Believe: (Intermix) (True Believers) (20 page)

“So what, every time you have a crisis, you’re going to reach for the bottle?”

Ouch. That hurt. That just hurt. Even though I knew he came from a background of broken promises and addiction, damn it, it still hurt. It was insulting. It felt like he was lashing out at me, and so I lashed back, still physically ill and needing a kiss, not condemnation.

So I said, “Like you reach for the tire iron? Yeah, I heard about what you did to Nathan’s car. And that you started to beat the shit out of him but were stopped. Am I going to have to worry that you’ll lose your shit and wind up back in jail? What if you kill someone next time?”

It was so the wrong thing to say.

He exploded, leaping off the table and flipping it onto its side. “Oh, so this is my fault? Is that what you’re saying? My crazy draws out the worst in people?”

That was not what I meant at all, and it felt like he was purposefully misunderstanding me. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down.” His hands raked through his hair back and forth with a rapid urgency. He paced across the room, his fists clenching and unclenching. “And you know what? I wish I had killed that asshole who was raping my mother. I wanted to. Another five minutes and I would have. And I wouldn’t have been sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? You want to hear that I’m fucked in the head? Well, I am. There you go.”

Completely unsure what to say to him, I just stared at him in disbelief, my heart beating so fast I felt short of breath. I didn’t even know this side of him, and it was a little scary. “No one is saying there’s anything wrong with you.”

“My mother did. She always did. And I know there is. But I can control it. But not when I see the girl I love unconscious on the fucking floor!” He made a sound of pure frustration and kicked the side of the table he’d turned.

I was too tired to do this. I smelled like stale vomit and hospital antiseptic, and my hand still shook when I held it out. I didn’t want to do this. “Maybe we’re not good for each other,” I murmured, weary. “You said that when we started dating, and maybe you were right.”

Because all I was hearing was that I reminded him too much of his mother and that he couldn’t deal with that. Well, I couldn’t deal with being put in the same category as her. It felt like in that case, love was altogether too close to hate.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asked, looking wounded.

“It means I want you to drive me home, to my parents’ house. I’m going to tell them I have the flu and I’m going to stay there for a few days. You can drive my car back here. I’ll get a ride when I’m ready to come back.”

“You’re leaving me?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“You just got done telling me I stress you out, so this will be a good break for both of us.” There was a lump in my throat, and I didn’t think it was really going to be any sort of good for me, but I couldn’t stay there. Not with Kylie exiled to Tyler and Riley’s and Phoenix looking at me like I disgusted him.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Ignoring him, I stood up, shooing away his arm when he tried to help me. It was about an hour too damn late to be suddenly considerate. I was pissed and hurt and I wanted to be alone. Honest to God, truly alone.

Maybe I could finish what I had started this summer, figuring out who I was, in a safe place.

Without a word, I went into my room and started packing a bag, my head still spinning, but adrenaline pushing me through. I stepped into giant pajama pants and pulled on a tank top.

He stood in the doorway. “Robin. Baby. Are you breaking up with me?”

“No.” Exasperated and light-headed, I sat down on my bed. “Unless you want me too.” So passive-aggressive, but I needed a freakin’ bone here. I was tired of being the bad person. Worn down from the guilt. I needed him to say he loved me no matter what.

“Of course not. Unless you want
me
to.”

This was stupid. “Just get my keys. They’re in my purse. And seriously, Phoenix, do not tell my parents what happened. It will scare them.”

He snorted.

“What?” Enough with the attitude.

“Nothing.” He put his hands out, which further irritated me. “It’s just that you don’t seem particularly worried about the fact that you scared the shit out of
me
.”

“This isn’t about you!” I screamed. “This is about me! Me! About my feelings! For once, just once, it’s fucking about me!”

I’m not even sure where that came from. But it just felt like the scream I’d been holding in all summer came roaring out.

And it kind of felt good to get it out, to hear my voice, strong and loud again.

Phoenix just reached out and yanked my bag out of my hand to carry for me, and turned and stalked off.

“Thanks,” I said, and yes, that was sarcasm.

