The Redemption of Callie and Kayden (31 page)

eyes, wanting to go with me, like we talked about, and I’d have a

hard time saying no. Despite the fact that I told her we’d do this

together, I realized on the way home that it’s something I need to

do on my own. Otherwise I’d hold back, and I want—no need to let

it out. All of it.

I walk out of the room and run over to the park just a few

blocks down, and then I stop and take out my phone and the card

Doug gave me. When he gave me the card he said I could call him

anytime and I hope he meant it.

It’s late and colder than hell, the air stinging at my skin like

needles. I let the phone ring, walking back and forth across the

sidewalk, thinking about what this means. For as long as I can

remember, it’s always been about doing what my father wanted,

with sports, with rules, with life. I’d always felt this obligation to go back to that house, no matter what. I don’t know why and maybe I

never will. But I’m hoping this is the first step to cutting the ties with that God damn house that’s haunted by nothing but terrible

memories and the soulless monster who put them there.

It’s gratifying to think about.

I’m about to hang up after the phone rings for the fifth time,

but then someone says, “Hello.”

“Umm…” I can’t tell if it’s him or not. “This is Kayden… Is this

Doug?”

“Oh, yes, Kayden.” There’s some ruffling in the background

followed by some voices. Then it goes quiet. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, well, no.” I’m struggling and it feels like someone has

their hands around my neck. But I mentally pry them off, shutting

my eyes and picturing Callie. “I know it’s late, but I need to talk

about what happened that night.”

There’s a pause. “The office is closed but I can meet you at

Larry’s twenty-four-hour diner in about half an hour.”

I take a deep breath and the cold air sends relief to my lungs.

“All right.”

We hang up and just like that I’m heading toward the

starting line of my recovery.

The diner is not too far away and I choose to walk there even

though I’m frozen and my fingers are turning blue. I get there

earlier than Doug and order a cup of coffee. It’s late enough that

no one’s there except a few guys with trucker hats and grease on

their jeans and the cook and waitress. I select a corner booth away

from them, the counter, the kitchen. I don’t want anyone else

hearing what I’m going to say—it’ll be hard enough getting the

words out of my mouth.

I start flicking the rubber band, wishing Callie were here

holding my hand, just like we’d planned, but I know it’s better

being solo and leaving her out of this mess. The waitress is

bringing me coffee when the bell on the front door rings. An icy

breeze sweeps through as Doug walks inside, but it’s okay. It kind

of makes it all real and forces me to feel everything.

I rest my arms on the table as he heads over and I stab my

fingernails into the tops of my forearms. He has on a jacket and a

pair of jeans, along with a beanie. It’s a little out of character for him, since I’m used to seeing him in suits, but then again it’s

eleven o’clock at night.

“Hello, Kayden,” he says in an exhausted voice as he lowers

himself into the booth across from me, taking his beanie off. His

thinning hair stands up in every direction.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” I tell him and take a sip of

coffee, feeling the burn all the way down to my stomach. “I was

just worried that if I didn’t call… that I’d back out or something.”

“I’m glad you woke me up,” he replies and slips his arms out

of his jacket. “It’s better not to wait on these things.”

I wonder what he’ll say when I tell him everything. I set the

cup down and fold my arms on top of the table, returning my

fingernails to my skin. “You were right,” I hurry and say before I

pussy out. My fingernails burrow farther into my skin and split

sections open. Blood trickles out.

“About what?” he asks, but I think he really knows. He eyes

the blood on my arm but doesn’t say a word about it.

I flex my fingers and take in the bloody, crescent-shaped

marks on my arms. “About what happened that night.”

He crosses his arms on top of the table. “I don’t recall ever

saying what happened that night.”

“Yeah, but you… you thought that my father…” God, this is so

fucking hard. Why is it so hard? My dad’s a fucking dick. He beat

me all those years. Just say it. “He’s the one who hurt me that

night. Well, I mean I did stuff to myself too, but he…” I sound like a fucking kid. I tuck my fingernails into my palms, stabbing them

into my skin. Every part of my body wants to escape, be alone, find

something sharp and bleed the pain out of me. But I keep

reminding myself Callie, Callie, Callie. “He stabbed me. That’s

where the cut on my side came from. He was pissed off because I’d

got in a fight with Caleb and he had to pick me up from jail and

everyone knew. So he took me home and started hitting me, which

he’s done a lot. But I hit him back, which I’d never done before.

And then things got out of hand. We knocked some knives onto

the floor and the next thing I knew he’d stabbed one into me. I’m

not even sure if he meant to do it or if it happened by accident.”

The words pour out of me like blood, and with each breath I take,

my lungs start expanding wider and more powerfully. I feel like I’m

free for the first time in my life. Free from my childhood. Free from my scars. Free from the cuts, the bruises, the razors, the pain.

By the time I’m finished, I’ve stopped clenching my fists and

my fingers are stretched out in front of me. I wait for Doug to say

something, but instead he flags down a waitress with his hand.

She’s a middle-aged woman with blonde hair braided at the

back of her head. She’s wearing a bright blue dress and a white

apron. In her hand are a pen and an order book. “What can I get ya

two lovely gentlemen tonight?” she asks, poising her pen over the

notebook.

“I’ll have some pancakes, toast with strawberry jam, and a tall

cup of milk,” Doug says and looks at me with a small smile.

“Kayden, go ahead and order whatever you want. And make sure

it’s enough to get you through the next few hours.”

“The next few hours?” I question. “Is that really necessary?”

He nods. “Yeah, I want you to tell me everything that

happened.”

