by Lya Lively
“So I’ve been told. I’ve heard you have a great St. Patty’s Day parade. Who’d wanna pass up on that?” I forced a smile as I glanced around the cramped space.
“I’m afraid you missed the parade by about two months.”
“Maybe I’ll stick around for the next one,” I replied with a shrug as I took in my surroundings. The apartment was small but had all of the essential amenities and smelled overwhelmingly like fresh jasmine, thanks to the little plugin placed by the front door. The living room was filled with mismatched furniture that led into a kitchen with a counter lined by stools, which served as a table.
Almost instantly my gaze was drawn to a girl around my age lounging casually on the loveseat parallel to where I stood. I couldn’t tell if it was the strain on my tired eyes playing tricks on me or if she was really that thin and delicate, like a ballet dancer.
“The longest a roommate has stuck around is three weeks.” He eyed me up and down. “I give you four tops since you haven’t died from heat exhaustion in that coat.”
I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t scare that easily.” Yeah, right. What brings you here again?
The room fell quiet as I adjusted the strap of my guitar on my shoulder, struggling to think of something to say to ease the uncomfortable silence. I’d never been very good at small talk when everything that had gone on in my life had been so monumental. I was custom to choosing my words carefully in order to keep the peace. I glanced at the blonde man who shuffled his weight from one foot to the other before I realized I still didn’t know anyone’s names.
“So,” I laughed nervously, “Are you my new roommate?”
"No," he replied, with a dimpled smirk, eyes shifting back-and-forth as if in a constant attention battle between me and the floor.
I sighed lightly, not of annoyance but exhaustion. “Then... her?” I asked, raising my chin to the mysterious girl whose gaze locked onto the television, seemingly uninterested in the stranger who’d just entered their space.
He shook his head again.
“I’m just curious if it’s a guy or... a woman?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeful for the latter.
"No, it's my brother, actually. He's out with his girl right now." He laughed while absentmindedly rubbing his palm over his elbow.
The girl pushed from the couch with a bored yawn before traipsing her way over to us. Her naturally red hair swayed weightlessly with each step, draping over her small shoulders.
“I’m Kara Russell. I’m Cameron’s-”
He cut her off proudly slinging his arm over her shoulders, and I was shocked she didn’t crumple under the weight. “She’s my girlfriend.” His smile broadened as if she was the first place trophy in a surfing competition. He pulled her toward him, pressing his lips against her hair.
She giggled, staring up hopefully into his eyes, “What he said.” She leaned into his chest, her small palm pressed against his heart with her fingers fanned open.
He extended a free hand, “Cameron White. You can call me Cam.”
“Ah, well it’s nice to meet you both,” I replied awkwardly as I took his large hand, hoping he didn’t realize how clammy my palm was. “I’m Hayden.” I cleared my throat before correcting myself, “Hayden Harlow.”
The pounding in my head began to intensify like my brain was knocking on the walls of my skull to try and escape. If only it were that easy to escape, I thought. I could have saved myself from endless hours of smelling that guy who ate pickles from the jar in his lap.
“When can I expect to meet your brother?” I asked as my eyes danced between them. They were an odd match, but they looked genuinely in love.
Cameron shrugged as his tongue ran out over his lips. “He’s a little... unpredictable. I’m sure he’ll show up tonight... or maybe in the morning.”
My shoulders dropped, and I wanted to sink to the floor in a heap. What if he decided he didn’t want me here? Where will I sleep tonight while I wait to meet him?
“Should I just leave my information with you then? I don’t have a cell phone, but I can stop back by tomorrow.”
“You have a date or something?” He asked, his eyebrow quirked as he ran his fingers through his girlfriend’s hair, playfully messing it up but it fell back into place as if never disturbed. She glanced up at him, scrunching her nose as she suppressed a smirk.
“No. I don’t know anyone here,” I replied with a shrug.
“Well, you know us. Just get settled in, and if my brother has a problem, I’ll deal with him.”