Chapter Seventeen

Phoenix

It took everything I had not to just deposit Robin in her car and go running down the street in a hard sprint to expel all the anger and frustration from my body. Did she have any clue how close to dying she had come? I had expected tears, apologies, sad Robin, but aside from looking like she needed a nap, she didn’t look upset. In fact, she acted like she had done nothing different the night before than any other night.

Well, maybe it was easy for her to pretend like it hadn’t happened since she didn’t even remember it, but for me? Not so fucking easy.

And she had screamed at me. And said fuck, which she almost never said.

Leaning against the window, she had her eyes closed, which was basically a “don’t talk to me,” which didn’t help me from being pissed off.

Because getting pissed was what I did when I was scared and damn it, she had terrified me. I had thought she was dead for a second there. And then just when I was starting to catch my breath, she turned her back on me and acted like she wanted to break up with me.

So yeah, I was in a bad place, and when I’m in a bad place, I lash out.

Jesus. Just like my mother.

That was not a good thought to be having.

But how could Robin be mad at me? How the fuck would she feel if she’d had to watch EMTs rushing her to the hospital? Watch the doctor examine her while she mumbled weird shit incoherently . . . It had been awful, and I couldn’t help it if I wasn’t able to just be like all casual over her almost drinking herself to death.

“Where are we going?” I asked her. “What is your parents’ address?”

“Take 75 north to 275 west,” she said, voice tired. “Mt. Healthy exit.”

“Okay. Do you want anything?” I asked as I started driving. “We can stop at the store.”

“No.”

Silence.

“I want a coffee so I’m going through the drive-thru.”

Silence.

That was worse than her shrieking at me. “Baby, talk to me.”

“I’m tired,” was all she said.

“I know.” I felt like a dick for yelling at her earlier, for not leaving it alone until she at least had some time to recover. But hell, was I really the best person to take care of her for the next day or two? What did I know about being nurturing or whatever? Nothing. Maybe her being with her mom was the best thing for her right now, and when she was feeling better, we could talk. We could work all this out and be back to where we should be.

I couldn’t imagine going through this again, but I also couldn’t imagine not being with Robin. Both hurt. It all just hurt so much that there was a tight knot in my gut and a pain in my chest and I wanted to punch a wall until those loosened up and I was breathless and my fists were bloody. Until the pain was concentrated in sore muscles, burning lungs, and bleeding, broken skin. Not in my heart.

“Do you want me to pack up some clothes for you later and bring them out to you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Her voice was calm, passive.

It made me crazy. Desperate. I wanted to get some kind of reaction from her. I wanted to both take care of her and shake her.

Twenty minutes of silence stretched out as I drove and she pretended to sleep. I knew she wasn’t actually dozing because her foot went up and down in a rhythm that she never seemed to notice but generally made me want to put my hand on her knee to stop it. It was like an agitated bounce that made me tense, because it meant she was tense.

By the time we got off the exit and she gave me terse directions to her parents’ house, a seventies split-level with overgrown bushes, I was on the verge of explosion.

Unfortunately, right then the garage door went up and I saw movement. Her parents and a tiny woman I took to be her grandmother came out onto the driveway, looking surprised. Robin opened her door and got out, so I did the same.

“Robin, are you okay?” her mother asked, barely even glancing at me.

“I have the flu,” she said, and the lie didn’t sound convincing to my ears, but her mother seemed to buy it. “I was sick all night and I just wanted to come home.” She burst into tears. “I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Her mother pulled her into a hug. “We were just going to church, but I’ll stay home with you. Daddy can take Nona.”

Those tears were what I had been waiting for. The fact that she saved them for her mother didn’t sit well with me. I stood there, feeling unwanted and unneeded, tossing the keys around my finger.

Her grandmother was staring at me, and I was aware of her dark eyes assessing my tattoos, my hair, my clothes.

“Is this your
chillo
, Robin?”

“Nona!” Her father shot his mother a glare. Then he stuck his hand out to me. “I’m Juan, Robin’s father. Thanks for bringing her home.”

“I’m Phoenix. Nice to meet you.” I didn’t know what a
chillo
was, but apparently no one was supposed to ask that.

