Flashed

by Zoey Castile

  I hear his heavy boot tread on the stairs before I see him.

  “How could you?” he shouts.

  He thinks I did this. The Martels . . .

  His face is enraged. He smells like pine and the sky just before it snows. His eyes are full of resentment. Hurt. This is not my Patrick.

  “Pat—”

  “Don’t—don’t say my name. You did this. You used me. You—”

  Scarlett and Ricky race up behind him, their faces green with fear and adrenaline. Ricky makes like he’s going to pull Patrick back, to stop him from saying the cruel things that are coming out of his mouth.

  I put my hand up. Whatever Patrick needs to say should be let out.

  “You conned me. Is this what you were working toward all along? Waiting until I let my guard down so what—? How could you?”

  I have already cried all the tears I ever will for Patrick Halloran, so it is easy to look into his eyes and not shed a single more tear. His words cut like a rusty knife, but I don’t flinch. I don’t defend myself. I don’t have to.

  I listen. I watch the moment he realizes he might be wrong, that he’s too angry. That my love, our love, can’t heal him.

  You take in too many strays.

  The words echo in my head because I know I do. I am too soft, too broken. I give and give until there is nothing left of me.

  “If you really think any of what you said is true,” I say, my voice wobbly like someone plucked a wrong chord. “Then you never knew me at all.”

  He remains quiet.

  After everything that’s happened between us, Patrick chooses to turn and stomp back down that hallway, into his bedroom. He slams the door and shuts the world out again.

  “Lena—” Scarlett starts to say.

  “You guys should go home.” I stare out the glass window. Everything inside me feels numb. “I’ll be in touch, I promise.”

  But the moment they leave, I go to the pool house and make an emergency phone call. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you. Can you give me a ride?”

  19

  Moscas En La Casa

  PAT

  By the time I reemerge from my room, it is dark outside, and Lena is gone.

  She didn’t take any of the clothes she kept in my room, but she must have had a backup in the pool house.

  I sit in front of the library fireplace, covered in pine needles, by myself when Scarlett and Ricky return. I’m surprised he’s still here, but now’s not the time to ask the circumstances.

  “She was always planning on leaving,” I tell Scarlett.

  I don’t know what possessed me to bring that fucking pine tree from the back of my truck into the house at a time like this, but I just needed something to do. Locking myself in the gym didn’t feel right. Hitting the punching bags makes me think of her. Hell, everything in this house makes me think of her because this is her house. But the pine tree—that is for my brothers, my parents. It’s so tall it fills out the room, even though the branches haven’t dropped yet.

  “Don’t start that,” Scarlett says, her arms folded over her chest. Her hair is loose and wind tossed, probably from the Jeep ride. Ricky always loved long hair. I don’t have time to process how weird it is that they’re together and that he’s still here after Thanksgiving, but due to the situation, none of us address it.

  “You know damn well that Lena wouldn’t sell those photos to the fucking paparazzi, Patrick,” Scarlett keeps talking. “I swear, you take one step forward and a hundred back. This time you went too far.”

  I raise my voice. “The caption said—”

  “It doesn’t matter what it said. You’ve never trusted them before, why would you trust them now?”

  I shake my head. Why do I want to believe this? Why do I want to believe the worst of someone I professed my love to last night? “She took the picture.”

  “You don’t know what happened,” Ricky says solemnly. “You didn’t let her explain.”

  “Don’t you start with me,” I tell him. “You get sick once and all of a sudden you start giving people second chances and throwing around your newfound wisdom?”

  “I’ve given you more than second chances, kid. You know I have. Fuck me, Patrick, you’re right back where you started. Don’t you see?” He takes my face into his hands. He shakes me, like it’ll snap me out of this wretchedness. I am not a good man. “You keep pushing us away. You said it yourself.”

  I relive that moment, yelling at her. When I was finished, I knew I was wrong. I knew I was wrong and I couldn’t take it back.

  If you really think any of what you said is true, then you never knew me at all.

  I lie on the floor, the weight of today bearing into me. Anger makes my voice hard. “Then who was it?” I can’t imagine Ariana doing this.

  “Her stepmom,” Scarlett says, walking to the bar cart and pouring herself and Ricky two fingers of whiskey. “On Thanksgiving, Lena told me she’s been sending her money for months even though she stole Lena’s identity.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Scarlett sighs, and I know this is the most disappointed she’s ever been in me. She won’t even look into my eyes. She tells me about why Lena came to work for us this summer. I always thought it was because she needed the tuition money, but I had no idea that Lena’s stepmother put her in real, terrible debt. On top of taking care of her sister, of me. On top of everything.

  “She didn’t tell me,” I say.

  Scarlett sighs and shrugs, not having an answer.

  “I’ve fucked up.”

  “Yeah, you have, Patrick,” Scarlett says.

  I told Lena that she brought me back to life, but it wasn’t her job to keep me breathing. It was mine. Why didn’t I stop to think? Why didn’t—

  “Where is she?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. Drains her glass and leaves it on the bar cart. “I don’t know. And I’m not sure I’d even tell you if I did.”

