Count on Me (22 page)

Not bothering to look both ways, content that at this time of night, the street’s going to be quiet, I run across and it’s only when I get to his door that I kn
ow why the pain in my stomach is so strong.

I hear what sounds like bottles smashing, then the yelling, but it’s not Kayden. It’s all Dean. I would recognize that angry, gruff sound anywhere. Even though I’ve seen his brother in the peak of his rage before, it doesn’t sound anything like this. I’m about to knock on the door when I hear the moan. It’s not loud and just as quickly as I hear it, it’s gon
e. It’s just Dean yelling again, but I know the moan was from Kayden.

Shaking off the fear, I turn the knob and push the door open with my hand
once it clicks. It’s then I see the damage that’s been done.

Dean’s standing in front of the bar, his face red, eyes empty and dead, blood covering his hands. If he heard me open the do
or, he doesn’t acknowledge it. His gaze never leaves the floor in front of him. Following it, I see what he’s looking at and the sick feeling in my stomach grows so big, my being there can no longer be a secret.

Trying to catch it before it happens, I cover my mouth, but it’s no use.
The soda from the dance and the crackers I tried eating come flooding out and when it hits the floor, Dean finally turns to me.

“Don’t you know how to knock or do they not teach you that in the retard class?”

His words cut me, but not enough to stop me. No matter how scared I am, how much I want to cower in the corner and cover my ears, I can’t do it. Kayden needs me.

Sliding my hand into my pocket, I feel the cold metal of my phone, but instead of pulling it out and doing what I shou
ld, I start moving toward him.

The glass table that only a few weeks ago had been standing upright with bottles and cans all over it, is now a bunch of broken pieces and shards all over the floor. On top of it all, is the only boy in the world with the power to hurt me. Except this time, he’s the one broken and hurting. I need to get to him, make sure he’s still breathing and then I need to get him out of here before Dean can do any more damage.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He screams at me, as I bend down on the floor as carefully as possible, trying to avoid the small shards of glass I see sticking out of the carpet. Doing what my mom taught me, I lean my head to his chest. I’m met with the steady beat of his heart and even though it’s weak, I feel the air from his nose as it tickles my skin.

“You hear me stupid? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Spinning around, I level him with a look that I hope says everything I’m not sure I can say. I’ve never felt this way in my life. I’ve felt a lot of different things before, but this is new to me. I actually want to get up right now and hit him, not stopping until he’s the one on the floor barely breathing.

Kayden is his brother. He should be protecting him
from stuff like this, not be the one causing it. He should know better. He’s ten years older. He’s an adult, just like my mom. If she can handle everything that’s been thrown on her, then why can’t he? Why is beating on the little brother that loves him, the right thing for him to do?

Sliding my phone
from my pocket, I dial 9-1-1 and put the phone to my ear, praying they answer before Dean takes it from me. As soon as I hear the operator’s voice, it’s like a block has been lifted and I start talking, even though I know that any second it could be over. Nothing is going to stop me, not even Dean.

Giving them the address, I listen to the operator as she tells me things to check and do, to make sure that until help comes, Kayden keeps breathing. The altercation I expect to come from the older guy behind me doesn’t, as I continue doing everything she tells me to. It’s only when I turn around and face him again, that I really get a good look at him.

He’s standing completely still, the anger in his eyes gone, replaced with something I’m not familiar with. Whatever it is though, as long as it keeps him where he is and away from his brother, I’m okay with it.

“You can talk…” h
e says, the gruff tone of his voice significantly lower than it had been when I got here.

“Yeah, imagine that.”

Turning back to Kayden, checking his pulse as I hear the sirens in the distance, I lean in as close as possible, resting my head on his chest. I let the beating of his heart calm the fear welling up inside of me. It’s only when I see the flashing lights flood through the room that I raise my head and again, focus on the person now standing to the left of me.

“I’m going to make sure you never hurt him again.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kayden

When I passed out, I thought that was it. I was just waiting for the end to come.

As it turns out, me being ready to die means squat
, because I’m still here. I’m a little more broken and bruised then before and my head hurts so bad, I’m pretty sure it’s going to explode any second, but otherwise I’m exactly the same.

When I woke up, I was in the hospital; there were a couple of cops leaning against the wall and a lady in a white coat over me. When I saw the white, I thought it might be Heaven, but that was quickly thrown out the window the minute she started prodding at me.

Angels don’t probe you, aliens do.

Shortly after she finished with me, the Doctor came in and filled me in as much as he could on what happened to me. For the most part, I already knew it had something to do with Dean, but hearing all the injuries I had, that was a bit of a surprise.

I told the cops as much as I could about what happened, even telling them what happened earlier in the night, so that in some way they’d know he wasn’t entirely to blame for it. I’m the one that went home drunk, knowing what would happen. I brought it on myself and I wasn’t going to make light of it. Not anymore.

