The Redemption of Callie and Kayden (3 page)

mom had always been really weird about letting my brother and

me anywhere near the wheel of a vehicle until we were old enough

to drive. She said it was to protect us from ourselves and other

drivers. I remember thinking how strange it was, her wanting to

protect us, because there were so many things—huge,

life-changing things—she’d never protected us from. Like the fact

that my brother had been smoking pot since he was fourteen. Or

the fact that Caleb raped me in my own room when I was twelve.

Deep down, I knew it wasn’t her fault, but the thought always

crossed my mind: Why hadn’t she protected me?

So at sixteen, I finally got behind the driver’s seat for the very

first time. I was terrified and my palms were sweating so badly I

could barely hold onto the wheel. My dad had also had a lifted

truck and I could barely see over the dash.

“Can’t we please just drive mom’s car?” I asked my dad as I

turned the key in the ignition.

He buckled his seat belt and shook his head. “It’s better to

learn on the big dog first, that way driving the car will be a piece of cake.”

I buckled my own seat belt and wiped my sweaty palms on

the front of my jeans. “Yeah, but I can barely see over the wheel.”

He smiled and gave me a pat on the shoulder. “Callie, I know

driving is scary, like life. But you’re perfectly capable of handling this; otherwise I wouldn’t let you.”

I almost broke down and told him what happened to me on

my twelfth birthday. I almost told him that I couldn’t handle it. That I couldn’t handle anything. But fear owned me and I pressed on

the gas and drove the truck forward.

I ended up running over the neighbor’s mailbox and proving

my dad wrong. I wasn’t allowed to drive for the next few months

and I was glad. Because to me driving meant growing up and I

didn’t want to grow up. I wanted to be a child. I wanted to be

twelve years old and still have the excitement of life and boys and

kisses and crushes ahead of me.

“Fuck, it’s freezing out here.”

My head snaps up at the sound of Luke’s voice and I quickly

shut my journal. He’s standing a few feet away from me with his

hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans and the hood of his

dark blue jacket tugged over his head.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask, sliding my pen into the

spiral of the notebook.

His shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs and then he sits

down beside me. He stretches his legs out in front of himself and

crosses his ankles. “I got a random call from Seth telling me that I

should come out here and check up on you. That you might need

to be cheered up.”

My gaze sweeps the campus yard. “Sometimes I wonder if he

has spy cameras all over the place. He seems to know everything,

you know.”

Luke nods in agreement. “He does, doesn’t he.”

I return his nod and then it grows quiet. Snowflakes drift

down and our breath laces in front of our faces. I wonder why he’s

really here. Did Seth tell him I needed to be watched?

“You want to go somewhere?” Luke uncrosses his ankles and

sits up straight. “I don’t know about you, but I could really use a

break from this place.”

“Yeah.” I don’t even hesitate, which surprises me. Does that

mean I’m getting over my trust issues?

He smiles genuinely, but there’s intensity in his eyes;

something that’s always there. I used to be intimidated by it, but

now I know it’s just him. Besides, I think he hides behind it—maybe

fear, loneliness, or the pain of life.

I tuck my notebook underneath my arm and we get to our

feet. We hike across the campus yard, heading toward the

unknown, but I guess that’s okay for now. I’ll know where I’m

going when I get there.

#22 Make a decision that frightens you

Kayden

Whenever I close my eyes, all I see is Callie. Callie. Callie.

Callie. I can almost feel the softness of her hair and skin, taste her, smell the scent of her shampoo. I miss her so fucking badly I can’t

breathe sometimes. If I could sleep forever, I would, just so I could hold onto the one thing that makes me happy. But eventually I

have to open my eyes and face the reality I put on myself.

The torture.

The brokenness.

What’s left of my life.

I probably don’t deserve to think about Callie, not after what

I did, after she found me… like that. She knows my secret now, the

darkest one I’ve hidden inside me since I was a kid, the one that’s

the biggest part of me. The worst part of it is that she didn’t hear it from me. She heard it from my mother.

It’s for the best, though. Callie can go on living her life and

she can be happy not having to deal with my problems. I’ll stay

here and keep my eyes shut and hold onto the memory of her for

as long as I can because that’s what keeps me breathing.

* * *

I’d never been afraid of death. My dad started beating the

shit out of me when I was young and an early death always kind of

seemed inevitable. Then Callie entered my life and my acceptance

of an early death was wrecked. I’m afraid of death now, something

I realized after I cut my arms. I can remember watching the blood

drip onto the floor and then staring at the bloody knife in my

hand. All this doubt and fear had washed through me and I’d

regretted it. But it had already been done. As I lay down on the

floor, all I could see was Callie’s sad face when she’d hear the news that I was dead. There would be no one to protect her from the

world if I was gone. And she needed protecting—deserved it more

than anyone. And I was such a fuckup that I couldn’t even give her

that.

About two weeks after the incident, I was transferred to the

Brayman’s Facility, which isn’t much better than the hospital. It’s

located over on the side of town near the garbage dump and an

old trailer park. The room is bare, with plain white walls, no

decorations and a stained linoleum floor. The air smells a little less sterilized, but the garbage dump odor drifts into my room

sometimes. There’s not so much death lingering over everyone’s

heads, but people really like to talk about it. I’ve been here for only a few days and I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to leave yet. I’m not

sure about a lot of things.

I’m lying in bed, which I do a lot, staring out the window,

wondering what Callie is doing right now. I hope something fun

that makes her happy and smile.

It’s almost time for my checkup so I slowly sit up in the bed,

placing my hand over my side where I was stitched up. The knife

miraculously missed my organs and it was actually the less severe

of my injuries. I was lucky. That’s what everyone kept telling me. I

was also lucky I didn’t cut any major arteries on my wrist. Lucky.

