Seeds of Hate (17 page)

A large group of walking feet echoed out to my right. Turning my head, I saw four guys with no dates. In the dark, I couldn't make out any of their faces, but their bodies were square and the one on the far end cracked his knuckles. I continued to sit, staring at the cars as my foot bounced up and down.

Their leader approached me first. Funny, how in a matter of seconds an entire reel of your life can flash before your own eyes. It's also funny how you can care about someone deeply, even when all they do is hate you in return. I still had no idea what I had done, but as I looked up into his eyes, I saw my best friend. He, however, didn't see the same. Over the years his eyes had continued to grow with anger and hurt.

Nathan, I thought to myself, when did I lose you?

Not being able to find my voice, I just sat there. I was in no mood to fight, but I could tell he felt otherwise. Apparently, our non-verbal agreement to just ignore each other had expired. We hadn't spoken in forever.

"Did you not hear me the first time, wetback? Did Nicole ask you to the dance tonight?"

I wanted to get up and run. Go home. Anything that would make his anger stop. I hadn't been able to understand Nathan for many years now. It was like one moment we were friends, and the next our entire childhood never existed. The best I could do right now was answer the question.

"Yes, Nicole asked me—" And that was all I could say before my best friend since kindergarten took his fist and punched me straight in the face.

My head flew back and to the left. Pain radiated throughout my body. I could taste blood in my mouth and felt my lip throb at the corner. My eyes blinked against the dark, detecting no sign of light.

One minute I was sprawled over the side of the bench, and the next I was being lifted to my feet and dragged across the concrete. Nathan and his friends walked a far distance before depositing me on the floor. They sat me up and my head fell back against a hard surface. I smelled oil and gas.

I didn't even attempt to fight back. What was the point? There was nothing inside me that wanted to hurt him, so I lay there and welcomed him to do his worst. Silently hoping that somewhere deep inside, the Nathan who liked to dip his Oreos in hot chocolate and put cocoa powder on his waffles still existed.

My eyes opened out of curiosity, but I still couldn't see straight. Searching, I found him and pleaded for answers.

"Nathan?" My voice garbled with pain. "What did I do? Just tell me. Tell me what I did!"

There was a brief pang of silence and all I could hear was my labored breathing and the shuffling of many feet. The conversation becoming too pink to handle. I could sense the testosterone drop as my words squeezed their balls. Maybe they would all walk away.

I sat on the dirty asphalt, with my new tux picked out to match Nicole's blue dress, and all I could think about was where everything went wrong. I knew she was out there waiting for me, thinking I had stood her up. Little did she know I was no more than a few hundred feet away, sitting down, in the dark, bleeding.

Silence fell upon my ears, but I could feel him. His rage. His anger. He wasn't done with me yet. Up until now, I had forgiven him for everything he'd done to me. I had no friends. No place to belong. I was a total outsider on campus and he made sure it stayed that way. Confusion outweighed my desire to retaliate, and I tried my hardest to give him the benefit of the doubt. But what he did next. Could I forgive him for this humiliation?

They ripped my clothing off into shreds. Piece by piece they stripped me down to nothing. The night was cold even for early fall, and I began to shiver. Nathan then approached me and whispered into my ear...

"I'm not supposed to want to be you. I have everything. You have nothing. A world where you have something that I can't have ... will never exist."

He kicked me one last time in the stomach. And then they dragged me to a dark room. My head fell against the floor and I curled up into a ball—for protection or warmth, I wasn't sure, maybe both. I heard the door close behind me, and a lock clinked into place.

This was the moment the scales on our friendship shifted. My love for him slowly stepped aside and made room for my hate. It was a response that I couldn't control, and the change happened so fast, I was beginning to think we had never been friends at all.

My eyes grew heavy, and as I breathed, I swallowed the scent of bleach and metal.

Three minutes later, everything went black.

Chapter 23

Lullaby

(Selah)

I sat there wondering how a human could be so cold, calloused and violent. What made Nathan think he could get away with that? What did he gain from it? I had been on the receiving end of bullying and knew firsthand the backdoor horrors of dark high school hallways, but this ... this ...

Javier stopped walking. He dropped my hand and faced me, but he didn't say anything.

"I don't ... I have ... where do I even begin?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I have so many questions, and yet none of them seem important. Who found you? How did the school not find out? Did your mother press charges? I don't get how he got away with it all."

"What makes you think he got away?" he asked.

"His attitude. His current treatment of you. He's never been punished for a single thing in his life."

Javier smiled, full and wide. For once, it touched his eyes. "That's partially true. I've seen him get punished, but it's been awhile."

I took a seat on the sidewalk. We had been circling the park for the last thirty minutes, and I needed a moment. The ground was cold, but it felt good. I crossed my legs and pulled my knees up, resting my chin on the edge.

"Are you okay?" Javier kneeled beside me and rubbed his eyes, exhaustion covering his face.

"Are
you
okay?" I repeated.

"I wasn't for a long time. I'm still not sure if I'm going uphill or downhill yet."

My watch beeped twice. I turned it off and looked up at the sky. The sun was gone and the moon was bright.

"Are you going to be late?" he asked.

"No, just dinner. 6 PM. Every day." I stood up and brushed off my butt. I'd never been late for dinner before. A part of me was worried, and another part of me could care less.

"You should go," he said.

"Go? But—"

"Don't worry. We can talk later."

"Tomorrow?" I asked.

"Tomorrow is Saturday. No school."

"Do you have plans?"

"No."

