Count on Me (2 page)

“Why?” I ask, cu
rious. “I thought everyone liked having the house to themselves?”

She shrugs before writing on the pad again, this time slower than before.

Serial killers enjoy coming for people that are home alone. Like that one Scream guy, except he likes calling first.

I read what she wrote and I laugh. Loud. I really tried to keep it in
, but I couldn’t. I wonder if that’s part of her thing, blending fiction with reality. Focusing on that made it easier not to focus on the first part. I didn’t want to think about how much truth there is to her serial killer comment.

Wexfield, Ontario is a pretty small to
wn, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have crime. In fact, we had a couple murders a few years ago that still weren’t solved.

Yeah, this is definitely not a place I want my mind goin
g right now or I’m not sure how comfortable I’ll feel leaving her alone. Shaking it off, I look up and catch her eyes locked on me. Shit, did I wait too long to respond?

“I think you’re pretty safe here. Serial killers only come for the really dumb blondes anyway.”

It was supposed to be a joke but the way her eyes well up with tears, I know she took it the wrong way. Damnit, even when I think I’m doing the right thing, it still turns out wrong. I really am the fuck up Dean says I am.

“Isabelle, please don’t cry. I don’t know how you took what I said, but it’s wrong if it
’s making you cry.”

She wipes at her eyes before turning back down to the paper in front of her and writing away again. After a couple of minutes go by and she’s still going, I lean over and try to catch some of what she might be trying to tell me. Just a
s I’m able to catch a few words, she lifts her head and it smacks clear into my nose.

I feel the burn immediately,
but as I wipe at it with my fingers, I’m happy to see there’s no blood. She’s got one hell of a head butt, but not one that can beat my made of steel nose.

Making out the paper in front of me, I see the words
‘I’m sorry’
first. In an effort to make sure she knows she has nothing to be sorry for, that it was my dumb ass idea to bend over her, I reach out and touch her hand.

I don’
t know how she reacts to touch. It’s been too long since I’ve spent any real time with her, but she doesn’t jump and that makes me feel pretty good. I don’t understand this. I’m not supposed to give two shits about this girl, so why is it that the simplest things she does and the way she reacts get to me this way?

“It’s my fault, I was being nosy.”

You’re a nosy walker.

Again on the paper
in front of me is a happy face. It’s almost as if the damn smile has some kind of spell over me, because I’m smiling again. Even her cheesy joke has the desired effect. Instead of being a nosy parker, I’m a nosy walker. I think I’ve smiled more since getting in the car with her today then I have in the last ten years.

“Now that you’v
e officially made me never want to be nosy again, can I see what you were writing?”

Nodding, she passes me the pad and as my eyes run down the page of things we
’ve said, I stop dead the second I see what it is she was so furiously writing before the head butt.

If they come for the really dumb blonde girls like you sa
y, then it means they’re sure to come for me. I’m retarded and that’s even worse than being dumb. I want to be like Super Girl and fight back, but I would probably just get scared, pee my pants and cry like the big, stupid baby I am.

I don’t know much, b
ut what I do know is, the minute I get to school tomorrow and see Dillon; he’s a dead man. The problem is, if I blame him then I have to blame myself too. The guys on the team aren’t the only ones that called her all those names and thought things about her. I have too. I’m just as guilty as they are, maybe even more so because for the first ten years of our lives, we were sort of friends.

“None of that is true, Isabelle. Shit, I’m sorry. We never should have said those things about you. We’re all just a bunch of dicks.”

She sits still and silent for so long I start to worry. Before I can ask her, she turns to me, the tears from earlier present in the corner of her eyes and I’m left with the horrible feeling that I’m the cause and there’s nothing I can do to fix it.

You said those things about me?

The way I see it, there’s only two ways I can handle this. I can lie to her, tell her I just worded things wrong, or, I could do the right thing and tell her the truth. I didn’t just say those things about her like everyone else.

I’m the one that got everyone saying them to begin with.

