Because of You (5 page)

Kyle calls my aunt and uncle’s house, of course. He’s my best friend, after all. More than once I go to the phone, pick it up, and freeze. I want to talk to him. I do, but the words won’t come. I don’t know how to wrap my brain around his father killing my parents and getting away with it. When I think about talking to him, my mind sees his father coming out of my house holding the gun. I know what he did, and I can’t figure out how to separate the father and the son.

My aunt doesn’t help. She tells me the chief is a dangerous man. That the world is full of scary people and Daniel Hadley is one of them.

My aunt says, “Know this, Maddie. Bad men raise bad kids. It’s a fact, I tell you. It’s better you don’t ever speak to Kyle again. That’s a promise.”

I am beyond sick with grief at losing my parents, so I accept what she says.

After a while I become angry and throw raging fits, breaking anything I get my hands on. When I shatter every piece of my aunt’s favorite china, I know for sure they’ll send me away, and that’s what I want. A gaping crater replaces the space where my heart used to be, and I don’t care what happens.

Instead, they take me to see Abigail, my shrink, and they buy a black baby grand piano. They force me to take lessons five days a week from Mrs. Nelson, an older woman. She was a concert pianist years ago. She loves music. Mrs. Nelson kindly and tenderly pours all of that love into me. It helps fill the hole, patches it up, and slowly I’m able to live again.

Until tonight.

Kyle doesn’t remember me. I recognized him immediately.

It feels as though my body is being torn in half.

Seeing Kyle has brought back every moment we shared. He’s the boy I loved. The boy I used to dream of marrying. The boy I made a pact with. First kiss. First time. And I secretly believed he’d be more. My first and only husband. I dreamed of our wedding, what I’d wear, what he’d wear. The colors. The words we’d say to each other. I used to make myself cry at how touching his words were, almost like a poem or lyrics to a beautiful song. Then he would confess his everlasting love. And kiss me.

He was all I ever wanted.

But seeing him also brings back fresh wounds, stabbing, ripping my heart to shreds. His father killed my parents. Shot them dead, and got away with it.

My hands shake and tears spill onto my cheeks. Hurriedly I wipe them away, hoping no one notices as I make my way to my room.

“This can’t be happening.” I rip off my shirt and toss the smelly thing into my hamper. My bra is stained too and I unhook it, throwing it into the hamper as well. Pulling off my jeans, I kick them near the hamper and put on an oversized t-shirt. It was my dad’s. Across the front are the words:
Bellam Sprints Police Force
.

I curl into bed, pulling my comforter around me for warmth and protection. I lay there crying for a long time, until the sun comes up and I finally sleep.

Maddie

door slams and I blink, sitting up. “Wha—” I rub sleep from my eyes and work to focus on Gina. She’s still wearing her slinky black dress, but her makeup is smeared and she has bed-head.

“Why did you leave the party?” She sits gingerly on the edge of her bed, grabbing a fluffy cream teddy bear from the rumpled covers and squeezing.

I don’t answer. Warning bells are flashing behind my eyes. Something’s wrong. “Gina,” I stand and move to sit next to her. “Are you…okay?”

She waves me away. “Yeah.”

I notice her lashes are wet. She sniffs and lies down on her side.

“I asked for it.” She rolls over, facing the wall.

I stand there, unsure whether to comfort her or leave her alone. My homeschooling days haven’t prepared me for real interpersonal relationships. I’m not sure what she thinks she asked for, but I’m terrified for her.

I’ve been sheltered since I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They’re only in their late 50’s, but they act older. “Technology is not our friend” is my aunt’s motto, while my uncle always says, “Remember the Titans.” Neither saying makes any sense to me. They own one TV and one DVD player. All they watch are sitcoms from the sixties and seventies like
I Dream of Genie, The Brady Bunch,
and
Bewitched
. Occasionally my uncle will watch old movies. His favorite is
Remember the Titans
. He says it’s because “It’s a story of true friendship combined with football, and there’s nothing better.” Sometimes I watch TV with them, but mostly I prefer to read the dusty classics tucked away in old boxes, or practice piano.

Finally I whisper to Gina, “Can I get you something? A coffee?” I hope that sounds appropriate. I’m astonished at the gnawing worry in my gut. But it’s there, and I’m concerned. Just because I hurt doesn’t mean I want anyone else to.

She turns over gently. I see she’s crying. “Why do you care if I’m okay?”

I realize she’s flinging my words from last night back at me. My first instinct is to agree and walk out. But she’s hugging the teddy bear so tightly I feel sorry for it.

