Falling From Grace (14 page)

Before I realized what I was doing, I had my unprotected fingers on the sizzling hot pan, and I screamed.
 
I felt myself being pulled towards the sink, and cold water was pouring on my ever reddening fingers.
 
It should have felt soothing, but all I could feel was the burn beneath my skin, beyond the reach of the water.
 
That was how Janice found us, both of us too preoccupied to hear the doorbell.
 
She quickly went to the freezer to grab some ice out of an ice tray and placed them into a dish towel that had been near the sink.

“Let me see, Grace,” she said, soothingly.
 
I gave her my hands and she placed the now cold towel on my fingers.

It stung and I flinched away, but she held fast.
 
I didn’t want her to think that I flinched out of rejection for her, so I grit my teeth and allowed her to help.
 
She asked me if I was feeling woozy, if my fingers were feeling numb, if I felt nauseated.
 
All par for the course for a nurse, I suppose.
 
When she was satisfied that my hand had been thoroughly cooled, she asked me where the first aid kit was located.

I gestured towards the top of the refrigerator where the red box was located.
 
She told me to hold the cloth and ice in my hands while she grabbed the box.
 
Rummaging through it, she found a roll of gauze, some sterile pads and some ointment.
 
She removed the towel and ice then and proceeded to apply the ointment, pads, and wrapped my fingers individually.
 
“They’ll be easier to clean this way.” She said when she was done.

“Thanks, Janice.” I said, wiggling my fingers, glad that at the very least, I wouldn’t look like a mummy with mittens.

It was then that we both realized we had an audience.

Dad was staring slack jawed at the two of us as though he’d never seen us before.
 
Truthfully, he’d never seen us act so friendly towards each other.
 
Ever.
 
Frankly, I was trying to remember the last time we had even spoken to each other and I was coming up empty, my mind drawing an absolute blank.

Taking my cue at the look on his face as he gazed at Janice, I gingerly grabbed my book bag with my bandaged fingers, and headed towards the back door.
 
“Well, um, I think I’ll catch some breakfast at school.
 
Bye Dad.” I kissed his cheek.
 
He was still too stunned to do anything other than nod.
 
“Bye, Janice.
 
Thanks again,” I called as I left the house, hoping that they’d have a lot to talk about and all the time in the world to do it.

I walked around the side of the house, smiling to myself.
 
It was odd how
good
it felt, seeing the two of them together.
 
Wasn’t it just twenty-four hours ago that I couldn’t stomach the thought?
 
I shook my head, ashamed at my selfishness.
 
He needed to be happy.
 
He deserved to be happy.

Who deserves to be happy?

I stopped short, stunned at the strange voice in my head.
 
No.
 
Not strange at all.
 
It had been there yesterday.
 
But he had also been right in front of my face, too.

“Robert?” I called out nervously.
 
I walked towards the driveway, past Janice’s little SUV, and there he was, sitting on that death machine.
 
My legs started quivering at the memory.
 
“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer my question.
 
Who deserves to be happy?” he said, folding his arms across his chest.

“My Dad, if you must know.
 
He and his…um…girlfriend are moving in together.” I replied.
 
Why didn’t you just go digging through my head to find out, instead of asking me?

He shook his head.
 
“You said not to do that anymore, remember?”

Oh.

He laughed.
 
“Now, to answer your question, I’m here to see if my new friend wanted to ride to school with me.”

I felt the warmth flow through me, blooming in my cheeks, rushing to my toes and fingertips.
 
I winced at the pain that suddenly shot through my hands.
 
“Ahh.”
 
I cried, dropping my backpack onto the ground.

He was off the bike and holding my hands before the sound had finished leaving my throat.
 
I blinked as I looked at the spot where he had been and where he was now, and wondered how he had moved so quickly.
 
His hands were cradling mine; he was looking at the bandages, and then into my eyes, asking me silently for the story.
 
I concentrated, focusing on the events that led up to Janice putting the bandages on, hoping he could see them as clearly as I had seen the thoughts he had projected into my mind yesterday.

He pulled us down to the grass, both of us on our knees; He started removing the bandages that Janice had so neatly wrapped my fingers in.
 
“Robert wha-”
 

He shook his head, warning me to be quiet.
 
When the last ointment drenched pad had been removed, and the now angry, blistering skin was exposed, he hissed.

My eyes grew wide at the sound, and a slight tremble ran through my body.
 
I was tempted to yank my hands out of his, but he read my thoughts as quickly as they had appeared and he clamped his fingers around my wrists like vices, locking them in place.

Slowly, he lowered his head towards my hands.
 
I stopped breathing.
 
I don’t think I could’ve started again even if I wanted to.
 
He pressed his lips against the bubbles that were slowly appearing and blew on them.
 
I stared in complete awe.
 
Who would do something like that, much less to someone like me?
 

I should have been grossed out, but I was too busy trying to keep myself still; my entire body was growing warm and I was fighting the urge to run away as his lips continued to press against the red flesh of my hands.
 
He continued to blow on them and it slowly dawned on me that the heat that I was feeling was no longer stinging, but rather comforting.
 
He pulled his face away from my hands, looking down at them and smiled, his grip loosening.

