The stars glitter in the sky, twinkling like thousands of miniscule Christmas lights. The moon, bright and majestic, sits comfortably among the feathery clouds sitting stagnant in place. I pick the brightest star I can see, and do something usually reserved for children who see shooting stars; I make a wish. I wish for peace of mind, for happiness with Tristan, and for everything to fall into place. There are bigger problems in the world, but I risk sounding selfish if it means my wish comes true.
* * *
I’m dreaming again; my eyes must have closed but my brain is still whirring. I always seem to know when I’m dreaming, a gift David and I used to talk about frequently. This dream is the happiest I’ve had in a long time, filled with sunshine so real I can almost feel it warming my face. I’m wearing a floral dress that seems to glow in the brightness, and my hair is blowing in the light breeze, which smells like sea.
I’m in a park, barefoot, and the sun glints off a body of water, making me squint. I leisurely walk towards the rocks that line the shore; large, man-placed rocks to keep pedestrians from wandering into the surf. There is a bike path and dozens of picnic benches dotted around the large park, which stretches on and on parallel to the water.
I feel arms wrap around me, but I am not afraid; his presence is calming, and the lapping against the rocks makes for a picturesque moment. Turning, I find myself blinded by the beauty of Tristan’s eyes, whose pupils are dilated in the bright light.
“Hey you,” I say, which surprises me because I usually don’t talk to people when I dream.
“Hey you,” he says, smiling before tugging me towards the closest tree. “I have something to give you.”
I smile, feeling free and happier than I ever remember being. Tristan reaches behind his neck, fingers moving gracefully as they unclasp a necklace I hadn’t seen before. He removes it from its place, safely nestled under his shirt, and reaches for my hand. I lean against the tree as he braces his arms on either side of my head, against the rough bark. He takes my hand and his necklace dangles between our fingers, a silver cross hangs from the chain.
“I love you, Katie,” he whispers, and then he leans in and kisses me.
Chapter 10
My alarm clock jolts me awake with its annoying buzzing, and I’m about to cry. The necklace, the water, the kiss... all a dream. I pound my fists into the bed, angry at the world for waking me up. I can tell it’s going to be a bad day, but the sun already shining through my window begs to differ.
Putting on my school uniform, I hear my aunt bustling around the kitchen. I run a brush through my hair, put some mascara on and fix my skirt, which has a habit of riding up on my waist.
“Good morning, sweet pea! How’d you sleep?” Aunt Rachel says as she brushes flour off her face.
I giggle at the sight of the counter; covered in flour, it looks like a bomb hit.
“I slept great, Aunt Rachel,” I say. My mood begins to lift as I watch my aunt smile at me in genuine happiness.
“Well that’s great. You and I didn’t get to talk very much after Trist left last night. Is there anything you wanna tell me?” she says, smirking in a knowing way only a woman can.
Hard as I try, I cannot stop the smile from spreading across my face. It starts off as a tiny, tight-lipped one, but grows into a full-on grin that Aunt Rachel has never seen me wear. Maybe she’s some sort of magician, but Rachel seems to be the type of person that can coax a smile from anyone.
“He’s a great young man,” I say. Tristan can’t be called a boy; the word is too immature to describe his character. “Guy” seems too unoriginal, but “young man” suits him so perfectly.
Aunt Rachel laughs, plopping a pancake onto my plate. “Nice to see you found a friend so soon. A week’s time is all it took for you to get as close as you are? And, I’m not the snooping type, but I just so happened to see how close you got out by his truck,” she winks.
I blush, which is ridiculous considering the fact that he didn’t even kiss me on the lips. Although, a kiss on my neck is a lot more affectionate and it felt like the sky would open up and swallow us whole in a fiery inferno of passion. Oh my gosh, I’m becoming such a teenager, I think to myself with a giggle, which escapes my throat.
