WrongorWriteBoxedSetstripped

by Sky Corgan

  “Nothing, if you don't get out of the kitchen. Aren't you going to say hello to Tara?”

  “Yo,” he greeted me dryly. Whatever kindness he had saved up for the viewing was totally gone from his voice, as if I was just a burden to him now. It made my heart ache.

  “Hi Darren.” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear, cowering slightly from his presence. There was that strange awkwardness is my movements, the quietness of my voice. My attraction to him was shining through, and it was only a matter of time before I turned completely stupid.

  Thankfully, he didn't give me long enough for that to happen. He walked around the bar, grabbed Eleanor by the hand, and lead her out onto the back porch. She was barely able to get a quick greeting in before he whisked her away, but I was glad. I didn't want to talk to her anyway.

  When I heard the sliding glass door close behind them, I sighed, feeling the full weight of my misery. I never should have come here. Life was telling me that this was wrong. I needed to get away as soon as possible.

  Mrs. Jones grunted at the door. “I wonder how long that one will last.”

  “She seems nice,” I said, trying to keep the depression from my voice.

  “They all are. Well, most of them,” her tone darkened.

  “Maybe he'll settle down with this one. You never know.”

  She laughed shortly, then shook her head. “No. There's only one girl I could ever see him settling down with, and she left here long ago. He hasn't been the same since. Broken, that one.”

  “You're talking about me, aren't you?” I couldn't resist asking. If she was going to guilt me out, she might as well lay it on thick.

  “I don't know what happened between the two of you. I just know that when you left, it tore him apart. He wasn't the only one though. You remember that horrible Krista girl?”

  “Yes. I actually saw her when I went out to eat at Sammy's last night. She seems to be doing well.”

  “Well,” she huffed. “After she got over her little suicide escapade, she ended up getting knocked up by some no-good passerbyer. I swear, that girl will never have her head on straight.

  “At least that's one thing I can say about Darren. He's careful. I've always wanted grandbabies, but I'd be awfully upset if he had them with these harlots. I suppose I should just be happy that the worst is over for him. He's straightened out a lot these last few years.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You really don't know what's been going on around here, do you?” She eyed me suspiciously.

  “No.” I replied, feeling a bit shameful. “When I cut ties, I really cut them. My parents knew that talking about things around here upset me, so they stopped after a while. Well, my mom stopped. My dad was nice enough to never bring it up in the first place.”

  “Well, after you left for college, Darren stayed back for a while. Him and Krista got really close, which I absolutely hated. That girl has never been anything but bad news. Then she tried to kill herself, and after that it was just a downward spiral. She got Darren into all sorts of trouble. They started drinking a lot and doing drugs. He was addicted to heroine for a while.”

  My mouth fell open in shock. I couldn't ever imagine Darren becoming addicted to drugs. He had always been so clean-cut and straight edge. His future was important to him. Pleasing his parents was important to him. I couldn't picture him carelessly throwing everything away.

  “So he didn't go to Colorado?” I asked.

  “No. He didn't. He stayed here, wasting his time getting high. At least, that's what I thought he was doing. He'd go out at night, and party until God knows when. I stopped bothering trying to wait up for him a long time ago. He'd get into fights with his father and I all the time. He was being a real asshole. For the longest time, we thought we were going to have to kick him out. It seemed like the only times it was peaceful around here was when he was gone or asleep. If that wasn't the majority of the time, we would have kicked him out a long time ago. But that was pretty much his life. Party all night. Sleep all day. Him and that Krista girl. Gods, I swear she was the worst thing that ever happened to him.”

  Or I was, I thought sadly.

  “But he's better now,” I said, trying to sound hopeful.

  “Yes, he's a lot better now. Thank God. Apparently, he wasn't sleeping as much as I thought. Sometime, between the partying and sleeping, he was writing. I didn't even know he had been writing until I saw him get dressed up in a suit one day and leave the house. I asked him where he was going, and he told me that a publisher wanted to meet with him.

  “Even after the book came out, he didn't change his ways. It wasn't until the movie deal happened that he began cleaning himself up. Maybe he realized he was starting to have something to lose. Because before, I really don't think that he gave a crap if he lived or died. Life was about numbing whatever pain he was feeling. We couldn't fix him. Lord knows we tried.

  “Anyway, he eventually sobered up, gave up drugs and drinking entirely. He couldn't seem to give up the women though. Darren was always popular with the girls, but now that he's a famous author, they flock to him. I imagine it's hard for him to resist. Still, I think it's disgusting. These poor girls. Surely, some of them have feelings for him. He's not interested in that though.”

  My mind was reeling. Had I damaged him that badly? It felt like everything I touched I broke. Surely, I would go to hell for messing up the lives of so many good people. It was hard to think that my soul was redeemable.

  “I'm sorry,” I said softly.

  “What in the heavens for?” Mrs. Jones looked up at me, her solemn mood completely lifted, as if the previous conversation hadn't happened at all.

  “I can't help but feel somehow responsible for all of this.”