I snatched them out of his quickly, not wanting him to continue to view the ugly blisters that were beginning to form, and braced myself for the pain, but there was none.
 
Curious, I looked down at them.
 
They were…fine!
 
The redness was gone, there were no blisters
—
no pain.
 
I looked up into his face, looking into the deep pools of his eyes, asking him for an explanation.

That’s for a later date.
 
I didn’t want you holding onto me with your hands in pain.
 
You might fall off.

“But you will tell me,” I demanded.

He nodded and then stood up, offering his hands to help pull me up.
 
The strange mixture of awe, curiosity, fear, and something I couldn’t place that I had felt yesterday on the ride home returned to me like a tidal wave, nearly causing me to stumble.
 
He sensed this, and didn’t let me go as he grabbed my back pack before the two of us walked to his bike.
 
He placed my hands on the seat.
 
For support.
 
He pulled something off of the handlebars and placed it on my head: the helmet, of course.

You ready?

I smiled, pretty sure that he couldn’t see it behind the visor and mouth guard.
 
It felt good to smile at him, even if he couldn’t see it.

I see it.
 
Let’s go.

Yes, that was definitely going to get on my nerves.

He climbed onto the bike, waited for me to follow, and then turned the key and started the engine as soon as I had done so.
 
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement a few yards away.
 
A pair of green eyes were staring at the two of us.
 
Angry green eyes.

Before I could take a better look, we were off.
 
The wind whipped around me, getting very cold as we traveled at who knows what speed.
 
I just knew that I was riding on the back of a very expensive motorcycle, my arms wrapped around someone I had met only yesterday who knew more about me than I did about him, and I was fine with it.
 
Perhaps my reputation for being a freak wasn’t undeserved after all.

You’re too critical of yourself.

I know myself better than you do.
 
I let the words bounce around in my head.
 
I’ve been called a freak since I was seven-years-old—since my mom died—but I didn’t do anything that was freakish in any way until yesterday, when I got on your bike and let you invade my mind like a parasitic worm.

I felt his body shake.
 
It took me a while to realize what he was doing, but when I did, I couldn’t help but feel a bit miffed.
 
He was laughing!
 
You were only too willing to allow me to
‘invade’
your mind.
 
But it was necessary, Gee, to be sure that I could trust you with my mind.

Why are you calling me ‘Gee’?
 
No one calls me that.
 
It’s an interjection, for crying out loud.

His body was shaking again.
 
Why did he think I was funny, when that was the furthest thing from my mind?
 
I’d bet that you’re probably the only female at that school who would take offense to me giving her a nickname.

Why would I want a nickname anyway?
 
I
like
Grace.
 
It’s the name my mom chose for me.
 
It’s different.
 
I pouted.
 
An actual, bona fide pout.
 
Is it because it doesn’t sound like ‘Erica’ or ‘Becca’?
 
It’s not girly enough for you?

His head moved back and forth in disagreement.
 
I happen to think your name is lovely.
 
Grace is a name that few can carry without contradicting its definition.
 
You’ve managed to epitomize everything that that name stands for, and I much prefer it over Erica and Becca.

We were nearing the school now, and I could see that Robert on his bike was drawing a lot of stares from the students who were outside.
 
They were staring at me, too, I realized as the looks of adoration towards him turned into something much darker when their eyes focused on me.
 
The initial joy I had felt while riding with him was instantly stamped out by embarrassment once more.
 
Self-conscious as always, I lowered my head, turned away from the school, and tried to pretend that I was alone while Robert maneuvered the bike into a stall in the student parking lot.

As soon as we had come to a stop, I was climbing off the seat.
 
My legs weren’t so mutinous now, having had two previous trips that were twice as long under my belt, but I still felt unsteady.
 
I fumbled with the helmet, not wanting to remove it and expose the complete abstract sculpture made up of my human hair beneath it, yet not wanting to look even weirder by keeping it on long after stepping away from the bike.
 
I knew it wasn’t shielding my identity from anyone.
 
These kids knew me as soon as they saw my shirt.
 
Only Grace the Freak would wear a secondhand t-shirt with a skull on it, as if I were mocking death, while everyone else wore their best department store brand clothing.

I like your shirt.
 
That’s one of my favorite movies, too.

Robert was standing there, waiting for me to stop fidgeting with the helmet.
 
Once I did, he placed his hands on either side of it and removed it slowly.
 
As soon as it was off, my hands were in my hair trying to smooth out any knots that had formed there with my fingers.
 
What they met with were silky strands that weren’t out of place in the slightest.
 
I stared at him, remembering the vision he had shared with me yesterday.
 
He had reached out to touch my hair, and the immense tangle that had been there had disappeared.
 
My jaw dropped.
 
That hadn’t been a phony vision at all.
 
He had really done it.

You’ve guessed my secret.
 
I’m Vidal Sassoon.

I fumed.
 
“I don’t think this is funny.
 
You’re trusting me with a lot of secrets, Robert, and I don’t even know what it is that I’m keeping to myself!”
 
I tried to keep my voice down as low as possible.
 
I didn’t want others to hear our conversation, but I also didn’t want to have this conversation with him silently in front of everyone.
 
Let them think me a freak for wearing a black shirt among a sea of pink.
 
Just don’t let them think of me as a freak because I can read minds.