Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  Nick digested the information and repeated the name. “I know that name.”

  “His family owns hotels all around the world.”

  “I see.”

  “I wasn’t expecting him, but I’m glad he came. He’s the reason I’m here after all.”

  “He is?”

  “He gave me the scholarship.”

  “You mean his organization did.”

  “No, he personally did. He’s done a great deal for me. But I swear to you he is just a friend. There is nothing sinister between us. I was selfish yesterday because I really didn’t want to spend the time with him. I wanted to reserve it all for you, but it would have been rude. We did go to a bar, but all we did was talk. Do you believe me?” She didn’t ask the question with any sarcasm, only sincerity.

  Nick did believe her. She wasn’t lying to him, but there was something in her demeanor that suggested she wasn’t telling him the whole story either.

  She stood up and walked over to him. He pulled her down on his lap.

  “He gave you the money out of his own pocket, Shyla?”

  “He’s my benefactor.” She leaned her head against his chest. “Can we stop talking about Mr. Breckenridge? I want to enjoy this.”

  He kissed her hair. “Even the suggestion of another man with you, no matter how misguided, drives me crazy.”

  “If the situation was reversed, I’d be asking you the same questions, although I would have done it last night…maybe making a scene.”

  Nick laughed. “I thought about it, but the fucking Aston Martin was down the street already.”

  She brushed her fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe you did all this…for me.”

  “There’s no one else in the world I would do it for.”

  She took a deep breath and placed her hand over Nicks. “I want to memorize everything. It’s such a beautiful night. You can see the stars so clearly.”

  He followed her gaze. “There’s something about looking at the sky and seeing all that darkness dotted with gold. You realize your purpose. That everything which happens has a pattern, a place.” He kissed her temple. “And every person you meet shapes you.”

  “I see it, too.”

  “I have some things to say to you. I rehearsed them, but I don’t think they’ll come out the way I planned.”

  “Just say them.”

  “I knew my life was grim, but I was satisfied in it. It’s as if I’d forgotten what the sun felt like. I’d get little glimpses of it whenever I ordered a sandwich. No one can eat that many sandwiches, by the way.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “I don’t understand.”

  “Sometimes I’d order the food and give it to the homeless guy around the corner.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I craved the few minutes of sunshine. I loved your smile. Hell, I even loved your stupid weather reports. And then you asked to come into my world. As each day passed, I felt like I was living again…or maybe alive for the first time.”

  She caressed his cheek, her fingers shaking against his skin. “You’ve done that for me, too. You made me smile…really smile and laugh, too.”

  “I don’t want to let you go.” He kissed her forehead. He gently eased her up and then stood up himself. He took her hand before kneeling down.

  “Nick?”

  “We don’t have to end this. I love you, Shyla. I love you with all my heart. Will you marry—”

  “Stand up, Nick.” Her voice wavered but her tone was cold.

  “I’m not done.”

  He looked up at her face and the tears there. He swallowed the lump in his own throat. Because he was in fact…done.

  “I can’t marry you.”

  He stood, taking her shoulders. “I know it’s fast, but this is the natural path we are on. I wouldn’t have asked you this soon, but we are against a clock, and I’ve thought of nothing else since you came into my life except how to keep you there.”

  “I have to go back to India.”

  “Not if we get married. I’ve done some research.”

  “You don’t understand. I want to go back.”

  “Shyla, let’s talk about this.”

  “I don’t love you.” The words would have stabbed him except the gesture that followed pissed him off too much. Her face shifted down, and she twisted a strand of her hair before tucking it behind her ear. Her tell.

  “You’re lying to me…or maybe to yourself. You love me.”

  She shook her head, backing away. She wiped away a tear. “I’m so sorry, Nick. I thought we were on the same page.”

  “Same page? What fucking chapter are you on? I don’t think we’re reading the same book,” he said, his voice low and jaw clenched. She winced in response.

  “We were passing into each other’s lives, but we were never meant to set anchor. We made some memories, and I will always be grateful.”

  “Grateful?”

  “I don’t know what else to say.” She wept openly now, but it just made things worse because he wanted to shake the truth from her.

  “Is it because of Charles Breckenridge?”

  “No! He has nothing to do with this.”

  Nick’s laugh was bitter. “I think he does. People don’t have personal benefactors. We’re not living in a Dickens’s novel for Christ sake.”

  “I have one.”

  “How exactly do you benefit your benefactor?”

  She narrowed her eyes, her fists clenching at her side. “Do you have a question for me?”

  “I believe I’m asking it.” He held up her wrist, glaring at the diamond-encrusted watch. “How do you earn a watch like this?”

  He felt her hard, cold slap before he even realized she’d pulled back her arm.

  Her eyes widened, her expression completely furious. She hit her tiny fists against his chest. “Do not speak to me that way again.”

  She turned, her shoes clicking against the cement squares of the roof.

  “Shyla, wait.”

  “Leave me alone, Nick,” she said in a voice somewhere between fury, disappointment, and grief.