It’s then that they told me something I didn’t know. If hearing about my injuries surprised me, this damn near blew me away completely.

Isabelle is the one that called 9-1-1. She’s the one that told them exactly what happened when they showed up and she’s the reason that I made it to the hospital instead of eventually bleeding out on the floor. I have no doubt that if she hadn’t done that; Dean would have just continued his assault until I was dead.

As ready as I wa
s to die after everything that happened, I’m glad that it didn’t get to that point. I wasn’t suicidal, just broken.

They’ve got Dean in custody and regardless of what I told them about my drunkenness, they’re pressing charges anyway. Child endangerment is something they threw around, as well as child abuse. I’m three months away from turning eighteen; there isn’t a part of me that’s still a child, but apparently, none of that matters to them. He’s finally going to pay for what he’s been doing to me all of these years and it’s all because of her.

What she was thinking coming over to my house, I don’t know, but I can imagine what would be happening now if she didn’t. Whatever her reasons were, I’m never going to be able to repay her.

They released me today, two days after everything and it’s been hard coming back here. I
thought I knew what I was going to find the minute I opened the door, but there’s no amount of preparation I could do that could have readied me for the scene in front of me now.

Where I expected to see my blood, the broken table, shards of glass, I see nothing. The brown carpet is gone and there’s a white one in its place. It hits me as I stare at it in shock that when my mom bought it years before
, it had been white. It’s only after all the parties, fights and other general insanity we’ve lived, that it turned brown. Where the glass table had been, a wooden one now sits and there’s nothing on top of it, but a couple of books and magazines.

The bar’s completely wiped down, the mess from before gone and as I make my way over the fridge, opening the cupboards as I go, I see that all of the food that had been thrown around or emptie
d all over the house, is now placed neatly in lines, along with the dishes.

Everything is the way it should have been. The way that, from the time mom split, I wanted it to be. If I didn’t know the real horror that had taken place here, I would have thought I walked into a whole different house. Not just any random house either, a real home.

You don’t have to be genius to know who did this. There’s only one person in my sad existence that would have cared enough to make this happen.

Isabelle.

Despite calling it in and making sure the police knew everything that happened to me, she hadn’t come to the hospital once in the two days I was there. She didn’t call, even though I stupidly tested the line in the room a few times to make sure that it worked, so she could. I’d given up on ever hearing from her again by the time they let me out.

I know why she didn’t come. She’d been making sure that when I did get released, I had a clean house to come back to. Isabelle and her mom no doubt, wanted to be sure that I had a home, the one thing I never thought I would ever be afforded again.

Wondering if they did the same to the bedrooms, I grab a soda from the fully stocked fridge and make my way down the hall toward my room.

Pushing the door open and scanning around inside, I see that what they did with the front of the house, they also did in here. There’s a whole new set of sheets and blankets on my bed, and everything has been moved around in a way that makes me think they wanted to make it easier for me to get around, should I need it.

I had my shit all over the place before and liked it that way. I knew where everything was, even though it was usually in a pile all over the floor. Now though, the TV and the stand are up against the wall, I can actually see my carpet again and all my clothes, CD’s and other crap is mysteriously out of sight or straightened in the shelves that now cover my walls.

Seeing all the work they put into this room alone, I want to run across the street and thank
them, but after everything I put her through, I can’t do that. I can still remember what happened earlier that night, the goodbye crystal clear in my head. So as much as I want to thank them for everything they’ve done, I can’t.

It’s
better for her if I keep my distance, even though it’s the very last thing I want to do.

Belle

I’m pretty sure someone in the office has lost their mind.

The morning announcements came on like usual, but when they were over, the strangest thing happened. Instead of hearing the cut off noise when they turn t
he P.A system off, music starts playing instead. Normally it wouldn’t have registered with me because I tune it out, but it was so familiar that I couldn’t ignore it. Not only was it a song I knew, but it was by my favorite band.

“The Mess I Made” by Parachute is playing clear as day through the entire school and looking around at all the other kids in class with me; I can see that they’re also pretty surprised with it.

It’s not that we’ve never heard music over the system before, because we have, but usually it’s lower and in the background, someone’s voice speaking over it. The cheerleaders use it when they’re promoting events that they’re putting on. This is different though. There’s no nasal voice speaking over it, no announcement being made. It’s just the song.

I’ve been back at school for two days now, desp
ite my claims that I didn’t want to come back. After talking things through with my mom the night I found Kayden, we both decided that no matter what happened at the dance, it would be best if I finished out the year. Where I had been scared at first, it’s gotten easier and now I don’t even know what I was so afraid of to begin with.

