Sunshine (17 page)

After that day, I figured he thought maybe things were getting too dangerous for him so he transferred schools. I forgot about him. I forced myself to. But here he is.
I push my chair out from the table. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m walking up the stairs to my old room. Thankfully, Myles doesn’t follow me.
Millions of things rush through my head as I walk into my old bathroom.
This is the point of dinner, isn’t it? To rub in my face that she’s moving on. To make it seem innocent when all she’s doing is trying to get under my skin. Well, mission accomplished.
My body jolts over the toilet and everything comes up. The vomit, the memories, everything.
There’s a knock on the door as I finish. I get up to open it, thinking and praying that it’s Myles coming to tell me that we’re leaving. But it’s not, it’s Mom. With Laura downstairs, I’m not so sure I can keep my mouth shut.
“What was that down there?” she asks. There she is. I knew the real Mom was under all of that.
“Don’t act like you don’t know.” I wipe some sweat from my forehead.
She crosses her arms in front of her. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s because of when you were ten.”
I have to hold onto the door frame to keep from falling over.
“You just don’t want me to replace Adam,” she adds on.
Whatever is about to come out of my mouth, Laura will have to forgive. “What is wrong with you?” I yell. She looks surprised that I’m saying anything at all. “Why would I make something up at ten and then bring it up again at nineteen?”
“Because you want attention,” she shoots back.
There’s no holding back now. “Attention? The only one who seems to want any attention around here is you.”
“How dare you!” she bellows.
“How else do you explain wanting to be with someone who screwed around with your ten year old daughter?”
I’m about to go on. Everything is spilling out of me. I’m stopped by a loud “thwack” sound along with my head whipping back and a stinging in my nose and left cheek. I have a feeling that something on my face is bleeding, but I’m too busy staring at my mother in shock. I know that we argue a lot, but she’s never ever hit me before.
“Get out of my house, you stupid girl.” Those words shouldn’t hurt as badly as they do, but they’re his words.
Like a zombie, I turn and walk down the stairs. Laura and Leena are sitting at the bottom. “What happened?” Laura gasps.
I want to get out of this house as fast as I possibly can. “I’m sorry,” I choke out to Laura as I pinch my nose. It hurts so bad that it’s almost numb.
“It’s okay. I mean, I understand where you’re coming from,” Laura whispers.
I look around for Myles so we can leave. And if I can’t find him, I’m about ready to just leave his ass here. He can
run
home. “Where’s Myles?” I ask.
“On the porch, I think.”
I notice that another certain someone is missing. “And where’s…”
“He’s in Mom’s room.”
“I don’t trust him.” My eyes flash at Leena’s sad little face. I can’t help feeling guilty that I put her frown there.
“I’m telling Mom off too. I want him out of here,” Laura says.
I’m shocked at how firm she’s sounding. Kind of like me. “You believe me?” I ask.
She nods and hugs Leena.
Mom’s yelling, and by the sound of it, coming back downstairs.
“I have to get out of here.”
Myles is sitting in the passenger’s side when I get into my car. I don’t even care if my nose is bleeding and that he just so happens to like blood. He knows too much; what difference does it make if he kills me?
“Sophie,” he says in a shocked tone. I shake my head as I dig for my keys with my free hand. No talking. Only driving. One thing at a time.
I barrel down my old street.
“You’re bleeding,” Myles states when we’re stopped at a light. I pull my hand away from my nose so I can see. Yep, that’s blood.
Myles is quiet for a few seconds. “I had a feeling something like this would happen.” I barely hear him.
Well that pisses me off. I mean, if he had a feeling something bad was going to happen, then why would he keep telling me everything’s fine? “Next time you have a feeling about something, why don’t you let me in on it?” I snap. “
And,”
I add on. “Stay the fuck out of my head in the future.”
We don’t talk after that. It would be a tiny bit difficult to talk and drive at the same time with my brain shutting down on itself.
“Turn onto my street,” he says suddenly.
“Why?” I ask.
“Your nose should have stopped bleeding by now.” The way he says it makes me think he’s seen a lot of bloody noses.
“I’m fine.”
“No. You’re not.”
I turn onto his street just to make him happy, and maybe because I don’t think I can drive much more anyway. We sit parked in his driveway.
“Sophie,” Myles says softly. His hand is in the air, moving to touch my shoulder.
I rest my head on the steering wheel. “Please,” I say quietly. “Don’t touch me right now.”
He lets his arm fall and gets out to open my door for me. I pick up my head and get out of the car. Myles walks a few feet in front of me, opens the door to his house and we go in. We walk into the kitchen and he rips off a sheet of paper towel and hands it to me.
Malakhi lays on the couch whining, but when Myles looks at him and he stops and goes back to sleep. “Sit down,” he instructs me. I think I have to. I don’t want to throw up again. I pull out a chair from the kitchen table and sit, one hand on my nose, the other cradling my head.
