He made a choking sound, as if he was trying to bite back his words. “If you want to keep shutting me out, that’s fine, but you need to get help. There are things that happened, and you can’t keep ignoring them."
“And I suppose you know.”
“I know about losing people you love and blocking out the memories that hurt.”
Things clicked into place. “Did your grandfather hurt me? Is that it? And my dad can’t forgive him.”
Trav’s face drained of all color. “My grandfather’s never laid a hand on you, Gem.”
“Then you. You...” I choked on the words. “Oh my God. And I pushed it all aside. And your grandpa, he was my shrink. He helped me forget so you could stalk me all over again.”
I lashed out, hitting Travis in the face. He slammed on the brake, and the truck fishtailed, the back end swinging wildly into the ditch. I gripped the door handle and braced myself for a crash. The truck ground to a halt.
His voice was deadly quiet. “Do you believe that?”
It made sense. Everyone hiding his abuse from me so I could just move on.
But why let me hang out with Travis at all?
Because he’s innocent.
Was I part of his rehabilitation? To make amends with his victim?
His hands gripped the steering wheel. His fingers white as ice, his voice as cold. “Do you honestly believe that?”
It made sense. Perfect sense. I nodded.
Travis stomped on the gas. The truck slid on the ice, seeking purchase. I’d never been afraid of him until now.
Tell him you’re sorry, Angel pleaded.
Brutus demanded it. Now, Gemi.
“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!” I screamed at the voices. Then, “Travis, stop. I’m sorry.”
He never answered. When he pulled up to my house, he slammed the truck into park.
“Travis, I’m sorry.”
Ever the gentleman, he deposited me onto the step and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye, Gemini. I’m officially done babysitting you.”
In that moment, I knew I’d made a mistake I could never repair. My words had destroyed a man incapable of hurting me.
Trav’s truck tore off down the driveway, carrying with it a piece of my heart.
Chapter 12
The remains of a half-eaten take-out pizza sat on the table next to Mom’s overnight bag. Even in my wasted state, I vaguely remembered she shouldn’t be here. An empty cola can lay in a pool of dark soda. A whiskey bottle, drained of the amber liquor, its companion. Canned laughter and my dad’s guffaws seeped into the kitchen from the back of the house. Mom’s tipsy giggles followed after a lag time. She’d had just enough alcohol to still be in a good mood, but already too much that she was slow on processing.
Next to the table, department store bags overflowed with tennis equipment—my dad’s newest obsession even though the back pain from a long ago car accident had kept him from playing anything for years. If only I’d stayed, I might have kept Mom from getting sucked into his annual sports binge. If only I’d remembered the timing of it. A new layer of guilt added to the weight of my accusation against Travis. It propelled me upstairs to bed where tears wouldn’t come no matter how hard I tried. Not even the familiar blackness took me away from my personal hell.
By the time my dad and Mom made their way upstairs, they had passed the feel-good stage and were bickering. He slammed the door to their room, and Mom shuffled across the hall. Through the walls, I listened as she tossed and turned, muttering to herself. Something smashed into our shared wall—probably a tennis racquet—before she finally settled down and started snoring. I waited another hour after the last noises, pulled my robe around me and made my way downstairs to the computer. Determined to straighten things out, I opened a new email.
Dear Travis,
I am sorry I accused you of doing something you could never do. I don’t know what is happening to me. I’m angry all the time and keep losing my memories. These blackouts terrify me because I don’t know what I do. I don’t know why I have them, but suspect they have something to do with you. For some reason, I felt so close to an answer tonight. Yet for the life of me, I can’t remember what it might have been. All I know is that I hurt you beyond measure.
A message popped up from Angel. Forever.
I exxed out of the comment box and continued typing.
Friends forever, Clarence knows, youknowGrannyknows, bunnieshats, brotherspictureschurch, friendsforeveralways.
I smashed the keyboard with my fists. My strangled prayer filled the air. “Why, God, can’t I remember anything?”
