Chapter 19
Life is not about surviving. Life is about love.
The reason we are here. Love never fails.
—Jade Leighton
“Jade?”
I blink open tired eyes, and, oh, wow, do they burn. I stretch and roll to my back, wanting to sleep a thousand more hours, but something holds me in the realm of wakefulness. My limbs are heavy, but it’s a good heavy. As if I’ve climbed a mountain, a whole world of possibilities now awaiting me.
“Jade, honey. Can you hear me? It’s time for us to go home.”
“Dad?” I blink up at him. He hovers over the side of my bed—
No, not my bed. An unfamiliar bed. In an unfamiliar room. White walls. White furniture. White covers. My dad and I are the only spots of color.
No, that’s not true, either. Mercedes sleeps beside me. Clarik is asleep in a rocking chair by the window.
Fiona paces in front of the door, her hands rubbing her belly. “Did she overexert herself? I knew I should have made her stay home.”
Memories flood me. The accident. The coma. The CPR. The dreams shared by Mercedes and Clarik. Crying as if the world had come to an end, because, in a way, it had. The one I used to know at least. Being held and comforted. Healing.
I must still be inside Mercedes’s house.
I expect another influx of pain, another bout of tears, but...the sun is shining inside me, the storm clouds finally chased away for good.
A smile blooms as I sit up. “What a glorious day.”
“Jade?” my dad says again, his shock a beacon. “You’re...you...”
Fiona moves to his side and takes his hand. She, too, stares at me as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing.
Another weight has been lifted from me. A terrible weight I hadn’t known I carried. I hadn’t understood the toll it had taken on me, until now. Now, I’m light and free and happy.
Yes, this is happiness.
Clarik—awake now—stands and, like the others, stares at me.
“Dad, Fiona, you’ve met Clarik. My boyfriend. At least, I think. I hope.”
Clarik smiles at me. “Boyfriend. Definitely.” He closes the distance, passing my parents, and sits beside me on the bed. He takes my hand and, uncaring about our audience, kisses my knuckles. Then he combs his fingers through my hair. The way he likes. The way I adore.
“I love you,” I tell him, and I swear, fireworks explode in his eyes.
“Jade,” my dad says, and I hear the underlying moan of distress. “Can this wait until I’m out of the room? Not that I want you two staying in a room alone together.”
No more waiting. Life is precious, and I’m not wasting another second of mine.
“Put your hands over your ears, Dad. Things are about to get sickeningly romantic.”
He does moan this time. He also covers his ears.
To Clarik, I say, “I love your sense of humor. It never tears others down but always manages to lift them up. I love how fiercely protective you are. Bullies aren’t allowed to bully on your watch. I love your determination. You saw a girl who never smiled and did everything in your power to give her a reason to turn her frown upside down. I love the care you showed me. The patience. I love the music you play, not just on a piano but with your actions. You make my heart sing.”
He kisses me. Soft and swift, but a promise just the same: we’re in this together. Now and always.
Fiona sighs dreamily.
“Talk, talk, talk,” Mercedes mutters from her side of the bed. “Doesn’t anyone have a romantic declaration for me? I’m pretty amazing, too, you know.” She winks at me. “Maybe we should consider a sister-wife situation.”
I snort. “I’m not sharing Clarik, but I’m not giving you up, either. With or without a marriage, we’re family.”
“What! Who said anything about marriage?” my dad shouts.
“Oh, hush up.” Fiona pats his chest. “Magic is happening. Let’s give these kids a moment of privacy.” She drags him from the room and shuts the door behind them.
“Everything’s going to change, you know.” Mercedes climbs over the mattress to sit on the other side of me. “Some of our friends won’t like our friendship.”
Too bad, so sad—for them. “I’m not going to hide my feelings for you. For either of you. Everyone else can deal. Or not. Their choice. But if their happiness is based on our decisions, they’ve got a sad life ahead.”
“This.” Clarik gives my knuckles another kiss. “This is one of the reasons I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Enough mush. There’s only one way to handle this situation.” Mercedes leans her head on my shoulder and rubs her hands together. “We’ve got a coming-out party to plan.”
* * *
Our “coming out” party ends up being a Light Night redo that Saturday evening. Mercedes admits she hated that I missed the first one, that it wasn’t complete without me. She also tells me, “I’m Madam President in this reality, Miss Leighton, so you have to—one—agree with everything I say, and—two—suck it.”
Dang, I like her.
She invites every kid at school, except Bobby, who is now being homeschooled. Charlee Ann refuses to come, and that’s okay.
Linnie, Kimberly and Robb are the first to arrive. They’re still not 100 percent comfortable around Mercedes, but they don’t avoid her or give her a hard time, either. Well, not much of a hard time.
Linnie tells her, “When did you stop sucking so hard? Asking for a friend.” But she gives a half grin and bumps Mercedes on the shoulder.
“You’re okay. I guess,” Kimberly says in her rumbling, grumbling tone.
Robb smiles a smile that is bright, zero sadness. “You’re growing on me...like fungus.”
