Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (29 page)

I hang up the phone without even responding and pass it back to Kevin. His eyebrows shift in confusion as I move myself to stand directly in front of him. My vision is blurry and I’m having a hard time breathing but I grab his hands and bring them to my lips, kissing his fingers and fighting the tears.

She asked if he’d paid me. I should have known. I should have known it would end this way. There
are a handful of people who love me, but everyone else sees what’s really there. Trash.

“What just happened there? What did she say? Whatever it was—whatever made you this upset—

Steph, just don’t worry about her..”

“I think we both know we’re playing a game here. I’m not good enough for you, Kevin. I never will be. I’m lost in this world of wanting to be
normal
and you...you refuse to leave me when I know there are other girls not as crazy. You deserve someone better—someone not ripe with baggage. I can’t hold you back. I won’t.”

I tilt my face toward his and kiss him gently.

“I know what I’m doing. Your mom thinks you’re on your way home—alone. She made it clear she doesn’t want me there.”

“Wait a minute. Stephanie. What are you saying?”

I step away and wipe the tears falling from off my cheek. “I’m saying we can’t do this anymore.”

Avoiding his gaze I turn around and walk away. It’s not until I turn the corner down the street that I chance a glance back in his direction. He’s still standing there, hands in his pockets, frozen to the ground.

I close my eyes against the memories of the past few months and hold my hand against my chest as if to keep my heart from falling out of its socket. Behind him the sun blazes pink against the storm clouds moving in from the west. I suddenly think of Natalie back at the hospital and laugh.

What about these storm clouds, huh? Is the sun enough for these storm clouds? Because
really...this rescue I’m promised is looking pretty grim.

Rain starts falling frozen from the sky. I lift my face and accept the sharpness of the rain scraping against my skin like broken glass.

***

I walk through my front door soaking wet and shivering. The house is dark and quiet. Quietly making my way through the living room, I eye my surroundings before turning down the hallway toward the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and turn on the shower, letting the steam overtake my senses.

Only then, under the warmth of the water caressing my skin, do I let myself cry. My body shakes with force as I realize what I’ve just done.

You are worth nothing. No one will ever want you.

I collapse into a heap in the corner of the bathtub and let the water rinse off any hope I feel. Just like I do after any guy who pays to see me, I scrub and rinse and wash some more until there is no trace left of Kevin. My skin turns red and raw from the heat, but I just stay there. Right now, it’s my only protection against the war raging in my heart.

***

I stay until the water turns cold. Grabbing my robe, I shelter myself against the frigid air and shudder when my feet hit the icy tile. Slowly I open the bathroom door, half expecting my mom to be waiting for me again. Once I realize the path is clear, I make my way to my room, shut the door and get under the covers. My eyes grow heavy and I refuse to fight against the exhaustion. I close my eyes and images of the day come rushing back, but I have nothing left to fight them. The only solace I have is knowing Pacey is safe.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I wake to my dad’s roar echoing against the walls. I slowly open my eyes and squint at the sun shining between the blinds. I search my mind to figure out what my dad could be hollering about, but find nothing. It’s Friday, which typically means a late start. I reach for my phone to see the time and come up with empty space on my nightstand. My heart drops.

Where’s my phone?

As if on cue, the thunder of my dad’s voice grows closer.

My phone.

It was in my pocket of my jeans, which I left in the bathroom last night after my shower. Text messages, Emma and Jude’s personal numbers. My dad would know everything. I wait for his wrath, his footsteps growing closer by the second. Memories of hiding underneath blankets resurface as I find myself inching further and further underneath the covers. I contemplate escaping out my window but know there’s no way I could find clothes in time and he’d only catch me. The only thing I can do is wait. I hear him screaming. I hear him crashing through the hall. I shudder at what may happen when he gets to my room...

It doesn’t take long for me to find out. He kicks through my door and rips my covers off the bed. I curl up in a ball, protecting myself with my arms and trying to shield my body from the blows I know will come.