I look up to see my aunt smiling, struggling to contain laughter. “Well, I just want you two to be careful. A week might not seem that long to you, but moments of weakness can make anybody vulnerable,” she says, but sees I’m confused and continues. “If you ever need, you know… protection? I keep some in the closet hallway. I’m not condoning that type of behavior, by any means, but better safe than sorry!”
My mouth pops open and I’m pretty sure my face was redder than the tomatoes growing in the garden out front. Tristan and I have known each other a week and she’s already thinking…
“No, absolutely not, Aunt Rachel. Nope, nope, I’m good, thanks,” I say, shoveling the last of my pancake into my mouth just as the doorbell dings.
“I’ll get it, Katie. Go brush your teeth, you wouldn’t want to keep the boyfriend waiting!” she calls loudly enough so that Tristan could probably hear her through the door.
She called him my boyfriend… is that what he is? We haven’t really put a name to what we are, and I’m not sure there is one to describe us. He hasn’t said we’re officially a couple, but it’s pretty much implied. Why would we see anybody else when we have each other right here?
“Have a good day, Katie!” Rachel calls to me from the kitchen as I make my way down the hallway. Tristan is sitting on the step, my backpack at his side. He looks especially nice today despite the sweater-vest that threatens to destroy his bad-boy image. Looking innocent and shy, he looks over his shoulder and stands when I close the door behind me.
“Hey you,” he says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. I jump back, startled because this is what he said in my dream last night.
“Hey you,” I say, smiling, hoping my dream will come true. Maybe the star heard my wish last night, and the dream is God’s way of letting me know to expect good things. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into the entire thing; two words don’t mean anything.
“Ready to get going?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.
I smile wider, my mood completely improved. “Sure,” I say as I bounce down the steps.
The ride to school is quiet, and the breeze blowing through the open truck windows feels nice on my face. Soft music is playing on the radio, so I reach over to turn it up and Lady Antebellum floats from the speakers. I hum along with the music, mouthing the words and tracing the scars on my wrists absentmindedly. I feel guilty, like I should be crying and depressed that David isn’t who I thought he had become. But instead, I feel a peace and wholeness now that I know. Like maybe I can move on completely, free of the past and locked into the present.
“What are you thinking about?” I hear a velvet voice ask, breaking me from my thoughts.
I shake my head, not sure how to adequately put my feelings into words. “About how I think I should be depressed, about David, but how I’m feeling… normal,” I say, voice breaking, contradicting my words.
Tristan cuts the engine in his usual parking space before reaching for my hand. “Let yourself feel whatever you feel. Don’t second guess your emotions; they’re there to show you how to continue. How to live. If they’re telling you not to be upset, don’t make yourself feel something else,” he says, rubbing little circles on my hand with his thumb.
I smile and pull my hand away, climbing out of the car. The door bumps into something, and I instinctively pull it back, revealing a girl with short brown hair sprawled on the ground.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I say, shutting the door and nervously sticking my hands out to help her up. I watch her eyes shift from shocked to alarmed as she assesses my scarred wrists, and I pull my hands back, feeling guarded. “Are you okay?” I ask, wanting to avert her attention.
She nods, somewhat curtly, turns her head to pick up a book and stands. I
t is then I notice the bruising around her neck, which can’t even be hidden by the white turtleneck under her uniform shirt. It’s warm out today; she must be roasting in a long-sleeved shirt.
It hits me like a brick, the flashback. My father, standing over me as I cower, crying, on the floor of my closet. His hand snaps back, ready to strike my cheek, but he stopped, a heinous smile forming on his frightening face. I let out a sigh of relief, happy he was appeased with merely frightening me at the time.
But I should have known better. Both of his meaty hands shot forward, one tilting my head back so that I was staring at the ceiling and one wrapped around my neck. Squeezing, squeezing, until I saw stars and my world faded to black.