I’m a complete pussy though, so I go with a third option, one that I know almost as well as I do lying. I evade the question and change the subject.

“Isabelle, look. I
think you should get out and go home now. I know you’re afraid to go in alone, but you need to get cleaned up.”

It’s a dick move, but it’s me, so it really shouldn’t come as a surprise. I can’t answer her questions because I can’t hurt her, at least not this way. If I tell her the truth, I will break her, so being a mean asshole is the only way I can go now. Better she hates me for making fun of her then learning the real reason she gets made fun of at all.

She picks up the pad and quickly scribbles out one final statement before undoing her seatbelt, opening the door and sliding out, slamming the door behind her. It’s only when I’ve watched her make her way across her lawn and inside her house that I dare look down at her final words to me.

The circle of pain has been completed as I read it. I’ve done exactly what I set out to do. I’ve made her believe me to be the dickhead I already know I am.

It’s only two words and a sad face, but it’s the impact of those things that makes everything that much worse. Scribbled on the paper I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from, is the simplest of statements yet the hardest at the same time.

Goodbye Kayden.

As I pull out of her driveway and peel forward into my own, it hits me. If I’m the bad person I think I am and I want her to stay away from me, why does the sad face hurt so god damned much?

Chapter Two

Belle

I’m such an idiot.

When he was asking me questions in the car, I really thought he might be one of the
good guys. Despite knowing it was his friends that did everything to me earlier, I thought by saving me and taking me out of there, he was proving he actually cared.

Kayden Walker is no better than the friends that lied to get me in the parking lot. He just did a good deed for the d
ay by taking me home; otherwise, he’s the exact same way he’s always been, at least for the last eight years.

I watched out the window a little
and he stayed parked there. He’s probably calling up Dillon and the others, apologizing for what he did to them. Letting them know that next time they wanted to come after me, he wouldn’t stand in their way.

He never should have stepped in back there. He should have kept on walking when Dillon called to him. They could have done anything they wanted and no one would be fighting. I could
have gotten home some other way then his car, where it was warm and for a little while, comfortable.

I don’t think he realized j
ust how close I came to speaking to him in the driveway. I wanted to say things because I was feeling pretty comfortable, at least until he said sorry for the names people call me. Everything changed after that and now I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to speak in front of him again.

It’s probably better
that way. Come tomorrow morning, everything will go back to normal. We’ll pass in the halls and ignore each other just like we always have. It’s been that way for years, but now it upsets me and I don’t want it to. I don’t want Kayden and his stupid words to affect me.

I know what I need.

The first time I came home from school in tears, baking had been my mom’s way to make me feel better. She’s pretty short, so she grabbed one of the kitchen chairs, hopped up on it and grabbed all the stuff we’d need to make cookies. We sat in the kitchen, putting it all together and making some of the best cookies I’ve ever tasted. She dished out advice while we waited and by the end of the night, I went to bed with a smile on my face and a full belly. The kids and their taunts were behind me, at least for another day.

It’s
one of the only times I can remember eating them. Mom never bought the packaged ones because I had issues with food or more specifically, with processing foods with harsher textures. Up until about a year ago, she would mash up everything I ate because anything chunky I couldn’t eat at all.

I feel pretty bad about it. She works so hard to make sure that Trista
n and I have everything we need, and because I’m the way I am, she has to bust her butt that much harder. Sometimes, when I think about all the things she does for me; it’s easy to see why she might blame me for the way things turned out. I’m not sure she signed on for this when the doctor told her she was pregnant.

The front door opens as I slide myself
off the counter, but before I can get my bearings; I feel arms wrap around me, spinning me around and the high pitched giggling is a giveaway to exactly who’s behind it.

I love my little brother.
When all of this starts getting to me, Tristan is the one bright spot. I can’t help feeling happy whenever I’m around him. If I wasn’t happy, he would definitely find a way to fix it. That’s how amazing he is. Tristan is a miracle baby. After they had me, my parents were told they couldn’t have any more kids and then six years ago, along came my little brother. I love him more than anything.

