by Ashley King
Lindy's brow furrows and I can see that she’s seething behind those darkly lined eyes. "I thought I made it practically impossible for any girl to give you the time of day."
"Yeah when you lied and said you were making out with me because I drugged you? And everyone believed you?" I snap. I don't have time for this. My fists begin to clench and unclench as I think about the past three years, at the fact that if I even bump into a girl, she swears I'm trying to molest her. I think back to the time when I walked these halls like I was a damn king, back when things were different, before everything fell apart.
"Ryder, no one can know about us," Lindy breathes in my ear. Like I care if anyone finds out about us. I'm newly poor, on the verge of being an alcoholic, about to get kicked off the football team, not to mention the fact that my Dad abandoned me and my Mom to a roach infested trailer. And I care about her reputation?
Lindy is pretty enough, but she's just something to pass the time. I don’t feel bad about using her because she's the meanest girl in the entire school. Everyone is afraid of her because of her retaliation. But she approached me for this and now we're stuck here in this dark bedroom at the party, making out, about to go a little farther, when the door opens.
Her tall brunette friend, hell, what's her name? Things are too hazy for me to remember.
"Bianca!" Lindy yells as she covers herself with her recently discarded shirt.
"Oh my God," Bianca stammers out as her eyes bulge out of her head. "Lindy, he's…he's poor. He's not one of us. He's a freak."
Lindy looks between Bianca and me and you can see her reputation on the line, this tangible thing that she holds high above everything. "Don't you think I know that, Bianca?" She snaps as she gets up. Then I see something cross that face of hers, that face that is just pretty enough, but nothing truly special. "I'm feeling a little woozy. Maybe he put something in my drink?" Her icy stare is on me in a second, daring me to disagree.
"What are you talking about?" I scramble to get off the floor and struggle a bit.
"Oh my God," Bianca says again. Is that the only damn thing she can say? She covers her mouth with her hand and she fixes me with a cold gaze. "He drugged you? That's the only reason you'd risk social suicide."
"My head hurts," Lindy lies.
"I seriously cannot believe you drugged her. We will ruin you for this," Bianca spits at me.
"I didn’t drug her. She wanted to do this. We've been doing this since Kyra and I broke up," I manage to say, but some of the words come out slurred and make me sound like an idiot.
Bianca shrugs and puts her arm around Lindy, preparing to lead her out of the bedroom. "Yeah right. In your dreams. Better be glad I'm not calling the cops," she starts to walk and then whirls around again. "And that's only because we're underage in the first place. So don't think you're getting away with this." She and Lindy are gone and I'm left alone in this bedroom to think about what just happened.
Not long afterwards, about six of the guys from the football team, all good buddies of mine, come barging into the room.
"What the hell man?" Darren is the first one to start. I blink trying to get my bearings, but that stuff I smoked earlier was a lot stronger than I thought.
"What?" I say as I get up from the bed again. I can’t figure out what’s going on, why they’re staring at me.
"You drugged Lindy? You that desperate?" One of the other guys says and I can't make out who it is.
"I didn't. Look, you know me. I didn’t drug anyone," I hold up my hands, because they all got this look on their faces.
"Then why is Lindy falling all over herself out there and putting on the hysterics?" Darren continues.
"She's crazy, that's why."
One fist to the face and the crack reverberates through my skull, pain radiating through my eye sockets. Darren Samuels just hit me. I stumble backwards into another guy, Rick, a defensive lineman and he pushes me forward into the fray. Each of them beat the shit out of me; knocking me to the ground, because I'm no superhero. I can't fight all of them and the weed I smoked earlier has messed me up worse than it usually does. I swear it was laced with something.
I'm lying on the ground, broken and bloodied at the hand of guys who were once my friends and I think oh, how the mighty have fallen. My ribs ache and something else cracks. I hear mutters and murmurs about teaching me a lesson. Then I'm carried and thrown out the door and onto the front lawn like a piece of garbage. The impact of the hard ground jolts me awake, at least as much as I can be right now. And it's right then that I decide I'm over this. I won’t make it to graduation. I'll be long gone by then because anything is easier, is better than this.