“Everything?” It’s an unfathomable, unreachable idea to me.

“Like what? You want me to pour my fucking heart and soul out to

you.”

The waitress frowns at my language and also probably

because the conversation has headed in a strange direction. I

wonder who she thinks we are. And why we’re here. I’m kind of

wondering the same thing myself.

“Everything. I want you to start from the beginning,” he says

and sets a menu down in front of me, giving it a tap with his finger.

I order a large stack of pancakes, bacon, and toast and the

waitress smiles before walking away. I say nothing at first, fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers to keep myself from scratching at

my skin. I keep waiting and waiting for Doug to speak, but he just

sits there silently, watching a television over my shoulder.

The silence eventually rips my sanity open and I trace the

cracks in the table. “How far do you want me to go back?”

“Back to the very first time your father hurt you,” he speaks

calmly, looking away from the television to me.

My lungs expand as I inhale, preparing myself for what I’m

about to do. “That was about fifteen years ago. You really want me

to go all the way back?”

He has this comforting smile on his face. One I’ve never seen

on any of the adults I’ve known. “I want you to tell me everything.

Don’t hold back. Let it all out.”

I open my mouth, knowing that when I let it out everything

will change. And I pray to God it’s a good change.

Callie

Seth and I are getting ready for bed, not saying much to

each other, and Luke walked out to smoke and fill up the ice

bucket. It’s been about an hour since Kayden took off and I can’t

stop thinking about him and what he’s doing; if he’s really talking

to his therapist like he said, and if so, if it’s going well.

Seth walks out of the bathroom as I’m getting underneath

the covers. He’s wearing green and navy blue plaid pajama

bottoms and a white T-shirt, and he’s brushing his teeth.

For a second he just watches me. “I called Greyson,” he

announces, his voice a little jumbled because he has a mouthful of

toothpaste.

I fluff the lumpy pillow and then turn on my side. “Did you

work everything out?” From under the blanket, I cross all my

fingers, hoping he did.

He nods, returning to the bathroom to spit out the

toothpaste. He rinses his toothbrush off, sets it on the counter, and then climbs into bed with me. He rolls to the side, turns the

television on, and clicks the lamp off.

“I told him I loved him,” he says inaudibility and it takes a

minute for his words to register inside my head.

“You love him? You never told me that?”

“I do. Like a lot.”

I uncross my fingers. “And what did he say?”

“I love you too,” he says and I hear the smile through his

voice. He’s happy, which makes me happy even under the

circumstances.

I’m a little envious of him, for being able to say the truth and

put himself unconditionally out there to someone. “Seth… I’m

really happy for you.”

Laughter flows from him. “I’m really happy for me too.”

The room stills and a little while later Luke walks in and

climbs into bed. It makes me a little uneasy with him sleeping in

the same room as me, but it’s not as bad as I thought when they

first mentioned sharing a room—to split the costs—back when we

were in the truck.

I toss and turn for another hour or so. The clock is glowing

against the darkness and snowflakes start to strike the window.

The heater is clanking and there’s banging coming from the room

next door. I can hear Seth’s loud breathing—I can hear everything.

It’s almost one o’clock in the morning when I decide it’s time to

face one of my fears. I’m not even sure what brings me to the

conclusion. Maybe it’s Seth’s bravery or maybe it’s that I really

need to get it off my chest. I’ve been placing too much on it

already and perhaps it’s time to clear the pressure completely.

I’m going to tell Kayden how I feel. Because he deserves to

know that someone loves him, even if he doesn’t love me back. I

grab my phone and notebook from the nightstand and tiptoe over

to the bathroom. Flipping the lights on and then shutting the door,

I dial his number and open my notebook to his letter. It goes

straight to his voicemail like it has the last few times I called him. I take a deep breath and begin reading out loud what I feel,

admitting the truth and putting myself out there, even though it

terrifies me.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, this step will help me get to the next

admission in my future.

Kayden

Doug and I are still at the diner when the sun starts to

ascend from behind the snowy mountains. The waitress starts

pulling the shades down on the windows as the sunlight shines

into the restaurant. She flips off the neon signs both inside and

out, preparing for another morning.

I sit across from Doug, finishing up a very long story,

preparing myself to leave the comfort of the table. I haven’t told

him nearly everything, especially the darkest times that are locked

deep away in the back of my head, the one’s I won’t let myself

think about. Doug said that’s okay and that I have time. It baffles

me. I’d never really thought about my time. I took things day by

day and was basically living the life my father wanted me to live.

Halfway through, when I’m telling him about how my father

choked me until I passed out, I started to cry.

He’d done it because I’d lost the remote. After hours of

searching, I’d finally given up. And I was never supposed to give

up. I didn’t even fight him. He just started yelling and I stared at

him, which seemed to piss him off only more. His face was bright

red and he was screaming and then running at me. And I just

stood there as he tackled me and wrapped his arms around my

neck.

I remember looking up at him and thinking, Please just kill

me so it’ll be over. And when I woke up from my blackout, I found

myself slightly disappointed.

“So what’s next?” I ask, after Doug pays the bill, trying to

wipe my eyes off on my sleeves as discreetly as possible.

He puts his wallet back into his jacket and slides the empty

plates aside. “That’s really up to you.”

I pile my fork and spoon onto the stack of plates, and then I

stare at the healing crescent-shaped wounds on my arms with

blood dried over them. “This therapist in Laramie that you know, is

he… is he as understanding as you?” I don’t like the idea of

opening up to anyone else.

“He might even be better.” Doug smiles. “But Kayden, you

can call me whenever you want. And be sure to come to your