With the way he’s hugging me now, I’m starting to think I don’t need the cookies after all.

“Belle! I painted the coolest picture in art today! You totally gotta see it!”

Tristan is what doctors like to call
Neurotypical, which in human speak means, he’s pretty normal, but when he talks about art, it’s like you see a whole other side to him. He fixates on it, which makes him a lot more like me than anyone wants to admit.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Show me already!” I say, jumping u
p and down with him to show how excited I am. It’s acting like this now that everything from earlier fades away. I’m me and I’m okay again, but more than that, I’m back where it’s safe.

He races off in what I hope is the direction of his backpack and almost slams into my mom in the process. She’s doing it again. She went to the store, grabbed
a whole bunch of groceries and is trying to carry them all in herself, instead of just calling ahead and having me meet her.

Grabbing two of the bags o
ff the pile that are stacked over her head, I place them on the counter and watch as she follows suit.

“Thanks honey. I really was
n’t trying to buy out the store.”

“I figured, but you just can’t help yourself.”

“This time, it’s all on your brother. When did he learn how to pout to get his way?”

“The day you brought him home, I think. He’s just smart about when he uses it.”

She laughs and the room goes silent as we both set to work unloading the bags and putting everything away where it goes. That’s another thing that we do because of me. We have every area in the kitchen labeled. Three years ago, my Uncle Joe gave me a label maker and I went around making labels for everything until eventually it became so obsessive that everything had to be put away exactly as it’s labeled.

My mom calls them Belle quirks, but that’s because she’s too nice for her own good. It’s clearly evident that I’m crazy. I don’t have the heart to correct her though, so quirks it is.

“Honey, where did that bruise come from?” she asks as she points to my shoulder.

Crap. I knew there w
as a reason I liked wearing my jacket so much. Now I’m going to have to tell her everything that happened today, something I don’t want to do.

“I bum
ped into something at school, no biggie.”

“What kind of something? Those look like fingers marks.”

I’m getting nervous. I can feel my heart starting to pick up under the scrutiny of her gaze. I really don’t want to talk about this, not when it’s still so fresh. Tristan bringing his picture in right now would be perfect. I need a distraction.

“Isabelle Reagan, tell me what happened right now and don’t even think about lying.”

“Some of the kids…”

“The kids at school did this to you?” she asks, cutti
ng me off before I can tell her everything despite my very strong urge not to.

“Yes, they did, but it’s okay. They were just goofing around. Kayden got me out of there before it went too far.”

This stops her in her tracks. I haven’t mentioned Kayden’s name since he stopped coming over. For me to bring it up now has to knock the wind right out of her.

“Kayden Walker?”

“There’s only one Kayden, Mom.” I answer before turning back to the groceries, putting them away, hoping she’ll drop it now that she knows Kayden brought me home.

“Are you sure it was nothing?”

“Yes. Just kids goofing off. They grabbed me a little too hard, but I’m fine Mom, I swear.”

She’s gonna fall for it because she truly be
lieves that if something were the matter, I would bring it to her.

“Okay
well, I’ll finish up in here and start making dinner. I was thinking Irish stew tonight, that sound okay?”

“Yeah, sounds fine.” I say backing out of the kitchen and going in search of the artwork a certain little brother promised me. As long as I keep myself focused on that, then the events of earlier and more importantly, the ones that happened with Kayden can finally leave my mind once and for all.

Kayden

Th
e minute I step through the door I can tell what kind of night it’s going to be and it puts me even more on edge.

Littered all over the room are beer cans, some of them crushed to b
its, others tipped over and laying in place. There’s an assortment of liquor bottles placed on the bar, looking more drained than they did this morning before I left. The worst part is, the person passed out on the floor in the middle of it.

Dean Wal
ker, my brother. The man that’s well on his way to earning the proud title of town drunk. Sadly, this is a scene I’ve come home to more than once and nothing good ever comes of it.