The memory awakens a new resolve, a new hatred of Lindy as I stand there, daring her to piss me off again, daring her to mess with Claire.
"Whatever. I'm not backing off of Claire. If she can't handle it, then maybe she should just go ahead and kill herself. Probably why Jamie did it, to get away from her," she answers coolly.
My heart lurches into my stomach and the bile rises in my throat. I would never hit a girl, but I swear Lindy is testing that rule of mine. Has she been saying this crap to Claire? I'm sick. The thought of Claire carrying around that guilt in that tiny heart of hers rips me to shreds. I squeeze my hand so tight that I feel my nails bite into the skin. It's either that or smack Lindy. Then what would Claire think of me? I shake my head. Why do I care? I can't care.
"If you talk to her like that again, I swear I'll make you regret it," I threaten, because I don’t know what else to do.
“You gave her your pick. Your stupid prized possession pick,” Lindy snarls.
I can’t deal with her anymore. I just turn around and walk away. The strange fuzziness I felt when Claire yelled at me has long dissipated thanks to her. Now all I want to do is find Claire and hold her in my arms. I feel schizophrenic. My thoughts go back and forth, pulling me towards the beautiful, sad girl and pushing me back, far, far deeper into my own shell. I never said I was saint, but I know she deserves far better than me, far better than what I’m planning to do, what Jamie has already done.
Claire’s words sliced through me when she said that I’m a lot like him. I feel guilty and nervous at the same time. Maybe she sees what I don't want her to see, what no one else has ever been able to see, not even my own mother.
But I go against everything I’m feeling and decide not to look for Claire. I float through the rest of the day, the pain from her words and from what Lindy said to her shredding me into pieces. I itch for the razor blade and as soon as I come home to a once again empty trailer, I go into the bathroom, a place where I can finally find some peace.
It feels as though I’m dead inside, withered, rotten, decayed. My blood should be black, the darkest, most depressing black, the color of a lost soul.
Then Claire’s face flashes into my mind and things are different. She’s different, but familiar at the same time. That look I see in her eyes, the one where she’s about to bolt any second, to give up, that part reminds me of myself.
What kills me the most is that she has no idea how freaking beautiful she is. The way her eyes light up for the briefest of moments before dulling back to their usual green damn near drives me insane. I hate it because Claire makes me want to be the one to make her delicate features smile, to make her long eyelashes flutter in laughter. Why would I hate feeling this way? Because I’ve already given up. She’s just a distraction until I’ve done all I wanted, all I needed, including playing a live gig. Once that happens, I’m leaving this hellhole; I’m ending my life. I need Claire out of my head, but she calls to me, beckons me to her. And before I know it, I am actually thinking about showing up at her house tomorrow to work on that stupid project, as the razor drops from my hands.
CHAPTER SIX
CLAIRE
After my run in with Lindy, I rushed to the bathroom. I cried in a stall while freaking out about the germs in there. I cried because I knew I wasn’t enough. I cried because I
wanted Jamie and I wanted him to hold me and tell me everything was going to be fine, just like he used to. I wanted his hands in my long black hair, but then I remembered. Then I felt the jagged edges swish against my neck.
Mrs. Weathersby even came in and tried to get me to come out, but I refused. So I stayed in there longer before hiding out in the library, thankful it was Friday.
But now, now I’m running around trying to make sure my room is presentable. Ryder's coming over any minute and the weird fluttering sensation in my chest is freaking me out. I reach in my pocket and pull out his pick. The one Lindy freaked out over. I can’t help but wonder what’s the deal with that? She acted more like a jealous girlfriend than arch nemesis/bully/evil minion of Satan. The pick calms me, just like I hoped, as I walk over to the window.
