by Lindy Zart
And there it is: Melanie’s cabin.
Log-sided and sprawling, it boasts of money with its perfect landscape of shrubs, trees, and rock trails. Through the uncovered windows, the main level is visible, revealing plum and wood walls, dazzling light fixtures, and dark furniture. To the left of the cabin and down one of those rock paths is the lake, glimmering and softly rippling under the light of the moon. A dock sways with the water, and if it wasn’t for where I am, and who is nearby, I would find it peaceful. But I don’t.
I turn my attention back to the cabin.
This is it.
Everything has been leading up to this night.
Would I be here if not for Nick’s confession?
I don’t know, but I’m almost relieved he told me. It made the decision less of a decision when I found out about Melanie’s yearly party, and more of an instinct. This is where I’m supposed to be. I am here, right now, to do this. They’re all bullies, Nick included. They take, and they break, and they are without regret. They need to repent. Anyone they’ve hurt deserves an apology. I’ll make sure they get it, even if I’m the only one who witnesses it.
Listening to Nick talk about how he treated that boy, and what that boy did to himself—it shattered my heart, including the part that cared for Nick. There’s nothing left. I can’t feel. I refuse to feel. If I let myself, I’ll shatter too. I blink my eyes against unwanted thoughts, against Nick’s smile, and his eyes, and how I can’t see him as anything other than who he is now. It’s a lie. He’s a lie. He gave me hope, but that was false.
All I hear is the sound of my tennis shoes meeting with earth, and although there are lights on inside the cabin, it seems too quiet. Too still. My hands are empty, and I clench them at my sides. I feel like I should have a weapon of some kind—for what, I don’t know—and then I realize, I am the weapon. My voice can be the knife, and I will cut with it.
That girl I used to be is here too. She clutches at me, and she won’t let me go. She’s whispering about all the times she was hurt, and she’s so sad. Just…so sad. My throat tightens, my eyes blur with tears. I want her to disappear. I see her, I feel her, and as I stare at the cabin I’m standing before, she shows me how she died. It isn’t like I don’t already know. It isn’t like I didn’t experience it myself. But it feels new. Fresh. Raw.
It’s strange how calm I am as I stare at the bottle, as I make my decision. I open it with trembling fingers, dump a handful of prescription pain meds into my hand. I wonder how I’ll swallow them all. I carefully shut the door of the medicine cabinet and an image meets my eyes. The face is pale, blue eyes wide with fear and hopelessness.
It is my face.
Why? Why am I seeing this, remembering? Feeling the absolute bleakness. I jerk my head, as if I can dislodge the memories. But then I’m in the emergency room of the hospital, and I’m trying to die, or maybe I’m trying to live. I stumble over a log, slowing to a stop. I bend at the waist, pressing an arm to my ribcage.
A murky haze surrounds me as voices call over one another, hands grabbing at me. The world spins as I fight to remain conscious. And then I give in, and give up. Why am I fighting this? This is what I want. Male and female voices overlap as I’m shoved onto a bed. My eyes are out of focus and a ringing forms in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
I moan and it sounds like a prayer. But to whom, and for what?
Don’t save me.
Why are they trying to save me? I don't want to be saved. Sweat trails down my face and body, but I am cold. A tube is jammed down my throat, scraping it raw as it descends. I gag, instinctively wanting the foreign object removed. I claw at it, and my hands are restrained. A charcoal substance is forced down the tube and I am crying as I choke it down. I can't do this anymore. I want it over. I want this life over. The tube is removed, and I collapse, curling into myself. I retch and retch until finally, mercifully, I vomit.
The world goes gray, and I want to go with it.
I rub my face, not surprised to find it wet. You’re dead, I tell the memory of a desperate girl. Stay dead.
Eyes forward, I stride for the front door of the cabin. Without allowing myself to hesitate, I grip the cool doorknob in my hand, and turn. The door opens to silence. It’s supposed to be a party, right? It’s the quietest, and emptiest, party I’ve ever encountered. I step inside, my eyes involuntarily widening as I take in the gleaming woodwork from ceiling to floor, the unending open space of the living room and kitchen, the stainless steel appliances, and sharp, minimalistic decorating. The collage of deep, lively colors.
