Before The Storm (4 page)

I’m not secure enough with her to say much of anything. I feel like I was sent home with a stranger to live, which let’s face it, I pretty much was.

I take a few steps forward to get a closer look at the bed, which seems way too big to be in a hotel, even one like this. It looks specially made. I reach my hand out to feel the white bedspread between my fingers when something suddenly reaches out from underneath the bed and swats my ankles. I let out a small gasp and jump backwards, practically crashing into the nightstand.

“Oh!” Aunt Jenna exclaims, laughing loudly. “Now you stop that Mo!”

I look down and see a little black head sticking out from under the bed. As soon as I make eye contact the head disappears back under the bed.

“Mo, you come out from there right now!” she says loudly, only to be greeted by silence. “Mo, come meet your new sister!”

Nothing.

“You’ll have to excuse him. He’s still a puppy, and he gets a little nervous around new people.” She’s on her knees now, peering under the bed. “It’s okay Mo, come on out, come on.”

Mo lets out a little bark, but makes no effort to come out from under the bed.

She sighs. “Oh well, he’ll come out when he’s ready I suppose. His favorite hiding place is under the bed. Either that or in my closet under my pile of dirty clothes.

Sorry about your ankle though.”

She shoots me a smile and I force one back.

“Oh, it’s fine. I actually love dogs.”

“Me too!” she says happily. “Can you believe some of the guests actually complain about the fact that I allow dogs here? It’s just awful, but I figure if you don’t like dogs I don’t want you at my hotel anyway!”

I nod along with her as I register what she’s saying, that it’s
her
hotel. Now I realize why we’re staying in a suite on the top floor, why we took a backdoor in, and why each room is decorated exactly the way my Aunt Jenna likes. It’s because we aren’t guests here. She owns it.

For some reason she assumes I already know this, which makes me wonder what my father told her about me and how much I actually know about her. It makes me wonder if she thinks I’ve always known she’s existed and have just made no effort to be a part of her world. All these thoughts in my head; there’s so much I need to address, so much I want to accomplish. I have no idea where to begin.

“I’m just going to run downstairs and check on a few things before dinner. Do you need anything before I go?”

I shake my head no and she nods sweetly. “Okay, well, I’ll be back soon,” she says, shooting me one last smile before she closes the door softly behind her.

I immediately collapse on the bed and place my hands over my eyes. My head is pounding from all the thoughts consuming it. The stress is starting to give me anxiety.

How can I even begin to explain to my aunt what’s going on? How can I tell her that until six hours ago I had no idea she even existed? And what was going to happen with my father? Was I going to see him or Missy anytime soon? No one really made it clear to me how this situation is going to be handled from here on out.

And Angelina. Where is Angelina? Why hasn’t she answered any of my letters that I wrote to her while I was away? Is she mad at me for some reason? I don’t even have a cell phone or anything. I have no idea where all that stuff is. Getting taken from your bed in the middle of the night doesn’t exactly leave many options for what happens to your material possessions. How will I reach her? Even more, what will I possibly say?

When am I going back to school? What am I supposed to say to people? Where are my clothes? Will I have to stay back a year because of all the schoolwork I missed? I’m so overwhelmed and still so confused.

But all of this aside, all of the static in my head swirling around is still nothing compared to the confusion I feel concerning Nathan. Does he really not know the truth about where I’ve been the past three months? Does he really have no idea what I’ve been going through?

I miss him. I miss him so much that it hurts. There’s no way this could be true. He has to know, he has to miss me, he has to be waiting for me. I know what we feel for one another is complicated, but it’s also real. I know and believe that with every inch of my soul. No matter what my father may think or say I know Nathan is waiting for me. I know he still believes in us as much as I do. It’s this thought and this thought alone that finally allows me to calm down, finally makes my body feel at ease, at least for a little while.

As I think about this, about him, I can feel my eyelids getting heavy. The room starts to fade around me as I allow my eyes to shut, fading away into blackness.