He should be here any minute. Part of me worries that he won't show up and it’s not because I’ll have to do the project alone. I’d actually enjoy that, oddly enough. I just want him to know that I see him, if that makes any sense at all. No one else has caught my attention, not since I met Jamie. It was always Jamie and me against the world and I liked it that way. Ryder’s different, but it’s not a bad thing. I want to get know him more and that shaggy hair finds its way into my daydreams too often. And it shouldn’t. Not because it makes me feel guilty about Jamie. Or maybe that’s partly it, but the rest is just because I am a mess.
An old clunker of a car pulls into my driveway and I’m glad my parents went out. They’d give me the third degree about Ryder and I just can’t handle that right now. I was actually the one to encourage them to go out on a date. I didn’t need them to fall apart right along with me.
As soon as Ryder steps out of his car, my heart beats faster, my breathing kicks up a notch. He is so incredibly handsome, especially when he has no idea that you’re looking. His hoodie is gone and replaced by a fitted black tee shirt that stretches perfectly across his lean chest. His jeans fit nicely on his narrow hips and I’m almost drooling. And I don't drool. Ever. That’s something Jamie used to give me a hard time about. He used to think I should fall down and worship him, like all the other girls in school. What he never knew was that I did, I just wasn’t as blatant about it. Jamie Morgan has pretty much ruined every other guy for me. But when I look at Ryder's unsuspecting face as he rings the doorbell, I think then again, maybe he hasn’t and that scares the crap out of me.
The happy chime of the doorbell singsongs throughout the empty house and I intentionally take a minute to answer it. I can’t let him know I’ve been creeping on him again. I tuck the guitar pick in my pocket and slowly open the door. Any other girl would probably worry about how they looked and I did, kind of. Should I have straightened my bob, instead of letting it dry wavy? Were the jeans and t-shirt really a good choice? I don’t have time to second guess anything because I swing the door open. Ryder is staring at me with the beginnings of a crooked smile.
“So…I’m here,” he shrugs.
“Come in,” I smile and move back. I lead him down the hallway and upstairs into my room. He stops to study the wall of old photos right before my door.
“Wow, you look exactly the same,” he laughs a little. I've never heard him laugh before. The sound is almost like Jamie’s, the old tinkling of rusty bells.
“Why are you sad?” I blurt out, worry for him and guilt for Jamie causing me to speak without thinking.
Instant flames lick my face and I cover it with my hands, totally embarrassed. I normally never say what’s on my mind, but Ryder just makes it come out somehow.
“I am so sorry,” I mutter while managing to catch his eye. His mouth is gaping open a little and his eyes are wide with more expression than I’ve ever seen in them.
He makes a hand motion, “No, it’s fine. You’re fine. What….what makes you think I’m sad?” Ryder turns towards me and I find myself moving into my room. He follows me and plops down in my rolling chair as I perch on the bed.
After I finally recover, I think about lying to him, but I decide against it. “Because your eyes look like Jamie’s before he…left. It’s like,” I pause a moment, trying to find the right words to say, “you're already dead and I just want to know why.”
Ryder shakes his head and pushes his hair back from his eyes. “Crappy life, I guess. You’ve heard the rumors, right?”
I nod. “I’ve heard a few.” I walk over to my Ipod and start playing Fall Out Boy’s “Grand Theft Autumn/Where is Your Boy.” I don’t miss how Ryder’s eyes light up as soon as the music starts. His foot starts tapping as any innate musician's would. The simplicity of the entire scene almost makes me forget what we’re talking about as I suppress a small smile.
“This is one of my favorite songs,” Ryder watches me as I make my way back to the bed.
“I’m a huge fan and of music in general,” I answer lamely, shuffling around my papers. Did I really just say that? I sounded like Lindy.
Ryder lets out a laugh, “Yeah, me, too.” He takes a breath and then continues, “I’m trying to get a gig somewhere around here pretty soon.” His eyes are sad again, the tiny spark ignited earlier already snuffed out.
“That’s pretty cool, actually. Are you a one man show?”
Ryder starts picking at one of the holes in his jeans, his eyes trained on it as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I write my own stuff and I play the guitar. It’s just one of those things you put on your bucket list, right? Play in front of people although most of them don’t know or care that you exist.”