Sudden pain.

Skin smashing against skin.

Everything is a blur.

He pulls me from my bed onto the floor and climbs on top of me, his breathing ragged and hands shaking with overdose. I catch a glimpse of his eyes for a brief second and see not a human, but an animal.

“Thought you could get away with this, huh? Thought you could go behind my back and still talk to those good-for-nothin’ people who can’t keep their nose out of our business? I told you.
I told you to
leave them be.
I’ll show them. Just wait.
Just. You. Wait.”

Each sentence is capped with a fist, each breath taken with a swing. My left eye, swollen shut from his elbow, throbs.

My phone rings.

A slow smile spread across his face as he looks at the screen.

“Well shit. Lookie who it is.”

I gingerly raise one of my hands—trying to get him to not answer —to maybe grab the phone from his grasp. He just laughs and slaps my hand hard against the floor. As he walks out the door into the hallway I can hear his manic laughter.

“Hello? Yeah that’s right. This is Steph’s father. Don’t worry. I know who you are. And I’ll tell ya another thing—you’re gonna stay the hell away from her.” Hate ricochets off his words. “You and your fucking husband, getting in my family’s business,
dammit
woman. I’m warning you. Just try to come over. Try to figure out a way to contact her. If I find out, you’re dead. And so is she.”

Welcome to your life, Stephanie. Get used to the hell.

***

I don’t know when I fall back asleep, but I wake up to a kick in the ribs.

“Get up. You have work to do.”

I rub my eyes and slowly gain my surroundings. Still on the floor, I notice my room is trashed.

Drawers have been emptied, their contents strewn haphazardly around the room. My mattress sags against the wall, lifted up and twisted. I grimace. They must have ransacked my room while I slept. My dad stands within inches from my face and leaning down, he pulls me to a sitting position by my hair. My eyes water with pain and I avoid his gaze. My voice cracks with the dryness in my throat.

“Work? You’re not even going in today.”

He leans over and grabs the back of my hair and twists my face so I’m eye-to-eye with him. It looks like he hasn’t slept in ages. Dark circles etch deep into his cheekbones. His eyes are bloodshot from the drugs he took earlier. He curls his lip in disgust as he looks me up and down.

“Since you didn’t go to the mall yesterday, we’re going to take a little trip today. It’s the perfect day anyway, everyone’ll be shopping for Christmas.” He tosses a
Day after Thanksgiving!
sale ad and it hits my face. “You’ll be finding me some girls whether you like it or not.”

My eyes focus on the ad and I remember. I try to speak, but my throat constricts and I start coughing. Gasping for air, I push my way to the bathroom. I stagger like a fawn newly born. Crashing against the doorframe, I wince and notice a black and blue bruise forming along my shoulder and upper arm. Something inside clicks and I remember my father’s strong hands gripping me with a brutality I’ve never experienced. I almost make it to the toilet before dry-heaving from the memories.

“Oh don’t try and play sick. It don’t matter anyways. You’re comin’ whether you’re upchucking or rosy faced.”

He walks in next to me and a towel falls at my feet.

“Clean yourself up while you’re in here. You look disgusting as shit.”

I cringe when he touches my cheek, running his finger along my jawline.

“You know, you used to be a pretty girl. Worth paying attention to and worth someone’s time.”

He smiles and shakes his head.

“You’re nothin’ but a whore now.”

It’s not until he retreats and shuts the door that the tears find their way down my cheeks. I stumble back into the room and notice the paper strewn haphazardly across my floor. The front page faces upward and once again I’m struck cold by a headline. I walk in slow motion and pick it up, my heart already beating an unsteady rhythm against my ribs.

Body of Local Girl Found, Authorities Believe Suicide

Late last evening, authorities found the body of Marisol Venedez in an abandoned

hotel room. She returned home a few weeks ago after running away, silencing reports that she may have been forced to cross state lines in a prostitution ring. She disappeared again this past Monday and authorities had been looking for her ever since.