Everyone laughs, even Mercedes. I hug and kiss them all, and maybe I cling to Robb a little longer than the others. But just a little!
“You are a treasure,” I tell him.
He squeezes me tighter. “Right back at ya.”
“Is this a lovefest?” Linnie says and claps. “Let me join, let me join!”
She wraps her arms around us, then pulls in Kimberly...who pulls in Mercedes. We are rocking this love and acceptance thing.
Martha comes, and so does Principal Hatcher and Mr. Parton. I returned to school earlier in the week, and he has been surprisingly...not horrible. Whether the changes occurred because of my near-death experience or the intensely protective stare Clarik laid on him anytime he glanced in my direction, I was too happy to care.
Even Nadine takes time off from work to attend. Yesterday she had a heart-to-heart with Mercedes about the disintegration of their relationship. Mercedes admitted she would very much like to work to repair the damage, and that her mother’s constant criticisms hurt her and torch her self-esteem.
The two are a bit more at ease now, I’ve noticed. They are still finding their way, but they’re finally on the right path. Also, Mercedes is seeing a therapist now, working on her personal issues and getting healthy. There’s a long, hard journey ahead, but every step forward will be worth it. I’m so proud of her.
“Hey, guys. So glad you could come,” I say. I’m part of the welcoming committee. Clarik and I stand in front of the house, directing everyone to the backyard. “If you’ll go right through there...”
I’m wearing a black fit-and-flare dress with a ruffled skirt, and on that ruffled skirt are eight roses. White, yellow. Pink, red. Blue and green. Orange and violet. My rainbow.
I lean into my boyfriend.
He wraps a strong arm around my waist, his fingers toying with the ends of my hair. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
“You have, but I’ll never tire of hearing the words.” Not because outward appearance matters most. It doesn’t and never will. But because he sees the real me. Clarik love
s me no matter the outer casing.
His mother, Evelyn, is here. I liked her at first sight. She’s a lovely woman with Clarik’s dark hair and blue eyes, though they share no other similar features. She carries an air of delicacy, while he is a tower of strength.
She took one look at me and said, “I’ve heard so many lovely things about you, and with only a glance, I know they are all true.”
His uncle Tag came with her, and he gave me a gruff smile. As soon as Evelyn and Clarik turned their heads, he leaned down to whisper, “The boy has a heart of gold. I hope you’ll treat it with care.”
His family loves him dearly.
“You’re doing it again,” Clarik says.
“Doing what?”
“Smiling.”
“Am I?” I pat my mouth, and sure enough, the corners are upturned. “I am. Well. I suppose you’ll have to deal.”
“Oh, the travesty,” he mutters, and I laugh. A big, booming laugh that make his eyes sparkle like freshly polished sapphires.
“Funny man.”
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way.”
So, so true. “By the way, I’ve decided I’m going to be a demanding girlfriend and expect you to serenade me ’80s style at least once a week.” I can’t wait to hear him play IRL.
He gives a mock shudder. “If I must—”
“You must.”
“Then I will. In return, I’m going to expect a reward every time I do.”
“A reward, huh?”
“Oh, yes. A kiss. You still need practice.” He gives me a smile.
I step up to his chest so that we are flush against one another. “You’re so kind, allowing me to practice my wiles on you.”
“And me alone,” he says, then draws my bottom lip between his teeth, making me shiver.
“On the front lawn, Jade? Really?”
My dad’s quip snaps me from my reverie. Jolting, I glance over to see his truck idling beside the curb, the window rolled down.
“First, I thought you wanted me to be more touchy-feely,” I say. “Second, find a parking spot before they’re all taken.”
He shakes his head and mumbles under his breath as he eases down the road. After a few minutes, he finds a parking space for his truck at the end of the road, and helps Fiona climb out.
As they walk toward us, I wave them over and call, “Mom, tell Dad to give me a break.”
“Give our daughter a break,” she says, and we share a smile.
Smug, I motion to the backyard. “Come on. We’ll show you the way.”
“Clarik,” my dad says with a nod. “Nice to see you again.”
“And you, sir.”
“I want to thank you, again, for the kitchen table,” my dad says. “Your talent amazes me.”
I squeeze Clarik’s hand. Deliverymen brought it over this morning, the same table from my CPR. It is even more exquisite than I remember.
“Thank you, sir,” he says.
The next few hours are spent mingling with the crowd, drinking the sherbet punch Mercedes made and eating the snicker doodle cookies I attempted to make. Pinterest fail! Clarik is the only one kind enough to finish his, and I think it’s because he has a sweet tooth—the reason he always smells like dessert.
As the sun sets, a beautiful blaze of pink, gold and orange in the horizon, Mercedes passes out paper lanterns.
“It’s time,” she tells me. A lighter is passed around until every paper lantern is aglow.
It’s time. The same words my mother spoke to me before my entire world changed—twice. I’m ready.
Mercedes shouts, “Release!”
In unison, we obey. Up, up the lanterns float, and I laugh with delight, watching, mesmerized. And what a sight to behold. Absolutely magnificent. The sky is an endless stretch of black velvet, now lit up with hundreds of lanterns, beacons of light in a world of darkness.