Nothing’s really changed being back, but it does seem that where Dillon and the others went out of their way to hunt me down before, they’re silent and only shooting out names from a distance
now. It’s like what happened at the Homecoming Dance never happened. I fell back into my old routine of walking the halls like a ghost again and they left me alone.

Today is a different story altogether and I know why. It’s
because today’s the day he comes back. Kayden Walker. The boy I found bloodied and broken in the middle of his living room floor, has been released with a clean bill of health and is ready to make his comeback.

I’m n
ot sure how much people know about where he’s been, but since I haven’t said a word since the night I told the police everything, if people do find out, it isn’t going to be because I told them.

As happy as I am that he’s back, I’m not looking forward to seeing him in the halls again. I’m not sure how he’s going to react to me now, especially after saying goodbye to him the way I did three days ago. Part of me
hopes he just falls back into his old routine too, so we can go back to normal, but something tells me that won’t be the case.

When everyone finally cleared out of his house, I talked my mom into helping me clean it up. I didn’t expect her to want to help, considering everything that happened, but she jumpe
d into it even more than I did. After taking me to Home Depot, grabbing shelving units and other things we were gonna need, she grabbed some sheets and blankets from our closet and we made our way over.

Within a few hours we had the entire place cleaned and ready. His room had been completely transformed and lo
oked so comfortable, I wanted to climb on his bed and relax in it for awhile. I only hoped that when he came home, he felt the same and it didn’t make him feel worse.

As the bell rings, signaling lunch, I slide myself out from the desk and start packing up my bag. It’s been getting colder lately, so going outside has been hard, but it’s something I definitely need to do today. I’m afraid that if I stay inside like I have been the last two days, I’m going to run into him and that’s just not something I’m ready for yet.

As soon as I get out into the hall, the music starts up again. This time, it’s a different song, but it’s the same band. If I didn’t find it strange before, there’s no denying it now. This time, it’s “Drive You Home” by Parachute and despite not really believing it could be true, I can’t help but think all of these songs are speaking directly to me.

What are the odds t
hat my favorite band, is the one someone continues to play through the P.A system? It could easily be one of the football players trying to screw around with the cheerleaders, but something tells me it’s more than that.

“So, did Ms. Owens
drink before she came to work today?”

I can’t help but laugh at the question. Eric, after weeks of keeping his distance from me, is finally back in
my life and despite not understanding it before, I couldn’t be happier for it. I missed him. I hated that everything that happened with Kayden pulled us apart. He appeared at my side the morning I came back and he hasn’t left since.

He’s a lot o
f the reason I adjusted back so well. Having him there with me, it kept me calm. I might have thought I deserved to be completely alone before, that no one could deal with my issues or accept me as I am, but I’m learning that it’s so much better having a friend. It’s even better when it’s one that gets it like Eric.

“Probably.”

“Who knew she liked this sort of stuff.”

I shrug and he laughs and just like every other time we’ve been this way in the last two days, I’m okay. I know that people are still making fun of us, but unlike before, I don’t focus on it. In a few months, we’d all be moving on from here and even though the ignorance might never entirely go away, at least these people would.

“Isn’t this your favorite band?”

“Yeah…”

There it is again, the nagging feeling that something with this music just isn’t right. If even Eric can pick up on it then there has to be more to it.

“Meet
ing at the tree for lunch? He asks, breaking away from the dissection and back to what’s most important.

Food.

“Yeah, so go grab your lunch and I’ll meet you out there.”

He smiles at me and turns back the way he came and as I watch him retreat, I start think
ing about how much things have changed in such a short amount of time. Despite it all, I only have one person to thank for all of it.

Kayden.

Kayden

It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you sell someone a sob story like the one I sold Ms. Owens this morning.

It’s not that anything I said is a lie, because it isn’t. I just relayed everything that happened to me over the last few days and what I needed to do. She bought into it so quickly; I almost didn’t have to finish the story at all.

Having nothing but time on my hands yesterday when I came home, it came to me and I put it togethe
r step by step. I could close my eyes and see it taking shape, which meant that despite knowing it might fail, I still had to see it through. I’ve never seen something so clearly in my life.

Despite the chaos in my head from the concussion, I’m determined to make my comeback count. By now, I’m sure the entire school knows what happened to me an
d that I wasn’t out because of the alcohol poisoning. I’m ready for all the looks and whispers though. If Isabelle can come back after everything that happened the night of Homecoming, I can do it too.

It’s time I face my secret head on instead of running from it and letting it change me, the way I have been for too damn long.

I’ve spent the last eight years using my mother leaving as an excuse for my behavior. For the way I treated people and the anger that ran so easily through my veins, but that’s all it is, an excuse. I’ve been using them forever and it’s gotta stop. I became an asshole, not because of my mom or even Dean. I did it because it was easier than being the good guy.