My focus drops to the floor, and lands on Melanie.
She sits by herself in the middle of a room, playing with the string of a shiny purple balloon. Dozens more surround her, covering the floor like fake, fallen disco balls. Dressed in a cream-colored strapless dress with her hair pulled into a loose bun at the top of her head, she looks deceptively angelic. With her bowed head and slumped shoulders, she also seems somber. I don’t know how to respond to seeing her like this.
Melanie’s eyes are dim as they meet mine, even as her cheeks are flushed. “Hello, Alexis.”
I jerk at the sound of my full name. I’m supposed to be Lexie to her, not Alexis. I am only Alexis to Nick. It made my name seem special that way. And you hate him, remember? Can I ever really hate him? I don’t know that I can.
I shift my feet and study Melanie, wondering how I should respond. I decide to say nothing. She knows my full name, and that means, she knows who I am. Took her long enough. Melanie reaches for a brown bottle and tips its contents into her mouth. It hits the floor with a clang as she releases it. Tipping over, pale brown liquid forms a pool around the bottle on the hardwood floor. I count three more bottles lying on their sides nearby.
Waving a limp hand, she giggles and singsongs, “As you can see, all my friends are here.”
Melanie is drunk.
“Where—” I swallow around a dry throat. I came for vengeance, not to find a lone drunk girl sitting on the floor. This whole scene has me confused. “Where is everyone?”
Melanie shrugs. “No one came.” In a small, childlike voice, she asks, “Why do you think they didn’t come?”
“They realized what a bitch you are?” The words are out before I can stop them, not that I would.
A sudden heat enters her eyes, scalding with intensity. “I had a feeling you would show up.” Melanie’s smile is at odds with her eyes. “You see, I finally figured out who you are. I admit, it took me far longer than it should.”
Lightning cracks the world outside, sending pulses of white light directly over the lake.
“I was irrelevant to you. Why would you remember who I was?”
“True,” she tweets.
I step farther into the room. “What tipped you off?”
“Nick Alderson.”
The name strikes me with unimaginable pain, and longing—I might as well tear out my heart and offer it to Melanie. It hurts, and I don’t want to feel it. I want to hate him like I tell myself I do, and yet, each beat of my heart pulses with need. He was cruel, and inhumane, but I don’t know that boy. I know the other one. I briefly close my eyes. No. You don’t. You don’t know him at all. Just a glimpse of his face, just a flash of his hesitant smile—like he wants to be happy, but isn’t sure he’s allowed—it has the power to drop me to my knees. It churns in my stomach, this need, this disgust, and in return, I am torn.
“Nick was one of the most popular guys in school. Before Jackson killed himself, and he went all crazy in the head. I guess he blamed himself or something.”
I fist my hands and glare.
“I used to date Nick, you know,” Melanie says conversationally, ignoring my silent simmering, or unconcerned by it. She lets go of the balloon, and it slowly falls to the floor. “But then he wanted Jocelyn instead. They all want Jocelyn.”
A bad taste fills my mouth at the thought of Nick having anything to do with Melanie or Jocelyn. But then, he is one of
them. Even though I know it to be true, it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t seem like the Nick I know could have ever hung out with the bullies—or been one himself. I take a deep breath, and focus on the unstable girl.
“Jocelyn is supposed to be my best friend, and I think I hate her,” she muses, a frown pulling at her cherry red mouth.
I stand stiffly, looking around our surroundings instead of at Melanie. This is all wrong, and I don’t know how to respond. I expected a house full of people, and an antagonistic Melanie in place of the one before me. I expected to feel hatred, and rage, and when I look at her, all I feel is pity, and disgust.
Melanie meets my eyes. “Your story was true.”
Blinking to break the stare, I take another step toward her. “What part?”
