by S. K. Rose
“Did you know that the City of Books is 68,000 square feet, has nine rooms, and three floors?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“This bookstore takes up a whole city block! It’s huge! And did you know that Powell's has over a million books? A fucking million, Blackwell.”
“You sure you’ve never been here before?” he asks, looking amused, but my wheels are spinning too quickly to answer him directly.
“I remember when I first learned about this place at school. I came home and we became obsess—I mean, I was obsessed with it, learning everything I could and dreaming about the day I would actually get to come here.”
Hopefully he didn’t catch that slip.
Being the nerdy bookworms we were, Andrew and I had spent hours talking and imagining what it would be like to explore the bookstore that (in our heads) was a real city. A city full of mystery, forbidden books, and secret hideaways. A place we could have countless adventures.
He gives me a beautiful smile that lights up his whole face, as if he loves nothing more than listening to me ramble on about this place.
The rest of our day at Powell’s Books goes by in a blur of surreal exhilaration. At some point, Andrew had picked up a tote bag and started collecting books I expressed an interest in reading. I tried arguing that I didn’t need anything, but he wouldn’t have it.
We talked, laughed and debated for hours about our favorite books, authors, and genres as we roamed the labyrinth, serving only to strengthen our blooming friendship.
Although it was not his first time at the bookstore, Andrew seemed to feed off my enthusiasm. We explored each color-labeled room with rounded eyes and a childlike fascination.
The Blue room was full of poetry and classics, like Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.
The Purple room was full of historical journals, and the human studies like anthropology, sociology, and a few dozen other -ologys.
The Red room was disappointingly not full of dirty erotica books with whips and masks.
The Gold room was my favorite, and where we spent most of our time as I kept being drawn back. I was most content surrounded by my beloved fantasy, sci-fi, and thrillers.
When it was time to go, Andrew was being weighed down with a tote bag chock full of books, and I could only be dragged away with multiple promises of someday returning.
Not much to my surprise, I fell asleep again on the way back. It had been a long day. Once at the house, we apologized for running late and sat down to a delicious meal of grilled chicken, cheesy mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans. Ravenous and unaccustomed to homemade meals, I had seconds with little to no prodding by Mrs. Blackwell.
Over dinner, I was more talkative than usual. Instead of letting the world rush by my protective shell, I took part in the conversations and enthused about the bookstore.
Even with my shit storm of a morning, I concluded that this was one of the best days of my life. It wasn’t ’til dinner was almost over that I looked around the dinner table and felt an unnerving shudder quake through my body. A sense of foreboding gripped me with a little voice that told me to enjoy this while it lasts, Tessa the Reaper.
For the next few nights, those very words would poison my dreams.
When dinner was over, I was herded into the living room and told to “just wait.”
So now I sit here, impatiently tapping my foot and having a serious back-and-forth debate with myself about making a run for it. This is all too good to be true—maybe it’s just been a very lucid dream. Did I really take a bat to my old home, put out a cigarette on my druggy mother, explore the City of Books, and move into the house of my previously dead best friend?
Nah, nah, nah, this had to be a dream and shit is going to go sideways if I don’t get out soon. Someone always gets hurt around me—always.
As soon as I stand up, Blossom comes bouncing down the stairs and slides to a stop directly in front of me, eyeing me suspiciously. “You were about to run, huh?” She crosses her little arms and tries to look stern.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I huff, avoiding her scrutinizing eyes.
“Uh huh, you had that ‘wild animal trapped in a cage’ look going on.” She wiggles her fingers dramatically around my eyes until I swat them away.
“I’m just not accustomed to all this. I’m used to being on my own, not having to filter myself or answer to anyone, and I don’t even know how to function around a nice, normal family.” I sigh, hating that I sound pathetic.
Beth laughs out loud at that. Rude.