I must have been staring at the girl too long, because she squirms and walks around me, feet shuffling on the asphalt. I hear horns honking and kids shouting and these sounds snap me back to reality. My cheeks burn and I feel like his hands are still on my throat. I turn my head to find Tristan watching the brown haired girl retreat across the parking lot, and my eyes catch something shimmering in the sunlight. A bracelet. I bend down and pick it up, observing the charms with curiosity. A pair of angel wings graces the intricate silver chain, along with a set of ballet shoes, and a butterfly.
Carefully, I put the bracelet in the pocket of my skirt, knowing I’ll track down the brown haired girl later to see if it belongs to her.
“That’s Sorena Murray. She and I used to be really good friends, but then I…” Tristan trails off, letting his words float into the air.
“Sorena. I like that name,” I say, biting my lip.
“I used to call her Sorren, but she complained that it was too masculine,” he chuckles, eyes distant.
“Why haven’t I seen her before? I have a hard time believing she would’ve gone on the Greece trip,” I say as we start walking through the parking lot, swerving through the spaces of parked cars.
Tristan shrugs, letting his hand find mine. “I don’t know, she seems like a totally different person than who I knew. What did you pick up?”
I release his hand, watching his face fall ever so slightly, and fish into my pocket for the bracelet. “This was on the ground. It’s probably Sorren’s, but I’m not positive,” I say, handing it to him.
He smiles, nodding. “It’s hers. She used to wear this all the time. I bought her the star charm for her fourteenth birthday. She had a freaky obsession with fate and Greek gods.”
For a moment, jealousy races through me at the thought of Tristan having a girlfriend. Malaya had said he was popular among the girls in school, but I hadn’t even given it a second thought. He’s a different person now, but I’ll ask him about it later out of simple curiosity.
“Did you date her?” I ask, some of the jealousy seeping into my words, which makes me feel horrible. The poor girl looked like a scared little doe, and I had the nerve to feel aggravation towards her?
He laughs slightly, putting the bracelet back into my pocket before grasping my hand again. Little tings of electricity shoot through my skin, and I feel definite smugness that I’m holding his hand. If the people in this school can’t see what kind of person Tristan really is, they don’t deserve our attention.
“No, Katie. Sorren and I never dated. She’s, well… she’s been my friend since we were toddlers. I’ve only ever seen her as my childhood friend. That’s why I’m so shocked she never tried to contact me,” he says, sadness weighing his words down.
I give him a sad little smile and squeeze his hand before tugging him towards our first period class. About fifteen minutes into the class, I raise my hand, asking to use the bathroom. The hallways are painted a dull yellow, which doesn’t cease to remind me of the smoke-stained walls of my father’s study back in Chicago. My tiny black high-heeled shoes thwack against the gray tile as I make my way to the girls bathroom at the end of the hall.
As I open the door, I’m greeted by a familiar face. Malaya stands before me, big lips freshly coated with pink gloss.
“Hi, Katherine,” she says, voice brimming with false niceness.
“Malaya,” I say, voice matching her fake tone.
“I think we started off on the wrong foot… why don’t we just forget all words exchanged between us and start fresh,” she continues, smiling like a Girl Scout trying to convince you to buy twenty boxes of cookies.
I wish the world worked that way. Being able to start anew with no biases, hostility, or leeriness would probably bring about world peace. If Malaya thinks I’m going to disregard her nasty demeanor and hurtful words, she’s out of her mind. But I can at least try to be a friendly acquaintance, because enemies are really the last things I need at the moment. Yes, acquaintanceship is okay, but I’ll tread lightly.
“Of course. I really don’t want to miss Gov, so would you excuse me?” I say, inching past her.
She smiles, white teeth contrasting against her dark skin. “Sure. I’ll see you around!”
I hear muffled sniffling noises echoing in the tiny bathroom so I crouch to see what stall the crying girl is hiding in. The room is silent, empty of occupants except for me and the crier.
“Hello?” I say in a cooing voice usually reserved for the horses when I’m trying not to spook them.
The crying stops and I realize she must not have heard me enter the bathroom. Scenes of “Moaning Myrtle” from Harry Potter flash through my mind, and I suppress an extremely inappropriate laugh.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, standing in front of the stall. Unexpectedly, the door flies open, smacking me in the shoulder before slamming against the wall.
