The Bodies We Wear

by Jeyn Roberts

  So why Chael?

  I’m a wreck when I finally drag myself out of bed for school the next morning. There are dark marks under my eyes and my cheeks look more hollow than usual. I can barely keep my brain focused as I pour my morning coffee. Half of it ends up on the floor and I have to hunt around for some towels. It’s mornings like this that I wish either Gazer or I were a little more practical in the cleaning department.

  The church feels damper than usual this morning if that’s even possible and I’m shivering in my workout clothes as I start my warm-ups. Gazer is still mad at me and he shows that anger through our workout, forcing me to do the most mundane and physically challenging tasks. Push-ups. Sit-ups. One hundred squats and then a five-mile run before I’m allowed breakfast. I do it all without complaining and I don’t say more than a few words to him. Our anger works both ways.

  I barely make it back in time to have a quick shower and head off to school.

  Paige is waiting by my locker. I spot her in the distance and immediately look around guiltily to see if any teachers have noticed. No adults in sight. That’s a good sign but at the same time I’m wondering why I’ve bothered being so careful these past few years. No one seems to be paying attention to me in the slightest. It’s been a complete waste of time being in this paranoid state.

  Even if the teachers have become more relaxed, I will continue to follow the rules. I don’t want to get kicked out of school. It’s important to me. It’s the only link to normalcy that I have. Without it, I’m not sure who I’d be left with.

  A monster.

  “Hey,” she says when I approach.

  I nod at her, brushing past to get to my locker. There could be security cameras. I ignore her as she waits for me, hovering at my back to get a peek at the contents. There’s nothing there to impress her. No mirror. No token gifts from boys. No stickers, pictures, or any of that crap that the other girls seem to love. My locker is like a prison cell, bare and lifeless.

  “You don’t like me much, do you?” Paige asks as I slam the door closed.

  “Never said that,” I said.

  “Then what is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  “Why do you act like you can’t stand to be around me? Is it because of Trevor? I told you already. He’s a major jerk and I don’t have anything to do with him.”

  “It’s not Trevor,” I say. “He’s a nobody. I just don’t want friends.”

  Paige’s mouth draws itself into a surprised O. She’s wearing a very nice lip gloss that makes her lips a perfect pale pink. “Everyone wants friends.”

  “Not me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I shrug. “Suit yourself.” I turn and start walking to class.

  She struggles to catch up. “Come to my party.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to come.”

  I spin around, hoping to catch her off guard, and it works. She takes a step back cautiously. “I’m not interested in your games. If you want to go slumming, find someone else. I’m sure Trevor has friends who will be more than happy to entertain you.”

  “Is that it?” She rolls her eyes, showing off her lovely blue eyeliner. “I’m not slumming. I could care less who you are or what your parents do. I’m not a snotty little rich princess and I have no intentions of becoming a gutter rat either.”

  I shrug. We’ve arrived at my English classroom, a class she’s thankfully not a part of.

  “Come have lunch with us,” she calls out. “Make up your own mind about us first. You’ll see. We’re a lot of fun to hang out with.”

  She’s determined, that’s for sure. Ignoring her, I head into class. Maybe I will have lunch with them. It could be nice to have someone to talk to for once, even if I do have to monitor everything that comes out of my mouth. Sitting at my desk, I glance up to see Mr. Erikson, the English teacher, staring at me suspiciously.

  Maybe not.

  Besides, what would I say to them? It’s not like I can tell them anything about myself. The school warned me against these things. I’m not even supposed to mention Gazer. Originally the administration put together a backstory for me, featuring good wholesome parents who had excellent-paying jobs and loved me to death. But they abandoned the idea, deciding it would be too complicated for me to remember, and that it was better if I just ignored everything and everyone.

  Never tell.

  My motto.

  The bell rings and everyone gets settled. Mr. Erikson begins to talk and I immediately lose all focus. I’m too tired to listen to him drone. I’ve already read the book, a modern-day love story. She eventually leaves him to go live in the woods like a wild animal. I remember being fascinated with it when I was younger. I’ve never seen a forest. I couldn’t imagine what living in one would feel like.

  Peaceful.

  I wish I’d gotten more sleep last night but I just couldn’t stop thinking about Chael and the comment he made to me before he left.

  “Honey bunny.”

  Not the world’s most original term of endearment. My dad used to call me that when I was little. I used to hate it and get angry, puffing out my cheeks and telling Daddy to stop teasing me. Christian overheard my father once and he used that expression every chance he had. Outwardly I used to get angry but inwardly, well, I loved it.

  Honey bunny. A sign of affection. Teasing. Something you’d see on a greeting card. Something even a sarcastic stranger might use.

  Chael really does have nice green eyes. It would be a shame if he turned out to be the enemy.

  Trying to stifle a yawn, I rest my chin on my hands, letting my hair fall into my eyes so I won’t look so obvious.

  It would be easier if I weren’t so tired.