But He was silent. I turned back to Trav’s letter and latched onto the bit about friends forever. It’s what I knew. It’s what I needed. I had to call Travis and apologize for what I had done. I had to patch things up between us, and the only way I could do that was by coming clean. I had to tell him the truth about my blackouts and ask him to help me.
I laid my head on the desk and closed my eyes, trying to determine the best way to approach my apology. Email was the chicken way out, but it might be the best I could do right now. Especially since I’d have a record of the things I’d said.
The computer chimed.
U there? James.
He was the last person I wanted to talk to right now. Barely. Just going to bed.
It’s still early—thought you were a night owl.
Been a rough couple days…my granny died.
Heard that.
Fear sliced through me. I didn’t remember telling the Dozen yet. Of course, I didn’t remember much of anything lately. Who from?
Luna called me.
Goosebumps ran along my spine. How’d she get your number?
LOL. Nothing sinister. We live an hour from each other.
That stung. Was I the only one out of the loop, too chicken to make real friends and too stupid to keep the ones I had? If Travis was even my friend anymore. Anyone else?
Jealous?
I let that hang and waited for James to answer my last post.
Sorry. I misbehave—the answer is no
Why Luna? As soon as I hit reply, I wanted to take it back. On top of everything else, I didn’t need her to log into the chat room and see us talking about her.
You’re jealous…
No. Just wondering how you know it’s time to exchange phone numbers and stuff. It’s so personal.
Seriously, after what we’ve chatted? Besides, we’re meeting later this week.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck. What?!?!? In person?
Why not?
The vision of Luna, needy and brooding in the corner of the yellow dream room, popped into my head. I picked a piece of rice off the keyboard—my dad could be such a pig—and typed. A thousand reasons. What if she’s psycho?
LOL. What if we all are?
I shivered. Going online hadn’t been a good idea—especially with James. He liked to bait me, and after the night I’d had, I was in no mood for more games. James, I have to go. Catch you later.
We’re meeting because she threatened to end her life…or worse.
My head throbbed. I couldn’t tackle Luna’s problem when I couldn’t handle my own. I asked my next question to be polite. What could be worse?
Ending yours.
I hit the power button and raced upstairs, flipping on lights as I went. My bed held no comfort and no amount of blankets kept me warm. I snuggled deeper into my robe, my blankets, my pillows, making myself as small a target as possible.
She wanted to kill me. Luna wanted to kill me. But why? I’d never done anything to her or said anything to her. Not that I could remember. Not that I could ever. Was she gaslighting me, too?
I swallowed back vomit. Was everything in my life a lie?
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number.
I’d never shared my cell number with the Dozen. Certainly not my newest one.
Are you sure?
But I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. I’d obviously shared more of myself online than I ever intended. Another text buzzed through, and another. After powering it down, I dropped my phone into my nightstand drawer. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
* * *
Luna curled up in the corner of her room and cried silent tears.
She held a cell phone in her hand, texting over and over again without looking, her cyber pleas falling on deaf ears. She knew that. None of the Dozen had bothered to return her messages. She hated them all.
Their lives were so much more complete than hers. Their pain so much less.
Luna closed her eyes to the memories of her childhood. To the hunger that stirred in her belly and the cries left unanswered. Never had she been heard. Never had anyone cared enough to provide her with even the most basic needs.
She rocked back and forth, as if in the rocking chair she never had the pleasure to experience as a small child. The cell phone fell from her grasp, and she tucked her thumb into her mouth, sucking on it to bring even the smallest shred of comfort.
Shadows from her past paraded by: her mother, falling drunkenly down the stairs, dropping Luna as she rolled to a stop on the landing. Her father striking out at both of them, and herself, bleeding and alone. The visions never changed, only the place. The bedroom. The bathroom. The kitchen. Every room had been christened in her blood.