“All of it. Everything about me anyway. I didn’t stay for the rest. I kind of wish I had, just to see what you had to say about Jocelyn.” Her smile droops, and she sighs. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to know why you did it. I want to know why you think it’s okay to treat other people like dirt.” My voice is waspish, stinging with the force of my emotions. The beat of my heart grows stronger, louder. I can feel it against my chest; I can hear it in my ears. “You didn’t like me because I was different. Admit it.”
One dainty shoulder lifts and lowers. “I didn’t care enough about you to like or dislike you.”
“Then why did you treat me the way you did?” It always comes down to the why of things, and a lot of times, there isn’t a good reason.
“Because it was fun,” Melanie snaps.
Stunned by her callousness, even though I shouldn’t be, I jerk my head back. “You really are an unfeeling monster.”
Melanie’s lower lip trembles. I’m sure I imagined it, because in the next instant, she straightens her back, defiance and resolve in her posture. “So, what’s the next step in your quest for revenge?”
I stop when I am close enough to see the top of her head, and have to lower my eyes to look into hers. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
She gets to her feet so suddenly I take a step back. She sways, holding her hands out on either side of her body to keep steady. With a lopsided smile and unfocused eyes, Melanie turns to me. The strangely sweet scent of beer seeps from her pores, and I wonder how many bottles made it to the garbage before she became lax and let them gather on the floor.
“How about this?” she suggests, her eyes sparked with unnatural light. We are inches apart, and nothing could separate us more. “How about we make things really interesting, and head to the dock?”
“What?”
Thunder rumbles, low and faraway. A storm is coming.
“Yeah. Come on. It’s old, and rickety, and every year my dad says he’s going to update it, and he doesn’t.” She turns and motions for me to follow. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”
Melanie plows over the balloons, kicking one viciously. It springs to the air, and back down, in a wobbly dance. This is hilarious to her. “Oh, God, Lexie,” she guffaws, careening to the left before catching herself on the wall. “You’re a bitch too, you know that? I think you’re even better at it than I am.”
My stomach clenches in denial of her words, even as they circle through my head with truth. I watch the spectacle of a downward spiraling Melanie Mathews as I stand in the center of an empty room. I should be enjoying this, right? Reveling in the mental meltdown of a cruel and selfish girl. Sickness swims where victory should.
I cross the room to her. Vibrating with anger, I stare at the pretty girl with the foul personality, and I lash out. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t you take this from me. Don’t you make me feel bad for you. You made my life hell; I’m just returning the favor.”
She snickers. “A bully to the bully. How ironic.” Melanie’s face scrunches up as she jerks open the door and slants a look at me over her shoulder. “You’re no better than me. We’re all bullies, including you.”
Twenty-two
Melanie
I STUMBLE THROUGH THE DOORWAY and toward the jagged path of rocks, glad for the shattered expression on Lexie’s face. I can’t be the only one having all the fun tonight. The wind is cool against my bare skin, and I close my eyes. I misstep, twisting my ankle as I land with my cheek on the walkway. Stone cuts into my flesh, and it burns, but I just laugh. Laughing is better than crying.
No one came. I don’t understand how this could happen. Not one single person came—Lexie the loser doesn’t count. I stay where I fell, the cold seeping into me, until I’m shaking with it. My ankle throbs, my face hurts, and I’m freezing. I have no friends. No one likes me. I’m a loser like Lexie. My throat tightens, and the laughter turns choked.
Lexie makes a sound of disgust. Hands dig into my arms and haul me to my feet. I’m spun around, finding my eyes level with her clear, blue ones. “You need to go to bed. There is no pleasure in getting back at you when I can’t even enjoy it. You’re too drunk.”
“Would you like to reschedule to when I’m sober?” I smile widely.
“Yeah, why don’t you pencil me in?” Her eyebrows lift when my mouth drops open.
“Get away from me,” I snarl, shaking her off. “You’ve already done enough damage.”
Her eyes are cool under the light of the moon. “It isn’t anything you didn’t already do to me.”
“Right. Maybe I should be like you and just go ahead and try to kill myself! Did that make everything better?” I fling my arms in the air, almost losing my balance again. “Do you feel better now, knowing you couldn’t even do that right?”
