Ripple Effect: A Novel (18 page)

“Shh,” I motion and open the door.

We made a battle plan. We’d sneak into the house and scare my sister and her friends.

To suppress a giggle, Hazel holds her hands over her mouth. Darien is behind her, nearly hidden in the shadows of the dark porch. I nod and we step forward, beginning our creeping of the house.

When we reach the living room and the kitchen, no one is there. The red couch is empty and the lights in the kitchen are off. Confusion is the only emotion that I seem to feel at the moment. I can hear Hazel and Darien release sighs.

“Okay,” I whisper. “I guess we’ll just go into the kitchen––”

Adie, Daphne, and Jema jump out of their hiding places—behind the couch, in the dark corners, under the table—and lunge at us, making Hazel and me both scream. Darien begins to laugh and the light is flipped on in the kitchen, revealing a cool blue color.

“Gotcha! Gotcha!” Daphne yells before high-fiving Adie and Jema. “Gotcha good!”

“Go figure you’d try to scare us,” Hazel states, before moseying into the kitchen and flipping on the lights, revealing a white tiled counter top and brown cupboards. We put the groceries on the counter before unpacking them from the plastic bags.

“Good to see you, your highness,” Jema says to Hazel with a teasing grin.

Hazel sticks her tongue out before finally caving in and giving her a hug. “I can only visit the commoners so often.”

“And what about feeding them?” Adie wonders. “Queen Hazel has been ignoring her people and they are starved.”

Laughing, I look from the blue walls and sea shell wind chimes in the corner of the room to Adie. My mom kind of has this ocean theme going on in here. “Let them eat cake,” I say.

“You’d be a horrible queen, Ces!” Daphne yells. “You’d be hung for treason.”

“Probably.” I shrug and open a pack of licorice. “I should been hung for worse.” I feel super guilty about ditching my family for so long. What a selfish brat I was.

Jema leans in towards Hazel before whispering, “I’d be careful who you let linger in your courts.” She is hinting towards us. “In fact, they should linger in asylums only. They’re possessed!”

A piece of licorice smacks Jema in the face by my hand and we begin to laugh. “Gotcha!” My arms go up like I just scored a touchdown.

Everyone laughs. Jema rubs her face and shoots me a smiling scowl, smacking my stomach softly. My hands drop and cover the stinging flesh, still tender from the bruises. I couldn’t help the small gasp that escapes my lips.

“What was that?” Adie asks, eyes wide. “Ces, are you hurt?”

Darien and Hazel exchange nervous glances.

“I have this bruise, well a few of them, and Jema hit one,” I say.

Daphne laughs. “I knew you liked it rough.”

Hazel starts laughing hysterically and has to lean on the counter to keep from collapsing. She looks at me and laughs again, caught in the irony of it all, then I start laughing, even though I’m absolutely terrified. In reality, it was far rougher than Daphne could imagine––if she knew the truth, she’d be crying. We look at each other and laugh again, totally lost in the split second of psychosis.

“You guys are freaks,” Jema says, and sits at a barstool.

We settle down and shoo away the odd looks we receive. At least they aren’t asking questions anymore . . .

“And who’s this?” Daphne asks, elbowing Darien and winking.

“Darien the Knight,” I reply, smiling at him.

Adie pauses for minute. “Wait . . . like,
Darien,
Darien?”

Darien nods and smiles. Daphne smacks her forehead, as if that was the easiest thing to figure out. She clearly remembers Darien from my childhood.

“
The
Darien who picked two bouquets of dandelions and gave them to us after one of our surgeries?” Adie asks, with an appreciative smile.

“Yeah!” I say loudly. She obviously didn’t hear me the first time. “This is Darien!”

Adie hugs him. “Darien, I haven’t seen you for years! Where have you been?”

Basically, Darien and I were, like, besties when we were kids. Then we got into middle school and he wanted to stay the same old Darien, and Hazel kind of took his spot after I shoved Sabrina off her.

“Are you still snotty as ever?” Jema asks Hazel, laughing. “I haven’t seen you for a few months and wonder if you’ve reverted back to your old habits.”

Hazel––she can be a little snotty sometimes. That’s why Daphne, Jema, and Adie call her Queen Hazel. It doesn’t help that she looks like a Disney princess with golden locks the color of Aurora’s. When we first met, way back in seventh grade, Hazel needed an attitude adjustment and found one. Now, she is pretty chill. But you know how old stigmas are: once a queen, always a queen.