“Nice and normal? Yes, nice and normal. My weird obsession with pink and constant motor-mouth. Andrew’s jacked-up melon.” Immediately, her eyes turn apologetic and her mouth forms an ‘oops’ as she looks around nervously for her brother. “My dad and the way he grunts more than forms actual sentences. Oh, and don’t forget my mom, who enjoys bringing pictures of genitalia to the breakfast table.” She says all this while wagging one finger back and forth, and with the other hand on her hip.
“They were scissors.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.
Her scowl fades away and we both burst into laughter.
“Just come see, okay? We want you here, Tessa. All of us.” Before I can agree or protest, she grabs my hand and drags me upstairs.
This morning, I’d gotten a glimpse of the guestroom when I had run past it to go hide in the bathroom. It was nice enough, a bed with a peach floral bedspread, shelving, and a few pleasant pictures framed up on the wall.
Stepping inside, I find that this is not the room I had seen earlier. It looks like I wasn’t the only thing that underwent a makeover today. To the left, there’s now a small black couch where Mrs. Blackwell and Andrew sit chatting. The bed is fitted with a deep purple comforter that has black trim and matching pillows. Beth hops onto the bed and sprawls out across it with a magazine. In the left corner there’s a small writing desk where Mr. Blackwell appears to be setting up a computer. He stops only to flash me a grin and a nod before returning to his work. The framed pictures of flowers have all been taken down, and in their place, is a Muse poster just like the one that I left behind. (Wait—is it the same one? No, this looks newer). Beside it is a large painting of a badass chick in full armor riding a dragon.
It’s fucking stunning.
Ignoring everyone, I move to the bookshelf that had previously been bare, aside from a few decorative knick-knacks. Now it’s a nerd’s wet dream. One of the shelves holds my old collection of books that I’d brought from the lockers. The other shelves are packed full of the new ones Andrew picked out for me today. On the second shelf, I spot a little stuffed Pennywise clown from Stephen King’s It. Everywhere else is just books—lots and lots of books.
I lovingly drag my fingertips along the spines as I read them to myself; several Stephen King books, a few of my favorite classics, like Pride and Prejudice and The Great Gatsby, a handful of fantasy novels by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. My fingers find Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card, as well as the entire Dune series by Frank Herbert. Looking up, the top shelf is completely empty aside from one book that’s propped up and facing me: Misery by Stephen King. I choke out a laugh, knowing this is Beth’s handiwork.
Likely seeing the tears that have begun to build up in my eyes, Mrs. Blackwell begins shooing her family out of the room.
Mr. Blackwell is the first to leave. He mutters something about the computer being ready and not to stay out too late on school nights, and with a grunt and an awkward handshake he’s gone.
Beth is next, I give her a dazed nod when she asks me if I like the room. “Good, it was a lot of work,” is her snarky response. She hands me an opened package with a phone in it, telling me it’s already loaded with minutes, and before I can argue, she disappears down the hallway.
Now it’s Andrew standing before me.
“Did you have a good day? You know, considering?” He searches my eyes for the truth.
“Yes, thank
you, I. . . I needed it.” I glance away. Admitting I needed something feels like a weakness, and weaknesses can so easily be exploited. He turns to leave, but I quickly grab his arm before he can. “Andrew?”
“Hmm?” I run and grab something that I’d stuffed in a book tote.
“Happy Birthday.” I grin while holding up a soft hoodie that has the Powell’s Books logo on it.
“When did you get this?” he asks incredulously, holding the sweatshirt in his hands.
“Bathroom break,” I say proudly and I’m rewarded with a laugh.
“Thank you, Tess.” I nod shyly, and with a warm smile and sparkling eyes, he bids me goodnight and leaves the room.
It’s just me and Mrs. Blackwell now. I have so many things I want to say, but can’t figure out where to even start.
“That was very sweet of you.” She smiles.
I shrug. “Least I could do with him having to waste his birthday on my drama,” I grumble.
“Are you kidding? This by far has been one of his most interesting birthdays. One I’m sure he’ll never forget,” she says, giving me a conspiratorial grin.
