If You Wrong Us (9 page)

It seemed Becca had her own theories, and she was here looking for proof.

12

B
ECCA

T
he suffocating guilt grabbed me by the throat and continued to squeeze during all those long days at the hospital … waiting. That waiting can mess with a person’s mind. We were waiting for her to die. Waiting so
we
didn’t have to make the decision to let her go. And in classic Brit fashion, she made a difficult situation even harder to bear. It was the way she worked. Though, if I’m being truthful,
I
actually made the decision that sealed her fate—when I took my boyfriend’s side against hers.

Despite how secretive we’d been, Brit was onto my transgressions with Travis from the very beginning. But she waited until the fall, when it became serious, before she stepped in with her authoritative approach.

“Listen to me, Bee,” she said, after admitting she knew we were together. “You’re out of his league.”

“You mean,
you’re
out of his league and it’ll make you look bad if anyone finds out I’m dating him,” I countered.

“That’s not it.” She began working me over. “He’s odd, and a total loner.”

“Yeah? Well, so am I.”

“Not true. You deserve so much better.”

“Try again,” I said.

“People talk about him, you know. I heard that he used to beat up his old girlfriend.” She paused, waiting for my reaction.

She didn’t get one because I already knew this. Though by now I was getting to the real reason why our relationship bothered her so much. She didn’t want to be linked any of that “talk.”
I mean, how tragic.

“That was one incident,” I said, making light of it even though the mounting accusations against him were disturbing. Still, I wasn’t going to let her get her way this time. “He also explained the whole thing to me. It was a misunderstanding. Charges were never filed.”

Call me sick, but I liked Travis’s dark side and the cloud of mystery and danger that hung over him. Brit didn’t understand this because she always got attention. For me, it was new and exciting the way he fussed over me. I liked his possessiveness. It made me feel precious or something. That is, until I felt like a precious possession.

I knew our relationship was becoming more intense. I knew Travis was unpredictable. I knew I shouldn’t have let Brit go over there to threaten him. But I tried, didn’t I?

“You need to end it,” she said, once again governing my life as she had been since she’d learned to talk.

I wanted to ask my sister if she could actually hear herself speak. Hear how demeaning and patronizing she was. But I didn’t. Because I was scared. I mean, the girl had even tried to snuff me out in the womb. Like with dogs in a pack, the runt often dies. I’d been very close to dying. My sister, conversely, was Darwin’s finest example. And since her actions toward me before birth didn’t work, she eliminated me in other ways. Silenced me every chance she got. She was the girl who had an innate sense of survival, no matter the cost—even to me.

Still, I couldn’t fault her for it.

Genetics, I suppose.

Mathematically, I knew all about genetics. Dominant and recessive genes; DNA; patterns. Emotionally, I’d never understand it. The desire to protect someone just because they shared the same genes, and all the feelings that went along with that.

How could you completely love and hate someone at the same time?

Brit didn’t back down on Travis. She went on about his alleged sketchy history and said that if I didn’t call it off, she’d tell our parents about all the rumors surrounding him. That’s when I knew I didn’t stand a chance. Brit had this way of appearing she knew what was best for me. “I’ll look out for her,” she’d always say. And our parents would go along with whatever she said.

So instead of fighting, I played her game for a few months, agreeing not to see him if she promised not to tell Mom and Dad.

Of course, that wasn’t going to work for me, so Travis and I upped our security protocol, throwing Brit (and her spy friends) off our scent. We had this whole adventure going on, stealing moments to meet whenever we could, devising excuses, and finding new hideouts. As the stakes grew higher, so did my feelings for Travis. For the first time in my life, I was impulsive and illogical. It was an amazing high—not that I would know about that. My brain cells have always been too important to me. Like the waifs in school who wouldn’t risk eating a piece of pizza for the sake of their waistlines, my brain was something I’d never take for granted.

Though, and I hate to confess it, maybe I wouldn’t have stuck with Travis as long as I did without all the excitement—without that triumphant feeling of defying Brit (which was incredible, by the way). It was freeing. I wasn’t a
we
anymore when I was with Travis; I was
me
.

It was wonderful in the months it lasted.

In October, Brit finally found out we were sneaking around behind her back. She was so angry I’d lied to her, she tried to call Dad on the spot. Thankfully, I was able to intercept. Didn’t matter, though. I knew she’d tell them eventually.

I needed a more permanent plan, so I lured her in.

“I will break up with him, Brit,” I said. “Promise.”

“Too late for promises. I don’t trust you anymore.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do then? Bring you with me when I drop the news on him? I think that would be a little extreme, don’t you?”

“Nothing is too harsh for that asshole,” she said.

“I wish you could do it for me.”

“What?” she asked, her ears almost visible perking up. “Break up with him?”

I nodded.

“Hey, now, that could work.” She twirled her hair, the way she always did when she was thinking really hard. “Then I could be sure. I could do it the right way and leave no room for negotiation.”

“What’re you talking about?” I asked. She couldn’t be serious.

“
I’ll
break up with him.” Brit pulled her shoulders back. “I’ll go over there and pretend I’m you.”

“He’ll know.”

“Not a chance,” she said. “It’s the perfect plan. Who’s the genius now?”

Well, apparently neither one of us was pushing three figures on our IQ scores, because I called Travis and told him about the plan. I couldn’t stand the thought of her blindsiding him.