Luna reached into the dark and wrapped her fingers around a steak knife. The jagged edge caught on her flesh as she raked it across her arm. She laughed—an empty laugh in an empty room. They couldn’t even call this cutting. It wasn’t clean enough. More like a tear.
It’s what she wanted. To be torn from this world. To be ripped from her past. Yet she knew she didn’t deserve to die. She had been brought here only to suffer. It was her job, or so she had been told.
* * *
I awoke to my parents sneaking out of the house. Or so it seemed anyway. I rolled over and caught sight of them out my window. I snuggled deeper under the covers and watched as they dropped their duffel bags into the back of my dad’s car and climbed inside. The engine stuttered to life.
There would be a note, I knew. Probably on the counter next to a caramel roll. Mom’s pathetic apology for not following through. It was only Wednesday, so I couldn’t imagine where they’d be going. Maybe Mom had left a note about that, too.
The phone rang.
I jumped up and hurtled downstairs. I rounded the corner at the bottom of the steps and smashed my wrist against the edge of the unfinished wall. I felt a tearing sensation. Blood trickled down my arm.
My head swam.
I couldn’t do blood.
Without looking at it, I grabbed a dishtowel off the stove and pressed it against my wrist. I made my way to the corner and found blood splatters on the gray drywall. The offending nail jutted out where trim would eventually go.
The answering machine kicked in, and a recorded telemarketer tried to consolidate my parents’ credit card debt. I should have known better than to race for the phone. Travis would have called my cell.
I sat on the bottom step and peeled away the blood soaked towel. My shredded wrist bled profusely. It would definitely need stitches. The edges of my world went dark.
Chapter 13
The darkness receded, and I found myself curled in the fetal position on the bottom step, tacky with drying blood. I pushed myself up groggily. Too shaken to go back upstairs for my cell, I called Travis with the landline. When he didn’t answer, I snagged the keys to Mom’s car and wrapped the dishrag tightly around my arm. Dad would be torqued if I bled on the fabric seats. I twisted the key in the ignition, cursing when the engine wouldn’t turn over. I got out and kicked the door.
Back in the bathroom, I unwrapped my wrist, hoping it looked better this time. The wound itself wasn’t deep. Rather, it had ripped a semicircle of flesh, creating a flap that still bled. Band-Aids wouldn’t cut it. Again I called Travis, and again got his voice mail. This time I didn’t leave a message.
I bled into another dish towel and considered my options. With reservation, I punched in Collin’s cell number.
Come on. Pick up, Collin. Pick up. I need you to pick up.
“Collin.”
“It’s Gemi. I uh, need a…are you…?”
Indie prodded me with a whisper. Spit it out, girl.
“Are you busy right now?” I bonked the receiver against my forehead. Stupid. Stupid. I sounded like I wanted to take him to the prom, not have him escort me to the hospital.
“Actually, yes. I’m extremely busy.” Great. The Collin with a ‘tude.
Play it, girl. Sell it or you’re gonna bleed out in this hell hole.
I pictured Indie in her get up, thrusting out her hips, pouting her lips. I put as much flirt into my voice as I could muster. “I’m hurt, Collin, and you were the first person I thought to call.”
Even to my own ears, it sounded like a load of crap. But it must have worked because keys rattled in the background and his demeanor changed immediately. “I’ll be right there.”
I gave Collin directions to my house, threw a new rag in my messenger bag and stood in the entry. The carpet roll under the light dusting of snow flashed “white trash” like a neon sign. As soon as his car came into view, I stepped into the snowy cold and locked the door behind me, providing no opportunity for Collin to invite himself in.
I shouldn’t have worried. Despite the fact that I stood on the front step, Collin still honked and waited in the driver’s seat for me to crawl in by myself. His face turned white when he saw the bloody rag. “You’re not going to bleed on the seats are you?”
Schmuck, Indie crowed in my mind.
Oh shut up. I’m not dating him.
I’ve seen convicts with more compassion.
Angel’s sing-song voice interrupted my fight with Indie. Treat as be treated. Love as be loved.
