by R. J. Groves
“Where do you think you’re going?” my father said, his voice dominant, commanding.
“I’m going to the party! I don’t care what you say – I’m going!” I said. My own voice was snappy, sharp and impolite.
His eyes were burdened. We always fought. There was rarely a moment of peace in this house. My mother worked more than full-time; she really only came home to eat dinner and sleep. My father worked Monday to Friday over school hours so that he was always home when I was. We never got along. He always found something to get me in trouble for and I would always retaliate. So many times, I wished that he would at least work more so that there would be times when I could be alone. So many days, I ended up in tears from fighting with him and, consequently, being grounded.
“I told you already, you’re not going! You’re too young to be out partying. Go change out of those things you call clothes and go do your homework,” he replied, his voice authoritative and loud.
“I’m sixteen! Stop treating me like I’m a baby!” I yelled, my throat burning and my eyes swelling with unwanted tears.
He never seemed to let me grow up. After all, I wasn’t a baby anymore. I was old enough to look after myself, in my opinion. Besides, I had to go to this party. It was imperative for me to go.
“When you stop acting like one, then I’ll stop treating you like one. Go to your room, now!” he yelled back at me.
“I hate you!” I yelled at him.
Our arguments usually ended with me saying this to him.
I glared daggers at him before I stomped my foot, spun on my heel and ran to my room. He would never let me go to a party with my friends, ever. He was always overprotective and jumped to conclusions. He never respected me as a young adult. In my opinion, he abused his rights as my parent.
I finally reached my room and dropped myself on my bed. The horn sounded again. They were getting impatient. I had to figure out a way to get out there and get to the party. I glanced out my window to see the car that seemed so distant now that I was on rocky ground.
That’s it! I thought. The window!
I regathered my things again and tugged on the window. I finally managed to slide it open enough to climb through, which I managed without hesitation. I would have to deal with getting in trouble for this later, but it would be worth it. I closed my window, leaving a small gap that I could use to open it again when I came home – if I hadn’t already been caught. I thought my plan was foolproof, and a smile covered my face as I sprinted towards my ride and quickly climbed in. In a matter of moments, we were on our way to the party and home events had been forgotten.
As soon as we reached the party, Aimee, Kane, James and I had already grouped together and were enjoying ourselves. It was only a matter of time before my phone started ringing. I viewed who was calling, only to find it was my dad. He knew I was gone. I ignored the call, continuing to at least try to have fun with my friends at our first official party. Moments later, I checked my phone again, this time to see what time it was – only to realise I had three more missed calls from my dad and one unread message. I opened the message.
You are in SO much trouble! I told you not to go to that party! I’m picking you up, and when we get home you will be grounded for LIFE!
“Oh, you’re in trouble!” Aimee teased me, reading the message over my shoulder.
I scoffed. Since when did being grounded stop me from going out anyway? The only thing I had a problem with was the fact that he was coming to pick me up. He always ruined my fun. I knew I had a maximum of half an hour before he would get here – he had to find where I was first. But when he did, I knew he would be furious. I kept my phone in my hand so that I would know approximately how much time I had left.
Half an hour passed, and I was still at the party. I was thrilled inside – it was definitely worth it.
Half an hour turned into an hour. By this time, I was in the corner having a drink with Aimee and Kane. James had begun socialising with anyone he could find, increasing his number of party friends by the minute. Soon enough, he came back to us for a moment.
“I thought you said your dad was picking you up?” he asked, sitting next to me and taking a sip of his drink.
“He is,” I replied, starting to wonder where he would be.
It would only have taken half an hour tops to find where the party was. I mean, it was the only party in town tonight. There were flyers posted all over town, in everyone’s mail boxes, stuck on almost every streetlight pole, glued to almost every vacant wall and pinned on billboards. And even if he didn’t use those to find where it was, it was only three blocks down from my place – the music could be heard from the ends of the street. Simply driving aimlessly around would lead you to the party.
I shrugged my thoughts aside and looked on the bright side – it left me with more time at the party.
Another hour passed. It had been two hours. My phone started ringing. Thinking it was my dad again, I looked at it and readied myself to ignore the call, stopping short to see different words than I expected.
Incoming Call: Mum
I picked up. She would at least be understanding, I thought.
“Hello?” I said, trying to block out the music and sounds of the party from going through my phone.
“Emma? Thank God! Where are you?” Her voice was distressed, upset. I checked the time – she still wasn’t due home for another hour, at least.
“I’m with Aimee and the boys,” I replied. “What’s wrong?”
I could hear her voice filling up with sobs.
“Your father,” she started, her voice breaking.
Well, I always thought something was wrong with him, but I was confused from her voice. She was hesitant to continue, as though she had information that would become truth, reality, the moment she told me. Information she never dreamed of becoming a reality.
“Mum, breathe. What happened?” I could hear my own voice becoming worried, concerned.
Aimee, Kane and James all became wary, their faces growing white and confused as they watched me talking on the phone.
