Rest in Peace Roz: The R.I.P. Series Book 1

by Kris Johnston

  He gently wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed the top of my head before nestling my body once again. He continued.

  “Jill thought she was being so clever, asking you what gift you wanted for your birthday. I don’t know why she taunted you like that. Derek seemed to relish it, as well. Just the day prior, I watched a drug dealer enter your mother’s bedroom. She handed him your birthday gift in exchange for the heroin.”

  “And that’s what my gift ended up being,” I said brokenly.

  Jimmy nodded. “Jill held up the baggy and said, ‘here’s your gift,’ and then laughed and laughed at the expression on your face. You looked so sick, so shocked and sad. But then… Derek spoke. He said, ‘if that’s your gift, you should be thankful,’ and he brought out a needle.”

  “Please stop, Jimmy,” I said, trembling. I couldn’t hear anymore. I couldn’t do this. I had put that night out of my head long ago and now it was back and I wanted it to stop!

  Jimmy tightened his arms around me, but he didn’t stop. He simply said, “We face this together, my heart,” and kissed the top of my head.

  “Derek held you down on the couch. I watched him, the way he leered at you and put his hands on your body. It was disgusting. Then your mother tied a band around your arm and when you realized what they were doing, you screamed at the top of your lungs. I’ll never forget what you sound like when you’re that terrified. And you were. And I was, too. And I was powerless to stop them. I watched them inject the heroin into your arm, Roz. I watched them do it, and I screamed bloody murder for them to stop, but to no avail.”

  Thoughts refused to form as I was taken back to that night. It hit me all at once, Derek’s weight on me, covering me, copping a feel with his dirty hands as Jill pushed the plunger of the syringe into my arm. And then the rush hit me. That euphoric, incredible rush. There’d never been another feeling like it within my body before, none that I’d ever experienced. It was enlightening. In some sick, twisted way, I immediately understood why my mother was a junkie and why she’d never give it up. A small part of me couldn’t blame her, not when the high was so rapturous.

  The memory of that rush hit me like a flashback, and I felt like I was floating. Jimmy held onto me, but I swore I was drifting up to the ceiling, so close I could almost touch it. And then I realized the popcorn ceiling was the one from my childhood home. It was not the ceiling in the Walters’ house. I was there, I was in the memory, I was weightless and blissful with a small stream of drool spilling from the corner of my mouth, but I didn’t care. And then I saw Jimmy. He was standing directly behind Derek, screaming at him, begging him to stop, pleading with Jill not to give me anymore drugs. I saw him. He was there, trying to save me, just as he’d always been. He pounded on Derek’s back with closed fists as hard as he could, but his hands simply went right through the bigger man.

  “Rosalind!” He screamed. “You are not like them! Do you hear me? You are not like them! Don’t lose who you are!”

  I blinked and the flashback was gone. We were back in my bedroom in Marion. In awe, I raised my eyes to his.

  “I remember you now,” I said softly. “I saw you, or heard you, for just a moment.”

  I looked up to him, and he nodded. Tears swam within his deep brown eyes as he hugged me close.

  “Do you remember what you said?” He asked. “You could barely speak, your voice was so slurred. You were obviously not in control of your body. But you said, ‘I won’t lose myself. Promise.’ And I sank to the floor, watching as Derek fondled you for a minute before taking Jill to bed. They left you there on the couch, all alone, full of heroin, the night before your fourteenth birthday.”

  My breath escaped me in a gasp as I knew that night had been a turning point for me. Never again would I seek Jill’s approval. Never again would I let them shoot their drugs into my veins. Never again would I be a part of their family. Jimmy was right to beg me not to lose myself. It could have been so easy to give in and be just like them. But I wasn’t, I never was. Even with the euphoria flowing through my veins, I knew not to give in to it.

  “I didn’t know he fondled me,” I whispered, feeling destroyed. “You saved me that night, Jimmy.”

  The knowledge and weight of that night came collapsing down on me, shattering me to the core. I reached for Jimmy and clung to him, as wave after wave of tears and years upon years of grief escaped me.