“Are you still living with your Mom and Dad?” Hazel replies with attitude. “Aren’t you, like, over twenty and virgin lips?”

Jema laughs loudly. “Once a queen, always a queen. Thanks for gracing us with your presence tonight.”

“Wait a minute!” Daphne yells. “Why aren’t you at that party? You never told us.”

Hazel looks at me to explain. My forehead tenses as I answer. “Didn’t feel like it. The carriage and horses are taking a night off. The royalty here will be but normal common folk for the evening, right, Queen Hazel?” I bow my head to Hazel.

“Thank you, my fair lady in waiting,” Hazel says in a British accent.

Adie laughs. “Wow, you’ve taken this game a little far . . .”

“So, Darien––maybe you can answer my question,” Jema says. “Why are you kicking around with Hazel and Cecily? Isn’t that like social suicide on their behalf?”

Darien looks at Hazel and smiles. “Does it matter? We graduate this year. Seniors are allowed to do what they want, remember?”

“Um . . . not really. Hazel and Ces are like royals, and no offense, but you are kinda like a bottom feeder, right?” Daphne points out.

I begin laughing, which results in me spitting my soda everywhere. “Hazel and me—
royals?
” I laugh again and Hazel chimes in.

“Only
royals
are in invited to high school parties like the one that you were invited to tonight,” Jema reminds us.

Daphne shoots me a look. “And only
royals
dress as skanks, skip school, and come home smelling like liquor.”

My eyes widen. “You could really smell that?”

Daphne makes a face. “Who couldn’t? When you came inside this afternoon, I swear that you had bathed in vodka . . .”

My face goes pale and my head spins. I sit down quickly. “I don’t remember . . .”

“I was invited to one of those parties once, but I think it was out of pity,” Adie remembers, taking the attention from me. “Not a big deal.”

“So, are you a royal or not?” Jema asks me.

“We are not royals! If we were, we’d be at that nasty party!” Hazel proclaims. “We are not royals!” I stick more licorice in my mouth so I don’t have to talk about it. I’m worse than a royal. I’m a
monster.
“And Darien is not a bottom feeder!” Hazel slams her fist on the counter. “He’s a normal teenager, like us!”

Adie shrugs before yawning. “Okay— What we are trying to say is . . . this is weird. One minute Ces, like, hates us, and now we are all being buds in the kitchen. I haven’t seen Darien for years and here he is.”

Daphne leans on the counter and sighs, her wavy orange hair falling over her shoulder and to the white counter top. “Now that Ces is normal again, who do we talk about behind their back?”

I flash her look that is completely sarcastic. “What you talking about?”

Daphne sticks her tongue out at me. “You know. Your soul being damned to Hell and whatever. Those ugly clothes. The dark makeup. I’m going to miss those discussions.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say. “That’s nice of you to worry about me.”

Daphne and I laugh together.

“Anyway! We are going to play some video games now and eat some ice cream,” Hazel states, changing the direction of the night.

“Video games?!” Jema asks. “Whoa! I never thought I’d hear you say that! What else? Darien here is your BF?” She starts laughing at the thought. “Queen Hazel and Darien the Knight fall in love?”

I swallow my laughter and look away to hide my smile.

“We are moving in that direction . . . ,” Hazel replies truthfully.

Jema’s, Daphne’s, and Adie’s eyes go wide.

“Cute, right?” I ask, grabbing my snacks and leaving to sit down on the couch.

A few minutes pass with a few more conversations filled with teasing and innocent bantering. I think to myself,
how lucky am I?

Hazel is laughing with Darien as he sets up the game system. She is twirling her golden hair around her finger as she giggles flirtatiously. She really likes this kid!

If we went to that party, this would have never happened.

When Sabrina gave me that flyer, I realized that there was something broken in me that needed that party, okay, well . . . maybe a lot of things were broken. Yet, here I am, sitting in my living room with the people I love. Not that I am complaining, but I am confused by myself. Everyone remembers this psychotic Cecily and I can’t see her anymore! What happened to me to make me throw everything I loved and treasured away?

Adie puts her hand on mine and squeezes. A smile appears on her angled face.

“When was the last time that I told you that I loved you?” I ask Adie seriously.

Her smile turns into concern. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“A long time, Cecily.” Adie holds my hand tighter. “After Papa died, you started to change a little. It was gradual until one day you decided you––”

“Hated you?” I ask, not sure if it is right.

Adie nods. “Essentially. Just months ago you pushed us all away.”