Minutes pass. “Let me see,” he says quietly.
Slowly, I pull the paper towel full of bloody nose nuggets away and crumple it in my fist under the table. Myles’ cold hand holds my chin and turns my face from side to side. I try not to flinch.
He seems to swallow hard.
“I’m okay. You don’t have to do this.” I pull my head away.
“I know what I’m doing,” he says quietly, his eyes concentrated on my face.
I close my eyes, try to sniff, but that seems to do nothing. I lean my head into his hand.
“It’s not broken or anything,” he says after a while. I hear him rip off more paper towel, and I feel the roughness of it as he holds in under my nose.
“Does seeing blood bother you?” I blurt out. “Sorry,” I add, just in case the question is too personal.
I crack my eyes open to see him shrugging. “No. I just wish you weren’t bleeding.”
Well, that’s kind of a relief. “Thanks,” I say weakly.
He turns his attention to the paper towel. “Hold your nose like this.” He takes my thumb and index finger and pinches the bridge of my nose with them. After a few minutes, he gets up, goes into the freezer and takes out an icepack. He wraps it in a rag and hands it to me. “You can go clean up in the bathroom if you want. It’s stopped bleeding.” He doesn’t sit back down. “You need to put ice on it, though. You’re going to bruise.” He seems to gulp.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He nods, but he’s looking out the window in the living room. “I need to step outside for a little bit,” he explains. He’s already walking toward the door. He motions again down the hall. “Just clean up and meet me out there when you’re done.” He attempts a tight-lipped smile, but it fades.
I’m worried about him, but I figure the fact that he keeps suggesting I clean up is because I have blood all over me, so I get up and walk to the bathroom.
The first thing I do is look into the mirror. I have blood down my lips and chin, some of it is even on my throat. Some has dried, but most of it hasn’t. My lip and cheek are red and swollen, and under my right eye I can see a bruise already forming. When I take away the paper towel, my nose doesn’t bleed, so I start to wash my face. I make sure I get every bit of blood off of me before I dry off.
I walk outside and scan the backyard. Myles is nowhere in sight. In the middle of the grass is this huge oak tree. Sitting in the midst of the thick branches is a wooden tree house. I don’t know what possesses me, but I start climbing up the tree. I try to think of the last time I climbed one and I can’t remember. Of course Jade’s told me about falling out of one and breaking my arm, and you can never forget which scar is from what. But other than that, I can’t remember.
Myles is sitting in one of the far corners of the tree house. Once I’m inside, I sit down and dangle my legs over the edge where the floorboards stop. “You okay?” I ask again.
He hugs his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. “Sometimes I just need a minute,” he says quietly without looking at me.
“What happened?” I ask softly, not wanting to make him feel bad.
He glances at me and then back at the floor. “My uhm.” He pretends to pick lint off of his pants, “fangs kind of came out.”
“So, you wanted to...bite me, or something?”
“No!” he says, looking up at me suddenly, his eyes are so light they look like they’re glowing. “It’s kind of an instinct. When blood is around, they come out and I can’t really control it.” He looks at the wooden floor again. “I didn’t mean to,” he says like a little kid. But it’s heartbreaking rather than pathetic.
I guess my bleeding does bother him, and don’t want to make him feel worse. “Maybe I should leave you alone,” I say nicely.
Before I can turn around, Myles is sitting next to me with his hand on my arm. “Please don’t leave,” he says, his glow-in-the-dark eyes searching my face. “I’m alright now, really,” he says a little bit more calmly, and taking his hand off my arm.
I stand anyway and walk over to a corner of the tree house where there’s a tiny window. A cold breeze floats through it. I wrap my arms around myself. Myles sits at the edge of the tree house now, with his back leaning against the frame of the door.
He’s making me feel uneasy. Not because of the whole fang issue, because I believe him when he says he’s okay now. But why is he not asking me a million questions and then getting aggravated because I won’t answer him? I stare at the floorboards so I don’t have to watch him stare at me.
He knows too much about me and he’s staring at me. His eyes are boring a hole through my face so I cover it with my hands. I wish I could just cry so I don‘t look an idiot.
There’s a silence for a long time. I don’t move. Maybe if I stand as still as possible, I’ll wake up in bed and everything will be normal.
But when I open my eyes, Myles is inches in front of me. I shut my eyes and try again.
“It’s not your fault, you were only a child,” he whispers.
I open my eyes again and glare at him. I don’t want to do this. “You’re right,” I choke out anyway. “But I’m not anymore. You think I’d grow up and except the fact that my mother doesn’t care…” I trail off. I put my head in my hands again so I don’t have to look at him. “I really thought she loved me,” I whisper.
Why am I telling him this?
Then I feel his arms around my back and my face against his cold chest. I try to push him away, but it’s no use. “Stop it,” I say.