  I’m in a very small room. No, correction, I’m in an elevator but it’s not moving. I can see the buttons on the wall, ranging from numbers one to twenty-three. The emergency phone is there but it’s not working. There isn’t any power except for a small light at the ceiling above my head. I pick up the phone but only hear dead air. I press some of the buttons but nothing happens. I seem to be stuck between floors.

  I have no idea how I got here. The last thing I remember is my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest and the man who gave me the liquid that tasted like strawberries. He gave me Heam. I know this. I may be young but I’m not stupid. I’ve heard my mother talking about it and I know my father went to jail because of it. You’re supposed to see Heaven. I heard about Heaven from stories my grandmother told me.

  “Don’t tell her that,” my mother used to say. “You’re filling her head with nonsense. There’s no such thing. I’m not raising her to believe in that crap.”

  “She has a free will and mind,” my grandmother would respond. “She can think for herself. Look at her life. A bit of goodness won’t hurt her.”

  “There is no God,” my mother would say.

  “The world is full of opinions. That is yours. I have mine. Let her reach hers on her own.”

  They would argue this back and forth and eventually my mother would throw up her arms in disgust and go somewhere. The bar. The store. The kitchen to finish the dishes. Anywhere but near her mother, who was too old-fashioned to tolerate. Grandmother would pick me up and I’d curl into a ball in her lap and listen to her stories.

  Heaven was supposed to be a place where angels floated on clouds and played harps. There was no sadness and everyone was peaceful and happy. I always figured it would have lots of ice cream and every bed would be warm and soft.

  I look around but I don’t see any angels. Maybe this elevator will take me up to the clouds. But it’s not moving. Why isn’t it moving?

  And why am I so cold?

  I try calling out, my voice tiny and hollow, the feeble sound bouncing around the confines of my cell. I call out Christian’s name. My mo
ther’s. I hear something and immediately shut my mouth to listen.

  The noise starts small. A scratch. Faint. Then again. Louder this time.

  I press my ear up against the smooth doors.

  I listen.

  Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

  A whisper.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  Something smashes against the door, denting the metal. I scream and back up against the opposite wall, my back pressed against the chrome railing. The walls are made of mirrored glass and I can suddenly see my own horrified expression staring back at me a thousand times.

  A sharp spike breaks through the metal with incredible speed. I dodge the rod and it breaks through the mirror, sending bits of silver glass raining down around me. Another pole slices through; the sound of metal scraping against metal fills my ears and I scream again. There is something on the other side of those doors and it screams back at me, denting the metal with its claws. My heart slams against my chest, threatening to rip itself out of my body.

  Pound. Pound. Pound.

  I’m so cold. Icy water flows down my back, my spine. My fingers are so frosty I can’t feel them. My feet have frozen to the floor; they won’t move. My entire body won’t move. I can’t breathe. There’s no air inside of me. The room grows hot and the metal turns red and begins to sweat in front of my eyes. But I still can’t move and my hands are shaking so badly I’m positive icicles are going to form on my fingertips and break off, smashing to the floor.

  Another pole. This one strikes me, piercing my wrist and hand. I drop to my knees, reaching for my wound with my good arm, trying to pull myself free. The pain is enormous. It fills my body; I can’t think or even see properly. Everything around me turns bright red. I want to scream but I can’t. I am beyond words. Beyond breath.

  And then the shadows come.

  They crawl up along the walls, their eyes reflecting in the bits of broken mirror that surround me. Long and black, they have no form, but I can see the claws on their fingertips and the tails that trail behind them. They laugh and whisper obscenities. When I open my mouth to scream again, one of them slips into my mouth, coating my throat. I begin to choke, unable to fight against the darkness that tears its way into my chest.

  Another pole pierces my stomach. I can feel the blood pouring out of my body, dripping along my legs and pooling in my shoes. My hands are covered with the stuff and I start pressing the elevator buttons in panic, but my fingers only manage to leave behind sticky prints and accomplish nothing else.

  The walls break away, opening up to complete darkness. I’m not falling but I’m not moving either. I curl up the best I can with the metal rods piercing me, trying to make myself as small as possible. Blood drips away from my body into nothingness.

  Then in the distance I see my father. He looks the way he did the day they led him away to prison. He’s tied to a cross and bleeding everywhere. His eyes roll around in his skull until he’s looking right at me. His mouth opens but no sound comes out.

  I try to scream but just like him, my own voice has been stolen.

  The shadows dance around me, whipping my body with their darkened arms and scaly tails. They cover me completely until there is nothing.

  “You’re a pretty little piece of sunshine,” something whispers in my right ear. “I’m going to swallow your soul and devour you for all eternity.”

  I open my mouth and try to scream again. Scream forever because no one is going to hear me.

  “What the hell?”

  I open my eyes and discover I’m back at my desk and everyone is turned around and watching me. My mouth is open and although I’m quiet at the moment, I’m pretty sure I was screaming a few seconds ago. The look on everyone’s faces confirms it.

  “Faye?” Mr. Erikson is looking at me. The book is still in his hands but he’s forgotten it’s there.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was up all night. Not sleeping well.”