  He held me close, his coolness comforting me, as his hands caressed my back. “I didn’t really know if you could see me or hear me, but when you made that promise, I knew I hadn’t lost you. I knew you were still in there, even with the heroin. And I knew, in that moment, my feelings for you had completely changed.”

  “The next day I told my mother I would kill her if she ever did that to me again,” I sobbed, remembering the hate and anger I felt for her, and forgiving myself for it. “I’m so afraid I’ll end up like her someday, Jimmy.”

  He pulled back abruptly, and forced me to look at him.

  “You. Are. Rosalind.” He said firmly. “You are not Jill. You’ve never once been like her, and you never will be. Not ever. Okay?”

  I nodded at him and whispered, “Okay.”

  Before I knew it, I felt tired and my weary body pleaded for unconsciousness. I snuggled down deeply into Jimmy’s side, and once again he cocooned me beneath my comforter. I sighed, letting all the day’s events and epiphanies fall away.

  Nothing, and I mean nothing, felt better than being in Jimmy’s arms… except, maybe, for that kiss.

  As sleep came to claim me, my heart jerked as I realized I never voiced my feelings for Jimmy as he did for me.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered breathily into his chest.

  His arms squeezed me slightly, and that’s when I heard it, ever so faintly… the soft thump thump thump of his beating, dead heart.

  CHAPTER 20

  So I guess it was official. I had a boyfriend.

  The fact that he wasn’t human, or could be seen by anyone but me, did nothing to extinguish my feelings. If anything, the bizarre circumstances surrounding our love only seemed to heighten the emotions between us. I loved him with every portion of my heart and soul, and even though there was nothing “normal,” about our relationship, it filled all the empty parts of me completely.

  I applied the most simplest of logic to it all: There had never been anything normal about my life anyway, so why have a relationship that was?

  Hey, it worked for me.

  As the week went on, however, the stress of everything began to build. At school, Parker kept trying to corner me in between classes so we could “chat.” If we were in the halls together at the same time, his gorgeous eyes would fall upon me with an intensity I’d not seen from him before, and each time he stared at me like that and began his approach, my feet would back me up to the lockers. Thankfully, every time he tried, one of The Pastels was there to interrupt.

  “Hi ya Parker,” Belle would say flirtatiously, “I like the way that shirt fits.”

  “Parker,” Cindy would say, “Whatcha up to this weekend? A group of us are going to the lake.”

  “Oh hey, Parker,” Erica would say, “Just the guy I’ve been looking for. We need help moving the desks around in Economics.”

  Although their one-liners came across as dubious, I was always so glad for their interference and nosey behavior.

  At home, things were quiet and solemn, with Mitch and Bonnie spending every possible moment they could with Amelia. Watching their last, quiet moments together brought a suffering to my heart I’d not known could exist. It hurt far more than what I’d been prepared for. It was like being witness to a hospital room with a terminal patient inside, loved ones hovering anxiously, watching in wait for their last breaths, making their peace and final goodbyes.

  Though Amelia was not dying (thank God for that!), she was leaving us, and her absence would cause a grief we’d all share.

  The nightmares continued. I’d been blessed to have a
few days without any, and for whatever reason they returned with a vengeance. I began to believe that sleep was overrated, so I vowed to avoid it as much as possible. The first night, Jimmy helped. It began with simple conversation and quickly turned into an awesome make out session. It lasted for hours, and we learned more and more about one another than we’d known before.

  For instance, I learned that whenever I ran my fingers across his stomach, he’d groan instantly. Likewise, he learned that my kryptonite was him playing with my hair. Whenever he did that, I was immediately weakened to a pitiful state of girl. Weak, to the point where I’d do absolutely anything he’d ask.

  Like I said, pitiful.

  We were always careful not to go too far with anything physical. For one, I was in no way ready for anything beyond kissing. And for another thing, he might be able to kiss like both an angel and a demon, but he was a ghost. I mean, I didn’t know exactly what he could do, physically, or if it would be smart for us to even try. I knew at some point in the future, it would be something we’d have to face, but for now, we stuck to making out.