  Scarlett leaves, but Ricky stays with me.

  We watch the fire, Ricky in my favorite chair and me cross-legged on the floor. No matter how long I sit in front of this fire, I can’t thaw out, I can’t stop shivering. After a while, I turn to him and ask, “What do I do?”

  He sips his drink.

  I realize, I’ve never seen him in a T-shirt and jeans. I wonder, is this what it’s like looking at Clark Kent?

  “You make amends, kid,” he says. “And hope to high heaven you’re not too late.”

  But when I don’t hear from Lena the next night, or the next, I know that I am.

  LENA

  I arrive in New York City with fewer things than I left with. When anyone returns home, they usually come back having gained something—wealth, success, things. But what do I have? A bloody heart, the single painting I could pass off as a carry-on, and the backpack I used to keep in case there was a family emergency and I had to race home. When River picked me up, I grabbed my purse hanging in the kitchen, and I didn’t let myself look back.

  River didn’t ask questions, and I didn’t offer any answers. I did tell her that I needed to go home, and she said she understood. That she’d been there. Out of everyone I’ve met, even Mari, she knew I made the right call.

  I booked the next flight that would get me to LaGuardia Airport, but I had to spend the night in the Seattle terminal and make a connection in Boston. It took two days, but I drowned my sorrows in the cheapest beer each airport had to offer and kept myself distracted by sketching in a tattered old notebook I found in a pocket of my backpack. I turned my phone off and put it away. I should have told Ariana that I was coming home, but I didn’t want Sonia to know. Has Patrick called me? Did he snap out of that anger?

  I shake my head. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He never knew me at all. There are only so many times you can forgive someone for the same mistake. And despite it all—I haven’t cried. Maybe that means something.

  Maybe I’ve used up all my tears. Maybe I only cry during animated movies and when super
heroes fail because they’re dependable. Maybe I cry when something is truly terrible and a part of me knows that Patrick and me were never going to work out. What’s the point of crying when I knew the outcome?

  Maybe I don’t care. As I take the M60, the hissing of the bus’s door opening and closing at every stop, I try to convince myself of that. I feel numb, empty in a way I haven’t since I accepted my dad wasn’t going to get better.

  But I know, if I didn’t care, I wouldn’t have flown halfway across the country to outrun my feelings. Maybe if I can keep moving, I can stop the heartbreak from settling in.

  * * *

  Sometimes retracing your steps helps with remembering something you lost. I get off at the same subway station the way I did days and nights when I lived here. I walk down the same three streets and pass the same delis and restaurants, the familiar scent of seared meat from the kabab stands and coffee from the Colombian spot on the corner. This is the part of home I love.

  I walk up the clean, tiled steps of the building. The super decorated to the nines right after Thanksgiving. The halls smell like pine and cinnamon. Most of the doors have Christmas wreathes hanging from their front doors, but us? We have an eviction notice.

  The ground feels like it’s become wet concrete and I’m sinking into it.

  “Dammit, Ari, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I crush the eviction notice in my fist and let myself in. At least the key still works.

  The house, to put it delicately, is a fucking mess. Dirty dishes are stacked sky high and when I take a step, there’s something sticky on the floor. The garbage hasn’t been thrown out in what looks like weeks. The living room is littered in beer bottles and the scent of cigarettes is more powerful than the garbage.

  This is not the pristine apartment I grew up in. The vase in the living room that my mom and I always kept full of flowers, is full of cords and used batteries. There are jackets and shoes all over the place. The only clean part is Ariana’s bedroom. I don’t even try to open Sonia’s room.

  It’s nine in the morning and neither of them are home. I dump my bag on Ari’s bed. This used to be my room. There’s still one of my Backstreet Boys posters in the corner, which I glued so well that it will only come off when they wreck the wall apart. My mother chose this color, even though the rest of the house is white, she let me paint it. We picked it out together at the Home Depot, a pale pink orange. Coral. Salmon.

  Ari’s little touches are here, though. She’s not into posters, but she has pictures of her friends at the movies, school halls, posing in the park. Was I really going to disrupt her life and take her away from everything that ties her here? If I had to make the decision over the summer, I would have. It would have been so I could have the best of both worlds.

  I stare at my tired reflection in the closet mirror and say, “Enough.”

  I want to sleep and shower, but not in that bathroom. So, I clean.

  I slip on rubber gloves to clean out the shower mold. I think of how my stepmom never even lifted a broom to clean when I was growing up. Was it my job to teach Ari? Was it my job to stay? I cycle through those kinds of questions, sweating as I move from the tub to the sink to the floors. I rip out the shower curtain and throw it out. I keep a supply of clear plastic ones in the hallway closet, and to no one’s surprise, they’re still there. I crush up newspaper and clean the glass like my mom taught me.

  I move on to the living room. In an empty box, I throw everything that doesn’t have a place. The shoes and cables and batteries and empty bottles of nail polish. I work my way across the floors, sweeping, then swiffering, then wetjetting. I wash the dishes and throw out the truly terrible ones that even I don’t want to touch.

  I do the best job I can, and then five hours later, I’m ready for a shower. I even get in an hour of sleep before I wake up to the sound of the front door opening.