“Oh.” I exhale slowly and shake my head. “That’s horrible. When did I start drinking?”

“From what I’ve been watching, I’d say a week. Something horrible happened to you, didn’t it?”

I look down at our hands—hers thin and always a pale purple, mine nearly looking the same. Something’s wrong with me, I’m sick or something. My fingers should be fuller, my hands a healthy flesh color. Just like the hollows in my cheeks—they’re not supposed to be there.

“I don’t know what happened, Adie . . .”

Adie gives me a look of sympathy as she watches me think. “You can tell me anything.”

“I know.” I flash half a smile and look at her. There is something that I need to do, something I need to see. Only my room will give me the answers I truly seek. “I will be right back.”

“What? Where are you going?” Hazel asks.

“I have to fix my makeup,” I lie.

Hazel doesn’t buy it, but she lets me go.

Entering into my bedroom feels foreign to me, like I am a traveler from a far and distant land. On the floor next to the mirror are piles of makeup, mostly in darker shades. I step forward and land my foot on a tube of lipstick, which is the dark purple color I was wearing when I woke up. It would be perfect for Halloween, but not for everyday use.

Scattered on the ground are clothes, mainly black, and consisting of lacy tops, pleated miniskirts, and extremely bright bras. I pick one of the bras up and actually like the color, bright red. A scene enters my mind, one where I am wearing the bra alone under a sheer black top, and Leison appears instantly. I drop the bra like it contains the bubonic plague.

Holding my head, I look around at the mess I had become.

On my desk is a drawing, a dark one, too. I can almost deny that it is done by my hand, but can’t. A girl runs in a forest from a dark entity, absolutely terrified. To the side of the dark drawing is a flask, half-filled with what smells like rum. My hand covers my mouth as tears enter, stinging my eyes. How did this happen to me?

Adie’s painting, the red lily, stands out to me like a ray of sunlight and my horror turns to happiness. It’s supposed to be completed by now, but I have been a little occupied, it seems.

Behind me is my bed below the windows. As usual, it is unmade and all the purple pillows are thrown on the ground. A few tops are strewed across the rumpled up comforter.

Not being able to take it anymore, I start collecting all the dark clothes and makeup in my room and throw them into a large pile to be taken away. This isn’t me, and it never should have been.

When I lift one of the shirts from the bed, a wad of cash unrolls from the blouse. I step back and find that my mattress has been tampered with and moved. This money is for our trip to the west coast, but apparently I had different plans for it. Well, until I was given a second chance in life. I put the money back under my mattress where it belongs.

The last piece of dark clothing is lifted and underneath sits my journal, which looks like it has been moved. I remember seeing it out in the open before I left to get Hazel. Maybe I’m just crazy. I pick it up in my hand, rubbing my thumb against the bumpy texture of the olive green cover. My eyes widen as I stare down at the one thing that could really explain why I turned the way I did.

Written one week ago: (Since it seems to be the epicenter of my destruction)

No one will believe me. Everyone will believe him, but not me. The rumors I’ve heard disgust me, “Cecily seduced him” and “Did you see how short her skirt is? What a skank.” That’s not even all of them! But if I said that he touched me, no one would believe me. And he said other things, bad things, which I can’t say. He says that the school psychologist thinks I’m screwed up and dark; and that Iles, my painting instructor, said that my art suggests that I’m suicidal. Even when I went to tell Sheriff Copper, he was there talking to him as well. I am all alone, and no one will believe me because I’m a troubled teen.

I’ve already lost Papa and Bandit and now this . . . I can’t do this anymore. Adie has Mom and I can see that there is no room for me in their happy little picture, which has been that way forever. Papa is dead, so he can’t protect me. I don’t fit into the picture of happy family with the girls anymore, in fact it’s been months almost that I’ve interacted with them. I don’t belong with them anymore. They love Adie, but they don’t love Cecily. All I do is cry and I’m so angry at everyone! I can’t do this anymore.

Hazel is all I have, but I worry that I am dragging her on my path to Hell.

Perhaps it will be best if I take my life and end the suffering now.

Written six days ago:

I refuse to go to school and be tampered with by him. I will go to my other classes, but I won’t go to that one. And it’s baggy clothes from here. The one time I wear a mini skirt and . . . I’m not finishing that sentence. Anyway, I don’t have to worry about that right now, so I am just going to sleep all weekend and hide away from the world. Huge bruises cover my skin from him and I don’t want anyone to see them. Not even Hazel. I’m a disgusting, worthless, slut! I will never ever be loved, not like I deserve to be . . .

