There is so much pain in my body and in my soul… perhaps more in the latter than the former. A thought crosses my mind, that if I die, at least I won’t have to feel any of that anymore. Giving up hurts too.
“I don’t want to die…” I hear myself mumble.
“Kira, you won’t. I won’t let you,” Elias replies. I know he means it. I feel it in my bones. Hell, it’s the only thing I feel right now—his determination to save me. A determination that makes no sense, of course.
With all our fights and feuds, I’m surprised he even bothered to get me out of the gazebo. How did he find me? Was he looking for me? I have questions, and many of them, but I can’t seem to find the strength to voice them. All I can do is listen to the sounds around me. To let his voice guide me back to reality…
Back to life.
The next time I open my eyes, neon lights almost blind me with their clinical brightness. A sea of white and pale green scrubs. A voice bursting through the hospital’s speaker system.
“Dr. Ganz, report to OR 15. Dr. Ganz. OR 15.”
“Just stay with me, Kira,” Elias says, rushing by my side.
I realize I’m on a gurney, the wheels rattling beneath as I’m rushed somewhere. For the first time since I took the pills, I feel pain. A sharp pinch. Someone put a needle in my right arm. I’d like to tell Elias not to worry, that I’m not going anywhere, but I’m not sure I’d be telling him the truth. I’m tired of lying to him, anyway.
The more I think about it, the dumber it all seems.
Our rivalry. Our pokes and prods. Our hatred for each other. It’s not just stupid. It’s fake. It’s all fake. I don’t hate Elias. I never did. We were supposed to be friends. We were supposed to play with his dog by my pool. His mom and my mom could’ve made us lemonade and cookies. Our dads could’ve worked the barbecue.
We could’ve all been happy and laughing and better together. Not broken and splintered.
“Elias… I never meant it,” I manage, wanting to tell him everything. I need him to know that I never meant any of this. That I was just foolishly following in my father’s footsteps. That I was terrified of what my father would do to me if I befriended him. That I was terrified of being attracted to him, terrified that if I didn’t force him to hate me and force myself to hate him, I would have been tempted to purse something that would’ve made my father snap my neck in two.
“Hold your breath, take it easy,” Elias tells me.
“Her blood pressure is dropping,” a nurse says.
A doctor cuts in. His voice booms authoritatively around my consciousness. “Get her into OR 12. We need to pump her stomach.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it can’t possibly be pleasant. There’s a price I must pay for my shortcomings, and I have a feeling this will be it. My skin burns. I have trouble breathing. My hand finds another—not mine, since its grip is so strong, and I can barely sense anything around me.
“I’ve got you, Kira. Your dad won’t know a thing,” Elias says, and I know it’s his hand holding mine with such determination. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“You can’t go any further,” the doctor warns him.
I forget the overhead lights when I realize that Elias won’t be with me for what comes next. I turn my head again and find him, his eyes still darkened by fear and… longing, maybe? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m projecting my own feelings onto him.
“I’ll be right here!” he says.
I believe him.
7
Kira
Retching was extremely painful and uncomfortable. I blacked most of it out. I slept for hours, without a single dream. Just the pitch black and the rhythmic beep of a hospital machine. Opening my eyes slowly, I exhale sharply. Thrilled to be alive.
I didn’t die.
I didn’t fucking die.
What an idiot I was.
What an idiot I am…
Blinking repeatedly, I see an image come into focus. I’m in a hospital bed. A private reserve. My guess is Saint Anthony’s. It’s the closest to my house. I don’t remember much from last night, but I can think of one word to sum this whole thing up. Overdone. I overdid it. The Oxy, the champagne, the cocktails… I nearly destroyed myself.
And for what? For a war with Elias that I never even asked for?
Or for a father who gives more shits about his real estate empire than he does about his own daughter’s dreams and aspirations?
For a mother who died before she could see me grow up into a ballerina?
For that bitch who tripped me and screwed the only dream I had… of making it into Julliard?