  There are several snickers and whispers.

  “Please see me after class, Faye,” Mr. Erikson says. He turns his attention back to the rest of the class. It takes a few minutes but eventually the students turn around in their seats and I’m temporarily forgotten.

  The bell rings and of course there are stragglers, kids taking their dear sweet time at their desks because they’re dying to overhear my talk with Mr. Erikson. But he shoos them away, telling them to get the hell out of his class. For a teacher, sometimes he’s kinda cool.

  I stay at my desk with my books piled neatly in front of me. I don’t want to be here but he’s standing between me and the door and I can’t get past him without confrontation. So I wait, hoping he might forget about me, but of course he doesn’t.

  “Is everything okay, Faye?” Mr. Erikson closes the door and comes over to sit down at the desk beside me.

  “Yes,” I say. “Just having some bad dreams.”

  “Anything you want to talk about?”

  I shake my head.

  “Only natural considering the hell you’ve been through.”

  No pun intended. There’s no way he could possibly know that I didn’t visit heaven when I died.

  “You know, I don’t care much for the way things have gone for you,” he continues. “I’m not really in a position to criticize, but I know your records and I know what you’ve been through. The way they treat people like you is abysmal. They never really give you a chance to recover. I wish I could say we’ve grown into a more cultured society but we haven’t. We’ll forgive a mother who drowns her children but we won’t forgive a young girl who had no choice in becoming an addict.”

  I look at him in surprise. What he’s saying is very unpopular. He could get fired for even suggesting that the school is treating me poorly. He knows it too. He’s giving me power over him. I could turn around and report him. Of course, he’s probably counting on the fact that they probably wouldn’t believe me.

  “I had a younger brother who died of a Heam overdose,” he says. “He was an addict and he died. It’s amazing how simple I can make that sound. Not a day goes by when I don’t miss him. But I never looked down at him or treated him like a second-class citizen.”

  I stand up and brush some lint off my skirt. “Thank you, Mr. Erikson, but I’m okay, really, I am.” I gather up my books. “It was a long time ago and I’m better now. I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Mr. Erikson nods and stands up himself. Walking over to the front of his room, he sits at his desk as the door opens and new students come in, laughing with each other over some joke. They stare at me for a second before heading to the back of the room.

  “If you need help with anything,” Mr. Erikson says, “you know where my office is.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Be sure to get more rest,” he adds as I head off toward the door. “No more sleeping in class.”

  “Okay.”

  There is always going to be the odd person who wants to stand up for me but I don’t want their help.

  I’m a pretty little piece of sunshine. I know those words. I hate them.

  I was eleven when I saw hell. Torn apart. Blood dripping from my body. Monsters in the shape of shadows terrorizing my mind. Not something anyone ever wants to experience.

  I have no idea how long I was dead. But when I came to, Gazer was kneeling over me, his hands resting on my chest, trying to jump-start my heart. I was lying in a puddle of water, my skin frozen beyond feeling, and Gazer’s hair dripping on me. The streetlights reflected off his face, and all the water droplets in his hair shone like a million diamonds. He looked like what I thought an angel might look like.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he said in a very calm voice.

  And I believed him.

  He helped me up carefully, his arms around my shoulders, and he took off his jacket and wrapped it around me. It w
as heavy and it smelled faintly like cigarettes. It didn’t really do much to warm me but the largeness made me feel covered and safe. I curled up inside that jacket and looked around.

  The bad men were gone.

  Christian’s body lay sprawled out a few feet away.

  He wasn’t moving. No chest rising up and down. His eyes were half-closed and he stared up at the sky, the rain falling onto his face. There were tiny pools of water in the corners of his eyes. Hands clenched, arms spread out, he looked like a small downfallen Jesus without his cross.

  “Is he dead?”

  Gazer nods. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t save you both. But understand me, there’s nothing in the world I wanted more to do.”

  “Is he in hell?”

  “No,” Gazer said. “Why would you think that?” He paused when he saw the tears instantly spring into my eyes. He leaned forward, his fingers touching my cheek, studying my expression, which fell apart at his touch. He waited, pulling my body close as I shook and sobbed. We sat together in the smelly alley and the rain continued to fall.

  “You didn’t see heaven, did you.” Not a question.

  I shook my head.

  “What did you see?”

  “Monsters.” My body trembled and I couldn’t control it. I wanted to tell him about the shadows and the way the metal pierced my body but the words wouldn’t come out. My teeth were chattering too hard. I swallowed several times, wondering if the shadow demon was still inside me.

  “You know none of that stuff is real. What you saw. It’s not heaven or hell. It means nothing. It’s more like a realistic dream that your brain invents to try and fight off the drugs.”

  I know he was trying to make me feel better but it didn’t work. My grandmother used to tell me that the most evil people went to hell because God punished sinners. That meant I was evil. I had no idea what I’d done to become bad but I did it. Maybe it was because I let Christian die. Maybe it was something I did before and I couldn’t remember. But I was doomed. Evil. I saw hell, and nothing Gazer said could make me think otherwise.