  So for that one night, and one night only, I stayed awake, experiencing everything of himself (within limits), that Jimmy could give me. And I gave back every part of myself (again, with limits), that I could. It was beautiful, I’d never been so cherished in all my life. I wanted every night thereafter to be just like that one.

  Unfortunately, it was short-lived because the following night I couldn’t keep my eyes open, despite the copious amounts of coffee I’d gulped down. I was asleep before I even knew what hit me.

  And yes, the nightmares were there, waiting to welcome me back.

  When the weekend finally came, I was done. I had reached my tolerance level for creepy-normal boys at school who liked to hound me in the halls, and for the lack of sleep I’d received (both voluntarily and involuntarily), and for the sorrow so thick in the house you could cut it with a knife. My nerves were brittle, my head was achy, and my heart didn’t know whether to be overjoyed because of Jimmy, or weepy because of Amelia.

  I. Was. Done.

  Saturday morning I hunted down Bonnie, and found her on the back deck. She was wrapped up in a multi-colored afghan and holding a steaming mug of coffee as she stared out to the landscape before her.

  “Good morning,” I said lightly, hoping to bring some sort of cheer her way.

  She smiled slightly, and said “Morning, gorgeous.”

  “Can I borrow your cell for a minute? I sort of need to text Odie.” My phone had long since bitten the bullet, and now I was relying on everyone else for communication. But, it didn’t suck as bad as it sounded. I was still able to borrow Bonnie’s phone whenever I wanted and I didn’t have the distraction of endless technology to keep me from my schoolwork.

  Yeah, I know. Lame. But hey, I work with what I’m given and do the best I can with these craptastic situations.

  I went into the kitchen and poured some coffee for myself while texting Odie.

  Me: Hey it’s Roz. Come over today. Need girl time. Need talk time. Need Odie time.

  Odie: OMG you don’t have to say it’s u each time u text from Bon’s phone. I’ll be there at 1 and I’m bringing all my nail polish!

  Me: Oh crap, not the pink.

  Odie: Did you seriously just say that to me? Who do you think you’re texting? I am NOT a Pastel!

  Me: LOL see u then! :)

  Odie: Brat.

  I smiled, anxious to have a girl day with my best friend. Even though, technically, I’d never had a girl day before. But, a girl can imagine, right? And I figured a girl day with Odie would be just exactly what my tired, weary, exhausted emotions needed.

  I went back out to the deck with my coffee and handed Bonnie her phone, then sat beside her on the porch swing. I knew she was troubled about Amelia leaving, and I didn’t know how to ease it for her. I just wanted to try.

  “Do we know when?” I asked. It wasn’t necessary for me to go into detail. She knew what I was talking about.

  “As soon as the arrangements have been made, I guess. The aunt, Winifred, was in Kenya doing missionary work these past few years. Since they couldn’t find her, we all figured she’d been lost, or worse.” Bonnie’s eyes grew cold and bitter like the air that surrounded us. “I should have adopted her when I had the chance. We just thought… we didn’t think her aunt would be found. I thought Amelia would be mine, always.”

  I reached across the empty space and grabbed her hand. “She will be. You don’t need adoption for that. She’ll always be your daughter, in all the ways that count. Even if you don’t live together.”

  Bonnie squeezed my hand and said brokenly, “I don’t think my heart can go through this anymore, Roz.”

  I nodded, trying to understand what she was going through but unable to truly wrap my brain around it. I had no idea what it must be like to love a child as your own, raise them as your own, and then suddenly have them taken away just like you’d never been a part of their lives, like you’d never been anything special to them.

  I could, however, empathize and be there for her, and offer what little support I had to give.

  “I don’t know if this helps,” I offered jokingly, “but, you know you won’t have to worry about all this with me.”

  She laughed gently, and reached forward to give me a hug. She wrapped the afghan around us both as we sat together, arms around one another.

  “Hear me now, Roz,” she said firmly, “You are never allowed to move out of this house! Or so help me!”