“I’m glad I didn’t get that right,” Lexie says softly.
Spinning away from her pain-filled eyes, I ungracefully make my way toward the dock. “Whatever. It’s great that my party gets to be spent with the one person I would never invite,” I continue, ignoring the pain in my ankle each time I put weight on it.
I don’t know why I’m going to the lake. I just know that, right now, I need to be in control of something. I decided to go to the lake, therefore, I’m going to the lake. No one, least of all, Lexie Hennessy, is going to get in the way of that. I swipe at the dampness on my cheek, staring at the blood that coats my fingers. It looks black. My sandals skid on loose gravel, and I reach the bottom of the hill faster than expected.
“What are you doing?” Lexie asks from behind.
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. Go home. I’m sure I’ll have a better time without you.” I stomp across the grass and dirt, cringing each time my ankle throbs, and stop before the dock.
I study the dark water, and the trees across the expanse of it. They look like murky creatures, moving with the breeze. I kick off my sandals. The moon seems especially bright here, and I squint my eyes when I tip my head back to look at it. Clouds roll past, gather and collect, as I watch. Looking at it makes me dizzy, and I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.
Lexie shifts behind me, moving closer.
“Why are you still here?”
“I can’t leave you out here,” she finally tells me, sounding supremely unhappy about it.
“Now you feel sorry for me? Is that it?” My voice is harsh, but my eyes sting with unshed tears. “You won. My life is ruined. Go home and gloat.”
“I should,” Lexie agrees, coming to stand beside me. “I want to.”
I give her a sidelong glance.
“Seeing you like this should make me happy.”
I roll my eyes.
“You hurt me, Melanie. You made me feel like crap, and for what? To get a few laughs? I was the new kid. I was shy, and worried, and I just wanted to make a couple friends. And you made that impossible. Every day I went to school, and every day, I feared it. I never knew what was going to be said, or done, and it screwed me up inside. Anxiety was my only friend, and it was slowly destroying me.
“And it wasn’t just me, and you probably won’t even learn a single thing from all this—because you obviously didn’t learn anythin
g from Jackson Hodgson, but I had to make you see that how you treat people—” Lexie grabs my bicep, her fingers hard against my arm, and yanks me around. Her eyes glow, and when lightning cracks the sky, it is reflected in the blue of the irises. “—is wrong. Some people can’t handle meanness, and no one should have to endure it. Intentionally hurting people is wrong.”
I feel my face crumple, and I avert my eyes. She’s right. I am a horrible person. I guess I’ve always known that. I just never cared. Not until I was the one being made fun of. Lexie drops my arm. I rub at the aching flesh, and move to the ancient dock as the sound of rain fills the air, and a downpour commences. It sounds crisp, and powerful.
The dock shifts with the water, and I plop to my butt on it. I move with the dock, and my stomach moves in the opposite direction. My throat prickles, and I break out in a sweat. I’m going to be sick. I move to my knees, my fingers gripping the edge of the wood plank, and vomit over the side.
“Lovely,” Lexie comments when I’m done.
“Shut up,” I get out around a ravaged throat. I flip to my back on the hard wood, and let the rain wash over me. Within minutes, I’m completely soaked.
“It’s time to go inside.” Lexie moves for me and I kick out a leg, missing her stomach when she smoothly moves to the side. “Impressive.”
Anger flushes my skin, and I glare at a face I used to not remember, and now know I’ll never forget. “Do you know what I call you in my head?” My upper lip curls. “Lexie the Loser.”
Lexie pauses, and then sits down by my feet. Her tennis shoes squeak as she shifts, and the red top and jeans she has on are dark with night and rain. She wipes rainwater from her face and looks at me. I’m tempted to kick at her again, just to see if I’ll get her this time. “Well, I have to say, that’s really disappointing. You thoroughly lack creativity. Even Lexie the Lesbian tops that, and that’s pretty sad too.”
I stiffen, rising on my elbows to better see her shadowed face. “Did you make that picture?”