Pausing in my reading, I look down at the purple and brown bruise on the tender flesh of my chest once more. Tears sting my eyes. My hand rests over it and I close my eyes, wishing his vile
hands had never done this to me. Sniffling, I continue reading:

. . . I’ve had nightmares, they’re never ending. This time I sat on a cliff and did drugs and other things, I think. Next thing I know, I am flying through the air and land on the ground below. I jumped off the ridge and killed myself. Mom wants to me see the school psychologist, again. She is worried about me and how dark I am getting. She doesn’t know anything! She doesn’t know how it feels to be me! To be depressed and lonely and scared! She just doesn’t know me anymore! She just cares about Adie! Why did Papa have to die?

Written four days ago:

Well, it’s Monday, and though I swore I would not go to school today, I had to see the psychologist just to humor my mother. The lady stares at me like she knows a dark secret that I hold, like she knows that something has happened with him, but I refuse to tell her. She’s the enemy, she’s on his side! She asked about my dreams. I told her nothing. She wants to see me again. I told her to go to Hell. Then I decided that, legit, I wasn’t going to go to school anymore. Hazel’s parents are gone and have quite the selection of liquor and fancy lingerie. We’ll sit around in fancy silk robes and watch movies and the rest of the world can screw off.

Written two days ago:

The nerve of some people, seriously! Sabrina, the duchess whore she is, came up to me during lunch. She handed me a flyer for a party that is this Friday night at some mansion. Hazel was sitting there when it happened. She said something about an older man having interest in me and wanting me there. Then she threatened me. I can’t believe I told her yes—but I had to! Here I was, supposed to be sitting around in silk robes and skipping out on school, but that freaking psychologist called my mother, and my mother made me go! And then Sabrina attacked me! I left for home and then Hazel came and picked me up because I dreaded being at the school. And Mom doesn’t understand. I also have this sore throat, probably from all the crap he’s put me through. It came around just after he attacked me. On the way out of the school, Darien came up to me and accused me of seducing so and so. He knows the truth about him; I could see it in his eyes. I yelled at him and told him that he doesn’t know me—because he doesn’t!—and he brought up how we were friends when we were kids. Then he called me a royal! I am not a royal! I am so sick of everyone! I hate everyone! Seriously, I think I’m going to do it. I’m going to jump from the cliff and never look back.

Written last night:

Hazel has given me the guilt trip for kicking Adie and them out of my life. They kicked me out, not the other way around––when they decided that I was too dark and wanted to tell me how to live my life! They kicked me out with their nagging bossy crap! Hazel loses her place sometimes. In fact, I’ve been sleeping at her house for a few nights. Last night she reminded me that I have to turn in that art piece to Iles. I shouldn’t care, but I do. It is the one that won me the scholarship to the AI. When I went to turn it in, Hazel was talking to Darien in the hall (gag me) and Darien was saying some crap about me to my face. He called me selfish; he said that I didn’t care about Hazel. What does he know?

I’m angry these days, but I’m numb too. I don’t think it’s the alcohol, but everyone else does. If anything, the booze helps me, keeps me from getting violent. Hazel would disagree, says that I act like an idiot when I drink and sometimes smack her around. Only because she needs it! I don’t belong in this world anymore. I’ll go to the party tomorrow night and then simply disappear somewhere. If I’m so selfish, then suicide seems to be the perfect death.

I place the journal down for a minute and breathe through the tears that stream silently down my cheeks. It’s all I can do. My heart is breaking in my chest, I can’t breathe very well, and I feel so alone––if just for that one second. Laughter rings from downstairs and brings a smile to my face, reminding me that I am not that Cecily anymore. With dread, I turn back to the journal. I need to know what happened to me, even though it makes me feel like broken glass is shattered in my already bruised chest.

Written today:

It was nice to spend a day with Hazel, simply sitting around and enjoying the last moments of normalcy. After this, I’ll never spend another morning with Hazel, giggling about silly things over bagels and smear and laughing about my hangovers. I came home to get ready for the party and Daphne gave me the ugliest look and held her nose as I passed. I flipped her off and went upstairs. Adie was probably crying like a baby, and I hadn’t seen my mother.