I have to admit lately, Dean’s been doing better, if there is a better for my brother. He managed to land himself a full time job,
even cleaning up his act for it, which if you know Dean, is a big thing. For the first time since our mom split, I started to believe things would even out again. That instead of coming home to a passed out drunk brother, I’d come home to a real house, with someone who actually gave a shit.

It’s not that I don’t think Dean cares because I know somewhere underneath all the mess, he does. All of this shit is just what happens when you’re twenty-five and get left to raise your kid brother
alone, but is it so wrong that just once I’d like to come home to a clean house? To have a brother that’s awake and smiling instead of passed out or angry?

I’m gonna have to wake him up
, but I really don’t want to. That’s how it always starts. I wake him up, try to sober him up by tossing him in the shower and getting him something to eat, but instead of being thankful, he starts to tell me what a piece of shit I am. It doesn’t take long after that for the beating to start, but that’s not all Dean. He usually pisses me off so bad that I push back, just not with words.

Yeah, I definitely don’t wanna wake him up right now.

I figure the reason he’s home now, instead of at work the way he has been, is because he lost his job and I definitely don’t want to be on the receiving end of the rage he’s got over that.

Leaving him in the mess he created, I head down the hall, closing his door
as I pass on the way to my own. It’s a rule that his door is supposed to be shut all the time, so if he wakes up and sees that in his drunken haze he left it open, I’m the one that’s gonna pay for it.

I push my way into my room and don’t even bother shutting the door behind me. I don’t have the same rule, so right now, all I wanna do is lie down and get the stench of this stupid day off of me and out of my head.

Problem is, I can’t do it. Even walking in and finding my brother passed out in his own filth isn’t enough to get her and what happened out of my head. So what do I do? I pull the damn paper out of my pocket, unfold it and start reading.

There scrawled across the pages are her words to me, answers to my questions, but even more than that, jokes and things that still make me smile. Standing out like neon lights, are the happy faces and even though I turned on her, treating her like shit before kicking her out of my car, I’m still smiling every time I see one of them on the page.

Those happy faces remind me of the way things used to be and despite not wanting to focus on the past because of everything that happened with my mom, I can’t help it. It’s not my mom I remember though. It’s her.

She used to talk to me when I was over at her house. It wasn’t much because her mom said she was a little slower than me with her speech, but the words she did say, I always understood. I actually remember the first time she spoke to me and the way her voice sounded. It had taken so long for it to happen that I actually believed back then that she didn’t have a voice at all.

Guess I know where all the deaf mute comments came from.

Dean
told me things about her before, but I can’t remember much of it now, other than that she’s got some issues. I want to go back out there, wake him up and ask him about it, but his rage kills that idea quick. He’s the only one I can ask though, so maybe when he screws his head on straight and lays off the booze, I’ll bring it up.

My phone vibra
tes, so I stretch out across my bed in an effort to get it out. There’s this part of me that hopes it’s her so I can try and fix what I did, but I know it won’t be. She doesn’t have my number and even if she did, I’m pretty damn sure I’d be the last person she’d want to talk to. As I look at the screen, I see it’s Amy.

Have a nice time with your girlfriend? I bet the smell was a real turn on huh?

Tossing my phone across the room after reading the words, it smashes up against the wall and I hear sounds from the front room, which means Dean’s up and moving. It’s always easy to tell when he wakes up because it sounds like a herd of cattle moving through the house. How one person can make that much noise is beyond me, but it’s Dean, so of course I don’t get it.

It doesn’t take long for him to st
umble down the hall and appear in the doorway. As I watch, he leans his body on the door in an attempt to stay steady, a snide looking smile on his face.

“I got a funny call earlier about your dumb ass.”

Indulging Dean when he’s like this is never a good idea, but since I’ve already managed to screw my entire day up just in the span of a couple hours, I go for broke. If he wants a fight then I’m more than willing to give it to him.