As if
that
wasn’t bad enough, I fueled his rant and agreed that my sister was a bitch for not understanding him. And when I said I was tired of her pushing me around and keeping us apart, and that we had to do something about it? Well, I just made the situation so much worse.

His wheels were turning, and I knew these weren’t happy thoughts. Still, I didn’t stop it. And I let him handle it his own way.

I thought he’d just scare Brit—threaten her or something. Travis had a way of making people do what he wanted. He was even better than my sister. I figured he’d threaten her, she’d cave in, and then I’d be free from her clutches.

He did more than that. He went ahead and went through with it, making her pay like he’d been saying he would.

Brit called me when she saw him following her. Her voice wasn’t right. It was high and unsteady. She gave me the play-by-play as it was happening. I wanted to get off the phone with her and confront Travis, but it sounded as if he was too far gone.

I was beginning to believe that Brit could be right about him. She was right about a lot of things.

At first, he just kissed her bumper a few times. I told her to stay below the speed limit and keep a firm grip on the steering wheel. Until he tried to push her onto the shoulder, at which point I tried to help her lose him. I knew the area well and felt that a few well-timed turns could easily do the trick.

It worked. She made a turn and he was long gone. At least that’s what we thought.

The Elements of a Crime:
Definition of Homicide

In addition to understanding the elements of a crime, it’s also important to understand the definition of said crime. In my case, we’re talking about the death of a person, or persons.

Homicide.

It’s important to note that not all homicides are considered crimes. Technically, homicide includes all types of killings of human beings. Criminal homicides include first and second degree murder, with varying degrees depending on the magnitude of the crime. This is where premeditation and intent come into play.

Manslaughter usually refers to a killing that falls short of murder. The lowest form of manslaughter is involuntary manslaughter. This means that though the accused didn’t intend to kill, they are responsible for a death because their actions were negligent or reckless.

Now there are some laws that allow for exceptions in some killings—considered “justified” homicide. Self-defense is one example. And that is key …

It could make all the difference.

13

B
ECCA

O
n December 3, 2012, we took Brit off life support. She’d been in a vegetative state for more than a month. We should’ve done it weeks before, but Mom and Dad couldn’t do it. They were praying for a miracle—my non-believing parents.

It’s true; there really are no atheists in foxholes.

We all stood around my sister. Mom and Dad each held a hand. I couldn’t look them in the eyes. The ceremony of it was incredibly stupid. Brit had left us thirty-two days before. All the life had already seeped out and now she was nothing but a pile of meat—pale and soft.

Anyone who’d met Brit knew there was never anything pale or soft about her. She was always flushed, her eyes constantly dancing with mischief. And tough. She even loved hard.

So dying like this … it wasn’t right.

Yet I stood there too, not ready for the end.

The room was cold and static. The only sounds came from the whoosh of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. It wasn’t comforting or peaceful. It was creepy and strange and Brit would’ve hated it.

The nurse came in and disconnected the ventilator and we all held our breaths.

“No,” I called out in a voice that didn’t sound like my own. Mom looked up at me, tears streaming down her face.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” I whispered in my sister’s ear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

But it was happening. The mechanical breathing sound faded away and the beeps of the heart monitor slowed. Brit was still. Her little mouth didn’t even try for a last breath. It took only a few minutes to her limp body to shut down.

That’s when it really sunk in. It was my fault and I couldn’t take it back. I worried that maybe I really did intend for this to happen. Maybe somewhere deep down, I wanted my own life and this was the only way to get it. Maybe I wanted my sister dead. The thought made it hard to breathe. So I pushed all those feelings away and settled on anger instead.

I stayed there like that—bent over Brit’s bed with my cheek pressed up against hers. I stayed there until they pulled me away.

The damage was done. It was over. I really believed it was, anyway. Sadly, I had no idea how bad the pain would get.

14

J
OHNNY

B
ecca takes the wrench from my hand and goes to work on the Jeep. After taking too long, she discovers she can’t disconnect Travis’s battery cable either. It’s corroded with rust and crap and won’t budge.

I keep a lookout for any random people in the parking lot. We’ve been lucky so far. Except for the cat, we’ve been alone. It won’t stay that way, so we have to work fast. Every second counts at this point.

Becca glances down at her cell phone and bites the side of her cheek. Her fingers fly across the phone. “It’s time.”

The plan was to have Becca text Travis after the tournament. He has a hard-on for some gamer chick, so Becca hacked into the girl’s account and now she can both monitor and send messages from GamerGirl’s line. She thought it’d be the best way to get Travis where we need him to be.

I rush over to Becca’s car and riffle through her bag while she lowers the hood of Travis’s Jeep. She moves toward me—purposeful, quiet, and determined. I hand her the syringe and she nods.

But she’s not where she’s supposed to be. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. We were supposed to have more time. Recognizing my panicked look, she smiles, easing her hands down to tell me it’s going to be okay. Then a finger to her lips.

Shhhhh.

He’s coming.

I slide into the driver’s seat just in case we need to make a quick getaway. That’s if I can make myself hit the gas. Not like I have a choice—if the options are getting caught or fighting a panic attack, I’ll take the panic attack any day.

A figure appears from the side of the building. I’d recognize that gait anywhere; everything about Travis is burned into my brain. Sometimes I think I know him better than I know myself.