“Um, okay. Thanks. Would either of you know where my room is?” I winced as the strap of my guitar dug deeper into my shoulder.
“I’ll give you the grand tour.” Cameron stepped forward. He guided me to a door just past the kitchen island, where the tiles ended. “That’s the kitchen. This is the living room and,” he turned around gesturing grandly with his arm, “Your room. My brother’s room is back there,” He gestured with his chin.
“Thanks.” I continued to force a grin though my cheeks were beginning to hurt. It felt like Lucifer was holding a meeting in my head.
“Oh, you play guitar?” Kara asked me noticing the case slung over my shoulder. Well so much for getting away easy.
“Yeah, sometimes,” I stammered.
“That’s cool,” Cameron added. “You know, my brother plays some, too.”
“Really? What kind of music?” I asked, relieved that I had something in common with my mysterious new roommate.
“He makes stuff up.” He shrugged. “Indie, I guess. He writes a lot of angry poetry.”
“Yeah, I seriously don’t know how he does it,” Kara interjected, looking genuinely amazed.
“Our dad played back in the day,” Cameron added in a way that made me think he was preparing to tell a story, but he didn’t elaborate. His smile faltered. Kara glanced up at him as if neither of them had expected the words to come out.
The mood shifted, and it felt like when you’re little, and an adult says something they shouldn’t around you.
“I’m kinda self-taught. Only issue was I didn’t know a thing about guitar, so I was a pretty sucky teacher,” I explained, hoping to lighten the mood.“Well, it was really nice meeting you two, but, um...” I searched for words. “I’m gonna go clean up and unpack. Are you sure your brother’s going to be okay with a female roommate?”
“Shouldn’t be an issue,” Cameron smiled.
“At least not with him,” Kara gave another glance up at Cameron.
“I think you two will get along well,” he replied, looking back down at Kara as something unsaid passed between them.
“Thanks.” I nodded and shut the door behind me. I dropped my bags, sliding the guitar strap over my head before carefully placing it on the floor by my feet, and leaned my back against the cool, wood door, my hand propped on the handle. Everything rushed to my head; every thought I’d ever conjured, every feeling I’ve ever had both physically and emotionally, everything. I felt sick; a knot tied tight in my stomach and threatened to spill over. I quickly peeled my jacket from my body, Instantly feeling ten degrees cooler as I let it fall to the ground.
I could hear their muffled voices on the other side of the door. It was hard to make out what they were saying, but I did hear faint mumblings that sounded like, “her” and “okay?” They probably think I’m crazy, I thought, like some killer or something.
I spun the lock on the door, listening for the click before I slid down to the carpet, my arms wrapped around my knees as I hugged my legs to my chest. I am safe here. I don’t need to panic. My heart began to race, thudding at a frantic pace inside of my chest as if struggling to break free from the confines of my body. I searched for something, anything to distract my mind from the anxiety attack that was imminent. My chest tightened to suffocating measures, it felt as though there was a blade piercing into my heart as it forced away my breathing.
I thought about Kara. Her vibrant chartreuse eyes p
opped in contrast to her copper hair. She was shorter than I was; freckles dusted lightly across her cheeks and peppered her nose. Her hair hung down to the crease just before the bottom hem of her white dress, like mine had before I chopped it off.
Cameron, on the other hand, was at least a full head’s length taller than I was, and though awkward and lanky was also very attractive. His skin was flawless, free of any blemish or freckle that I could see and bronzed from what I imagined came from hours on the beach. His vintage baby blue Addicted to Pi t-shirt that hung loosely on his lean frame hinted at humor, or carelessness.
And then there was me; I’m a mess. I’m a total mess. Everything I owned was a hodgepodge of the handful of important moments in my life.
My fedora was a gift from my father when I turned ten because I had obsessed with watching black and white movies. We used to watch them together on the couch in the family room. Punchy, our black Labrador retriever, would curl up to sleep on my lap making it nearly impossible to breathe, and mom would make popcorn. I could’ve sat there for hours if it weren’t for school.
