Cuts Run Deep
Authors: Amber Garza
CUTS RUN DEEP
Amber Garza
Cover: White Rabbit Designs and Creations
Copyright © 2014 Amber Garza
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Other titles by Amber Garza
Head Above Water
Falling to Pieces
Star Struck
Love Struck
Tripping Me Up
Finding Me Again
Winning Me Over
Break Through
Break Free
Engraved
Delaney’s Gift Series:
Dazzle
Shatter
Betray
The Prowl Trilogy
Prowl
Entice
Unveil
To connect with Amber Garza online:
Table of Contents
To Eli, you captured my heart the minute I first held you in my arms. You are loved beyond measure. Always believe in yourself and never stop chasing your dreams. I have no doubt that one day you will catch them.
If you’re reading this, then I must be dead. And you must be looking for answers. Lucky for you, I have them.
Most eighteen year olds don’t think about their own death. They foolishly believe they are invincible; that they’ll live forever. People die every second in this world, but they believe the grim reaper will pass them by, skipping them altogether. However, vampires aren’t real, and life isn’t a fairytale.
I, on the other hand, had spent a lot of time thinking about my own death.
I knew he wanted me dead. I was sure of it. He may have had everyone else fooled, but not me. I saw the glint in his eyes that betrayed his evil intentions. His hatred for me seeped from his pores, poisoning the air around him.
You’re probably wondering why I kept him in my life then. Simple. Don’t they say to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer? And you may be wondering why I didn’t tell anyone or turn him in to the authorities if I feared for my life. But what would I have said? No crime had been committed…yet. Why would anyone believe me? Why would anyone listen to the paranoid babbling of a scared teenager? Especially when it was my sins that put me in this predicament.
Besides, I had a plan for what I would do when he attacked me. Perhaps I could talk him out of it, make him understand. Explain that he didn’t have to go through with it; that there was a better way. A more peaceable way to work things out. But the fact that you’re reading this means that my plan didn’t work. And I think I know why. You see, there was one thing I didn’t bank on. One thing I hadn’t planned on.
I wasn’t prepared for
her.
Unfamiliar sounds spun around me, weaving over my body like a spider web. Shoes on linoleum, squeaky wheels rolling past, machines beeping, a collaboration of hushed voices. The scents were different too. Gone was the smell of fresh laundry detergent that clung to my comforter, the faint scent of my vanilla lotion that lingered in the air long after I’d put it on. No, this place carried a sterile scent, like ammonia and medicine. It made my teeth ache.
I was afraid to open my eyes. Afraid to find out where I was.
Maybe subconsciously I already knew. When I tried to lift my arm, it caught on something as if I was tied down. Panic gripped me as I slowly, deliberately allowed my eyelids to flip open. The first thing that assaulted me was the white walls, stark and unforgiving. Coupled with the bright florescent lighting, I squinted, a headache pricking behind my eyes. I glanced down at my body, at the IV in my arm, the bruises blooming on my skin.
My chest tightened.
What happened to me? Why am I here?
The headache grew, spreading down the base of my skull. When I blinked, something caught on my eyelash. I couldn’t see what it was, so I reached up the arm not attached to the IV. My fingers grappled over gauze and tape. I swallowed hard.
“Oh, Piper,” Mom’s voice reached my ears. A warm hand dropped to my wrist, fingers caressing the skin. Lowering my gaze, I stared at Mom’s familiar hands with the long acrylic nails she always wore. “You’re awake.”
With careful movements, I turned my head to look at her. The headache was worsening, pounding with insistence. Mom looked like shit. She’d always been one of those women who didn’t leave the house unless she looked immaculate. Being married to a doctor, she had a reputation to uphold. Her hair was usually sleek and shiny, her makeup perfect. But today her hair was a disheveled mess, her makeup smeared. Even the outfit she had on appeared tattered and wrinkled, as if she’d been wearing it for days. When my eyes lit on a cot in the corner, a sheet bunched up at the bottom, I realized she must have slept here. I almost asked where Dad was, but I didn’t want to deal with the disappointment when she told me he wasn’t here. It’s not like he could help me anyway. My dad’s a specialist. An ENT – ear, nose and throat doctor.
I had a feeling the reason I was here was a little more complicated than an ear infection.
And I’d been aware for years that my importance in Dad’s life ranked somewhere below work, his patients, his golf buddies, and Mom.