I’m not done yet, I realize. I’m not done. I’m not dying today, and I’m not fucking done! My first instinct is to get up, but the room starts to spin, and I dip my head back into the pillow, exhaling sharply. Nausea threatens to remind me of what I just escaped.
“Kira…” Elias’s voice comes through, and I’m suddenly comforted and calm. He has that effect on me, it seems. At least for now.
I remember bits of last night. My desire to stop the fighting. To try and be his friend instead. I remember the pang of… jealousy I experienced when I saw Giselle, of all people, hooked onto his arm. I remember him carrying me to his car. I remember the look in his eyes.
“You… You brought me here?” I manage, my throat raw and incredibly sensitive. A side effect of the stomach pumping episode. Cactus pins grow on the inside, making every breath and every swallow incredibly painful.
“It’s a private reserve,” Elias replies. I find him at the foot of my bed, watching me. I doubt he’s slept much, judging by the dark circles under his eyes. He’s been here, this whole time. My heart swells, hurting in a whole new and different way as I process this realization. Elias has spent the night by my side. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will, for that matter,” he adds. “I texted your dad from your phone, told him you were spending the night at Janelle’s. I asked Janelle to back you up on that, as well.”
“Does… Does she know?”
“No. I texted from your phone, but I didn’t go into any details.”
I can’t help but smile. “Quick thinking… Thank you…”
“Kira, I’m not going to tell anyone about what happened. Take all the time you need to recover, then head home and put yourself back together. If you want that Julliard spot, you still have time. You can still get it and be who you want to be.”
I look at him, and I can’t believe I’m hearing any of this. He smirks. “Just because we hate each other’s guts doesn’t mean I’m unable to appreciate your talents. Take this olive branch. Your secret is safe with me. Of course, you owe me a favor now, and I’ll eventually cash it in.”
“I don’t hate you…” I whisper. Tears well in my eyes, and I have no idea where they’re coming from. The only thing I know is that I would kill for a hug. But Elias doesn’t move. He just watches me as I unfurl and release the many emotions that have been tormenting me since my mom died.
Life has finally caught up with me, and I am scared out of my mind. I nearly killed myself last night, and the thought of death has jolted every feeling that I’ve struggled so hard to keep numb and away from my awareness. The dam broke, and I’m helpless, crumbling and crying and wishing I could’ve done a thousand things better.
“I’m sorry,” Elias says. “I have to go. Just… Take your time. Rest. Eat. Lay off the Oxy, Kira. You’ve got too much to lose if you keep taking that shit.”
“My ankle—”
“I already spoke to your doctor. Your ankle is fine. Barely a trace of the fracture. Excellent remodeling. But you already knew all that. You don’t need the Oxy. You need ballet. You need your purpose. Get that back, Kira, and whatever pain you think you’re still feeling will go away.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Elias is right. My doctor has mentioned psychological pain as the root cause of my ankle issues. Maybe now is a good time to take his diagnosis under consideration. I’ve been
self-medicating for far too long, and it almost got me killed.
Shame floods me with liquid fire, tears streaming down my cheeks as I watch Elias leave. I feel miserable, yes… but I also feel alive. My stomach hurts. My heart throbs. My throat burns… but I am alive. I survived, and if I don’t make something good come out of all this, I don’t deserve this second chance.
I fucked up. I need to unfuck everything. Elias is right, there’s another Julliard scout coming this winter to see our school’s rendition of the Nutcracker. I had better be on stage when that happens, or I will wind up proving my dad right—and that, in itself, is worse than death.
“Elias,” I call after him, just as he’s about to pull open the door.
He doesn’t just let go of the handle, he turns back, stopping at the side of my bed. I don’t like the way he looks at me. I don’t like the feelings that are trying to rip me apart as I fix my gaze on his.
“I don’t want your pity,” I say, shaking my head at him.
He laughs a little and reaches for my hand, taking it into his. So much of what’s happening here is forbidden, so much of it shouldn’t feel as right as it does. “You don’t have my pity, Kira,” he says, squeezing gently.