He loosens his grip a little bit, but I still can’t pull away from him. “Why?” he asks softly.
I push him again, my heart beating so loud I can feel it pulse in my swollen nose. “Because I don’t need a hug right now,” I’m getting more aggravated that I can’t break free.
He holds a little bit tighter, but surprisingly, my heartbeat slows and I don’t feel like I have to puke. “It’s just a hug,” Myles says in my ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.” After a minute he says, “And you’re wrong. I think this is exactly what you need.”
My arms reach up, they stiffen at my sides a few times, but I give up and wrap them around his back in the same way. I grab onto the fabric of his sweatshirt so I don’t let go, and it’s soft under my palms. If anyone is a match for putting up with my running away, it’s him. This fact shouldn’t make me happy, but it kind of does.
When we finally stop hugging, I feel like all my muscles suddenly go cold, like they aren’t used to this. “I…I think I should go home,” I say finally.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Myles asks softly.
I start walking toward the entrance of the tree house. I’m not sure, but whatever it is, I don’t want to be alone. “If you want to,” I say quietly.
Myles nods. “Okay. Let’s go then.”

We get back to my house at about eleven and Stevie and Jade are already in bed. The only thing that I don’t need my brain for is gorging myself on every kind of cereal we have in the house, mashed into one gigantic bowl. It works just as I had planned. I can zone out and stare at the counter top and chew absentmindedly at the same time and not have to think about anything at all.
“What was the best day you ever had?” Myles asks out of nowhere, but I guess he’s trying to get my mind off of things.
God, that’s a hard question. Once in a while, I have this dream. I’m holding Adam’s hand and it’s snowing. “The day Adam took me to the beach in the middle of a blizzard,” I finally say.
“How old were you?”
I stare at my lap as I try desperately to remember. “About seven I guess.”
He looks surprised.
“What?”
“I thought you couldn’t remember anything from your childhood.”
“I can’t,” I shoot back.
“But you remember that.”
“No, I don‘t.”
Myles seems to be deep in thought; I think I’m confusing him. “I don’t understand,” he says.
“Adam tells me about it sometimes. And then sometimes I have dreams about it.”
“Dreams about things you can’t remember?”
I know it sounds stupid. I shrug, give him a slight nod.
“Oh,” is all he says.
We’re quiet for a few minutes.
“How’s your nose?” Myles asks after some time. He looks like he's afraid to ask.
“Fine, I guess.” I shrug.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” Myles says just as I’m finishing my cereal.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.” I get up to place my bowl in the sink, then I sit down on the couch.
“No, I know that,” he answers as he walks over to sit near me “But it isn’t your fault either,” he says through a yawn.
A perfect time to change the subject.
“When do you sleep?” I ask.
“The same as you, when I’m tired. It just takes me a longer time to get tired.”
“Are you tired now?”
He pauses. “Yes.”
“Then why don’t you go to sleep?”
He looks at me. “Here?”
Before I can get all uncomfortable, I say, “Here, my living room, wherever.”
Then he looks at me with an I-don’t-think-I-should-leave-you-alone stare. “You don’t have to babysit me, I’m fine,” I say.
Myles nods. “You should sleep too.”
I snort. “I’m not even going to bother trying.”
“Why not?”
“Because. If I lay there trying to fall asleep, I’ll end up thinking about what happened. And if I do manage to fall asleep, I’ll end up dreaming about what happened.”
He runs a hand through his hair and then glances at me. “You have to sleep sometime.”
“Says who?” I shoot back.
He ignores me, grabs my hand and practically drags me off of the couch.
I don’t want him to think that he can just hold my hand whenever he wants. “What are you doing?” I ask as firmly as I can.
Myles spins around, his face looks startled. I motion with my free hand to our hands that are clasped together. His face lightens, but he doesn’t let go. “Would you at least
try
to go to sleep?” he asks.
“Why?”
“Because it would be better than making yourself sick eating all of the food in the house.”
I sigh. Knowing I can’t fit any more food in my stomach if I tried.
“Please?”
I’m too full and tired to say anything back, so I let him lead me the rest of the way. He points to my bedroom door without saying anything. “Can I at least take a shower without you bugging me?” I say, thinking the warm water will help.
“Yes.” He sits back down on the couch in my living room.
I go into my bathroom.
lock
the door. The light is too bright for my eyes so I shut it off. There’s still enough light coming in through the window from a streetlight outside. I get in the shower and rush through it because in addition to there being no heat, there is also no hot water either. I get out as fast as I can and put on my pajama pants and one of Jade’s old, thick sweatshirts.
Myles is sitting in my computer chair looking through one of my old photo albums. He closes it and then points to my bed as if to say,
you lie down now
.