* * *

When I wake up the room is pretty dark. The little glow shining through the side window is barely enough to light up the space. It’s just enough to allow my eyes to adjust to the blackness. The first thing I see is pair of green eyes staring at me from the end of the gigantic bed.

Mo’s little black body is perched on the very end of the bed, so close to the edge that he looks like his tiny frame is about to fall off at any moment. I sit up and try to peer closer at his face. I can’t place what kind of dog he is exactly, a lab maybe? His face is adorable and I can’t help but think how much the old me would have loved him. A few months ago I would have scooped him up and cuddled him close to me, hugging him so tightly that he wouldn’t have had time to be scared, so tightly that all he would feel was my love. But not now. Now I just stare at him. It’s hard for me to imagine showing any type of loving emotion to anything or anyone anytime soon.

The aroma of something sweet is making its way down the hall, and through the cracks of the perfectly painted door, which causes my stomach to make a grumbling noise. I’m starving and my body is reacting to the smell of something wonderful. It feels like forever since my senses have endured a scent so perfect. It’s almost foreign to me now. The wellness center has a strict all-green policy. If I see a salad or green vegetable anytime soon I might throw up on sight.

I toss my legs gently over the side of the bed and glance at the clock on the table next to me. Seven thirty?! Did I really pass out for over two hours?! I don’t even remember falling asleep.

Unable to stay away from the kitchen a moment longer I make my way toward the door. I hear Mo jump off the bed after me. I stop to glance back at him. The second I come to a standstill he does as well. His black and white ears are flat against his head and his skinny tail is pasted down between his legs, displaying his fear. He’s terrified, as if at any moment something awful is going to happen to him. I shake my head and open the door to enter the hallway.

“Yeah, that makes two of us,” I say, making sure I leave the door open behind me so he can catch up when he’s ready.

My aunt Jenna is standing in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by a variety of supplies. Pots and pans overflow the counters, along with assorted spices, sliced vegetables, and assorted sauces. A huge pot of something is steaming slowly on the stove, the cause of the delicious smell I presume.

“Hey.”

Jenna jumps at the sound of my voice, like the idea of me being here in her kitchen is the most extreme thing in the world. “Oh! You scared me!” she says, dropping an oversized spoon on the floor as she regains her balance. Behind me I hear Mo’s paws skid against the kitchen floor, then bolt underneath the table.

“Um, sorry,” I say, not taking my eyes off Mo’s limp body underneath the table.

“Oh no, don’t be,” she says as she pushes her perfect hair off her forehead. “I just get in a zone sometimes when I’m cooking. What about you? Do you like to cook?”

It’s a simple question but I’m still trying to come to terms with this whole situation, still trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say or not say, still trying to figure out what I should do or not do.

“I never really thought about it.” It’s a guarded answer, I know, but I’m at a loss for what else to say.

It could be my imagination, but I swear a sad expression comes across her face for a moment. But then, just as soon as it’s there it’s gone again, and her back is to me.

“Well, I hope you like chili,” she says, rustling around in the cabinet above the stove. She comes down with two huge bowls, which she quickly and effortlessly starts to overflow with chili.

What I want to say is that chili sounds like a five-course feast at the nicest restaurant in the entire country compared to what I’ve been eating for the last 90 days.

But again, I’m not sure this is the best move at the moment.

“Chili is fine.”

If she’s at all disappointed about my apparent indifference to everything she doesn’t let on in any way, shape, or form. I slide into one of the chairs at the table as she makes her way toward me and sets the first bowl down in front of me. Instead of turning away she looks at me expectantly. Hey, I don’t need to be asked twice. I pick up my spoon and take a heaping amount into my mouth in one large gulp. It’s absolutely amazing, hot and spicy, and everything I haven’t had in what feels like a lifetime, all in one quick second.

My expression must be enough for her, because she grins and then turns around and heads back into the kitchen only to emerge a second later with a huge tray of garlic bread in one hand and her own bowl of chili in the other.