I suck in a deep breath and prep myself for what I’m about to say. They’re only two words, but I’m counting on them to lift this boulder sized weight from my chest. “I’m sorry,” I say, finally letting go of the words that I should have said to him ages ago. Words he should have said to me too. The weight I was wanting to have lifted, however, doesn’t do anything of the sort. Before I know it, both his hands are cupped around my face. His Adam’s Apple bobs a little and I can tell that despite the boldness of his move, he’s nervous.
Slowly, inch by inch, he moves forward, until his forehead is pressed against mine, our lips barely avoiding each other’s. “Get better,” he whispers, and I wonder just how much he’s fighting the urge to move a little closer. Just how much he aches for closeness the way that I ache for closeness.
I nod and my head moves against his. And even though he doesn’t kiss me, there’s an intimacy in this moment that is impossible to miss.
WHEN WE WERE YOUNGER
ELIAS
I didn’t do it because I hated her. I did it because I was pissed. And because she made me cry. I never effing cry. Tears don’t make a man, that’s what my dad said when Sally died. I’d managed to suck it all up and push the pain down…until Kira. So yeah, when I showed her the picture of Sally and she mouthed off about my stupid dog and my horrible family, the only thing I wanted was revenge.
I knew revenge sucked. Or, as my dad likes to put it – revenge is a long-tittied bitch. Revenge was what he used to rile Kira’s dad all the way up. That one picture at the Indino Mall where Malone looked like a tomato, that was because of my dad’s revenge.
I wasn’t going to have Kira make me cry without getting my revenge. I watched her as she dumped her backpack into the room with her name plastered on the door. She came over with some stupid apology that I didn’t want to hear, no matter how sorry she looked. I might have liked her one time, maybe I didn’t even hate her now, but I didn’t like what she said about Sally. And even though she’d apologized, it still hurt. So I needed to make her hurt too.
When she slipped back into the garden, Thomas kept watch by the door and Gage followed me inside the fitting room. He was a little bit older, a little bit taller too, so I wasn’t worried about him having my back.
It took me less than a second to find Kira’s ballet shoes. Part of me didn’t want to do it. Mom always went on about how much of an amazing ballerina Kira was – just like her mom used to be. And it was true. I’d seen her dance a couple times and even though I knew next to nothing about ballet, I knew it was pretty damn hard to keep my jaw from dropping whenever I saw her dance. But revenge, right. It mattered. Dad said so himself.
Mom liked to say that I should take my dad’s words with more than just a grain of salt. I didn’t know what that meant and it didn’t matter now.
I unzipped my pants. Pulled my cock out and aimed it at her shoe. I’d downed at least two bottles of water before coming in here, but hell was it hard to pee, even though I had to.
I closed my eyes.
I counted to ten.
And then to twenty.
“Dude, this shouldn’t take you all day,” Gage said. He was getting impatient. “Want me to piss in her shoes for you?”
I shook my head. This was my revenge, not his.
“I’ve got it,” I said and focused hard. Imagined the sound of the ocean. Then the dripping of a broken faucet. I felt something. Good. Good. I was close. And then I wasn’t just close, I was filling her shoes with at least an entire water-bottle worth of piss. I had to step back. Well, jump out of the way, really. I finished peeing in the bathroom and brought some toilet paper to clean up the mess, then stuffed Kira’s shoes back into her backpack. My revenge was complete.
When I stepped out of the room, I felt like shit. When I watched her step into the room, I felt like sunburnt shit. It became clear to me that revenge really didn’t feel as good as dad said it felt. At least not when it was being done to Kira.
Sometimes, I was convinced adults didn’t have a clue what the hell they were going on about. But whatever. What was done was done. I couldn’t take it back. Instead, I waited in the garden, my eyes tracking her every move. The clock struck nine and she rushed into the house, making a b-line for the room she’d been assigned. When the door shut behind her, I waited outside of the room, in the same spot I’d been in when she fumbled her apology at me. Maybe seeing the look on her face would make me feel at least a little bit better…
It didn’t.