“Emma – oh, Emma. He was caught in an accident.” Her sobs were more threatening now. I could tell she was having trouble breathing and explaining.
I felt like my heart skipped a beat or more. I felt sickened. The expressions on my friend’s faces were evidence that my own face had grown pale.
“What? Mum, is he okay?” I could feel my throat burning and tears welling up again, not for the first time tonight.
“Emma,” she whispered desperately.
“Mum, talk to me! Is he okay?” I asked again. My face had grown wet, and a small crowd was starting to gather around me.
I could tell that her own tears were flowing full stream by now. Her words were barely audible and, when they came, they barely made it past a whisper.
“He’s gone.”
~x o x~
I bolted upright, waking from the nightmare of one of the worst moments of my life. My breathing was heavy and my body was sticky with sweat. I wiped the falling tears away from my face and climbed out of bed to slide the window open as much as I could. The breeze was cool, gentle, soothing against my heated skin, erasing from my mind the echoing last words of my haunting memory.
I dropped comfortably into the soft armchair in front of my window, having pulled a light blanket over me to keep myself from freezing. I closed my eyes hesitantly, scared of what vision might follow the unwanted nightmare. Before I knew it, I’d drifted into a restless sleep once again.
~x o x~
It was a cloudy day in the park, where I walked hand in hand with the young man I loved. Following routine, he leant his back against the tree and I looked him in the eyes, prepared for our daily ritual. A bit of teasing, a bit of flirting, a lot of kissing. But today it seemed different. Today his eyes were solemn, sorrowful.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, raising my eyebrow slightly.
It was unusual – weird – to see him like
this. Even if something was bothering him, he never looked like this. At the very least, he would smile around me. It took me only a moment to notice that his body had tensed beneath his clothes.
“Emma,” he whispered, hesitant, regretful.
I nodded my urge for him to continue.
“We need to talk,” he said.
My heart was racing, my body aching. I knew what was happening – it had happened so many times already. I had already played this fatal game, losing every time. My heart had already been broken by this young man; the moment had already replayed in my mind, my dreams, my memories. This had to be a dream again. I knew it all word for word, but I still dreaded the moment when his rehearsed words escaped his lips. As usual, his last words hung heavily in the air and taunted me day after day.
“I can’t pretend that I still love you.”
The vivid picture changed to the day I lost my best friend. I watched her walking away from me. I watched James talk coolly and hesitantly to me. I saw Kane’s victorious flash in his eyes as he saw me in pain while I felt the tears streaming down my face as Renée betrayed me, too.
It’s only a dream, I kept telling myself.
But I couldn’t escape the knowledge that it had already happened, that it was my reality. The only dream was my memories. I felt the all-too-familiar burning in my throat, the familiar dampness of dried and fresh flowing tears wearing a pale stain down my face.
Over and over, the pictures – the memories – repeated. Quicker each time, but always remaining the same. Over and over, I told myself that it was only a dream. Over and over, I felt the stabbing, unwanted, unforgettable pain of my heart being wrenched carelessly out, trampled and beaten. Over and over, the tears never dried on my face.
Over and over, I was left alone.
~x o x~
“NO!” My own voice woke me up once more.
Again, my breathing was heavy and my face was wet, smothered in tears, but this time I was shivering. I climbed out of the chair to shut the window. I felt weak, tired, weary. The tears continued to flow; the last images were still as vivid in my mind as they were in my dream. I could never escape them. I would always have to live with the constant reminders and the memories I wished never existed. I would have given anything, anything at all, just to replace these nightmares of a memory with moments that I might actually enjoy remembering.
Having successfully closed the window, I climbed back into my bed, checking my phone. My body was still shaking, and my eyes were still blurry from tears, but I still, only just, managed to make out the words imprinted in the unread message.
Renée knows.
I let out a moan. He told his sister. He told her that we had been together all week and, no doubt, he told her about everything I said to him. The tears came more freely now. And for the third time tonight, I cried myself to sleep.
~x o x~
I awoke once again to see the familiar DVD player screensaver playing in front of me, and felt the tender touch of the gentle masculine hand stroking my hair away from my face.
“You’re awake,” the familiar voice whispered in my ear.
I felt my heart jump inside of me and I smiled as he stroked my hair to the side and brushed a gentle, tender kiss on the side of my neck. This time, we weren’t to be disturbed. This time, we were alone. This time, there was no car door to blame for waking me up.
I turned my body to completely face the young, green-eyed man lying on the couch next to me.
“I didn’t know I fell asleep,” I teased, knowing he wouldn’t buy it.
“You mean to tell me that, all this time, I could have done this?” he asked, putting his arm around me and kissing me on the forehead.
I smiled; he always knew how to make me feel special, loved.
“Or this?”
He moved his other hand to my lower back and pulled me gently towards him. Ever so lightly, he kissed me on my right cheek, my nose, my left cheek, followed by a slightly longer kiss on my chin.
“Mmm, Fayne,” I said, unsure of what else I should say.