Due to empty pill bottles and liquor found in the hotel room, authorities are

limiting foul play. No suicide note was found. Venedez’ father has remained quiet since finding the body and her friends have declined interviews.

Counselors have been meeting with students at the high school and are able to

make appointments with parents if requested. Services will be held at St. Mary’s on

Tuesday.

The article is short—most of the space taken up with pictures of her cheering, the hotel where she was found and one of her returning home a few weeks ago, wearing the same outfit as when she came to visit me in the hospital.

Without a doubt, I know Marisol didn’t commit suicide. I know my dad was somehow involved.

A hot brick settles in the back of my throat and refuses to budge. I scan the article again to look for any news of a coroner’s report, but find nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if dad paid off the journalist to conveniently leave out the truth.

There really is no stopping what he’ll do in order to get what he wants,
I think.

I startle when I hear footsteps behind me. Turning around I see my dad, leaning against the doorframe of my room. His face is wrapped in a smile revealing the sickest of emotions.

“I see you found the article. It’s such a shame, really. Marisol was such a pretty girl.”

The words fall out of my mouth before I can hold them in. “What did you do to her?”

His eyebrows raise and he pushes himself off the frame and toward me. I swallow and wonder what I just started. If I even want to know the answer to my own question. I raise my chin in defiance.

If he does beat me, I’ll take it for Marisol. For all the other girls he’s used.

“Me? Oh. I didn’t do anything. You read the article. She committed suicide. Took pills.”

The glint in his eyes tells me more than I ever want to know. I wrinkle my lips and fight from spitting in his face.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well. Perhaps you’d believe Joey? I could always call him over to have him explain. He’s always loved you the most, you know. Always watches you.”

He studies me and the smile wavers for a split second before he continues.

“Anyways. Marisol always had difficulty believing me. Always needed to get Joey to help her understand. That’s what he was doing for me before she offed herself.” He shakes his head in mock grief.

“I sent him to let her know the cheerleaders had enough practice and I needed them for...other projects.

She seemed to want to fight me on it, seemed as if she was trying to protect those whores or somethin’—

as if wearing those short skirts ain’t enough of an invitation.” He laughs and chokes on his chew.

I blink, not sure where to go from here. This is why Emma called. She’d read the paper and called to warn me. Probably to tell me to run.

My dad leans over and grabs the back of my hair, pulling me up with him to a standing position.

His breath is ragged and the stench of alcohol and tobacco washes over me.

“So I’ll say it one more time. Get dressed, sweetheart. We got business to do today. We’re shy a girl and I need a replacement.”

* * *

We get to the mall less than an hour later and before we can even walk through the doors I feel hands on my arms.

“Stephanie?”

I turn to catch the voice and force a smile. “Hi, Mrs. Peabody. How are you? How was your Thanksgiving?”

She hesitates and glances toward my dad. He notices and reaches his hand to grab my own, squeezing it unnaturally in the process. I bite my lip to keep from reacting while trying to avoid the people rushing into the store to grab their last minute deals.

“My Thanksgiving was wonderful; I spent it with family. But, dear—how are you? We’ve missed you in English. The rumor is you’re sick? I’ve been giving the home-bound teacher papers to send to you but haven’t gotten anything back.”

I open my mouth but my dad interjects before I can say anything. “Excuse me miss. It was nice of you to stop and chat but we’re on a schedule.” He smiles. “We’re trying to get some Christmas shopping done and this is the only time we can escape our house without her mom suspecting anything.”

Mrs. Peabody lifts her chin with understanding and catches my gaze before allowing my dad a smile in return. “Well, sir—it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Turning to me she winks. “Hope to hear some good news from you soon, young lady. I hear USC just sent out their letters of intent.” And with that, she turns and walks towards her car.

My father squeezes my arm while muttering under his breath. “Why would you be expectin’ a letter of intent?”

I stutter from the pain of him squeezing my bruise and force myself to look in his eyes and shrug.