His words hurt my heart and I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I scoot to the edge of the bed, desperate to keep him from being like Jamie, from keeping everything bottled up inside.
“I could be your groupie,” I reach out and playfully punch him in the arm. His dark eyebrows shoot up and a dangerous smile creeps upon his face before I realize what I’ve said.
RYDER
Did she just say what I think she said? Because if so, that’s freaking hot. But I feel like I already know Claire better than I should and I know she didn’t mean it like that. I’m still determined to tease her about it, especially seeing how red she's getting and how she’s suddenly found something very interesting on her Converses to poke at.
“You want to try that out now or what?” I joke, my arm still buzzing from her touch. No one’s just reached out and touched me in forever and I’ve forgotten how much humans crave contact.
Claire’s face turns ten deeper shades of red, although I didn’t even think that was possible. She’s fumbling all over her words and she’s just so unbelievably cute. The nice guy in me would help her out; give her a line to pull herself out of this awesome hole she’s dug herself. My evil side wins out so I just sit and stare and manage to wiggle my eyebrows at her suggestively. If she didn’t blush so much and look cute doing it, I probably wouldn’t torture her this way.
“You did bring me into your bedroom, alone,” I continue to joke.
“Shut up, Ryder,” she finally laughs and throws a book at me. Thank God it was a paperback.
Another laugh erupts from me and I realize I’ve felt more alive in the past two days than I have in eighteen years. And it has to stop, because I’ve made up my mind and it’s too late to go back. Everything else sucks and I don’t want to be that guy to rely on Claire for my happiness.
“Fine, we’ll talk about the rumors and then we get to work,” I finally decide to give her a break. She’s so…innocent and I like that. I like too much about her, the way she purses her pink lips when she’s thinking and the way that she twirls the crazy jagged edges of her hair around her fingers when she’s talking and the semi-hyper tone of her voice when she gets excited for what feels like too short a period of a time.
Claire nods and her eyes get serious. She scoots even further off the bed, her legs nearly touching mine and I crave her touch like the weird guy that I am. With a hand through my hair, I start, “So, obviously I don't drug g
irls to get them to make out with me.”
Claire gives a little laugh and leans forward, dropping her hands between her knees, “I kind of figured that, although to make out with Lindy you would probably need to drug yourself.”
I laugh. This girl is too good to be true. But I’ve waited too long to meet her. “Yeah, I was kind of high when it happened. She’d been crushing on me for a while and waiting for me to break up with Kyra. When people started to find out about my Mom being a druggie and me living in a run down piece of crap trailer they started changing their tunes. Then Lindy decided to ruin my life and my reputation so no other girl would want me.”
A shiver rushes through Claire’s body and she’s got this scrunched up look on her face like she’s going to be sick. “Why do I get the creepy weird feeling that she’s still into you? She freaked out when she found out about your pick.”
I don’t want to admit it, but I’ve wondered the same thing. I had a run in with her not too long ago and it gave me the creeps.
My black eye finally healed up from my mom losing it and letting her boyfriend hit me. I tried to fight back, but they threatened to call the cops and say I started it. I stopped fighting, but I don’t know why I care if I go to jail. That would be better than here, anywhere would be better than this trailer. It's crazy to see how rapidly my Mom declined after Dad left. She's not even the same person and I wonder if maybe this is who she was the entire time. Was she always into drugs? Because this is not the personality of a newbie. It caused me to make a few changes in that department. It seems pointless, I know, especially when you're plotting your own suicide, but I don’t want to be anything like her, so I quit smoking pot. That last time was pretty crazy anyway.
I'm walking through the hallways and I see Lindy. She's watching me carefully, the intent similar to that of a vulture. I look away, wanting nothing to do with her, disgusted that I even fell for her once before. I was in a dark place, am still in a dark place, but at least I have my wits about me. I won’t make the same mistake twice. The only person I can trust is myself. Everyone else is out to get me, lie, and ruin my life, whatever. No one has my back.
