by S. Massery
“A walk down memory lane,” Liam says lightly.
Mom’s eyes flash. “A nice walk.”
He just shrugs.
I lean forward. “You’ve been going through my stuff?”
Mom waves her hand. “Oh, I’ve been going through the entire house. I’ve decided to sell it. It’s too much space for just one person, and I was under the impression you weren’t coming back…”
I grab one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sink into it. “You’re selling? I… grew up here. You can’t just leave.”
“I can leave, honey,” she says gently, sitting across from me. She takes my hands and squeezes. “A house isn’t a home. Wherever I go, you’ll be welcome. But you’re building a life for yourself. Taking care of this house is a full-time job.”
I find myself nodding, because it makes sense. It was perfect for the family, but now it’s just her. She’s far from her friends, from her job in Beacon Hill, from… everything.
“Okay, I get it. Are you searching for a new place?”
She grins. “I found a beautiful condo in Beacon Hill. It’s close to downtown, and it has all the amenities a girl could ask for. Pool, gym, a doorman. I’m on the waiting list, but they’ll give me a heads-up. So don’t worry, we have time.”
“That’s cool.” I stand. “I’m going to take my bag upstairs.”
“I’ve got it,” Liam interjects. He beats me to the door. He snags my bag and heads for the stairs.
I follow more slowly, only now noticing the little changes. There are fewer photos on the wall. I peek into one of the spare bedrooms and discover it’s nearly empty. After that, I stick close behind Liam until we get to my room.
“Wow.” He stops in the center of it and rotates slowly.
She’s boxed eighty percent of my things, at least. All that remains untouched is the dresser—which I’d bet is nearly empty—and my bed. The comforter and pillows are the same as when I left. Light-blue sheets and a big floral pattern of sky blue and white, with pops of dark pink and green. I always loved the colors in it.
He plops my bag on the bed and crosses to the window. “You can see my room from here,” he comments.
“And I could see in it when you didn’t close your blinds.”
He laughs. “I know. Sometimes I did it on purpose.”
I roll my eyes and sit next to the bag. “Shocker.”
“Knowing you might’ve been watching, blushing in your dark room? Couldn’t help it.” He kneels next to a box and opens it. “What do you think she’s packing away?”
“All of it. What’s in that one?”
He holds up a journal. “Does this contain all your juicy secrets?”
“Hardly. Dr. Penn wanted me to keep a diary and write in it every day, but I only kept up on it for a few weeks. I didn’t have very interesting thoughts.”
He flips through it, then pauses to read a second. He clears his throat.
“Oh, don’t—”
“‘Dear Diary, today was most unpleasant. We had to do precision drills at cheer, and Jackie almost broke her nose. She wailed the whole way back into the school, then stopped as soon as we were inside. She likes dramatics. Still, her nose was an ugly purple color by the time the nurse was done staunching the bleeding. I’m sure she’ll still show up to practice and milk her injury. I love her, but sometimes she drives me nuts.’” He grins. “She was unpleasant, I agree.”
“Do you have to—”
But he’s flipping through it again. “Oh, this is one from senior year. ‘Jake asked me to the masquerade ball, but—’” He stops abruptly. “I don’t want to read this if you admit to kissing my brother.”
I motion for him to proceed.
He scans the rest of it silently.
I actually remember that one. Jake took me to the masquerade ball so I wouldn’t have to go alone. I was pretty sure I could stomach little masks, although I had skipped the year prior. And the whole time Jake and I danced together, I wondered what it would’ve been like if Liam asked me.
It drove me mental, and then I wrote about it.
And now he’s reading it.
His lips move, mouthing the words, and my face gets hot. I’m pretty sure I mention going with the wrong brother…
“Well.” He closes the book with a snap. “That settles it.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Settles what?”
He puts it aside and rises, coming over and leaning over me. I crawl backward on the bed and bite my lip.
He follows. “The matter of whether you like me or not.”
“I thought it was pretty clear,” I answer. “I can’t stand you.”
He nudges my legs apart with his knee and settles between them, his hands on either side of my face. He lowers himself onto his forearms, bringing his face close to mine.
“Can’t stand me, huh? So you’re not wet right now?”
I slide my hands under his shirt. “You can hate someone and still want to fuck them.”
Liam scoffs. “If all it took was a quick fuck to get you out of my system, I would’ve tried that two years ago. After all, you were tied up. In the dark.” His hand goes to my panties, then slips inside. “I could’ve, but you’re buried under my skin.”
I hold my breath. His fingers find my clit, rubbing me in tiny circles.
“Tell me,” he says.
“What?” I whisper. “That I’m attracted to you?”
He kisses the corner of my lips. “Tell me the truth, angel.”
Want fills me. I want him to touch me—more than the light, teasing of his fingers. I want him to kiss me, to fill me… even if I don’t know what that feels like.
Desire is hot and heavy, filtering through my blood.
“I—”
A creak comes from the stairs.
Faster than I can process, Liam has shifted off me, pulled me upright, and resumed his kneeling position next to the window.
My heart beats out of control.
“What are you two doing up here?” Mom asks, popping around the corner. She squints at me. “You okay?”