  “I'm not going to lie, Tara. It was easy to point the finger when everything started going down. You always seemed to be the star in Darren's life that kept him on course. But who's to say this wouldn't have happened even if you had stuck around. There's really no way to know, so there's no point in blaming. People are strange, and change is a constant in life. He would have changed with or without you. The question is how.”

  While I knew her words were meant to be soothing, I still couldn't help but feel guilty for everything that had happened while I was away. I had meant so much to Darren and Krista, and I had just tossed them aside like they were nothing. I was such a selfish bitch that it was almost unbearable. It's in the past. Like she said, people change. You've changed. You're a better person now.

  I sat in melancholy silence while Mrs. Jones finished making dinner, which ended up being a meatloaf with mashed potatoes and a salad. When it was ready, she called everyone into the dining room where we sat around the table. We held hands and said grace, but there was little talking otherwise. I kept my eyes to my plate, afraid to look at Darren, afraid I would blush, or worse, see coldness behind his eyes. He wasn't even the same person I had encountered at the funeral home. Everything felt off.

  I was never happier when dinner was over, and I was able to say my goodbyes. Even Darren stepped up to hug me then, though his embrace was so light that it could barely be considered a hug. Eleanor eyed my curiously the whole time, and I had a feeling that she didn't have any clue about the real history between Darren and I.

  “You should come back before you leave town,” Mrs. Jones told me.

  “I'll try to make it back if I can,” I replied, though I knew it was a lie. I was never coming back here. Never. Not ever. Even if I felt like I needed a second mother in my life, I couldn't stand being around Darren. Not after everything I'd done to him.

  I went back to my parents' house and had another good cry. It felt like the longer I stayed in Castroville, the worst I felt. Maybe tomorrow I would get a visit from Daniel Delp. He would run around my yard in his five-year-old form yelling “Tara the Terror” and that would be the topper on the shit cake I'd been eating since my parents died.

  I laid in bed that night and called Alice and
Lawrence, telling them about every single horrible thing that had happened to me. They both offered to come down and console me, but I refused. This was my mess, and I would straighten it out. Besides, I wasn't going to be in Castroville much longer anyway. Surely, three more nights wouldn't kill me. Then again, given everything that had happened so far, I probably shouldn't be so sure.

  The next morning, I woke up bright and early with a plan. To avoid running into further ghosts from my past, I decided I would just eat whatever my parents had left in the refrigerator. If I didn't leave, I couldn't run into anyone, which meant I would save myself from further misery.

  As far as dealing with the house was concerned, I figured the least I could do was start boxing things up. I one hundred percent was not going to keep the house, which meant that everything would end up in storage if I didn't have the strength to deal with it right now. Though I didn't really want to mess with it, I didn't want to make it seem like I had done nothing with my days off. This stuff would have to be taken care of eventually anyway.

  I started in the living room, taking my mom's knickknacks off the shelves, wrapping them carefully, and putting them in a box. How one woman could collect so much junk, I'd never know. She was on the cusp of hoarding; she had so many mismatched things set up all around the house. Little figurines of birds and bears and angels and dolphins, collectors plates and Faberge eggs. Most of it had come from the dollar store, but what few items were of worth could be sold, and the ceramics that my grandparents had done I knew I would want to keep. Everything else would probably be donated.

  The sheer volume of stuff made the job a lot more laborious than I had imagined. It was almost noon before I finished boxing up the knickknacks and was able to move on to the wall hangings and pictures that were small enough to fit inside a box. Each photo of my parents and I broke my heart, and I ended up designating a separate box for the ones I wanted to bring home and display in my apartment. When I came across a photo of Darren and I playing together as kids, I thought about throwing it away. It had been hidden behind a bunch of other photos on the fireplace mantel, as if my mom had wanted to keep it but for me not to see it. I sighed, realizing that it had meant something to her and ended up placing it in the storage box instead.

  Just as I was setting it down, I heard a knock on the door, and I sighed in exasperation. Could I not get a single day of peace? Thinking it was one of my relatives, I tried to put on a pleasant face as I went to open the door. My expression sulked when I actually saw the person behind it though.

  Darren stood there, looking around absently, holding a pie of some sort in his hand. His eyes quickly darted back to me, and a smile crossed his lips, making me feel all sorts of strange mixed emotions.

  “Hi,” he greeted me.

  “Hi,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

  “My mom thought you might be hungry, so she made this chicken pot pie for you.” He held out the pie as if it were a peace offering.

  “That was sweet of her.” I gave him my best fake smile before reaching out to take the pie, which was still warm from the oven.

  “She also suggested that I offer you my help.”

  “That won't be necessary,” I said quickly, shaking my head and stepping back inside.

  “Well, can I least come inside for a minute then? I'd like to see the house one last time before you dismantle it.”

  His words stung like a slap, as if he thought I was trying to destroy the home I had grown up in. Part of me didn't want to let him in, but I knew that was the selfish part of me, the part of me that I desperately wanted to shed.

  “Come in,” I told him, stepping away from the door to allow him inside.

  He walked in, looking around as if he was seeing the place for the first time. I blatantly stared at his ass. He was wearing cutoff shorts, very casual, probably in preparation to get his hands dirty if I agreed to let him help. His butt was thicker than I remembered it being. It used to be such a small almost non-existent thing. Now it was filled out with muscle. Very nice to look at.