  “Ari?” Sonia’s voice rings out.

  I climb out of my old bed, my body is still wired. I step into the hallway. By the look of surprise on her face, I’m the last person she thought she’d see.

  “What are you doing here?” Sonia asks.

  Her arms droop from the weight of her shopping bags.

  “Good to see you, too,” I say. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

  She sniffs and averts her gaze as she makes a right to the living room. She dumps her things and takes off her jacket and gloves. Her long brown hair is freshly blown out, and her eyebrows and nails are manicured.

  “Bloomingdale’s,” I say, venom in my voice. “You couldn’t start with paying the rent after selling the photo?”

  “You don’t know it was me.” She narrows her eyes at me, but then lets go of the farce. How does she have the nerve to act like she didn’t do anything wrong? “Someone was going to do it. You’re stupid for sitting on that for so long, Maggie.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.”

  “God, sorry, Lena. You were always an uppity little girl.”

  “And you were always a selfish bitch. It wasn’t enough that you had to bring down my dad during the end of his life? You had to put Ari in danger?”

  She points a glittering nail at me. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about. You don’t know how hard my life has been. You think because you give your sister an allowance that you know what it’s like to be a single parent?”

  “I’m not trying to be her mom,” I say, my voice calm despite the barrage. I’m tired of people yelling and accusing me of things I’m not responsible for doing. “Ariana should come first. Your family should come first.”

  “Exactly! That’s why I did it.”

  “No, you did it for yourself! I sent you money every week even though I should have put you in jail for what you did to me.”

  She raises her eyebrows and gasps. “What I did to you? A little loan was the least you could do after I spent my life’s savings on your father’s hospital bills. And even then, they’re still coming! It was just a few credit cards. But Little Lena is always thinking about herself.”

  I blow a slow breath despite my heart slamming against my rib cage. You can’t fight with someone who is this delusional. “It’s not over, you know. I still have the paperwork.”

  “And what? You’re going to put your sister’s mother in jail?” She’s practically gloating.

  You take in too many strays.

  “I used to think that Ari would never forgive me, but you know what? I’m okay if she’s angry with me for the rest of my life just to make sure you get what’s coming to you.”

  For the first time, there’s real fear in her eyes. Unlike the other times, I am done backing down. She’s taken my dad’s happiness, and years from mine. She’s taken Patrick’s safety. She’s taken the work I did on that last semester because I’m going to miss the presentation next week. But she’ll take Ariana’s future over my dead fucking body.

  “Do you even care if you get turned out on the street? Was the eviction notice not high enough on the door for you to see? What’s supposed to happen to Ari?”

  “God, Lena! That’s not going to happen because you would pay it!”

  “I already did!” I yell, my eyes wild. “How? How am I supposed to work and go to school?”

  She’s flustered and her voice is high-pitched. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Do you even care what happens to your kid?” I breathe fast, tears finally trying to surface. “No, you know what, I was supposed to be your daughter, too. I was eleven when you moved in. You never even gave me so much as a hug. Do you know how hard Ari is working to get through the day?”

  She rubs her temples, pacing around the living room in her heeled boots. I’m running a knife at the seams of her life and I’m not even sorry.

  “Then take her! Take Ariana and leave me alone. Does anyone care about how I was the one who got set up with two kids I didn’t ask for? I thought your father was going to take care of me, but he didn’t. He died. Who was goi
ng to take care of me, Lena?”

  At the sight of Sonia’s tears, mine dry up. Some people just aren’t built to handle certain kinds of pressure. It doesn’t make it okay for the way she’s treating me. But I know that I can’t expect her to be the mother I lost.

  In that moment, Ari steps out from the kitchen hall. When did she come in? She must have been here before her mother because she’s in her school uniform. I know she’s heard it all from the tears running down her face.

  “You said everything would be better!” Ari shouts, then runs into her room and slams the door. The thing is, I can’t tell if she’s talking to her mother or me.

  “You see what you did?” Sonia asks, slapping her hands against her thighs before taking her bounty to her room.

  I feel like I’m trying to stop myself from coming undone, but now everything is out in the open. The only thing I can do is stitch myself back up.

  I make a cup of coffee and sit at the kitchen table. My mom used to sit here every morning, making her café con leche before the rest of us woke up. It was her meditation, her moment to think and write down the things she needed to get done. I use one of Ari’s notebooks and do the same.

  For the first time since I left Montana, I turn on my phone. First, I need a place to stay and find one on Airbnb I can check into later tonight. I have dozens of notifications, and my heart gives a painful squeeze when I see Patrick’s name. But he’s not the one I need right now.

  I call my teachers and counselors at school, and finally Kayli.

  “Hey,” I say. “Remember when you said you knew lawyers? I’m finally ready to cash in that favor.”

  20

  Te Duele

  PAT

  Christmas Eve

  I wake up to half a dozen men in my bedroom, which is not a fantasy I’d ever thought I’d have but I roll with it. I must be dreaming because the guys of Mayhem City are gathered around. I know exactly what’s going to happen when Aiden and Vin glance at each other and smile.