But that was before my dad took the other job, before my mom’s sister got into a fatal accident and Mom sent Punchy down to the shelter. Before the poison set in her mind, those were my favorite days.
My muscles tightened.
I forced myself to my feet and trudged to what was now my bed, bringing my bag over with me in hopes that I might muster enough energy to start to unpack. What’s the point of unpacking? Surely, I wouldn’t be here long enough to have my things scattered about.
My eyes went to the window that overlooked the street, and it looked more like a way out than anything. An escape. I’d left my collection of books back in my old life but tucked away in the bottom of my suitcase was my copy of Great Gatsby. The cover had been taped back together several times and the ink on the pages was faded to the point it was barely legible, but I didn’t need to be able to see them because I had the story committed to heart.
I had two chests of drawers now but not nearly enough belongings to fill them. And wasn’t that a metaphor for my life?
The short one had an empty picture frame rested on it, and my heart sank at the thought of sliding a memory from my past inside to be faced with every day. There was also a small nightstand with an old alarm clock, a closet big enough to hang a few dresses, and my very own bathroom. It was small, but it had a sink with a mirror above it, a bathtub/shower combination, and a toilet. It was apparent that this was the master bedroom. What more could a girl ask for?
I decided to try it out. After the long trip, I was in desperate need of freshening up, which only made me even more embarrassed that I just met people smelling like garbage, even if they had been polite enough to pretend not to notice. I checked the closet for a towel, and hung it on the silver rack on the wall. I turned the spigot, ran my fingers under the water, and waited for it to reach the perfect temperature before I flicked the drain stopper with my toes and the water began to back up, filling the tub. I made my way back into my bedroom and dug through my suitcase for my red purse. "Got it," I mumbled, filling the all too quiet room with my thoughts. My purse, which was more of a messenger bag, contained my toiletries. I grabbed a change of clothing, deciding on skinny jeans, a loose-fitting white and black striped shirt, before making my way back into the bathroom and peeling my soiled clothes from my body.
I lowered myself into the rising water, leaning back until my face was submerged before raising back up and sputtering as I gasped for air.
When the tub was nearly filled, I turned off the flow of water and relaxed back, resting my cheek against the cool porcelain as I let my eyes close, too tired to hold them open any longer.
The painful memories drowned me; pulling me in on myself like a star that collapses inward at the end of its life. Maybe that’s all I was, just a dying star who’d never had the chance to reach her full potential.
The flashes came, and the room melted away in the background. I searched desperately for something to grab onto, an anchor, to save myself from falling in, but to no avail. The memories absorbed me in the careful way sunlight absorbed a flower; with a weightless, yet fearful, elegance of entirety.
***
“I should get back to bed,” I told him reluctantly. “I’m sure the fighting has probably subsided by now.”
Eric took long strides beside me, eyes down studying the grass underneath the apricots and golds of the setting sun. “Yeah,” he mumbled, still not looking up at me. It wasn’t like him, but I guessed he was just dealing with something with his mom again.
I sped up a little and stopped in front of him, the sun dipping just behind the trees leaving us in a patch of shadows. I could still see his faint worried expression. “What’s wrong? You’ve hardly been talking to me lately, and I don’t think it’s the hair,” I joked about the horrible amateur dye-job, but he only cringed.
He shook his head slightly before finally glancing up at me. “I’m sorry, it’s just this thing with my mom...” his voice trailed off as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. In his black clothing, he was becoming nearly indistinguishable from the street. The only thing that made him stand out were his horn-rimmed glasses.
“Yes, this is good. Please tell me things.” I muttered, not wanting to push him away. I knew he was sensitive about the situation with his mom; they hardly ever got along and when they didn’t it was rough.