She stands up and moves in front of me. Her expression becomes serious. “Are you gonna run, Tessa?” she asks bluntly, searching my eyes for honesty.
“Are the Blackwells all mind-readers then?” I ask with a small smile.
She chuckles at this, but raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“I thought about it,” I answer honestly. “But no, I’m not gonna run, Mrs. Blackwell. It’s just going to take me some time to adjust to all of this. I don’t understand why you and your family are being kind to me, I don’t deserve it.” It had to be said.
Her hazel eyes are pierced with sadness by my words. “You are not your parents, Tessa Kinsley. You are not responsible for their sins, and you do deserve this. You deserve to live like a normal teenage girl before it’s too damned late. You’ve lived a hard life, that’s easy to see by the look you get in your eyes, one that I’m sure I couldn’t even begin to understand. If you get the itch to run, don’t slink off into the night like a coward. You come talk to me first and I’ll help you figure it out, because I’m a damn good listener. Now listen up because this is important; if you need something fixed, well, Mr. Blackwell is quite the handyman for just about anything, you name it. If you need a girl’s day or just a talkative distraction, my daughter is your girl. Maybe you need to geek out about a book, I’m sure you know by now Andrew is up for the job. It might even trigger a memory or two while you're at it. If you just want to be alone, well, that’s okay, too, but you sure as hell don’t have to be anymore.” She embraces me and I smell the cinnamon that still clings to her from breakfast.
Words vomit out of me before I can stop them, “I saw my mom today when I was next door and I think she might have overdosed on heroin. She was still breathing, but I didn’t call nine-one-one. I didn’t do anything but watch her lie there as I destroyed everything, and, I, God. . . ” hysterics begin to set in but Mrs. Blackwell takes my hand and hushes me into a sniffling silence.
“Let me worry about it, dear. No matter what you did or didn’t do, that was her choice and she knew the consequences. Now, don’t you wander over there again, that’s nothing you need to see. Do you hear me? I will take care of it.” I nod and mean it. I don’t ever want to step back into that godforsaken house.
After Mrs. Blackwell leaves, I strip and crawl into the impossibly soft sheets and moan under the warmth of the thick comforter.
My nightmares are full of my rotting corpse of a mother, her grayish skin falling off in clumps that land with wet slaps to the floor. She’s sneering and I see her blackened teeth through a gaping hole in her cheek.
She continues to mock me, even in death.
Chapter 36
─────
Tessa
I wake with a start to knocking at the bedroom door made by a small fist.
“Tessa, you awake yet?” So much for sleeping in on the weekend. I throw a pillow at the door in response and try to fall back to sleep.
I hear the door open, and I’m shaken wide awake when she throws herself next to me.
“You gotta death wish, Blossom?” I grumble from beneath the comfort of my deliciously warm blankets. How the hell did I ever sleep without these blankets?
“Mom said we’re getting you new clothes today. That means shopping. I don’t think you understand how excited I am to have an excuse to get the car all day and shop. I seriously love shopping. Also, I’ve been eyeballing this really adorable jumper. . . ” she prattles on and on.
“Stop, just shhh. I have clothes. I don’t need any more, you can tell your mom that.”
“Well, actually about that.”
“Hmm?”
“Well, your clothes. . .”
“What. Did. You. Do?” I snarl, rocketing to a sitting position.
“What? Me? No, it was Mom. I sure as hell didn’t want to piss you off, and you have to understand the plastic bag they were in just ripped open and all your clothes fell out—”
“Where are my clothes, Blossom?”
“I mean, you still have your leather jacket and band shirts, but most of your underwear and jeans. Well, Moma’s face went white as a sheet and she looked traumatized. She took them, mumbling something about “the horror” and how they must not “see the light of day.”
“Oh, Jesus, they just had a few holes in them,” I groan and throw myself back on the pillows.
“Yep, so I guess, well uh, shopping day?” she asks with a little too much excitement.