I raise both of my hands which are engulfed by my huge sweatshirt in defense. Then I walk over to my bed and get under the blankets. Not because I want to go to bed, but because my feet are beginning to feel numb even though I’m wearing heavy wool socks.
“Anything interesting?” I point at the photo album sitting in his lap. Myles rolls my computer chair next to where I’m lying with the book tilted toward us.
“I have an idea,” he says as he flips through the pictures.
“What?” I ask as I touch my face where the bruise is forming.
“I’m not sure yet, but I think I can help you remember things.” He continues turning some pages.
“Why do you care?” I blurt out.
He snaps shut the book. The way he’s staring at me makes me feel like he’s trying to see through me again, and I don’t like it. “What?” I ask.
“Why would you ask such a question?”
“Because I want to know.” I shrug.
“I want to help you
because
I care,” he says it like it’s obvious.
I shake my head, but he ignores me and opens the photo album again.
“I’m going to point to a picture, and you tell me everything you know about it, okay?” It sounds more like a command but I decide to let it slide.
“How is that supposed to help? I’ve seen these pictures before,” I point out.
He shuts the book again. I feel bad that I hurt his feelings so I decide to humor him. “Fine.”
Myles opens the book eagerly. “Let’s see,” he says to himself as he flips through the pages. “Okay.” He points to a picture. “This one.”
I peer over at it. It’s a picture of Jade and I hugging in front of a Christmas tree. I look about six.
“Well?”
“Jade got a ninja turtle action figure. I got a Barbie doll,” I answer.
“And?”
“And we switched when our mom wasn’t looking.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
I wait for Myles to criticize my answer, thinking it isn’t what he’s looking for. Instead he just nods, smiles, and flips the page. He points to another picture of Jade and I at a tattoo shop with his friend, Cookie. Cookie has neon blue hair in the picture, with a red lipstick stained grin. Each of them is on either side of me with an identical pose of a thumbs up and a cheesy smile.
“That was taken by Stevie after my first tattoo,” I explain.
Myles takes the photo out and holds it up to his face to look at it more closely. “I don’t see any tattoos on you in this picture.”
I prop myself up and take the book from him. I flip through some more pages. “There,” I say. gesturing to a page where I glued all of the Polaroids of my first tattoo on. “Jade took pictures after each session. It was a pretty stupid idea for a first tattoo. It took over twelve hours.” We study the pictures of my Indian feather wings that stretch from my shoulder blades to the middle of my back. I remember something. “I was fifteen when I got this. Cookie only agreed to do it because she knew me so well. She said that I was more mature than any eighteen year-old she had ever seen…so she let me get it.”
“And your mother didn’t care about it?”
“No.”
Myles raises his eyebrows.
“She didn’t know. I covered it up the best that I could.”
“That must have been hard.”
“Nah, I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”
I don’t mean to say it, but Myles disregards it. “No, that isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean, my mom not noticing anything? I’d rather her ignore me.”
“Why?”
I laugh. “Were you not at dinner?”
“Point well taken, but still…”
I don’t let him finish. “Of course, when she found out she freaked. Jade told her he signed the consent form for me, and she flipped out on him. I got grounded from leaving my room. Once while I was incarcerated, I wanted to go to the 7eleven and she caught me sneaking out the window,” I laugh at this because I can remember it so clearly. I can’t believe this picture thing is kind of working. “She was yelling, ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ And before she could pull me back inside, I jumped and said something about feeling the urge to fly.”
Myles looks amused by this. “Is that why you chose wings?”
“I chose the wings more or less to remind myself that no matter what happens I can still fly. Something like that.” I don’t look at him because it’s a dumb explanation.
“Like Peter Pan?”
“I know, it’s stupid,” I say.
“No. I think it’s…beautiful,” he says. “Still, those
are
very mature thoughts for a fifteen year old to have.”
I ignore him. Like there’s any way in hell I’m going to tell him that I got the wings after Jade and Stevie’s prom. “Yeah,” I say nonchalantly.
Myles flips through some more pages. I yawn involuntarily. “You should go to sleep,” he says without looking at me. He’s too engrossed in the photographs. “And you should put more ice on your face,” he says, looking at me.
“Yeah,” I agree, aware of the faint throbbing again.
He gets up, goes into the kitchen, and returns with an icepack. I lean the left side of my face against the pillow with the pack between the pillowcase and me.
The last thing I remember is Myles asking me something. I try to fight the urge to fall asleep, but I can’t. I think he asks me something about why he’s never seen my back tattoo in person. I don’t answer him. Of course he’ll never be allowed to see it.
There are too many scars weaving their way through the delicately inked feathers from me jabbing random, sharp objects into them. No matter how much I remind myself of why I got them, I end up hating them. They’re always mocking me; a reminder of what happened and how I tried to deal with it.
I am not the same person I was before I got them. Before all the pain, the scars.
I am not the same at all.