“Cooking is my relief. No matter what’s going on downstairs, or what kind of stress I’m under with whatever problems the hotel is having, I can always escape up here and whip something up for myself. Even if it’s just a little something here and there, you know?”

I nod and take a piece of garlic bread from the center of the table, wasting no time at all biting into half of it. The garlic melts on my tongue, allowing me to feel warm all over. Now this is what I call a welcome home dinner.

The food is perfect. My room is perfect. But my mind body and soul are nowhere near at ease. Everything about the situation is just eerie to me. Part of me wants to sit there and keep my mouth shut, to sit there and eat food I haven’t experienced in weeks and pretend like everything is okay. Pretend that nothing is wrong and that I’m completely and totally fine with this situation. But it’s a lie. And it’s one thing to lie to my father or Missy who did what they did to me without any thought or worry about the emotional damage it could do to me in the long term, but it’s another to lie to my aunt.

The guilt I feel come up when I think about lying to her is strong, and I can’t exactly put my finger on why that is.

Maybe it’s because she’s never done anything horrible to me. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t done anything to me period. Or maybe it’s because a part of me, a very small part, still doubts this could actually be happening. How could I now be expected to live with an aunt I didn’t even know existed less than twenty-four hours ago? I feel like pinching myself and hoping like hell that when I wake up I’ll be safely tucked back inside my warm house, snug in bed with only Nathan’s perfect body on my mind.

I can hear Dr. Morgan’s voice inside my head, drilling the same thing over and over again into my mind. Through months of one-on-one sessions she hammered away at how important it is to be honest about my emotions, about how I can’t hold what I feel inside. And that’s exactly what I’ve been doing with all of this Nathan stuff. That’s all I’ve been doing period. And I don’t want to do it with my Aunt Jenna. A huge part of my soul is telling me she has absolutely no idea what she’s getting herself into. As sorry as I’m feeling for myself at the moment, I feel even more sorry for her.

“I never knew you existed before today.”

The words spill out of my mouth so fast that I literally feel like I should place my hands over my lips to stop myself from saying anything else damaging. The perfect smile that’s been on my aunt’s face since I met her instantly falls away and is replaced with a look of confusion. And then, with what I think is sadness.

She doesn’t talk for what feels like forever. Part of me wants to say something else to her, something to comfort her, something to let her know that it isn’t her fault that my dad is selfish and the only person he really cares about is himself. But it’s hard for me to get over the look of surprise that’s still shining on her face. Isn’t she used to him by now? Doesn’t she know who her own brother is?

“Well, that’s interesting.”

Her words are strained, like it’s actually the least interesting thing she’s ever heard. I hate the look in her eyes, like maybe she feels like she’s somehow been betrayed.

It’s an emotion I’ve struggled with myself for a while. I felt it every morning when I woke up to those same white walls, every Tuesday and Thursday when they handed out mail and I had nothing to open, but mostly I felt it every Sunday when everyone would line up to go see who was there to visit them that week and I would stay in my room with the door safely closed. The first month in the center was filled with tears, but after that I came to terms with everything that was happening to me. That’s when I started to become numb.

If I’m being honest with myself, it’s really Eric who helped to pull me out of it.

Eric showed me I was going to make it through. It’s his friendship that I’m most grateful for.

“I didn’t know if you knew,” I say.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t. I mean, I never… your father and me have a complicated past. But he did make out like you at least knew I existed.”

“I didn’t. Well, I mean, maybe I did. I have a memory. Well, it’s more like a snapshot. Of a bunny, but that’s it.”

“A bunny?” her voice falls flat. “But that’s impossible. I sent birthday cards and Christmas cards and well…letters. I just figured they weren’t ready, I never imagined…I didn’t know...”

“Weren’t ready for what?” I ask.

She looks at me like she’s just realizing I’m still there. “Nothing, I…I have some calls to make before bed. If you’ll excuse me.”