  “Wow. You've gotten a lot done in a short time,” he commented, walking into the living room and peering down into the box that had all the pictures in it. I cringed as he picked up the one of him and I playing together as kids. “I remember this.” He turned to me with a smile.

  “Do you? I don't. We were so young then,” I replied, stepping up beside him to look at the picture.

  “Yeah. That was the calm before the storm,” he laughed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Right after this picture was taken, you bite me, and I ripped the head off of one of your dolls. You didn't talk to me for almost a week afterward.”

  I couldn't help but grin. “What did I bite you for?”

  “I don't remember. You were being a brat, as usual.”

  “I was not a brat when I was little.”

  “Yes, you were,” he insisted with a smirk. “Always following me around. I couldn't get rid of you. Back then, I thought I wanted to get rid of you,” his voice trailed off, and I could hear the pain behind it.

  I took a deep breath. “That was a long time ago. I should put this pie in the kitchen.”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” He continued to stare at the picture solemnly as I left him there to put the pie on the stove. Tendrils of guilt and pain wound through my heart. Why couldn't I have one day of peace, one day to escape the guilt? Was this God's way of punishing me for all I had done?

  I get it God, I really do. I screwed up. I screwed up badly. You've punished me enough for one week. You've taken away my parents, made me face all the guilt I tried to forget. I understand that this is my karma. But could you please just give me a break? I don't know how much more of this I can handle.

  My silent prayer was interrupted by the sound of footsteps going up the stairs. Oh, great. Now what? I rounded the corner to find Darren climbing the stairs to my room.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, not bothering to hide my displeasure.

  “I'm going to see your room.” He turned to me, looking innocent and sickeningly delicious.

  “I didn't say you could.”

  “You gonna stop me?”

  “We're not kids anymore, Darren. You can't get your way this time.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  He shrugged, then turned from me and continued up the stairs.

  I sighed, following him up and into my room. He looked at it with the same wonder as he had the living room. Though this time, it was probably because nothing had changed.

  “Wow. I can't believe your parents never took all of this stuff down,” he said, gesturing to the posters on the walls.

  “I know,” I sighed. “I guess my mom just couldn't get over her empty-nest syndrome."

  “I guess not.” He sat down on my bed, bouncing a few times as if to test it out. “It's exactly how I remember it. You know, of all the times I came over here after you left, I never came up to your room.”

  “I didn't know that.” I crossed my arms over my chest again, trying to show him with my body language that it was time to leave.

  Darren glanced at me for a moment, ignoring the obvious signs before he looked around my room again. “Same posters. Same girly knickknacks. Same bed.” His eyes shot up to me as he spoke about the bed, running his hand over the comforter. There was something dark behind them, something seductive. I felt my heart skip a beat, knowing we were both recalling the same memory.

  “Yup. Nothing's changed,” I laughed nervously.

  “You should really let me help you pack up this stuff,” he said, his mood suddenly shifting, as if the intimate moment between us had never happened.

  “I really don't need the help.” I shook my head, wondering if I had only imagined that strange look in his eyes.

  “I insist. This place is a treasure trove of memories. I'd be interested to see what we would uncover.”

  “Again, I don't think that's a good—”

  “I'm not giving
you an option,” his voice was too lighthearted for me to get angry at him.

  With a sigh, I surrendered. “Fine. Let me just go get some more boxes from downstairs, and we'll start packing this stuff up. I was going to save this room for last, but I suppose if you want to go through it all so badly.”

  “Oh, I do,” he replied with a charming smile that made naughty parts of me water. I hate you so much right now, I thought, though I knew I didn't mean it. I just hated what he was doing to me. Did he know he was manipulating me? Probably. This never would have worked on me before. But now . . . Now things were different. He was different. I was different. We were different.

  As I went to the garage to look for more boxes, I thought of how conflicted I felt about Darren. He made it seem like he genuinely wanted to be around me. What was with all the coldness yesterday at his parents' house? I wished I could go back in time to the point in life where I knew him well, where I could figure out what he was thinking without him having to say anything.

  When I returned upstairs, Darren was laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I quickly went to work putting the boxes together, trying to avoid looking at him.

  “This bed is so uncomfortable. . . and small. I can't believe we slept on it together all that time,” he commented.

  “We were both smaller back then,” I said, feeling incredibly nervous.

  “You're right.” He sat up, watching me while I worked. “We were both smaller back then.”

  “Are you calling me fat?” I stopped what I was doing, staring at him with my mouth agape. Part of me was just pretending to be offended, but part of me wondered if he really did think I was fat. I hadn't gotten that much bigger, had I? Sure, I had piled on the freshman fifteen, but I had always been a relatively small girl.

  “Not fat. I'm just saying you've filled out, is all.”

  “Well what about you? You got bigger too.”

  “I suppose I did.” He looked down at his chest. “Mine is all muscle though. Yours is . . . more womanly.”

  “So you are calling me fat!” I gasped, abandoning the boxes to grab a pillow off my bed and smack him with it. He instantly cowered, laughing.