“Well, for heaven’s sake, let’s go in the house,” her mother said. “I’m Julia, by the way. And this is Nona.”

Nona glared at me.

Juan and Julia. Robin’s mother had delicate features and hair that might have been dark brown, but that she now dyed a deep red. Her father had black hair shot with silver, and they were both of average height and average build. They were attractive and looked like they belonged together, exchanging glances that showed they knew what the other was thinking or feeling at any given moment. The fact that they were sixty only added to the contrast between their stability and my mother’s hot mess of a life.

“Do you need me to move the car so you can leave?” I asked her father.

“We’re not going,” Nona declared. “I’ll watch mass on TV. Take Robin in the house, Julia.”

Her father gave me an amused look. “I guess we’re not going. This was a waste of a dress shirt.”

I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t quite make it happen. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to leave or go in the house with them, and I felt uncomfortable. This whole normal family thing was something I both envied and hated. I didn’t know how to do this.

But Nona came up to me and wrapped her arm around mine. “Help me into the house.”

That didn’t leave me many options but to walk with her back through the garage.

“Is Phoenix your real name?”

Again with the name. Thanks, Mom. “Yes.”

“Was your mother a hippie?”

If hippie could be defined as drug user, then yes. “No, not necessarily. She just wanted my name to be unusual.”

“She succeeded.”

“Don’t mind her,” Robin’s mother said as she led Robin into the house. “Nona thinks because she’s old that gives her the right to say whatever she is thinking.”

“It does,” Nona told me. “I’ll be a hundred years old this year, you know.”

“Wow,” I said, surprised. She had thin skin and even thinner hair, but she didn’t look that old. “That’s amazing.”

“She is not,” Robin’s father said, sounding annoyed. “She’s trying to impress you.”

“How do you know?” she asked. “A woman’s age is a secret.”

“You told me you were twenty-seven when I was born.”

“Maybe I lied.”

He rolled his eyes.

I liked Nona. She was jacked up, and I understood that better than nice and normal.

But once inside, she went into the kitchen with Robin’s mother to watch, and I’m guessing to criticize, the making of tea for Robin while her father retreated upstairs, probably to change out of the dress shirt. Robin lay on the couch, an afghan spread over her by her mother. I hovered in front of her like a jackass, wanting to pace but forcing myself to stand still.

“Your family is nice.”

“Yeah, they are.” Her hair was snarled and limp, and the skin under her eyes was bruised. As she folded her hands under her cheek, they trembled a little.

It killed me to see her looking like that.

“What is a
chillo
?”

“A lover.”

“Oh.” What a retro word. But it said so much more than boyfriend. It seemed weighted down with passion and intensity, and I realized I kind of liked that. What we had shared, it was beyond just crushing on each other, and it was part of the reason I was standing there agonized.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I was annoyed to see it was Davis, wanting to meet up with me.

Seeing Robin here, in this normal house, made me wonder if she was right—if we weren’t good for each other. How could she ever tell her parents I was a convicted felon? How could I ever fit in to her life? And how could I ever be the support she needed when the thought of her drinking just pissed me off?

She was definitely right about one thing—we both needed space. I couldn’t stand here waiting for a scrap of attention, a sign of any sort of emotional attachment.

It was fucking pathetic, and I wasn’t doing it.

“I guess I’ll head back,” I said. “Unless you need anything.”

“I’m okay.” She finally looked at me. Really, truly looked at me. “I’ll call you in a few days.”

In a few days? She was dismissing me? Telling me to go away?

Fuck that.

“You can’t just snap your fingers and make me disappear,” I said. “We need to talk about stuff, not ignore it.”

“You said you would never throw it in my face, but you did.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“I said I’d never throw what you did with Nathan in your face, but I have a right to be upset about the drinking.” I was using a low voice, conscious of her family nearby. “And you threw my anger in my face, too, so I’d say we’re even.”

“It’s not a contest. Just give me a few days, please, just some space.”

“You can’t hide every time something bad happens. You can’t shut down.” Didn’t she see that’s what she did? She retreated and withdrew.