Ten minutes later, she was in her pissed on ballet shoes and skin tight leotards. And her eyes were as red as her father’s face in that one picture of him at the Indino Mall. Gage and Thomas laughed. I made a sound as well, but it sounded more like a croak of guilt than anything born of humor. Kira didn’t even spare me a glance as she strutted through the hall and into the main room.
I think, maybe, it was better that way because if she had, she’d have seen that I looked like I did this whole revenge thing to myself.
8
Kira
Janelle sits by my bed, watching me with genuine concern. It almost breaks my heart to see her here. I doubt I deserve this much affection from my friend, after nearly killing myself last night. Elias advised me to tell no one about what happened, but I can’t hide this stuff from my best friend. On top of that, I need a change of clothes. I certainly can’t show up at home in the party dress two days later.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She takes a pair of slacks and a shirt from her leather bag, then drops a pair of espadrilles on the floor. “For what?” Janelle asks, and I know it’s a rhetorical question. There is anger in her voice. “For overdosing? For not talking to me about whatever it is that makes you feel so lost?”
“Yes.”
“For not telling me that—” she pauses, her eyes widening. “Wait, did you just agree with me?” I nod slowly, tears welling up in my eyes, making everything blurry. “Oh, honey…”
She comes over, forgetting all about the clothes, and puts her arms around me. I revel in her embrace, feeling my heart grow a little bit bigger and the weight drop from my shoulders. I feel awful. Stupid. Foolish. Other related synonyms. But Janelle has been my rock. I should’ve talked to her. I didn’t. Instead, I bottled it all up and drowned myself in champagne and Oxy. Dammit…
“I’m so sorry,” I sob, hiding my face in her hair.
“Shh… It’s okay, Kira,” she whispers, tightening the hug before she pulls back and sits in the chair next to my bed. “It’s okay. You survived. That’s what matters.”
“I lost control. I don’t know when or how that happened, but I lost control. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until my whole body became numb.”
Janelle frowns. “I bet I know when
it started. The moment Elias and Giselle walked through the door. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have been there earlier to keep an eye on you.” I pout a little at her, not liking the fact that I’m being scolded. And hating even more that she’s probably right. “When will you drop the tough chick act and admit you’ve got feelings for the guy?”
I gawk at her as if she just slapped me. “Whoa. What? Are you crazy?”
“No, you are, if you think I didn’t notice,” Janelle replies. “You two should at least talk about it. There’s more going on between you than just that dumbass family feud. There always has been.”
Thinking about it for a moment, I realize I don’t want to talk about it. The thought of Elias alone is enough to make my ankle hurt again, for some weird reason. I’m starting to believe that my doctor is right. The pain might be psychological, and how the hell do I fix it, then? How do I make something go away that isn’t even there?
“Janelle, thanks for coming over,” I say, changing the subject. “And thanks for the change of clothes. And for backing me up with dad, too. You’re fucking irreplaceable. I don’t deserve you.”
Janelle smiles softly, shaking her head in what seems like a tinge of disappointment. “You’re welcome. And no, you don’t deserve me, but here I am, anyway.” She raises an eyebrow at me. “Has your dad called yet?”
“Nah. He left me a couple of angry texts. I bailed on him at the party. He had to spend more time with some donors, which he thoroughly dislikes, even though it’s his job as the friggin’ host, but… anyway. Let’s not talk about him. I’m going home tomorrow evening. I’ll deal with him then.”
“What about this place? How has he not been notified?” Janelle asks.
“First of all, I’m well over eighteen,” I reply dryly. “Second, Elias brought me in. He made some arrangements, to my benefit.”
Janelle knows most of what I remember from last night, including Elias’s involvement in my rescue. Maybe that’s where she’s getting this whole touchy-feely vibe about me and him. Not that it’s not true, but I’d rather chew off my own arm before admitting it.
Trinity High: High School Bully Romance Page 32
