers drumming against the table.
“No.” I mutter but pass it to him anyways, not wanting my father can give me his usual condescending look. The last thing I wanted to deal with was his disapproval.
“How was your day?”
“Fine.” I mumbled, taking a small forkful of beans from my plate.
“Fantastic.” Tyler replies, grinning as he shoves steak into his mouth. “You wouldn’t believe what happened. Mr. Ritter threw a pencil at some kid for falling asleep in class. It was hilarious.”
“Since when were teachers more immature than students?” My father rumbled, eyebrows knit together as he grimly eats his dinner. Everything is a nuisance to him.
“Since they actually know how to take a joke.” Tyler grumbles, smile fading.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He chimes, grin melting back onto his face. “You’re looking great today Dave, you know that?”
“Don’t patronize me Tyler.”
“Dave.” Tara warns, eyes narrowing.
“Tara.”
“I know you had a bad day at work-”
“I still can’t believe she completely bailed on the meeting. I told her-”
“She’s pregnant Dave, she has other things to worry about.”
“If it were bothering her that much she would take her damn maternity leave already.”
“She explained to you why she couldn’t do that. You know thatRachel tries her best-”
“She showed up to the meeting late and smelling like booze! It’s completely unprofessional and like you said, she’s pregnant.”
“It’s her choice Dave-”
“Rachel?” I repeat, heart thrumming against my chest. Both Tara and my father stop their debate, surprised that I was speaking without being prompted.
“Yes. She’s a girl at my firm.” My father explained, impatiently drumming his fingers. With a frown, his hand froze, and his eyes glimmered in curiosity. “Why?”
“Huh? Uhm, no reason. I thought I recognized the name.” I shook my head dismissively.
“Well,” Tyler drawled, carefully scooping up some peas and letting them fall against his plate, “There’s only about a half a million Rachel’s out there, so…”
“Tyler, what did I tell you about getting smart?”
“Not to.” He sighed, ruffling his hair.
“And what was that just now?” Tara huffed.
“That was me pointing out a very crucial fact that the chance there is more than one Rachel in existence is very high.”
“You're acting smart again.” A stern note wove its way into Tara’s voice, frustration seeping through her eyes.
“Don’t worry mom, my math grade will definitely prove otherwise.” He grinned cheekily and I resisted a snort. Little asshole.
“What do you mean-”
The doorbell saved Tyler from further interrogation. Practically leaping from his seat, Tyler dove into the direction of the front door, eyes glittering.
“I got it!”
“We see that.” I muttered into my plate, rolling around some mashed potatoes. With an irritated sigh, I lifted my plate, taking it out to the kitchen. I wasn’t hungry enough to finish.
“Sam, it’s your friend!” Tyler called, jumping back up the stairs, sliding into the kitchen beside me. “You know,” He wiggled his eyebrows with a low whisper so our parents didn’t overhear. “The one you aren’t knocking boots with.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?” With a roll of my eyes, I pushed past him, seeing Dalton waiting at the landing with his hands buried in his pockets.
“I dunno Sam, it just happens.” He grinned, eyes darting away for a moment. Panic envelops his feature. “Oh crap, run.” He hissed under his breath, wide eyed. Getting what he means, I flinch inwardly, already knowing there is no way in hell I’d make it out the door in two seconds. Instead I nonchalantly head for the stairs, greeting Dalton with a,
“Don’t say your last name.”
One dark brow arches but he doesn’t question it, eyes darting up to the staircase where my father and Tara stood, slightly astonished that my supposed friend was real.
“Later.” I give them a haphazard wave but my father stops us before I can open the door. Muttering curses under my breath, I turn back to him.
“Yea?”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Tara pipes up, eyes glimmering in the kitchen light with excitement.
“This is Dalton, Dalton, that’s my dad Dave and step-mom Tara.” There is a tremor in my voice when I speak. I don’t want to introduce him to my parents. I don’t want them to know him. They’ll disapprove. They’ll judge him. They’ll judge me. Meeting people’s families meant they were getting close. I didn’t want that. I couldn’t have that.