  I laughed back and squeezed her even tighter. It felt good. I felt beyond good. It felt just like she was my mother and just like I was her daughter. It felt just like she was hugging me and laughing with me in our feeble attempts at lightening one another’s burdens. It felt just like we were a family, just like we were supposed to be here together in this particular moment.

  And then, it hit me.

  It felt just like that, because it was just like that.

  Bonnie was my mother. I was her daughter. Not by birth, but by choice. And I knew in that moment as the revelation exploded in my mind and soul, that I would always, always choose her. Every single time.

  ***

  “Oh my gawd Roz,” Odie said as she flopped herself down on my bed. “I knew this was a cool house, but your room! These walls are freaking majestic!”

  I grinned as she looked over every quote, reading them aloud one by one.

  “Bonnie is my hero!”

  I nodded and laughed. “Mine too.”

  After we got ourselves situated on my bed, I had to laugh. It was so… girl. We had bottles of every color of nail polish imaginable strewn across the bed, a few fashion magazines, and a stack of Odie’s old, burned CDs from her younger years.

  Translation: Music from middle school.

  I grabbed a random, blank CD and inserted it into my computer, turning up the speakers.

  Immediately the room was filled with the sounds of moody music, something with an eerie dreamlike quality, and after a few notes in I recognized it.

  “The Cure?” I asked.

  She grinned. “This one has all the old-school goth and punk type stuff from the eighties. The Cure, Siouxsie and The Banshees, Bauhaus, The Sisters of Mercy, The Cramps, The Misfits, Depeche Mode, The Church-”

  I cut her off and laughed, “Okay, okay, I get it!”

  She grinned. “You know I take my music very seriously.”

  “I know that, I just didn’t realize you knew every emo band from thirty years ago,” I retorted.

  She nodded. “Believe it!” Then she patted a spot on the bed and smiled sweetly at me. “Now, bring yourself over here and give me those nails!”

  I laughed and did as she said. I decided on a very cool purple nail polish, which she painted perfectly, and then she went one step further and painted the tips black. It looked fantastic! I was so excited about my stupid little nails, I had to laugh at myself.

  When it was time to paint h
ers, I sheepishly tried with the one green color she handed me, but after painting it (and most of the surrounding skin), she snatched the bottle back and declared me a “lost cause.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said as she expertly applied the polish, “How can you paint the way you do, yet when it comes to polish you’re totally hopeless?”

  I looked at her questioningly. “What do you mean? I paint like crap, you just saw that for yourself.”

  Now it was her turn to look at me. “Don’t you know how excellent of an artist you are?”

  I lowered my head, embarrassed. “No,” I said slowly, “I’m not an artist. I just enjoy the feeling I get when I put a brush to canvas, that’s all.”

  She stopped swiping the color across her nails, and pointed the little wand at me. “Rosalind Ines Pastrano! Have you not seen your artwork?”

  “Well, sure,” I said softly.

  “Don’t you know the entire class tries to copy your work in school? Even the other classes! I heard Mr. Harken tell some of the other students yesterday how all his classes look at your paintings and have discussions about them.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, “Are you serious? That’s so embarrassing!”

  She nodded and went back to the polish. “Oh please, it’s not embarrassing, it’s awesome. And see, that’s what I’m saying. You’re becoming an art legend at school. Just admit you have talent and be done with it.”

  “Umm, no,” I said, completely shocked. “I can’t admit that because I don’t even see it for myself.”

  She shook her head at me. “One of these days, you will. Mark my words.”

  ***

  Odie and I had just eaten two giant bowls of ice cream and were lying on my bed next to each other listening to another of Odie’s CDs. This one was playing oldies, and I mean, oldies. It had music from The Beach Boys, Elvis, The Beatles, Buddy Holly, Fats Domino, and Chuck Berry. Some of it was fun to listen to, but as a whole, it really wasn’t my cup of tea. Odie, however, loved every note played and sang along to every word. Her love for music in its entirety was astonishing. I thought I was a fan, but Odie took it to a whole new level.