Placing one foot on her hip, I shove until I see her limbs flailing around in all directions, followed immediately by a loud thump. Leaning to look over the side of the bed, Beth is lying on the carpet grinning from ear to ear.
“Can we do that again?” She giggles up at me and I lay back down with a groan.
Fucking Blackwells.
My shower was nothing short of life-changing. The pressure was orgasmic, the water got scalding hot, and all the shampoos and body washes smelled heavenly. After drying and brushing out my hair, I changed into clean underwear and my new jeans. I threw on one of my old band shirts, all while cooing to my remaining clothes that they’ll be safe from the crazy lady. Blossom promises she’ll do most of the work today if I will sit and let her do my make-up first (“no pink, I promise, Tessa!”) So now I’m sitting still at a very girly-looking vanity in her room, while I’m basically tortured.
“So, I heard you lovely ladies are going shopping today? Tess, I bet you are just tickled with excitement, huh?” I goggle at Andrew, who’s appeared at the door, with eyes that beg him to save me from this hell.
Does he swoop in to save me? Nope. In fact, he laughs.
He fucking laughs.
After I’ve finished scowling, I give him a second, longer inspection.
He leans just inside the doorway with his arms crossed looking delicious as fuck. He’s got on silver basketball shorts, a black hoodie, and oh—I’ve never seen him with a beanie on before. Jesus, it suits him. He’s got that hot ‘boy next door’ thing going on again, and the irony isn’t lost on me.
God, I want to unwrap him like a fucking present.
“Well, uh, you girls try not to have too much fun. I’m gonna go play ball with Chase and a few of his buddies.” And with a playful wink, he’s gone.
When the torture session is over, Beth shows me how my new phone works, adds a contact for everyone in the house, and sets me up with her favorite messaging app.
“Bookbitch?” I ask her.
“Yeah, that’s the username I gave you; quite fitting, I thought.” She laughs and I throw a smack toward her pink head that she easily dodges.
Since I didn’t have any preference, Beth took the lead and dragged me from store to store. By the end of our shopping spree, I end up with a bunch of new jeans, some leggings that Beth demanded I get, panties and bras, T-shirts, tanks, a few nice blouses, and a couple sets of boots and
tennis shoes. It wasn’t until much later I would find a few dresses that were snuck in without my knowledge. As much as I hated the shopping part, I didn’t mind getting to spend the day with Blossom. She did most of the talking like usual, and it was nice listening to her flit from topic to topic.
It was a nice distraction from all the thoughts that constantly battle for my attention.
ʢ ʢ ʢ
Andrew
I got my ass whooped in that pick-up game.
I just couldn’t keep my head in it. Chase teased me mercilessly, asking if I had “some skirt” on my mind, he honestly wasn’t too far from the truth. Except my “skirt” is more of a ripped jeans and T-shirt kinda girl. Moody as hell, always stomping around in her boots, she was all I could think about while I had the ball stolen from me time and time again. Eventually, I called it quits, as it was getting downright pathetic.
A chuckle escapes me as I think back to right before I left the house.
Looking into my sister’s room, I saw what could only be considered Tessa’s worst nightmare. She must really like my sister to put up with all that.
When Tessa spotted me, she screamed for help with her eyes, wanting me to get her out of the mess she got herself into. I couldn’t help but laugh. Even if it’s a little painful, it’ll be good for her to have some bonding time with Marybeth—she needs a friend; someone to confide in.
As much as I was looking forward to making some friends and shooting some hoops, I felt a pang of disappointment for having to leave Tessa. She had a rough morning yesterday, and I wanted to stay and make sure she was okay. I’d told my sister to call if she needed anything, but I know she’s in good hands.
Then there was that moment, when, for just an instant, I noticed a lustful heat in her gaze as she let her eyes travel down my body. That lingering look made me want to tell the guys to go to hell and take her some place to be alone. It was at this point I knew I absolutely had to leave. It’s hard as hell to hide a boner in gym shorts—pun intended.