And then suddenly I’m alone again, something all too familiar to me these days.

Chapter Five

I stay up all night writing. At first I’m just staring at the ceiling of my room trying to make heads or tails out of the static that’s swirling around in my mind. I tiptoe out into the kitchen to find a notebook and a pen. Once I do I begin to write. I write everything I’m stressed about. I write about being scared of going back to school, about how I still haven’t talked to Angelina, about how scared I am to have to tell her what my life has been like without her. I write about the stress of having to figure out what to do about Stephanie still having my journal, and about how I’m scared she’s going to show Mrs.

Newington at any time. I write about how I miss Eric, how I wish he was here with me. I write about how I’m scared something awful is going to happen with me and my aunt, how I’m scared somehow my only hope at freedom is going to get messed up, about how my dad and Missy don’t seem to care how long I’m gone for, or that maybe they made the wrong decision by sending me away to begin with.

Mostly though, I write about Nathan. I write about his eyes, about his arms, about his perfect body. I write about his soul, and about how safe he makes me feel. I write about the emotions he brings out of me, and about how much I didn’t realize how little I’m living without him. But mostly I write about how much I miss him, about how nervous I am to see him again, and about how I don’t know how to act, how I don’t know what to say.

I write until I can’t write anymore. And by five in the morning I’ve filled up twelve pages. When I’m done, I flip through the pages, looking at my curvy writing, at the words that seem to flow so easily. It’s so strange, getting out what’s supposed to be the hard part. Coming back to my world is supposed to be a relief. So, why does it seem like things are more complicated than ever? Why does it seem like the work is just now beginning?

Mo moves a little closer to me from his spot at the bottom of the bed and I sigh.

He hasn’t slept much all night either, probably because he can’t bring himself to relax with me scribbling away like a crazy person. I left the door open in case he wanted to leave me, but he hasn’t moved all night.

“You can come closer,” I say slowly.

He perks his ears up a tiny little bit.

“Come up here,” I pat the pillow slowly next to me. He’s startled at the contact my hand makes with the pillow and quickly jumps down off the bed, instantly retreating underneath again. I sigh as I throw my feet off the side of bed.

I’ve held off making coffee for as long as I could. But now my body is craving it, missing it. Coffee is something we could only have three times a week at the wellness center. Each time it was served out of a tiny white cup, and each time with only a little milk in it, if we desired. Needless to say, my caffeine dependent body has suffered majorly.

I walk out into the kitchen and quickly realize everything is foreign to me here. I have no idea where the coffee pot is, or even the coffee for that matter. I feel a little weird snooping around for things, but I figure it’s kind of like my house now too, not to mention my aunt never came out of her room after our little discussion last night. It’s enough to make me feel even more awful than I already do.

I cleared the table before going to my room last night and wrapped up the left over chili myself. And from the looks of the kitchen, no one has been in here since dinner. I open the cabinets, scanning up and down slowly, trying my best not to make noise as I find my way through each part of the kitchen.

I swear I saw some sugar and Splenda in here last night, so she must have coffee somewhere. I mean doesn’t everyone have coffee nowadays? I start moving a little faster through the kitchen, being careful not to make too much noise, but at the same time my caffeine fix is taking over the better part of my body now.

I make my way through the cabinets above the stove, and then the dishwasher. I turn to check around the island in the center of the kitchen when my foot brushes against something. Mo screeches loudly, as if I’d hit him as hard as I possibly could over his furry little head. I jump back, just as startled, as he scurries his little body as fast as his paws will carry him over to the kitchen table, throwing his body under it, crying loudly the entire time.

“Oh, come on,” I say, hissing loudly as I kneel down and push my body across the kitchen floor. “I barely touched you.” He answers me with a loud cry back. “Come on out, I’m sorry, really.” Another high-pitched cry. “It was really just a slight brush. A love tap even.”

“Victoria?” the overhead lights flicker on as my aunt’s voice suddenly fills the kitchen. So much for making a nice quiet cup of coffee.