I guess that this is goodbye. I’m taking the money that I have saved up and I am spending it on drugs and alcohol at the royal party. I don’t want to feel the pain when I die. Poor Hazel has to be dragged along by the selfish Cecily. I’m sure she’ll be fine. It will be good for her to get high and get loose. Anger is still inside of me, but now all I feel is sadness. I even thanked Hazel for always being there for me. I told her that if she were dying, I’d hold her in my arms and sing to her. It’s a shame she won’t be able to hold me. It’s too bad, all of this death talk. My Papa didn’t love me enough to stay by my side. I am a disgrace to my mother, just a screwed up child that “seduces” teachers and barks at people.

There is nothing left for me on this earth and I only hope that I can leave this place and never return. If they don’t hate me here, I just hope they spread my ashes on the river.

Written just a few hours ago: (before I passed out)

I love you, Mom. I love you, Adie. I love you, Hazel. I love you, Jema and Daphne.

I didn’t mean to hurt you.

I finish reading and the journal drops from my hands as my body becomes paralyzed. I’m sobbing, my shoulders shaking, my heart aching. That hollow spot in my chest becomes consuming. I try to wipe the tears off my cheeks, but they keep coming!

Suicide . . .
I was going to commit suicide tonight?

The glass in my chest crunches against the smooth muscle and burns excruciatingly. I don’t remember being this dark at all!
Why?
This makes no sense. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, to keep from breaking into pieces.

Lunging over my bed and to the shelf where I keep my journals, I roll onto the floor and sit on my knees. I pull out a sparkly blue journal and open it to when my father died. I was thirteen years old. It reads:

Papa . . . is dead.
I think that’s a tear mark there, quite a few actually.

He left me here alone. I don’t know what to say. Mom won’t stop crying and we just found out today that Adie is sick again. Everyone keeps coming over to bring us food. Reverend Morris and his wife are very kind to us. Sheriff Copper comes by hourly to ensure that we’re good. The people are kind to us. Papa is dead. Adie is sick. I want to run away, maybe to Germany. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be there, waiting for me. But I know that he is dead. And . . . I’m alone now.

I throw that aside and dig through the pile to find my journal from the next year. It’s orange with a giant purple peace sign on the front.
The Life of Cecily Ann Wolf: Age Fourteen
, it says on the front in bright marker. The first pages are filled with random things, like who I think was hot at the age of fourteen, and secret codes that me and Hazel shared.

Finally, I reach something good. It reads:

Sometimes I think Mom hates me. She spends lots of time on Adie, but pays no attention to me. We were at the market today and ran into the Sheriff. He said I reminded him of Papa. Mom’s face went white and tears were in her eyes. It’s been a year. Shouldn’t she be happy that one of her children still carries on his spirit? It was like I was gross and covered in worms, like she would talk to a banshee instead of me, her own flesh and blood. She’s not the only one who’s sad that Papa died. I’m the one who’s been left alone, not her. She only cares about Adie, and I feel like that is the only reason I’m alive. I see the pain in her when she sees me. I’m too much like Papa, and Mom hates me. I am all alone.

Sighing, I shake my head and stare down at the words. My poor, poor mother. Of course it hurt her to see me; I am so much like my father. But I needed her at that time, and I clearly did not get the attention I needed to survive.

I place that one to the side and pull out the next journal. This one has pink Japanese Cherry Blossoms on the front of it. I was fifteen and straight to the point. It reads:

Adie said that I was a brat. Me and Mom got into fight, it had nothing to do with Adie, and she said I was yelling uncontrollably with Mom. I was not! I was completely calm! Adie is a stupid idiot that I wish was never born! I’m like an incubator for her. Daphne and Jema are her true sisters. I’m nothing, just a bag of bone marrow. You think I want to be my sister’s keeper? I don’t want to be, not anymore. Jeez, and all I said was, “Mom, I fell out of the tree and bruised my hip.” Mom said, “Did you slip?” I said, “Yeah. We drank something funny at Billy’s house (random loser from school) and I couldn’t walk or see very well, and I slipped.” Mom’s eyes were all wide and she was flipping her lid, worried that we had been drugged. I told her to shut up and let me talk. Then Adie came in and ruined everything. I hate her! I wish she were dead! Anyway, the stupid kid said the drink was from his dad’s cabinet, it’s called
liquor.
My mom pretends that she doesn’t know what alcohol is or something. I had never had it before. It smelled horrible, but I still drank it to look cool. It stung my throat. Then we felt all lightheaded and giggly and the kid tried to kiss Hazel! We ran because he has rabies, climbed into a tall tree, and I fell out because I couldn’t walk straight. But Mom doesn’t care, or Adie. I wouldn’t get so angry if they would just let me talk. I’m always ganged up on!