Lucky. Lucky. The word keeps getting thrown around, like

everyone’s trying to remind me how precious life is. I don’t believe

in luck though, and I’m not even sure I believe that surviving

means I’m lucky.

Several times while I was in the hospital, I thought about

telling someone what really happened, but I was so doped up on

painkillers that I couldn’t seem to clear my head enough to get

around to it. When the fog in my brain finally cleared, I saw the

situation for what it was. I’d just kicked Caleb’s ass, I was

considered unstable, and the scars on my body raised concern for

self-mutilation. I’d be going up against my father and I’d lose, like I always have. There was no point in telling anyone what really

happened. People would see only what they want to.

The nurse enters my room with my chart in her hand and a

cheery smile on her face. She’s older, with blonde hair and dark

roots, and she always has red lipstick on her teeth.

“How you doin’ today, hun?” she ask in a high voice, like I’m

a child. It’s the same tone the doctors use on me because I’m the

kid who tried to slit his wrists and then stabbed himself with a

kitchen knife.

“I’m fine,” I reply and take the little white pills she offers me. I

don’t know what they’re for, but I think they’re some kind of

sedative because every time I swallow them I fall in and out of

consciousness. Which is fine. It numbs the pain, and that’s all I’ve

ever wanted.

Ten minutes after the pills go down my throat, drowsiness

takes over and I lie down in the bed. I’m about to fall asleep when

the familiar scent of expensive perfume burns at my nostrils. I keep

my eyes shut. I don’t want to talk to her and pretend everything’s

okay and that my father didn’t stab me. I hate pretending that she

doesn’t know and that she’s worried about me.

“Kayden, are you awake?” she asks in a sedated tone, which

means she’s on something. She pokes my arm with her fingernail

and the gesture is rough and scratches my skin. I shut my eyes

tighter and cross my arms, wishing she would scrape it harder, cut

the skin open and erase everything I’m feeling.

“Kayden Owens.” Her sharp voice is like nails on a

chalkboard. “Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it’s

time to get your shit together. Get up, start eating better, and

prove to the doctors that you’re okay to come home.”

I say nothing and don’t open my eyes. I just listen to my

heart beat. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Her breathing accelerates. “Kayden Owens, I will not let you

ruin this family’s reputation. Now fix this mess.” She grabs the

blanket and flings it off me. “Get up, go to therapy, and prove

you’re not a threat to yourself.”

My eyelids gradually open and I turn my head toward her.

“What about dad? Is he still a threat to me?”

She looks like shit, dark circles under her eyes and she’s

wearing a heavy amount of makeup to try and cover it up. She’s

still all done up in a fancy red dress, with jewelry and a fur coat, her elaborate façade to hide the ugly in her life. “Your father did

nothing wrong. He was just upset at what you did.”

“You mean beating the shit out of Caleb,” I clarify as I put my

hands on the bed, push myself up, and lean against the

headboard.

Her eyes turn cold. “Yes, I mean that. Getting into fights is

not acceptable. You’re lucky Caleb’s okay. Although he’s still

deciding if he’s going to press charges. Your dad’s working on

trying to make a bargain with him.”

“What?” It feels like a thousand razor-sharp needles have slid

underneath my skin. “Why?”

“Because we’re not going to let you drag this family’s

reputation down the drain with your pathetic life. We’re going to

keep this as quiet as we can.”

“So you’re bribing him with money,” I utter through clenched

teeth. Fuck. I want to hit something hard, ram my fist into a metal

wall, split open my knuckles, and watch them bleed. I don’t want

my father taking care of this. I don’t want to owe him anything.

He’ll hold it over my head for the rest of my life. Fuck. This whole

situation is so messed up.

“Yes, with money,” she snaps and takes her makeup compact

out of her purse. “Your father’s hard-earned money, which you

should be very grateful for.”

“Let Caleb press charges.” I honestly don’t care anymore.

Almost every part of me has died and what’s still alive is just

waiting until the next incision. “I don’t give a shit. It’d be better than letting dad pay him off.”

She checks her reflection, pursing her lips, and then clicks the

compact shut. “You’re so ungrateful.” She storms toward the door,

her high heels clicking against the dingy linoleum. “You’re the

most frustrating child in the world. Your brothers never gave me

problems like this.”

That’s because they escaped during the storm and were

gone for the tornado. “I’m not a child.” I rotate onto my side and

close my eyes. “I’ve never really been a child.”

The click of her heels stops. She waits, like she expects me to

say something or wants to say something herself, but then the

clicking picks up again and soon she’s out in the hall. I let the

numbness of the pill slink into my body and drag me into the dark.

The last thing I see before I pass out is the most beautiful

blue-eyed, brown-haired girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. The only girl

who’s ever owned my heart and I hold onto the image with every

ounce of strength I have. Otherwise I’d probably lose the will to

breathe.

Callie

“I have a quick question,” I say to Luke. We’re standing in

front of the entrance to a small ice rink, getting ready to go

ice-skating, something we’ve both never done (which we admit to

each other on the car ride over here). It’s not too crowded, but

there are a few couples skating and holding hands and a girl

getting lessons in the center. “What happened in Professor

McGellon’s class?”

Luke shakes his head as he runs his hand over his shortly

shaven brown hair. “Did Seth put you up to that?”

I bend over to tighten the lace on my skate. “He mentioned

on the phone that I should ask you.”

He rolls his eyes as I stand up. “You really want to know?”

I hesitate at the note of warning in his tone, but decide to be