“What happened to me?” I asked Mom. My voice was groggy and strained, foreign sounding.
“You just had a little accident.” Her tone was high-pitched, her smile too happy.
Why was she talking to me like I was a five year old all of the sudden?
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked before I could press her about the accident any further.
I shook my head.
Why couldn’t I remember how I got here?
The last thing I remembered was hanging out with Jackson at my house. When was that? Yesterday? It felt like minutes ago, but that couldn’t be right.
Think, Piper, think.
As I tried to straighten up, adjusting the pillow behind me, the headache reared its ugly head again. Along with that came nausea. It crashed over me with such force I had to swallow it down as it rose in my throat. My mouth filled with moisture, my body heating up. I breathed in deeply through my nose to ward it off. Bringing my arms up, I grabbed my head in my hands and lowered my neck down until my head rested on the pillow. As I drew my hands back, I caught a glimpse of red caked under my fingernails.
Was that blood?
On closer examination it became apparent that it was. And it wasn’t just under my nails, it streaked my palms, and stained the outer edges of my nails. While I stared at it, a montage of images crashed over me. They came in quick succession reminding me of those Flipograms people made on Instagram, where the pictures moved so fast it made you dizzy; and it was impossible to catch more than an eye, a hand, a smile. You could never make out the entire image before the next one flashed, fast, like a strobe light. That’s how it was right now. Fragmented pieces sparking in my mind, one right after the other.
A gun shining in the moonlight, blood spurting, Jackson on the ground, his body blooming with dark red color like a flower opening up and exposing the petals. Me standing over him, my hands slick and crimson.
“Piper,” Mom spoke softly. “Is there anything you need?”
“Jackson,” I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Honey, you need to drink something. I’ll get you some water.”
“Where is Jackson?” I said more firmly. “I need to see him.”
Her smile was tight, her gaze flickering nervously to the door. “Your dad is here. He’s talking to the doctor right now. Let me go grab him. I know he wants to see you.”
My fingers circled her wrist before she could walk away. “Mom, I don’t want to see Dad. I want to see Jackson.”
She sighed. “I know, honey, but not right now. Right now you need to focus on getting better. You had a bad accident.”
I groaned in frustration. “What happened, Mom? Please tell me.”
She froze. “You don’t remember?”
My head was fuzzy, confusion filling me. I knew the memory was just at the edge of my mind, so close I could almost snatch it. But it was elusive. It would duck and hide the minute I brushed over it, slipping from my grasp. “No,” I admitted.
“Well, everything is going to be just fine.” It was the same voice she had used when I was seven and my cat died. Something was terribly wrong.
There was so much blood. That’s the one thing I remembered for sure. It covered Jackson, painting his body, thick and almost black. Could someone survive all that blood?
When my eyes met Mom’s, my heart tumbled from my chest. I could practically see my heart splattered on the floor, no longer a part of my body. At this point I didn’t even need her to say it. I already knew. Even so, there was a tiny glimmer of hope. Until I knew for sure, I would cling to it with everything I had.
“Mom, Jackson’s dead, isn’t he?”
Her nod was so subtle I could almost pretend I didn’t see it. But I did. And I felt each bob like a knife tearing me open, filleting me right here in the middle of the room. In that moment I knew I’d never be the same again. I’d never have another moment of unbridled joy, or innocent naiveté.
No, all of that had been cruelly ripped from me.
Tainted by the death of the boy I loved.
I knew death was final.
However, after Jackson’s death there was a part of me that kept expecting to see him again. When I passed his room, I would expect to see him lying on the top of his bed, headphones on, his hands threaded behind his head. When my phone buzzed signaling a text message, I would wonder if it was Jackson sending me a funny picture. He was always doing that. Taking goofy selfies and texting them to me.
Having Jackson as an older brother was like winning the lottery. He never treated me with annoyance the way my best friend Bailey’s brother did. Bailey and her brother didn’t get along at all. But Jackson and I did. Sure, we fought sometimes. All siblings do, but it was pretty rare, and we always made up fast.
I’d never forget the moment Mom told me he was gone.
Never before had I understood the term “heartbroken.” I mean, sure you could be sad. Maybe even devastated. But what could be so awful that you would feel like your heart had actually been broken? Now I knew. My chest literally hurt. I doubled over from the pain of it. Breathing was difficult, and it felt wrong. Almost like a betrayal to Jackson. Like if he couldn’t breathe, then neither should I.