I will myself to look… anything other than flustered. Because I am flustered. He was just touching me—the echo of it pulses in my core. He almost got me to admit that I like him.
Sometime in the last week, he’s lost his anger toward me and I lost my resentment. I don’t hate him. Far from it. Every day we spend more time together, pieces of my past click into place.
We didn’t hate each other before.
And the video wasn’t me.
I didn’t betray him, and the bullying certainly didn’t break me.
“Skylar,” Mom pries.
I shake my head. “I’m fine, Mom. It’s just a bit weird with everything boxed up.” And it’s true: everything is changing. It’s rattled me.
Liam peeks out the window. “My parents are home. Want to come for dinner?” He glances at my mother. “You, too, Kathy.”
I smile. I’ve always enjoyed his mother’s company. She was the sane, quiet one of the bunch. One woman in a household of men.
“I’d love to, if it’s okay,” I say.
He nods once. “I already checked with Mom about inviting you both.”
Mom contemplates him, then lifts her chin. “Sure. It would be nice to not eat alone for once.”
It’s only after she’s gone, moving past my doorway toward her own room, that I let my wince show.
“She’s lonely,” I murmur. “God, that just makes me feel so guilty. We all left her.”
Liam reaches over and threads his fingers with mine. “It’s why she’s moving, right? Loneliness is a huge motivator for some people.”
Some. “But not me,” I guess. I let loneliness live inside me for years, but it didn’t get to me. Not until the girls started going missing, until Liam reappeared, until the city slipped further and further toward madness.
“No. You’re strong.”
He pulls me up and kisses me softly. I’m not sure how to rea
ct to these gentler touches: a soft kiss here, the sweep of his thumb over my lip, the way he navigated his hand into my panties earlier.
I part my lips, pushing up into him, and he obliges me. Our tongues dance, and his teeth scrape my lower lip. I can’t suppress the moan that comes from deep in my throat. We stay like that for several minutes, our lips sliding against each other, the taste of him in my mouth. Kissing wasn’t like that for me. Before. It was dull, without emotion.
Now everything has emotion. Every action seems to rebound in my chest, in my head.
Eventually, though, it has to end. My feeling, I mean, but also the kiss.
Things will grind to a halt in me, as they must. As they have and will again.
It’s inevitable.
Sometimes I think it’s the post-traumatic stress. The complex part of it. I have trouble finding—and regulating—my emotions. Holding on to them is like trying to keep sand in my fist. Eventually, it slips away.
Every trauma since The Trauma has been waves crashing against a cliffside. As in: it doesn’t make a difference. The waves don’t make a goddamn difference to the rock, they just beat against it in vain.
“I owe you an orgasm,” Liam whispers. “And if your mom wasn’t here, I’d lay you out and give you several right now.”
I shake my head, and our noses brush. I lost my opportunity to tell him my truth. The moment has passed. The words bottle up in my throat.
He tucks my hair behind my ears and straightens my shirt.
I’m a rag doll. I let him manipulate me this way and that.
It’s only when his gaze crashes into mine again that he pauses. Searches.
“You okay?” he asks.
I’m the sand slipping through my fingers.
“I’m perfect.” I paste on a smile and step away, heading for the door. “Should we go over there now? I can’t remember the last time I saw your family.”
He doesn’t respond until we’re back in the front room downstairs. I step into the beam of sunlight streaming through the window.
“It’s been a few years.” His voice is quiet. Maybe it took him that long to remember, or maybe he’s trying to figure me out. “Mom was excited to know you’d be coming over.”
I glance back and smile. “But not your dad?”
He shrugs. “I’m sure he’s happy, too. They loved you like their own daughter. I only talked to Mom, though.”
“Are you two going over now?” Mom calls, coming down the stairs. “It’s almost five-thirty. What time are they expecting us?”
The time escaped us. We arrived an hour ago, plus the drive… Was it only this morning that I woke up in Liam’s bed? That I talked to Whitney’s mom, to Taryn?
I pull out my phone, checking for notifications.
Nothing.
A blank screen.
“We can all head over now,” Liam says.
31
Sky
My chest aches.
All the times Jake has told me about their way of life comes rattling through my brain. How their mother always seemed to be the expert of stretching a meal—especially with two high school boys at her table.
Looking back, it’s amazing Liam and Jake played sports. That they were healthy. Because from the food they could afford, they shouldn’t have been.
And so, my chest aches.
We were right next door the whole time. The entire fucking time the Morrison family was suffering in silence, my parents and I lived like royalty. We had food on our table every day, we had a warm house, I had a car that didn’t break down every month.
Now, there’s a feast in front of us. A roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, rice. A loaf of bread, sliced and waiting next to the butter dish. A giant bowl of salad. Wine.
My mother is on her second glass of wine, and Liam’s dad is nowhere to be found.
“He should be coming any moment,” Laura, Liam’s mom, says.
We’re standing away from the dining room table, and I’m trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell of food has been making my mouth water since we arrived.