“Sorry,” I say, jumping up. “Sorry, I was just making coffee, or trying to, and I just didn’t see him and…”

She’s wearing a pair of pink silk pajama pants with a matching tank top and a thick white rope hanging over her shoulders. It looks expensive, just like everything else she has that I’ve seen.

“Is he okay?” she asks, allowing a small smile to creep across her face.

“I think so. I barely even touched him.”

“He’s kind of scared of his own shadow, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Mo sticks his little head out from under the table and then jumps back as soon as he makes eye contact with me. “Yeah, I kind of got that.”

“He likes you though, that’s for sure.”

I look down at his little frame again trying to make out his body in the shadow of the tablecloth. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh trust me, he does,” she says laughing. “Tonight’s the first night he hasn’t slept in my room with me since I got him.”

“Really?” I ask curiously, in spite of myself.

“Yes,” she says, making her way to the other side of the kitchen and around the island. “Coffee’s right here,” she says as she pulls open a drawer next to the stove and takes out a bag. She then pulls open a larger drawer underneath and pulls out what looks like the fanciest coffee pot I’ve ever seen.

She plugs it into the wall effortlessly and drags the extendable faucet over and starts to fill it to the top with water.

“When room service opens at six they’ll bring you up anything you want. I’ll have to show you how to do that.”

I nod and make my way over to where she’s standing, my body is now positioned right next to her. “Thanks. I think coffee is up there on the list of things I missed the most.”

She looks almost sympathetic for a second, and then a little uncomfortable.

“I want to tell you that I’m sorry for the way that I acted last night,” she says, pushing her perfectly highlighted hair behind her ears and pausing. “I guess it just kind of caught me off guard. Your father made out like you at least knew you had an aunt, even though we were never close.”

I open the bag of coffee slowly and pour a little into the filter she set on the counter next to the pot. “Well that doesn’t really surprise me, my dad’s kind of selfish.”

“Yeah, I guess we all are at times.”

I want to say more. I want to let her know that my dad brings selfishness to a whole new level, but I get this vibe that whatever the situation is with her and my dad it’s a sensitive one, and I don’t want to push her on it. Not yet, at least.

“I’m sure we will all get together and talk about it once you settle in a little bit.”

“Can’t wait.”

She smiles at my sarcasm, pulls a few mugs out of the dishwater, and starts to fill them with the hot liquid that’s brewing a few inches away from her hands. “So how do you feel about going back to school tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I ask her, kind of shocked in spite of myself. I mean, clearly I knew I had to go back to school. I guess I just didn’t realize it would be so soon.

The terror must be evident on my face because she backtracks quickly. “Oh, no, you’re not ready? It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. We can give you a few more days…a week even.”

A huge part of me wants to put it off as long as I can, wants to retreat back into my room and pull the covers over my head and never have to face anything or anyone ever again. But somewhere in the back of my mind I hear a tiny voice whispering Nathan’s name to me, and I know school is the only place that I’m going to have a chance to see him, at least anytime soon. And that fact alone is enough to make me want to go today, let alone tomorrow.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I say, trying not to sound too eager. “The sooner I get back to the real world the better.”

She beams. “My thoughts exactly. And that’s what I told your father and Missy too.”

“What you told them about what?” I ask, taking a sip out of the warm cup of caffeine. Ahh, instant pleasure fills my body. The idea that I can have coffee anytime I want now is enough to make me cry out with joy.

I make my way over to where Mo is slowly creeping out from under the table. His cute little head is resting on his paws as he looks at me cautiously. I’m dying to find out exactly what it is my aunt told dad and Missy about MY life, but I don’t want it to seem like I want to know that badly. That’s one thing I learned from Eric; it’s better to not let people know what you’re thinking every second, or that you’re too eager about something. It’s easier to get more information out of them that way. The less you appear you want to know, the better.