My eyes meet Sorren’s, which are a peculiar shade of blue, and I gasp when I see the anger on her face. Her eyes are makeup free, but framed with thick, dark lashes that any Covergirl would die for. My mouth hangs open slightly, showing my shock, and I snap it closed, immediately on the defensive. Her posture is different than it was in the parking lot, emanating strength and hardness.
“Just leave me alone,” she enunciates the last three words, sounding desperate.
“I just want to see if you’re alright,” I say, becoming angered at her change in character. Maybe she has an alter ego…
She tries to push past me, but my hand shoots out to grasp her arm, instinctively trying to offer her some form of comfort. A suction-like feeling spreads through my arm, gluing my hand to her in an unnatural way. I feel a soft nudge in my mind, telling me to relax, and my eyes shut.
* * *
I’m standing in a darkened hall, pressed against cool bricks. A girl races past me, wearing old-fashioned clothing: a light blue dress, short white gloves, and a hat that tipped to one side. I feel trapped, like my mind is detached from the body it’s in. I hear thoughts overlapping my own. Attempting to calm down and listen to what the voice is saying, I say a quick prayer and take a deep breath.
I start walking down the hallway and the thoughts get louder as I concentrate on them. “Where are you? Please tell me you’re alright. Dear God, let him be alright.” I hear in my head, and the voice sounds like my own, if not for the southern twang.
I open the door, and the smells of cigars and whiskey hit my nose. Music is playing, but not from a stereo. A band is playing in the corner of what looks like a bar in someone’s basement. The men around me have blurred faces, but their clothing is from the roaring twenties era. Men play cards on the floor, wagering cigarettes and chewing tobacco.
“Katherine!” I hear a voice call, and I turn my head, relief spreading through the body at the sight of… Sorren?
“Cassandra! Where’s Tristan? Is he alright?” the girl asks in succession, my voice sounding foreign thanks to the thick accent. The thoughts swirling through my head were jumbling together, making my brain actually hurt.
The rushing girl is me. She looks like me, straight down to the slightly crooked bottom teeth. The girl looks like she’s from a different time, just like everyone else in the room. She exudes strength and sassiness and sports a southern accent,
but she is me. Her eyes graze past my own and it is in that moment that I know I was once the girl standing before me.
“He’s outside with your brother. We’re tryin’ to find a way to git ‘im and you up North, in case this don’t blow over,” Sorren says, voice shaking.
“What was he thinkin’ comin’ to a place like this right now?!” she exclaimed, drawing attention to her and Sorren.
“Adrian said to meet ‘im here outside. What in the Lord’s name are you doin’ here? It’s dangerous for you, too!”
Katherine’s eyes roll, which makes me smile knowing this is exactly the reaction I would have if someone had asked me that question today.
“Who cares what I’m doin’ here! Let’s git outside and drag that boy home,” Katherine said, grabbing her friends forearm. As soon as the body’s hand touched Sorren’s skin, I was jolted back into the present.
* * *
My mind felt like it was being sucked through a vacuum, the sensation unpleasant. I open my eyes and find myself sitting on the bathroom floor with my head against the wall under the sink. Sorren is a few feet away, staring at me with an expression no less than terrified. She saw it too, then? The vision? What was it, exactly? I feel a ting of frustration for having this extra burden tossed onto my shoulders right now.
“What the hell are you, some kind of freak?!” she asks with contempt I’m not accustomed to being the subject of.
“I should ask you the same question!” I reply because I’m not exactly sure how to respond.
“You did see that, didn’t you?”
“No, I’m sitting over here ‘cause the view’s great,” I say, gesturing to the graffiti filled door a few feet in front of me.
“Shut up Katherine! Tell me what you saw!” Sorren yells, and I shush her before a teacher catches wind of our conversation and steps in.
Pieces of a Mending Heart Page 11