Hope.
“This is what you are to me,” Clarik whispers to me.
I take his hand and once again lean against him, my head resting on his shoulder. Contentment fills my veins, flows to every part of me. The road behind me was rocky, and no matter where I turned, there were potholes. The road ahead isn’t completely smooth—it never is, there are always surprises along the way—but it is worth traveling.
I’m not alone. Not anymore. I have family, friends...and love. So much love.
“To Jade Leighton,” Mercedes calls.
“To us,” I say. “To life.” And oh my Goth. Life is good.
* * * * *
Thank you for reading
Oh My Goth
by Gena Showalter!
We hope you enjoyed this journey to
embrace life along with Jade, Mercedes and Clarik.
Be sure to look for more teen fiction stories
from Gena Showalter!
Mirror, mirror
on the wall...
who will perish
when I call?
Don’t miss the next fantastic series from
New York Times bestselling author
Gena Showalter
The Forest of Good and Evil
Book 1
The Evil Queen
Thank you for reading Oh My Goth!
Now please enjoy excerpts from the first books
in Gena Showalter’s bestselling series
The White Rabbit Chronicles
and
The Everlife Novels,
available now at your favorite retailers.
Don’t miss a single exhilarating moment!
Alice Bell always thought her father had delusions.
Until the night she learned for herself...the monsters are real.
Read on for an excerpt from chapter 1 of
Alice in Zombieland
Book 1 of The White Rabbit Chronicles
by Gena Showalter.
Alice in Zombieland
by Gena Showalter
All through her performance, Em glowed. She also dominated that stage, kicking butt and not bothering with names. Honestly, she put the other girls to shame. And that wasn’t sibling pride talking. That was just plain fact.
She twirled and smiled and utterly dazzled, and everyone who watched her was as enraptured as I was. Surely. By the time the curtain closed two hours later, I was so happy for her I could have burst. And maybe I did burst the eardrums of the people in front of me. I think I clapped louder than anyone, and I definitely whistled shrilly enough to cause brain bleeds.
Those people would just have to deal. This was the best. Birthday. Ever. For once, the Bells had attended an event like a normal family.
Of course, my dad almost ruined everything by continually glancing at his wristwatch and turning to eye the back door as if he expected someone to volley in an H-bomb. So, by the time the crowd jumped up for a standing O, and despite my mad rush of happiness, he’d made me so tense my bones were practically vibrating.
Even still, I wasn’t going to utter a single word of complaint. Miracle of miracles, he’d come. And all right, okay, so the miracle had been heralded by a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and he’d had to be stuffed in the passenger seat of the car like the cream filling in a Twinkie, but whatever. He had come!
“We need to leave,” he said, already edging his way to the back door. At six-four, he was a tall man, and he loomed over everyone around him. “Grab Em and let’s go.”
Despite his shortcomings, despite how tired his self-medication had become, I loved him, and I knew he couldn’t help his paranoia. He’d tried legitimate medication with no luck. He’d tried therapy and gotten worse. He saw monsters no one else could see, and he refused to believe they weren’t actually there—or trying to eat him and kill all those he loved.
In a way,
I even understood him. One night, about a year ago, Em had been crying about the injustice of missing yet another slumber party. I, in turn, had raged at our mother, and she had been so shocked by my atypical outburst that she’d explained what she called “the beginning of your father’s battle with evil.”
As a kid, my dad had witnessed the brutal murder of his own father. A murder that had happened at night, in a cemetery, while his father had been visiting Grandmother Alice’s grave. The event had traumatized my dad. So, yes, I got it.
Did that make me feel any better right now? No. He was an adult. Shouldn’t he handle his problems with wisdom and maturity? I mean, how many times had I heard, “Act like an adult, Alice.” Or, “Only a child would do something like that, Alice.”
My take on that? Practice what you preach, people. But what did I know? I wasn’t an ever-knowing adult; I was just expected to act like one. And, yeah. A real nice family tree I had. Murder and mayhem on every gnarled branch. Hardly seemed fair.
“Come on,” he snapped now.
My mom rushed to his side, all comfort and soothing pats. “Calm down, darling. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We can’t stay here. We have to get home where it’s safe.”
“I’ll grab Em,” I said. The first flickers of guilt hit me, stinging my chest. Maybe I’d asked too much of him. And of my mom, who would have to peel him from the roof of the car when we finally pulled into our monster-proof garage. “Don’t worry.”
My skirt tangled around my legs as I shoved my way through the crowd and raced past the stage curtain. Little girls were everywhere, each of them wearing more makeup, ribbons and glitter than the few strippers I’d seen on TV. When I’d been innocently flipping channels. And accidentally stopped on stations I wasn’t supposed to watch. Moms and dads were hugging their daughters, praising them, handing them flowers, all about the congratulations on a job-well-done thing. Me, I had to grab my sister’s hand and beat feet, dragging her behind me.
“Dad?” she asked, sounding unsurprised.
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