A tear trailed down her cheek. “And you can’t hurt me every time you’re scared. You promised to hold up the sky for me, Phoenix.”

That cut me as deeply as a bowie knife. Most of my life I’d been a failure in one way or another. I sucked at school. I sucked at friendship. I sucked at being a good son.

But I had wanted more than anything to be a good boyfriend to Robin. To have the outside action match the love I felt on the inside.

To hear that I had fucked that up, too, well, I couldn’t handle it.

“That’s not fucking fair,” I told her. “I’ve always had your back. This wasn’t something little. I found you unconscious! I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to get you to see how messed up last night was.”

“I am very much aware of how messed up I am. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Now you’re purposefully misunderstanding me.”

“Just leave. Please.”

Damn. That was rough. It must have showed on my face because she winced. “I’m sorry, that didn’t sound right. I didn’t mean to be hurtful.”

But I shook my head. It was too ingrained in me to be strong, to hide my feelings. I had spent a lifetime pretending my mother didn’t hurt me. I wasn’t about to admit that Robin had and could. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I said. “You can’t hurt me.”

Without saying another word, because I knew I would lose it, say something really ugly, I turned and left.

It wasn’t until I got out onto the main road heading for the highway that I allowed myself to shout in the empty car in pure frustration.

“Damn it!” I pounded the steering wheel and wondered why the hell I had to meet Robin if I wasn’t going to get to be with her.

Because the right thing to do would be to walk out of her life for good and let her become the person she was supposed to be, a graphic designer with an accountant husband and a house in the suburbs. Not saddled with a loser who had a record and no money.

But when I got back to her place to drop her car off and walk home, I went inside for some sick, masochistic reason. I headed straight toward the oil paintings she had been working on. Flipping through them one at a time, I saw the dark emotions she had clearly been pushing out through her art.

I lay on the bed—
our
bed—and stared at the ceiling, remembering the way she had looked at me on my birthday and the first time we’d had sex, her eyes all soft and warm.

Then I stole a picture of us smiling for the camera that she had printed and tucked into the mirror on the door and I left.

***

Four days. Four whole days went by and I didn’t hear a single word from her.

I didn’t text or call her either, but I was just doing what she asked me to do. Giving her space.

Space sucked.

It sucked hard.

I was going crazy, the days endless, the nights worse. I slept on my cousins’ couch, or pretended to sleep. Mostly I lay there, thoughts turning in a whirlpool in my mind, wondering what I was supposed to do. Wondering whose idea of a joke this bullshit was. Hadn’t I been handed enough crap in life? Now I had to love someone only to have her fade out of my life?

No. It was just bull-fucking-shit.

“You could call her,” Tyler said to me Thursday night as I sat watching TV with Jayden, and he saw me check my phone for the seven hundredth time.

“Mind your own business.”

Tyler made a face at me. “Fine. Be miserable.”

Rory and Jessica were in the kitchen, and I had purposely avoiding asking them about Robin. I didn’t even know if either of them had talked to her. It felt too much like begging to ask them about her.

“I will, thanks.” I was. I was dying to know how Robin was. If she had told her parents the truth. If she was physically feeling better. If she were missing classes. If she hated my face.

My hands were swollen and bruised, scabbing over, from all the boxing I had been doing in the basement. I had been tempted to go over Nathan’s car a second time, but I had resisted. He had shown up to get it on Monday but he hadn’t come into the house and he hadn’t said anything about the condition to Tyler. I figured he was waiting for the right time to get even with me. Whatever. He was an idiot if he didn’t realize I would enjoy it. I didn’t even feel bad that I had put Tyler in an awkward position. His friend was an asshole, end of story.

“She’s coming back tomorrow. Rory told me.”

Then I should probably stop sneaking over to her apartment and stealing random shit and lying on her bed. It was weird, and I knew it was weird, but it made me feel close to her. In one moment of weakness I had even left a card for her on her dresser, and now it was too late to get it back. I mean, seriously, a greeting card? I had never bought one in my entire life and, first of all, was shocked to see they cost like three bucks, but secondly, it was absolutely cheesedick of me. Lame.