Perfectly Flawed (45 page)

“Ryder,” I say loudly.
What am I
doing?
I don’t actually have a plan. I mean, I could kick him
again, but that gets old and he’s not lying on the ground. So, I
don’t exactly have a clear shot. Right now, Ryder’s standing and
he’s taller than me, bigger than me, and a little scarier than I
remember.

He doesn’t hear me; he’s too focused on his
girlfriend, too angry to hear anything other than his voice as he
yells at her.

“That isn’t what I meant, Ryder—”

She’s pleading, begging something of him, but
he cuts her off immediately.

“Just
shut up
, shut the hell up!” He
yells at her, throwing her arms away from him as if they burned
him, as if the feeling of her skin on his repulsed him. He turns
dragging his hands through his blonde hair, spotting me standing
behind him for the first time, and storms past, checking me in the
shoulder, growling, “Out of my way.”

He leaves me alone with a trembling Alexia.
Me, of all people, should not be around Alexia Cavanaugh in
confined spaces. But I feel some sort of connection with her right
now, something I can’t explain because we’ve hated each other for
as long as I can remember. But this time, we have…
something
in common, something dark and disturbing, connected to us by the
same person.

What I’m about to do I really shouldn’t do, I
should just leave this alone, pretend I didn’t see anything, and
move on with my day, totally ignoring what just happened. Yeah,
that’s what a tiny part of me wants to do. The downside with that:
it would make me feel completely horrible and I doubt I’d be able
to look at myself in the mirror ever again.

So, I turn to her, facing her as she shakes
by the sink. She’s in shock, maybe surprised with Ryder.

“Alexia?” I ask, taking a tentative step
toward her. I don’t really know what to say to her. I’ve never been
in this situation before.

“What do you want?” she snaps at me, trying
to rebuild her strength and resurrect her walls. Pretending that I
didn’t see what just happened—that would be so easy to do—but she
looks like she needs someone. God forbid that should be me right
now, but I
am
here. “This is just great, freaking great,
that you had to see that?” She shakes her head, her blonde ponytail
swinging from side to side as a tear slides down her cheek.

I’m too nice.

“I heard it,” I tell her, taking a few more
steps closer to her. She doesn’t openly object, just lets me move
toward her as she glares at me. “What he said, I heard it all.”

I’m curious, but it may be a bad time to ask
why they were fighting. I doubt she’d tell me anyway.

“So you heard him call me stupid, big
freaking deal,” she snaps at me—still not swearing like a normal
angry teenager, which I want to giggle at—while streaks of black
mascara run down her cheeks in thick streams. She makes no move to
wipe away the evidence of her tears.

I am way too nice.

“It
is
a big deal, Alexia,” I snap at
her, hoping she understands that wasn’t normal. No boyfriend should
ever
speak to their girlfriend in that way. It’s wrong and I
don’t understand how Alexia Cavanaugh, of all people, would
ever
allow someone to speak to her in such a manner. I’d
expect her to whip out her claws and rip Ryder a new one, but
that’s not what happened.

“No, it’s not,” she lashes out at me. She
turns away from me, fruitlessly trying to remove the evidence of
her tears from her cheeks now that she’s seen her reflection.
Anything to be perfect
. “Just leave it alone.”

I’m trying to help her and she turns me away.
Typical. Whatever. At least I can say I tried.

“As you wish,” I mutter, dropping my hands
against my side with a
slap
, turning to leave. I know Zephyr
must be wondering where I am if she wants to be alone, she can
gladly be alone.

“Wait, Joey,” Alexia calls from behind me,
her voice back to its normal icy lilt. I expect her to threaten me,
tell me that what I saw was a onetime thing, a secret that I
need
to take to the grave. She doesn’t have to worry about
that, I won’t tell a soul. That I can promise.
Cross my heart
and hope to die…

“Yeah?” I answer, turning to face her.

That’s not what I get.

Alexia looks defeated and exhausted. She
looks so tired; she could collapse at any moment. I want to hug
her, comfort her, tell er everything’s going to be okay even though
we don’t have that kind of relationship.