“That you needed to get back to your life! They thought it was a horrible idea for you to go back to your school because Nathan will be there. But I would only agree to let you stay with me if you got to stay at that school. I mean, you already missed so much time. I wasn’t going to let you come back and have to start all over someplace else!”

Of course my dad and Missy want to keep me away from my school. Of course they want to keep me away from Nathan. Not a surprise at all. What I want to say is that nothing is going to keep me away from Nathan, not even being at a different school, not even shipping me off to a boot camp for disturbed teens. Nothing. But like so many other things these days, I can’t say what I really want to.

“Well I’m glad you did. It would be really hard to not come back to my friends.” I take a slow step backwards as Mo scrambles under the table again. Damn, you would think I beat him or something.

My aunt nods like she understands. I mean, I really only have one friend there, but no need to tell her this. It’s not like I’m exactly proud of it.

“So, your dad is supposed to send over some of your clothes later today, but I went ahead and ordered some things for you myself. If you don’t like them it’s ok, just leave them and I’ll have someone take them back at some point.” She waves her hands in the air like it’s no big deal.

“I’m sure whatever you got for me is fine. I don’t exactly have a good style sense, or any for that matter.”

My aunt laughs loudly and sets her mug down on the counter. “I’m going to get ready and head downstairs to make the morning rounds. You can come with me if you like and meet the staff. Or you can hang around here if you don’t mind being alone for a while.”

“I think I’ll stay,” I say, finishing off what’s left in my cup of coffee.

My aunt nods like she expected me to say as much, and then heads back toward the hallway where her bedroom is.

“Oh,” she stops and turns before she completely disappears from my view, “in the nightstand next to your bed there’s a phone. Your dad didn’t mention anything about bringing you one so I just added you to my plan. My number is already programmed inside.”

“Wow, my doctor said she didn’t think I would have that kind of freedom for a while.”

My aunt laughs softly. “Victoria, you’re a sixteen year old girl. I’m not so naive to think that you don’t need a phone. Besides, I trust you.”

The words echo throughout the room for what feels like forever. She trusts me.

Trust.

She’s gone before I can even begin to come up with a response.

***

You never really know how attached you are to your cell phone until you lose it.

It’s something you can carry around with you every single day without a second thought, like you will have it forever. The truth is though, it’s a very powerful thing. It connects you to the people you need, the people you want, and maybe even to some people you don’t want to want.

The phone my Aunt Jenna has waiting for me in the drawer is now sitting on my bed like it’s the very first present I see under the tree on Christmas morning. It’s a clean, white iPhone, sparkling and perfect. Mo and I are just sitting side by side on my bed staring at it.

I should just call her, I say to myself for what feels like the one hundred thousandth time. It’s just you can’t really have this type of conversation over the phone, you know?

Mo takes a tiny step farther away from me, letting me know that yes, he is listening, but that I shouldn’t try for anything more, because if I do he will run and hide, leaving me to have conversations with myself instead of my aunt’s dog.

I’ve had Angelina’s number memorized for as long as I can remember. I’ve dialed it a hundred million times. So how can I be having so much trouble dialing it just this once? One time.

I’m just so overwhelmed. I’ve already decided to tell her the truth about what happened to me. She’s my best friend. There’s no way in hell she’ll ever believe I ran off for three months and didn’t even bother to call her to let her know, especially because she knows how crazy I am about Nathan.

Plus, she can totally tell when I’m lying. No way in hell is she buying any bullshit story about a long lost aunt I’ve been all too happy to run off with.

For the moment, however, I have to deal with the fact that I really don’t know anything about this phone. I mean, what if my aunt is like monitoring my calls? Or printing off my text messages to make sure that I’m staying on track? It sounds crazy, I know, but does it really? Up until not too long ago I thought someone getting taken from his or her bed in the middle of the night and brought to a boot camp was crazy, but somehow that happened to me. Why can’t this?

There’s a loud knock on my bedroom door. I push the phone quickly under the pillow like it’s a piece of forbidden fruit someone might take away if they see me with it.