“Hello.” Dalton’s voice is surprisingly warm and I blink in surprise, jaw loosening at the friendliness in his tone.
“Do you want to stay a bit? We’re just finishing dinner but if you’re hungry, it’s not too late to make another plate.” Tara is smiling sunshine from where she stands next to my father and I shift slightly. A polite smile graces his face, which causes the breath in my lungs to freeze.
“I already ate but, uh, thanks.” My father watches him, something close to relief flooding his grim features, as if the declination had saved him from a tedious chore. Then again, anything that had to do with me tended to annoy the hell out of him. It shouldn’t surprise me anymore but the hurt still lingered in my veins. With another gruff goodbye, I nearly drag Dalton from my house, away from my rainbow loving stepmother and brooding father.
We walk down the street, the cold air burning my fingertips, but I don’t speak, too afraid to break the silence. There was something weird about Dalton being in front of my family. He wasn’t the Dalton I talked to. Already a shield seemed to have been placed between us. There was a calculating shadow in his eyes.
“You said she’s your stepmom?”
“Uhm, yea.”
“So he left her.”
“Who?”
“Your dad. He left your mom.” Bile rises in my throat, bitter on my tongue.
“No. She left him.”
“Oh.” His dark eyes blink lazily, soaking in the information. “Because of…?” Because of her problems?
“Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Another time.” My heart twists, dropping to the pit of my stomach in a shriveled mess. I would never tell him. I couldn’t relive it. I already had to every night. “Does your sister work for a lawyer firm on the south side of town?”
“Uh, yea. Hoover and Son.” Dalton frowns, scratching the back of his neck in thought. “Why?”
“Nothing.” I speak too quickly. Dalton grabbed my wrist and a hiss of surprise exited my lips when he jerked me back to face him. The bruise on his jaw trembled, a slight angry flush creeping up his neck.
“Tell me.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“She’s my sister Sam.” Pain laced up my wrist but I didn’t budge, feeling my breath quicken, and my heart rate pick up. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, the stale scent of booze lingered in my nostrils, permeating my senses. I could feel her breath, hot in my face, as she screamed at me; always screaming at me. “Don’t say his name you bitch.” The venom of the words is bile on my tongue.
“Sam.” Dalton placed another hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle shake, trying to get an answer.
“D-don’t touch me.” I stuttered, pulling away from him. Cradling my aching wrist, I spun away. “My dad just mentioned something at dinner about a Rachel.” I whispered, feeling my shoulders shake. “I thought it might be her.” I was right.
He said nothing but I heard a shoe scuff the concrete before I was facing Dalton again. He didn’t say anything; just grabbed my wrist and pulled the sleeve back. There wasn’t a red mark or anything indicating that he was the one to hurt me. There was just an old, angry red scar staring him in the face at the top of my wrist. Jerking my hand back, I pulled my sleeve down, locking my other hand around the aching joint. Dark coffee eyes were frozen, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff.
“What was that?”
“An accident.”
“How?”
“A fight.”
“With who?”
“I’ll tell you when you tell me.” No you won’t, a treacherous voice cackled in my head. You wouldn’t want her to get into trouble again. Better forget. It’s always better to forget.
“Sam.” I swallowed heavily at the sound of my name on his tongue. “You piss me off, you know that?” A wry laugh escaped my mouth.
“Don’t worry. I do it to everyone.”
Instead of murmuring an agreement he stayed silent, tilting his face towards the sky for a moment.
“I got in a fight because the women in my family date assholes.” I know, I wanted to whisper. You told me. You were drunk. You forgot. That’s not the answer I wanted.
“I got into a fight because the assholes are my family.”
A/N
Guys I got 7pgs of stuff here and I don't think you understand my level of pride, haha. What do you think? Yay? Nay? Shut up? Any constructive critisism is absolutely 100% welcomed -in fact I almost want that more, ha. Please drop a comment? Thanks for taking time to read!