  She slammed the door to the roof. He wanted to run after her. To apologize for the things he suggested. But at the same time, he couldn’t look past his own hurt and anger.

  He wasn’t so self-assured he hadn’t accounted for the possibility of her rejection, but he never expected her to deny she loved him. It was evident in her kiss and caress. In the things she did for him. In the way they made love and the little talks they had. Even in the way they goofed around. Now all he felt was emptiness. He kicked over a planter. It crashed against the brick wall and crumbled into pieces of broken clay, dirt, and petals.

  He leaned against the wall. The sky opened and, without warning, pelted him with rain.

  “Really?” he screamed at the sky.

  He didn’t go inside, though. The rain was good. It hid his tears. He hated crying. He avoided it.

  The tears brought with them all the pain of the other three times he’d cried.

  The night Jenny died.

  The day of his grandfather’s funeral after he delivered a heartfelt eulogy to a room full of die-hard card sharks.

  The day his mother dropped him off at Gramp’s trailer. She had told him she needed a break. More importantly, Peter needed a break. Grandpa took one look at Nick, and his hands shook. He took his daughter into the house. Nick sat on the stoop, but he heard them just the same.

  “It’s just for a little while,” she said. The same thing she always said. “A little while” varied with his mother. Sometimes it was a few days, a week, or three months.

  “Don’t come back this time,” Gramps replied.

  “Dad—”

  “Do not come back for him unless you get some help and leave that son of a bitch. You’ve put him through enough. You’re no good…not to yourself and not to him.”

  Why did Gramps have to make her feel bad about herself?

  “Peter is the only g
ood thing in my life.”

  “Dammit, are you really this screwed up? That boy out there, who is the sweetest kid I know, is the only good thing in your life. Why don’t you be a mother to him for once?”

  “His dad ran out on us. I’m doing the best I can.”

  “This is the best you got? Really?”

  “You keep him,” she said. “You’re right. He does better with you.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I don’t need a lecture, Dad. I’m done. You want him? You keep him.”

  It was grandpa’s fault—the mean bully. She wouldn’t have said those things if he’d been nicer. She stepped out of the trailer, mussed Nick’s hair once, and told him to be a good boy before she got into Peter’s rusted Buick.

  Gramps came and sat beside Nick. “Nicky, I have to talk to you.” The old man said some stuff, but Nick wasn’t paying attention. All he saw was the Buick’s taillights disappearing down the dirt road. He stood and chased after the car, ignoring his grandfather’s shouts. She had to drive slowly. The path was uneven and the tires on the car completely bald. Even so, she managed to get two blocks, refusing to acknowledge him even though she looked in her rearview mirror several times. Finally, she stopped when he screamed after her. She reached over and rolled down the passenger window. Nick leaned on it because his legs no longer had the energy to hold him upright.

  His mother’s face was sunken and pale. Her hair was long and ratty, absent from the benefit of a good brush. Despite that, she was still beautiful to him. He saw his reflection through the mirrored lenses of her sunglasses—a skinny eight year old with trembling lips, a big black shiner adorning his left eye. It was an overcast day. She didn’t wear the sunglasses to protect her from any harsh rays, rather to hide her own matching black eye.

  “What is it, Nicolas?” she demanded with a heavy sigh.

  “I want to go home,” he said.

  “You shouldn’t have gotten in his way.”

  “He was hitting you.”

  “And he would have whether you were there or not.” She gestured to his face. “Now look, we’re no better off for it. Peter’s not good with kids, honey. This is the best thing for everyone.”

  “You’re not coming back, are you? You pick him. You always pick him.” And because he was no physical match for the bastard, he kicked the man’s car over and over until his foot hurt.

  “Cut it out,” she said. Her face softened slightly. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”

  Nick knew without a shred of doubt that he would never understand her decision. A million years could go by, and he’d still be as upset and confused as he was right then.

  “Be good for Grandpa.”

  “Mom…please.”

  “Step away.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Step the fuck away from the car,” she barked. Nick didn’t even flinch anymore. He recognized the signs. Her hands gripped the wheel tightly, yet still trembled. She needed a fix. She hadn’t had a drink today. She wouldn’t risk a DUI with Peter’s car. He took a step back.

  “Don’t look at me with those puppy-dog eyes. And stop crying. You aren’t a baby. You’ll be just fine. You always are.”

  He watched as the car took off, its tires kicking dirt onto his shins.

  He didn’t go back to Gramp’s place. He ran. Just like he did every morning since that day. He ran through the streets, trying to exhaust his body to the point where he could only feel the physical pain and nothing else. When he couldn’t run anymore, he climbed the water tower. His legs dangled off the edge, and he peered down, wondering if he hurt himself enough if she’d come back.

  His grandfather called for him. “I’ve been looking for you for three hours, Nicky.”

  “Go away. I hate you.”

  Gramps didn’t go away, though. He climbed the long ladder of the water tower. Nick silently watched the old man who had arthritis in his hands and a morbid fear of heights shakily climb every rung until he got to the top. Gramps took slow, deliberate steps until he reached Nick.