I didn’t want to object. I didn’t want to pull away. Who cares if he was the vibrant redheaded girl’s brother? It was my moment – our moment. Renée lost her rights to know when she betrayed me when I needed her most. Fayne and I were secret, unknown. No one knew about us, no one except for ourselves. We were each other’s dirty little secret.
“Or even this?” he continued.
With his hand on my back and his other arm around my shoulder, he rolled me onto my back, making sure I was comfortable before he continued. He pulled his arm out from under my shoulders and propped himself up on his elbow, keeping his other hand around my waist. Smoothly, he entwined his outside leg between mine and began to kiss my neck again, becoming more passionate with every kiss.
“But I missed this the most,” he whispered between kisses. He brought his hand up from my waist to brush his finger gently over my cheek.
Passionately, he leant towards me, his lips touching mine in a long, enchanting kiss. His lips were metallic, familiar, and his breath was sweet, entrancing. After a moment, he broke the kiss, and he looked me in the eyes once more. I was confused, only for a moment. His emerald green eyes had turned into a deep, familiar blue. His straightened reddish-brown hair had become noticeably black and wavy. The voice no longer belonged to the young man from before. It belonged to Kane.
“I love you, Emma,” he whispered, keeping our eyes locked.
My words were surprising to both of us. It was as though they were yelled loud enough to hit home. But they were only whispered in reply.
“I don’t believe you.”
~x o x~
My eyes shot open at the sound of my alarm. I was relieved to have woken from that dream, and annoyed at Kane for intruding on what was beginning to be a rather pleasing dream. Unlike the other nightmares that I had – last night and since the breakup – I didn’t feel that burning in my chest of my heart breaking again, and I didn’t feel angry at Kane for making me feel that way.
But I did feel a warmth in my stomach when I thought of Fayne and how he made me smile. He gave me the time of day and he was there for me when no one else was. I recalled our dinner together and waking up in his arms on the couch. And, finally, my dream before Kane interrupted. I felt my cheeks heating at the thought, and I knew that Fayne was already giving me more than what Kane ever did. He knew what happened between Kane and me, and he still wanted to get closer to me. Fayne was the reason my heart wasn’t breaking. But was it only setting myself up for more hurt?
Chapter 17
Finished with the show.
“Fayne, you really didn’t have to take work off to bring me here,” I said quietly as I sat in the hospital waiting room with my brother. “I mean, I would have been okay with not coming at all.”
Since I’d had the scare of my life with getting appendicitis, I’d grown to not like hospitals so long as I was a patient. I could have done without all the appointments with the doctors. The regular procedure involved prodding and the chill of the stethoscope on my bare skin. Don’t get me wrong – I liked my doctors. They were nice, despite the fact that they had an endless supply of disgusting medication to give to me. At least this appointment had a legitimate purpose. Today, I was getting my stitches removed.
“What, and risk infection? Not on my watch,” Fayne said.
My parents were both at work today during my appointment time, so Fayne took the day off to bring me here. There wasn’t much to do in the waiting room, and I could feel the painkillers wearing off. I figured the least I could do to distract myself was to think of things to talk to Fayne about. I wasn’t having much luck at all.
“But don’t you have plans–” I paused for a moment. “With Emma?”
Since Fayne told me everything, I’d tried to accept the fact he was spending so much time with her. It was hard, especially because she was still ignoring me.
“She’s at school,” he replied,
not looking up from the newspaper he held in his hands.
I looked at the time; she would be finished soon. Of course, I had forgotten that today was Monday. Time had been going by so slowly since I’d been confined to my home. I never remembered what day it was anymore. I leant back in the seat. We’d been waiting for half an hour and I’d already run out of things to say.
“Renée Clarkey.”
“Finally!” I moaned as I stood to follow my doctor to the exam room.
“Parents at work?” he asked as we reached the room. Fayne nodded his reply.
Out of habit, I climbed onto the bench and lifted my shirt slightly to reveal my marred stomach, ready for examination.
“No worries. All right, let’s see how it’s going,” said the doctor, coming over to examine the cut.
His name was Dr. Andrew Fetch. He was a small man, not much taller than me. He had thick, light brown hair, and his facial hair was stubbled. He had a sense of humour and always wore a smile.
“Aww, it’s a beauty!” he exclaimed, tracing the cut with his finger. “It’s going to heal nicely – minimal scarring, if any. You’re lucky, Renée. Not many people get away without a decent scar.”
I laughed. The news coming from Dr. Fetch was like music to my ears. I didn’t want a big scar on my stomach. Dr. Fetch got his tweezers and scissors before returning to the examination bench to remove the stitches.
“All right, let’s get these little blighters out of you.”
An hour later, stitches removed, Fayne helped me to his car, one arm around me to keep me upright. The painkillers had well and truly worn off, and I was definitely feeling it. Who would have known that getting stitches removed still hurt? Taking precautions, Dr. Fetch bandaged my wound, which was now held together only by natural means. It was understandable; wounds were known to have a chance of re-splitting once the stitches were removed.