My head pounded. “I promise to only bleed on myself.”
Uncharacteristically Collin, the white of his cheeks turned red. “I didn’t mean that, okay? Just…what happened?”
“I caught my wrist on a nail. We’re kind of in the middle of a remodel project, and the walls at the bottom of the stairs aren’t finished yet.” It was easier to talk than to listen to the voices in my head. I seriously needed some time away from real life. Since Granny died, nothing had gone right. “It probably just needs a few stitches.”
He craned his head to get a better look at our yard on the way down the drive. “Your parents home?”
“Work.”
Collin grunted. “You don’t have to be so rude. I drove all the way out here to pick you up. The least you can do is answer my questions.”
“Sorry. It’s just this thing hurts like heck, and I have a nasty headache.”
“It’s stress.”
“Is that straight out of a textbook, Dr. Psychology? Or from years of professional experience?”
“You laugh, but the mysteries of the mind are fascinating. They can cause all sorts of strange phenomena.”
“So does having your arm ripped off.”
“Like exaggerating circumstances. And for your information, I do have years of practice already under my belt.” Sliminess dripped off his words, and he shot me a coy look. “Where’s your sidekick?”
Why did I ever think this was a good idea? “You mean Travis?”
Collin shrugged. “Sure.”
“We’re just friends.” The pulse in my temple picked up.
“I wouldn’t call it just friends. The guy has the hots for you.”
The last thing I needed was to get into my relationship with Travis and the fact that he hated me so much he wouldn’t take my call. I snorted.
Collin took that as my answer. “You don’t believe me? He leaves a trail of drool when he follows you.”
“Would you feel better if I told you we’re not talking?”
Collin nodded. “Would you feel better if we went out for dinner and
a movie?”
Ugh.
You owe him. Besides, he’s cute.
Get out of my head, Indie. I forced a smile. “When?”
“How about let’s see what the doc says.” He reached over and touched my injured wrist, then dropped his hand to my thigh.
Smooth.
Shut up, Brutus.
I nearly laughed out loud. At least Travis was honest about his intentions. He’d never played the yawn, stretch, drop the arm over the shoulder game.
And look where that got you. All those lies. All those hidden secrets. I almost missed Luna’s comment, her voice was so soft. Yet, above all the other thoughts flitting through my head, this one meant something. Trying to hold onto it, I repeated her words over and over again.
Indie interrupted. Lighten up, Gemi. Collin digs you, and he’s a real man.
Too drained to protest, I let Collin’s hand stay.
By the time we left the ER, I had sixteen stitches, a warning to be more careful and Collin’s hand permanently attached to some part of my body. I also had a date for later that night if the weather held.
Collin dropped me off at the end of the drive so I could check the mail. Envelopes—how many weeks’ worth?—spilled out. I juggled them in my good hand and made my way to the house over the fresh snow.
I dropped the mail on the kitchen table. It splayed out, and a yellow envelope beckoned. I’d seen plenty in my life and groaned, wondering which bill I had forgotten to pay, which service would be disconnected next. Take that back, there were two. Cable and phone if I didn’t make a payment by four today.
I could handle that. I didn’t watch television, and I had my own cell phone. Without TV my dad and Mom would spend more time in the casino for entertainment, actually making my life a little better. I welcomed this disconnect.
If I weren’t so afraid of being truly alone, I’d move out and into Granny’s. It would certainly be more pleasant than cleaning up after my parents and fixing their messes.
After scrubbing up my blood, I washed some laundry and straightened the kitchen before winding my way back to the computer. In the wake of my accident, I’d forgotten all about my conversation with James. Now, in the early evening dusk, Luna’s threat didn’t seem quite as terrifying. After all, I’d never told anyone where I was from. As far as the Dozen knew, I could be in California or Africa. Only after booting up the computer did I remember our cable had been shut off, and with it, our internet. Luna would have to wait.
Whispering Minds Page 7