It didn’t seem right that I was still here and he was gone.
And that’s when I realized that a part of me had been taken, stolen. And I had no hope of ever getting it back.
I felt utterly alone. Mom and Dad were locked up in their own grief, like a vault that I didn’t have the password for. I wished I could go to the hospital and talk to Piper. She was the only other person I knew who loved Jackson like we did. Also, I knew she had answers. After all, she was there when Jackson was killed. But that was precisely the reason Mom forbade me to see her. Piper wasn’t just a witness to the crime.
She was the prime suspect.
But I knew she’d never hurt Jackson. Mom and Dad had never liked Piper. All they saw was the eccentric clothes she wore and the red hair that she perpetually dyed so it would stand out even more, making her pale skin appear almost translucent. She wasn’t like the other girls Jackson dated. She was quiet and introspective, deep into the theatre and poetry. But that’s what Jackson liked about her.
Besides, my parents hadn’t been around her like I had. They hadn’t seen the strong connection between Jackson and Piper, so thick you could feel it. When Piper looked at Jackson it was like she was seeing a rainbow for the first time. It was a mixture of awe, wonderment and adoration. There’s no way she’d ever hurt him.
Still, I would respect my parents’ wishes. They were drowning in grief right now, and I wouldn’t shove them down further. No, instead I would offer them a lifeline the only way I knew how. I’d obey. I’d keep out of trouble. Not give them any reason to worry about me.
But if I couldn’t talk to Piper, then I had no idea who to talk to. My friends all felt terrible. The calls came flooding in after the news became public. They offered words of condolences, followed by moments of awkward silence. It was unbearable, actually. I had no desire to relive it.
Feeling lost and unsure, I stepped out of my bedroom. I’d been sitting in it for hours with the curtains drawn. Darkness had become my friend. Light seemed too harsh for me right now, as if it was something reserved for happy people. People who hadn’t just lost their brother. Holding my breath, I took deliberate steps forward, my bare feet sinking into the soft carpet. As I made my way down the hallway, I left footprints in my wake.
The house was silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs. I wasn’t surprised. Mom hadn’t done more than lift her head from her pillow since she got the news, and Dad seemed hell-bent on finding out what happened. He spent all his time at the police station or on the phone. I wondered if he thought answers would bring Jackson back.
I was ashamed to admit that there were moments I wondered the same thing.
You see, Dad and I weren’t all that different. I was in search of answers too.
And that’s why I went into Jackson’s room. No one had set foot in it since he died. Maybe we thought we couldn’t handle it. The thought crossed my mind as I quietly opened the door, his familiar scent smacking me in the face. That mixture of aftershave lotion and leather almost made me faint. My heart ached, and tears pricked the back of my eyes. Still, I forced myself to step inside.
Everything was exactly as he’d left it. Not that I expected anything different. However, it felt weird to see his jacket slung over his chair, his computer monitor on, the light flashing in the corner. It was all waiting for him to return. And it made me angry because I so desperately wanted him to.
It seemed unfathomable that he would never be in this room again. That he’d never type another paper on his computer; that he’d never wear his jacket, or listen to music on his ipod, or play one of his video games. I walked over to his bookshelf, my fingers sweeping the spines of the books lining it. Some were books of poetry that Piper most likely gave him. Others were novels he’d read and loved over the years, and some were novels he’d been forced to read for school. When I was about to step back, a book caught my attention. It lie on top of the others, and it wasn’t a published book. It looked more like a diary. My fingertips slid over the top of it, my palm curving around it. After picking it up, I ran my hands over the cover. Nothing was written on it, so I peeled it back, my gaze connecting with the first page.
Jackson’s name was scrawled in the corner in his telltale chicken scratch. Penmanship had never been his strength. My heart squeezed as I read.
I met a girl today. Her name is Piper.
Oh, my god. My brother kept a diary? Well, he probably called it a journal. Wasn’t that what guys called it? But seriously, how had I not known this?
I guessed because I never snooped. I didn’t need to. Jackson told me everything. At least I thought he did. But now it seemed like maybe I had missed something. Like maybe there were things I didn’t know about him. And I longed to know the brother in these pages. The one he kept to himself. The one he kept hidden.
And maybe if I was lucky, I would find out what happened to him.
A clue to who killed him and why.