"Me neither," I said. "My godparents will be out most of the day. Want me to pick you up?"

Javier paused, thinking it over. "Can I come over?" he asked. "My mother will be sleeping most of the afternoon. She works nights."

I hesitated. There were no rules about boys in the house because I never had boys in the house, but somehow I knew it wouldn't be okay. Lie. It was harmless. They wouldn’t know.

"Sure," I said with heat on my cheeks. You're not doing anything bad, Selah. You're seventeen. You've been a good kid. I repeated these words in my head as I handed Javier a slip of paper with my address.

"What time?" he asked.

"After 11:00?" They'd be home around 5 PM, but I didn't want to time it too close.

"Sounds good," he replied and placed the paper in his pocket. "I'll see you tomorrow."

We stood there staring at each other, not knowing how to leave. My eyes couldn't focus on his face without feeling transparent, so I kept looking back and forth. Ground. Face. Ground. Face. Then I started bouncing on the heels of my feet.

He just pursed his lips and walked away. I watched him as he went, his steps long and his stride slow. Bringing my hand to my face, I breathed in. It smelled like him. Clean. Boy. Happy.

Even after everything he had said to me, I headed to my car, hoping tomorrow would come quick.

***

The doorbell rang, and I tucked away the last and only letter from my mother under my pillow. I rushed downstairs and stopped at the mirror, checking my hair and overall appearance. We were just friends. Just friends.

"Hey," I said with a calm face and my knees shaking underneath my skirt.

His left hand rubbed his head. His back was turned toward me as he looked out at the neighborhood. After hearing my voice he faced me, his cheek pulling to the left and he dropped his hand, placing both in his pockets. Black shirt, dark jeans and black shoes—he never wore anything else.

I looked down at my appearance—striped skirt, concert t-shirt of The Aquabats from the summer before my parents left, red Converse, and my hair wild and unruly.

His weight shifted from foot to foot and his eyes widened. "Are you going to let me in, or are we going to stare at each other’s clothes all day?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Nervous, I guess. Come in."

"Nervous?" he asked.

"Yeah, not because of you. Although, it is because of you. But not because of you as in,
you
." My words tumbled out onto the floor like blocks from a toy box—messy and innocent. I crossed my legs at the ankles and leaned against the wall of our dining room. Acting casual was easier than speaking it. "I've never had anyone over before. It's weird."

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, sensing my hesitation.

"Hardly," I replied and turned away, walking to the kitchen. I flipped on the light switch and went to the fridge, sticking my head inside to cool down.

"Want something to drink?" I yelled.

"Then why?" His voice was quiet and fell against my spine, causing my toes to wiggle. It gave me the urgent need to scratch my ear. So I shivered.

The fridge door shut, and I leaned my head against the stainless steel as Javier's hand laid on top of mine.

"I'm not a bad girl. I listen. I obey. I do as I'm told," I said.

"And that makes you nervous?" he asked.

"No, I just didn't clarify my plans today with Frank or Aunt Caroline."

"Am I not allowed to be here?"

"I don't know," I said, while chewing on the inside of my cheek and twisting my left earring.

"Well, when will they be home?" he asked.

"Not until late."

He moved closer and spoke slow, "I promise to be long gone before they even think of returning."

I nodded in response while breathing out my nose. I pulled the fridge door back open, but his hand never left mine. "Drink?" I asked again.

He leaned around me, reached in and pulled out a Coke. I grabbed a water and then shut the door. His hand left, as he popped open the can and exited the room.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Up," he said. His finger pointed at the ceiling as he headed toward the stairs.

"But the TV is downstairs," I replied. My words came out whiny and young. I was out of my element. He seemed more comfortable here than I anticipated.

"And you said you wanted to talk. I thought you'd be more comfortable in your room. And your room, I'm guessing, is up." He kept walking, not turning around.

"My room? There's nothing interesting about my room, Javi." I choked on his name. Javi? Izzy called him that all the time, but I never had.

"Sure there is," he said. His voice dimmed as he reached the top of the staircase. I thought if I stayed downstairs, he'd eventually come back.

"Bingo! Found it," he yelled.

I pulled up my skirt and took the steps two at a time, rushing down the hallway straight to my room. Standing outside my door, I observed him as he walked around taking in my little home.

"Not what I expected," he said as he touched little knick-knacks here and there and ran his fingers over my books and across my desk.

"How so?" I asked.

"It's softer. More sweet." He paused on a picture of my mother and me. "The room of a girl who has dozens of friends. Who is happy. Content. Free."

"You got all of that from a few books, a stuffed animal and a white comforter with pink blooming flowers on it?"

"Of course."

"What if I said it was all from my Aunt?" I asked.

He tapped the edge of his chin in mock thought. "I'd say you were lying. Your room is your only space. You keep it how you want it. How it makes you happy."

"What does your room look like?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You've seen my apartment. Plain. Simple. Not much."

"Sounds exquisite," I replied. "You'll have to show me sometime."

He didn't respond. Instead, he walked to my stereo and opened up the CD player. It was empty. His finger moved to the cassette deck. "Kicking it old school, I see."

"Whatever, it's not like I'm playing eight-track tapes or vinyl." I took a seat on a chair in the corner and grabbed a pillow. I needed to hold something. To squeeze something. To dry my sweaty hands off.

"No, but cassettes? A mixed tape, nonetheless. Anything good?" he asked.

"Doubtful." I tipped my head to the side while I thought of my mother. "You don't seem like someone who enjoys French music."