“Hayden,” he choked out as if my name tasted like acid on his tongue, “I did something bad. And I don’t want to say it because... I know you’ll look at me differently-,” he stopped abruptly. I thought maybe his voice had caught in his throat, choking him up. Instead, his hand rested itself on my shoulder, his attention caught by something else.
An old country song floated in the air like a faint fog of noise, accompanied by the blinding glow of headlights. I waved my arm over my eyes to shield them from the light from what appeared to be my mom’s beat up Honda Civic.
Eric’s voice was barely audible over the thudding of my own heart that vibrated in my ears like a fast paced drum solo to a song only I could hear. I felt his fingers gripping my arm, the piercing sting of his nails biting into my flesh as he yanked, but I couldn’t convince myself to move. My feet stayed planted in the ground as if sinking into the Earth, burying themselves among the weeds.
I stared blindly at the silhouette of the driver, the sadness so suffocating that all other surroundings were dragged away from view. Why couldn’t I move?
I felt the air shove from my lungs, leaving me gasping as I dropped to my knees on the warm asphalt, the pebbles cutting into my skin and causing me to wince. Fat tears glided weightlessly over the apples of my cheeks, and the world slowed around me as I waited for my inevitable demise.
“Mom,” I gasped as a sob wracked my chest, resigning to my fate as my eyes fluttered closed. A heavy force wrapped itself around my waist, tight and familiar, and pulled me away from the light.
I blinked open my eyes with my face pressed against damp grass from drops that still lingered from a late night storm the night before. Eric was sitting over me yelling, but his voice was fading in and out in waves. It was like I’d felt everything at once and now there was nothingness, a hollow cavern where my heart should have been.
He pulled me to my feet, and I wobbled under my own weight for a moment before being able to keep my balance. Reluctantly, he let his arms fall from my waist, shoving them deep into his pockets. I began to move my feet, desperate to get out of this place. He kept pace with me as I hurried to get back to his house, glancing behind him to the driver that was now out of the car and yelling frantically. His hand gripped mine, our fingers interlacing as he began to run, tugging me along as fast as my weak legs would carry me. I ran through the blur of my tears, with only a single thought in my head playing in an endless loop, tormenting me. It was all-consuming and threatening my sanity, just as hers had been stolen from her long ago.
“My mom tried to kill me.”
***
My lungs burned like wildfire, and it was spreading through my body, radiating to the tips of my fingers, and when my eyes finally opened, the world was blurred above me. I sat up, choking and sputtering, the water coming out of me like vomit.
It had since turned cold causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps and my entire being was wracked with tremors. I washed as quickly as possible and changed into my dry clothes, still unable to keep myself from shaking as if the coldness had seeped into my bones.
I unpacked the rest of what was in my suitcase before shoving the empty case under my bed. After I had felt like I had accomplished something, I went back into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I was sufficiently clean and had scrubbed every fleck of dirt from my travels off my body, I took my notebook off my dresser and wrote down my nightmare in the form of song lyrics, in hopes of some good coming from the tragedies my mind was subjecting me to.
THREE
Noah
I wanted to slam the glass that I gripped in my palm against concrete, or better yet against the side of someone’s head. How could she be cheating on me? Rage boiled through my veins and the alcohol only fueled the fire.
“Hey, man,” the bartender mumbled. “I really can’t keep you much longer. My shifts over in an hour. You should be headin’ back.”
“I’m good,” I lied. I tugged at the napkin I’d been writing my lyrics on, folding it at the edges just to give my hands something to do before I began to scribble more words.
the poison is nothing
if it doesn’t
take away the choices
quiet down the voices
the heart is washed away
breaks in a broken cage
no chance to escape
the flames
“Real talk, if it’s a girl-” he started.
“You want to have a heart to heart about my problems?” I sneered. “I said I’m good,” I repeated through clenched teeth, the muscles in my jaw tightening as I tilted my head to the side, my eyes closing momentarily as my neck popped. I should be in the gym, getting out my frustrations with weights, not in a bar.