  He was breathless when he put his arm around the boy. They were both silent for a long time.

  “Why did you climb up here? You could have hurt yourself,” Nick said.

  “I would do anything for you, son.”

  “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t. She loves you, but she’s confused right now.”

  “She told me once that I was an accident.”

  Gramps took a deep breath. He leaned back on his palms and pointed at the dark sky. Nick hadn’t realized how late it had become.

  “Have you ever looked at the sky and said there are way too many stars up there?”

  Nick crossed his arms. “No.”

  “That’s because when you look at all of those twinkling heavenly lights, you just know.”

  “Know what?” Nick asked, mimicking Gramp’s position.

  “Every star is connected, and they draw off each other’s energy.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Gramps didn’t answer for a while. He lay on his back and looked up. Nick did the same. “What’s true in heaven is also true on earth, Nicky.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Everything and everyone serves a purpose. There are no accidents, kiddo.”

  “What’s my purpose?”

  “I have no idea. Probably, you don’t know either, at least not yet. But I do know this—you have one.”

  Chapter 32

  Nick figured a day was sufficient time to get his emotions under control and for Shyla to forgive him.

  When she opened the door, he cursed himself in a million ways. Her eyes were puffy, an aura of grimness surrounding her. But it was her sad attempt at a smile which wrenched his heart completely.

  “Someone was leaving when I walked in. That’s how I got past the front door.” He said the phrases for no other reason than to fill the air between them. He was in danger of losing himself to the grimness, too, and right now he just wanted to pull her out. To give her a symbolic hand. To deliver a strong hug, one that would protect her. To provide a kiss full of passion and purpose. To love her.

  “Come in.”

  Nick had never been in Shyla’s dorm room. It was small, and every object was in doubles, one side of the room mirroring the other. Two twin beds, two dressers, and two nightstands. Everything was the same except one side had hot pink bed sheets, movie posters, and picture frames, while the other—undoubtedly Shyla’s side—contained gray sheets and walls empty of any identifying mementos.

  “Have you started packing?”

  “Not yet, but I booked my flight. I leave in four days.”

  They stood awkwardly. Nick struggled not to beg her to stay.

  “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I was upset and confused. It’s not an excuse. I just want you to know that if I could take it back I would. Will you forgive me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He expelled the breath he’d been holding since he stepped onto Bleecker Street that morning.

  “Will you forgive me?” she asked him barely above a whisper.

  Nick struggled to maintain a smile. “For breaking my heart? I doubt it.” Her face shifted downward. He tilted her chin. “But I’ll try.”

  “Why did you come if you can’t forgive me?”

  He walked to the far side of the room, needing the space from her. Nothing he said sounded quite right. He didn’t trust his feelings. They were more powerful than him. He glanced at the collection of porcelain teddy bears on Elaine’s side of the room. They were each doing ridiculous human things like riding a bike or juggling. “I finally read the last chapter.” It wasn’t the reason he’d come, but he couldn’t express the real reasons…not yet.

  “What did you think?”

  “Worst ending ever.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We’ve been with this character through all of the horrible th
ings she’s endured. We’ve rooted for her, cheered her on, and felt her sorrow. We can’t just leave her dead or whatever at the riverbank.”

  “It’s the right ending, and she’s not dead.”

  “It’s hard to grasp that the way you wrote it.”

  “It’s open ended. The reader can decide.”

  Nick spun around and faced her. “The reader doesn’t want to fucking decide. It’s your job—no, your obligation—to provide satisfaction.” He slumped onto her bed. “I hate it. We have to change it. I haven’t interfered in the story at all. It’s your story, but this ending is god-awful. As a writer and, more importantly, a reader, I can’t let it exist.”

  She walked over to him. He pulled her into his lap. It was an automatic gesture, one that had turned into habit, like how she crossed her arms when angry or how he cracked his knuckles before writing.

  “I don’t think it’s that ending your upset about, Nick,” she whispered against his ear. The barricade damming up all his emotions broke apart. He nuzzled her neck and held her close. It must have been the same for Shyla because she started weeping. They stayed in that position for a long time. She stroked his hair. He rubbed her lower back. They didn’t speak, but somehow they communicated a million sentiments in that time. She was hurting as much as he was. He felt the loss of her in every cell of his body. He leaned back and curled his arms around her. Her sobs finally stopped.

  “Why, Shyla?” He didn’t need to clarify the question.

  “My purpose is to be a teacher, Nick. I’ve always known that on some level. There are many unwanted girls in my country. But things are changing. It’s not a third world problem. It’s everyone’s problem.”

  “It’s selfish of me, but I can’t understand why you would sacrifice the life you could have here…with me.”

  “It’s not selfish. I’ve thought about it a great deal, but I made this choice a long time ago before I met you.” She sighed, brushing her fingertips through his hair.

  “You can’t save the world from its problems.”

  “I can be part of the change. I’ve had many experiences that told me this was the right choice, but one in particular stands out for me. Maybe if I explained it to you, you’d understand.”