Gravel crunches outside, and a second later a hum drifts toward us from the garage. We wait in silence, the four of us, for Alan to walk in. The door from garage to mudroom clicks shut, and a second later he arrives, hurrying toward us.
“So sorry, dear,” he says, kissing his wife’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to hold everything up. I’ll wash my hands, and we can sit.”
He washes his hands, then addresses us. “So lovely to see you, Kathy” he tells my mom. His gaze lands on me. “What on earth have you done to your hair?”
I don’t think he’s mad about it. His eyes are wide, and I can tell he’s trying to absorb everything new and different. I’m not the girl next door from his sons anymore. The strategy of transformation has paid off—although it’s not complete, I think. No more blonde, no more delicate makeup. No more popularity.
Mom snorts.
I grin. “I needed a change of pace.”
He nods slowly. “I think you’ve accomplished that, my girl.”
“Stop flattering her.” Liam sets down his glass on the table. “She’ll probably do something crazy next, like green.”
I make a face. “Green isn’t my color. Maybe blue.”
He laughs.
We all take a seat: me and Mom on one side of the long table, Liam on the other. I’m closest to Liam’s dad, and his mom is on the other end. If Jake were here, he’d be next to Liam, probably making a fuss over my hair, too. Or the septum piercing.
I eye all the food and scratch at my neck.
They ask me about Ashburn, about what classes I’m taking this year. We talk about Liam’s plans for after graduation, which he’s decidedly tight-lipped about. Laura and Alan fill us in on Jake’s adventures, even though we just saw him. Still, it was a quick trip—and I barely spoke to my old friend about his life. Small smiles grace his parents’ faces as they detail how he’s doing, what clubs he’s involved in.
Mom mentions getting the house ready to sell, and that causes a moment of silence to radiate around us. Alan is the first to clear his throat and lift his glass, cheersing her to a new future. Something brighter than what we’re currently living.
But no one says a word about the missing girls and the reason why Liam and I are home.
After dinner, I get up from the table and help Laura clear the dishes. She stops me in the kitchen, putting both hands on my shoulders.
“I just… I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you and my son getting along,” she whispers. “We always saw the connection you two had. Ever since we moved in.”
I lower my gaze. “But something kept us apart, didn’t it?”
She scoffs. “Something—someone, honey. I know you don’t have the full story, but you sound a bit more curious?”
“I am.” I bite my lip. “I am a little afraid of what’s going to come out of the shadows, so to speak. It’s bad enough that my brain literally erased it.”
She squeezes my shoulders, then her hands slip down my arms. “It’s not erased. It’s not permanently gone. You’ll remember it when you’re ready.”
“Ready?” Mom parrots, carrying a few plates in. “For what?”
“Dessert,” I lie. “We should’ve brought dessert for our hosts, and we totally dropped the ball.”
Mom’s brow furrows. “You’re absolutely right. I’m so sor—”
“Don’t.” Laura grins. “How about a coffee?”
“Sky and I are going to go for a walk.” Liam strides into the room with his coat already on and mine in his hand.
I nod quickly, taking it from him and slipping it on. He follows me out the back door, pausing when I run my finger down the doorjamb There are little marks in the wood, initials next to each boy’s height. Unlike some, they don’t start down low. They only moved to this house when Liam was a teenager, and Jake my age. Still, there was quite a growth spurt.
And there, in tiny, barely visib
le pencil, are my initials.
“Still short,” he says.
I move past him, jogging down the steps and onto the grass. Winter will be upon us any day now, but it’s fleeting. Here one minute and gone the next. A lot like us.
How long will we remain?
“You okay?” Liam catches up to me and takes my hand. He leads me in the direction of the woods.
For a moment, I hesitate.
I glance back at the house. They have a large window above their sink, and right now both of his parents fill the frame. His mom is talking, probably to mine. Her head is turned. But his dad lifts his gaze and meets mine.
He frowns, then waves.
“Come on, Sky. This is what we came home for.”
I peel my attention away and focus on the path beneath my feet. There are a lot of hiking trails in the woods behind our houses. The whole neighborhood used to use them for walking their dogs. Sometimes the teens from Stone Ridge High would get onto the trails and smoke pot, but that generally happened closer to the school.
We duck under low-hanging branches, forcing our way through. It’s been a while since anyone has been back here.
For the briefest moment, I’m transported back to the reservoir. They cordoned off the area with police tape, and—
I gasp.
Liam wheels around, grasping my forearms. “What happened?”
I had picked up the piece of yellow tape one morning, wandering in the woods. Fourteen years old, the memories already washed away. I had been trying to piece it together, to understand why I was drawn out here.
And my faithful shadow found me.
I can’t breathe.
“Come with me.” His voice is strained, and that coldness of his has cracked, leaking pain all over the ground. “Just a little farther.”
He pulls me along, and when I can’t keep myself upright—I can barely breathe from the effort of not letting the panic carry me away—he lifts me onto his back and carries me.
I press my face into his neck and inhale. The scent is as comforting as it is familiar. The hoodie, his apartment, his skin. His gait rocks me side to side, and I close my eyes. I count to match his steps, to calm my breathing.
“Here,” he eventually says, setting me down.