“I just…” She turns and leans against the
wall, releasing a sigh. Her eyes tell me that she lost the raging
war and she doesn’t know what to do. I don’t think I can help
her.

I don’t know how to help her.

“Find your friends, Alexia,” I tell her,
sincerely, offering the only advice in my arsenal. Judging from her
fallen expression, that’s not what she wanted nor expected to hear
from me. “Enjoy the rest of lunch, that’s all you can do, right?”
She slowly nods. “He’ll calm down and I promise I won’t tell anyone
what I saw.” Even though I should.

I really should.

With that, with those final words, I leave
the bathroom in search of my own boyfriend, one that would never,
ever hurt me, confident in the knowledge that he would never,
ever
lay his hands on my in that manner. He’s at the back
table in a heated discussion with his friends and that makes me
smile because he’s happy—I’m happy. That’s all that matters.

***

Zephyr was still planning our first
official
date, which seemed to be taking forever. He
continues to tell me he wants to do something special, extravagant,
spectacular, something that I’ll always remember, from this day
forward, forever and ever, amen. Okay, so I’m definitely
exaggerating with that and that song was stuck in my head but
anything compared to my last date will always be memorable and, for
lack of a better word… better. But he’s still planning, still
saving money like a bank just to take me some place special
because, as he says, I deserve the best.

I tell him I already got the best the night
of his suspension from school… the second one.

However, I can’t wait for our date. He’s
really hyping it up. Whenever it is, whatever it is, I’ll be the
happiest girl in the world.

There was a time when I thought I’d never be
happy, that I’d forever wallow in my world of self-pity and
sadness. That was back when Zephyr was only a friend, and my
only
friend. I was bullied at school, I’d spend every
afternoon hiding in my room, and Dr. Jett had me on medication for
depression.

That’s a lot to take in when you’re a little
kid.

I was told I was depressed; I was told I was
worthless, and I tried to pretend that my world was my room.

But now that I have friends, I have Zephyr,
and my life seems to be heading skyward, I can’t help but see
happiness on the horizon in a beauty of blurring colors when I look
out the window. It looks like a sunrise, the moment when the sky
turns to beautiful hues of pinks and oranges; it looks like wonder
to me. I wonder… as in the rest of the day, the rest of that
moment, anything can happen and I’m in the presence of hopeful
wonder. So can be said about life, because I often wonder what’ll
happen to me down the road.

As I lie on Zephyr’s bed while he finishes
his homework, taking in the familiar scent of him surrounding me, I
remember all of the moments in my life that made me happy.

The moment I kicked Ryder in the balls, to be
completely honest, that was an awesome day. Who wouldn’t be happy
after that? It made me feel empowered and dangerous. The school day
ended pretty shitty but that not was wonderful. That brings me to
my next moment, the night when Zephyr and I discovered our mutual
feelings for each other. See, the other day was just filled with
epic awesomeness.

Then there was the birthday when Hilary took
me bowling followed by a trip ice skating. It was just the two of
us and she tried to teach me how to ice skate—it’s unsuccessful
when you, as the teacher, have no idea how to ice skate yourself—I
only did well because it’s a lot like rollerblading to me. I still
lost at bowling, though. It’s the memory that counts, though.

The birthday Mommy gave me a tiny piano to
keep in my room. It was pink and purple with flowers painted on the
top.

Wait… what?

Where did that come from?

The card Ivy made for me when I turned six.
She used her awesome markers, because she had so many colors and
some were even scented, and drew a butterfly on the cover. It was
so pretty, I tacked it onto my wall by my pillow so I’d see it
everyday.

That one time Noah let me play with his red
toy truck. It was his favorite and he wouldn’t let anyone touch it
but me.

The day that Mommy taught me to play
chopsticks on the big piano in the living room because, she said,
it was an easy song. I would spend hours playing it on my piano in
my room.

Where is all of this coming from? Is my mind
finally working correctly? Are doors unlocking?

Will I finally have answers?

I’m here to help you…

Sitting up, I look around the room, searching
for the source of that voice. It was a girl, light and lilting,
melodic, almost too young to be someone I know. I only see Zephyr
with his nose stuck between the pages of his reading assignment for
English.