I sigh and sit on her bed. “I think it’s because you and I are meant to be friends. And friends care about each other. If you’re sad, I want to help.” My voice sounds more calm, more sure than I feel.

Two enormous tears drop on her pillow. “You mean it? You don’t think I’m outrageous?”

I force back a snort at her choice of word. She’s the epitome of outrageous with her crazy outfits, hair, and makeup. Even her black boots scream
outrageous
. She seems to know it though, because she eases one hand from the stranglehold she has on the bear and picks up the edge of her dress.

I force myself to smile. “I think your outrageousness is going to be one of my favorite things about you.”

My hands are tucked into the end of my shirt, but I feel like I need to comfort her somehow. I grab a tissue from the table between our beds and hand it to her. She takes it and wipes her eyes, then blows. When she’s finished, she chucks the wadded tissue toward the trash. It lands on the end of her bed. She reeks of alcohol and cigarettes.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath, yanks off her boots, and lies back down. “First I need to sleep off this hangover.” She pulls her covers up and rolls over.

“ ‘Kay,” I say softly, surprised I’m not hungover. At least I don’t think I am. I’m tired, and it feels like I have grass growing on my teeth and tongue, but it’s nothing a shower and some toothpaste won’t fix. “I’ll try to keep it down.”

Today is the first day of classes. I feel like I should remind her about going. But she seems so broken. I can’t bring myself to speak the words.

I quietly pick up my towel and bathroom necessities, pulling on a pair of fluffy pink slippers. I grab my keycard and open the door.

As I’m leaving, Gina whispers, “Thanks, Maddie.”

She didn’t call me Maddelena. “You’re welcome.”

There’s only one other person in the bathroom. She gives me a curt smile, takes her stuff, and walks out. The black and white checkered floor is wet. Most of the shower stalls are dripping water. I step inside one, close the bright white curtain, and set my stuff on the ledge. Then I pull off my slippers, hang my shirt on a hook, and turn on the water.

Icy liquid sprays my body. I quickly adjust the faucet, wondering who would be crazy enough to shower in cold water. Within seconds the water warms and my body relaxes.

I wet my hair and squirt shampoo into my hand, then massage it into my scalp. As I’m rinsing, I close my eyes. And Kyle is there, as though he’s been waiting. His smile, the one he gave me last night, lights his face, turns my knees to jelly.

I shudder, and my thighs seem to light on fire.

From the way he acted last night, the promise he made to save himself for me hasn’t been honored. I try to ignore the way my heart beats when I think about him. If I’m honest with myself, I hoped he’d be here. Despite everything his father did, I’ve missed him.

After showering, I scour my teeth, paying close attention to my tongue. I dress in jeans, ballet flats, and a black tee. I brush my hair into a ponytail and swipe gloss over my dry lips.

There are dark circles under my eyes. I put on some concealer and brush on a little mascara. My normally caramel eyes are flecked with green. Sometimes, depending on my mood, they get darker. Today, they’re almost almond in color. I know why.
Kyle
. It isn’t only my encounter with him last night. It’s more than that. It’s the feelings I’ve worked so hard to bury. I’m of two minds. I want to know him again. I want to be his friend, and more. But I shouldn’t. His father is evil.

My aunt’s words repeat like a broken record in my thoughts:
“bad men raise bad kids.”
Is he here because of his father? Is he out to get me? I used to hear my aunt and uncle whisper about Chief Hadley, especially when I was younger. They worried he would come after me, and try to silence me. Because I know what I saw, and he knows what he did. But in seven years, I haven’t heard a word from him. Kyle quit trying to contact me after six months.

And it was for the best. It’s still the right thing.

Remember your latest promise
, I tell myself, lifting my shirt, touching the iris tattoo.

Faith
. In others, and most especially in myself.

But it’s hard. My eyes fall on the kanji symbol. The tattoo I got when I was in a dark place emotionally.

Hate
.

Over the last year I worked hard to push the emotion out. I believed myself calmer. But seeing Kyle has brought back all the hate for his father. It eats at my insides. I won’t ever stop hating him. Not until justice is served. Not until I see him pay for what he did.

Kyle is the son of a murderer. It’s better if I avoid him. I take a deep breath. At least he didn’t seem to recognize me.

Didn’t he
? I wonder, recalling the way his eyes flickered.

I push that thought away, letting go of my shirt and pulling at a tendril of hair on either side of my face. I give my reflection another once-over and put away my makeup. No sense dwelling on it, on him. It won’t do any good since I’ve promised myself I won’t speak to him again.