Other than him, that’s it, we’re alone. We’re
alone and I’m starting to hear voices.
Oh, goody, goody
.
Great, simply fan-freaking-tastic, that’s another check for the
crazy column.

His book slams shut and he’s standing up from
his chair by the window before my thoughts stop rolling. We look at
each other, his happiness drowns out my worry and a smile blooms
across my lips, matching his.

“I’m finished!” He exclaims joyfully. His
parents are having their self-imposed date night, and Jamie is out
with Marcus. That just leaves me and Zephyr lounging in his room…
in his empty house… with no one to walk in and disrupt whatever it
is we decide we want to do. Yeah, what teenager
won’t
take
advantage of that? “Who the hell actually enjoys doing homework on
a Friday night?” he asks as he shrugs off his hoodie, tossing it
over the back of his desk chair.

I could answer that honestly, but I don’t
want the weird look. And he knows me well enough to
know
my
honest answer.

“Look at it this way,” I say instead. “Now
you’re entire weekend has opened up.” I sit up on his bed and tuck
my hair behind my ears. “There’s no need to scramble to finish
everything on Sunday night.” The perks of being studious.

Zephyr stares at me for a moment, before he
slowly shakes his head with confusion. It’s a momentary thought
because soon he’s walking toward me, slowly dropping his hands onto
the edge of his bed. “Since my entire weekend is open, there
is
something I’d like to start right here.” His chocolate
eyes burn into mine as he stalks closer to me, his hands caging me
to his bed as he moves closer, inching, inching, inching, until his
scent envelops me, overwhelms me and I’m ready to succumb.

“What’s that?” I ask distractedly, mesmerized
by his luscious lips when his tongue darts out, wetting his bottom
lip before they split in a mischievous grin. My eyes glance up,
staring into eyes looking back at me with so much intensity that I
forget to breathe. I can sense a need I’ve never felt before
burning through my body, one that starts in my core and blossoms
through the rest of my body, driving through my veins, leaving me,
for lack of a better word, hot. No, molten.

He can feel it too. I can see it in his eyes,
an intense, carnal need just to be with me.

He doesn’t answer, only smirks mischievously
before he presses his lips against mine tenderly, almost
apprehensively, like he’s scared I’ll just bolt from the room the
moment our lips touch. But that’s the last thing I want to do. My
hands snake up, grabbing his neck, and pulling him closer to me, as
close as I can, silently telling him it’s okay. Everything’s okay.
His hands grip my sides, fisting the thin fabric of my shirt before
one hand moves up, cradling my cheek.

His hand grazes bare skin, first tentatively,
then his palm flattens against my side, gripping me like he’ll lose
me. He holds on to every part of me, pulling me, tugging me,
wanting me closer, closer than ever before.

Alarms sound off in my head as his hand
snakes higher and higher, leaving a trail of electricity with every
touch, reaching uncharted territory I’d prefer remained
uncharted.

“Stop,” I say against his lips. It’s too
quiet for him to hear. He kisses me hard, his hand snaking higher.
“Stop,” I yell, pushing him away from me as hard as I can with as
much force as my shaking body can muster. It shocks him. Scrambling
from the bed, I drop to the floor, tugging down my shirt to keep my
broken body hidden. There’s nothing uglier than my body. I should
know, I’ve seen it. I’ve seen every nook, cranny, and terrifying
blemish. Every jagged scar, I’ve committed them to memory. What
will he say when he sees me, when he finally sees me? All of me?
He’d run, because it would all be true, every rumor would be
confirmed, and I wouldn’t blame him for running.

He can’t see what lies beneath my shirt; he
can’t see the marks on my skin. It’d disgust him, it disgusts me
and I have to see it every day, I have to live with it.

I should’ve known this would be too much for
him to handle, my body and my scars, I should’ve spared him the
issue and just told him I never felt the same way about it. I
should’ve pushed him away instead of kissing him that night. He
can’t handle it. He can’t handle my past. No one can.

Not even me.