A Proscriptive Relationship

by Jordan Lynde

  “What? No! Why would I want you to do that?”

  “Support?” Jeremy offered.

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t want him here. I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “Positive.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything,” Jeremy told me, a frown still loitering on his face.

  “Okay.”

  “See you later, Holly.”

  For a brief second I did wish Mr. Heywood was here, but I quickly dismissed the thought. My thoughts were now solely on finding out Lance’s condition. I burst through the hospital doors, sweeping my soaking wet hair out of my face. I went to the reception desk and the receptionist looked up at me with a startled face.

  “May I help you?”

  “Lance Greyson,” I told her, tapping my foot anxiously. “Where is he?”

  She looked to her computer and typed something quickly. She scanned the computer screen, a frown appearing on her lips. “Right now he’s in the ICU, and no visitors are allowed in.”

  “The ICU?” I responded, feeling my heart drop into my gut. “What’s wrong? Will he be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” the receptionist told me, shaking her head. “I don’t know what’s going on, I’m sorry.”

  “When can I see him?” I demanded, clenching my fists. “Soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I groaned in frustration. Didn’t this girl know anything? “Where can I wait?”

  She pursed her lips. “Are you his family?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Only family members will be allowed to see him when—”

  “I’m close enough,” I snapped, glaring at her. “Please, let me at least wait by his room!”

  “I’m sorry,” the receptionist apologized, shaking her head. “Only family can wait in that area.”

  “I already told you I’m close enough!” I shouted, surely gaining the attention from everyone in the area. “Is it really so much of a problem to let me go wait? Are you even—?”

  “She’s part of the family,” a new, heavily accented voice interrupted. “I’m Laura Greyson.”

  My eyes widened and I turned to see a familiar woman with blonde hair addressing the receptionist. When she noticed I was staring at her she smiled at me.

  “Are you family?” the receptionist asked Laura, pursing her lips.

  “I’m his mother,” Laura responded coldly.

  The receptionist looked flustered and I smirked. “You may go up then,” she said, looking around. “Do you need someone to lead the way?”

  “No, I’ve already been up,” Laura responded quickly. “I’m going now, and taking this young lady with me.”

  “Of course,” the receptionist responded.

  I scowled at her. “Thanks,” I said sarcastically.

  Laura chuckled and put a hand on my shoulder, steering me away from the counter. I looked up at her, my eyes filling with tears again.

  “Is he okay?”

  The smile automatically dropped from Laura’s face. My heart dropped once again and I stared at her in horror.

  “He’s not . . . He’s not dead, is he?”

  Laura’s eyes flew open in shock and she shook her head frantically. “No! No, no, dear. No.”

  Relief brought new tears to my eyes and I scrubbed them angrily. They really needed to stop!

  “Do you know what happened?” I asked, following her down the white corridors of the hospital.

  She frowned. “The only thing I know is he was shot twice; once in the scapula and once in the chest. But not in the heart,” she added quickly upon hearing my sharp intake of air. “I got the call maybe an hour before you did, but they haven’t let me in to see him yet. The doctors have been keeping me updated on his condition, though, so I know he is not dead.”

  We entered the ICU and Laura turned left, walking down another white hallway. I followed after her. I was unsettled by the quietness of the place—I had been expecting the ICU to be full of frantic and shouting people. The silence seemed deafening.

  “Ms. Greyson!” someone shouted and I looked up to see a tall man in a doctor’s cloak waving over to here. “Come quickly!”

  She hurried forwards at once and I followed behind quickly. The doctor let Laura into the room but he held me back.

  “I’m sorry, there’s not enough space.”

  “Oh,” I responded, my heart sinking. “It’s okay. I’ll wait out here.”

  The doctor nodded, before going back into the room and closing the door after him. I didn’t move for a moment, staring at the closed door with my thoughts racing. I walked over to a bench against the wall across from the door and slumped down on it, resting my head on my hands. I wanted to know what happened to Lance now! But probably no one would know exactly until he woke up and told us himself. Shootings just didn’t happen around here! And Lance had certainly done nothing to deserve this. So why was he in the ICU now? I clenched my fists, taking slow breaths. It wasn’t fair.

  My phone stated to vibrate in my back pocket and as I reached for it my eyes snapped onto the display. Coldness ran through my veins when I realized the call was coming from Lance’s phone. With shaking hands, I slowly flipped it open and put it to my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Holly, right?”

  “Who is this?” I demanded angrily. “Why do you have Lance’s phone? Are you the one who did this to him?”

  “Yes, this is definitely Holly,” the man on the other side of the phone said with a small laugh. “And to answer your questions in order: Shawn, because I took it from him, and yes, in a way.”

  My breath caught and my eyes widened. Shawn? Shawn from the gang, Shawn? And he was the one who did this to Lance? I clenched my jaw, my eyes narrowing.

  “You shot him,” I stated, clenching my phone so hard I was afraid it was going to snap.

  “Is he dead?” Shawn asked in a casual voice. “I aimed for his heart.”

  “Why?” I almost screamed, but immediately quieted myself when I remembered I was still in the hospital.

  “You should know—” Shawn started, but suddenly stopped talking.

  “I should know what?” I demanded.

  There was no reply and I groaned in irritation. I pulled the phone away and glanced at it, noticing the call had ended. My eyes then went to the service bars, and I realized that I didn’t have service anymore. Cursing under my breath, I jumped off the bench and rushed toward the exit of the hospital. A few doctors gave me wary looks as I sped by, but I paid them no attention. I needed to get out of the hospital, and fast. Would Shawn think I hung up on him and not answer when I called back? I had to talk to him!

  Torrential rain greeted me as I stepped outside the building. After a moment three bars appeared and I quickly called Lance’s phone. On the second ring, my call was answered.

  “Where’d you go?” Shawn drawled.

  “I lost service,” I told him flatly. “Why did you attack Lance? He has nothing to do with Mr. Heywood or myself!”

  “Wasn’t he with you that night at the towing station? We got the right guy, right?”

  I clenched my jaw. “He has nothing to do with anything.”

  “Well, attacking him certainly stirred you up.”

  “Why did you shoot him?”

  “I didn’t shoot him—”

  “But you said—”

  “I said in a way,” Shawn told me, sighing. “Don’t you listen when people talk to you?”

  I scowled, clenching my fist. “Then why does he have two bullet wounds?”

  “I only meant to threaten him a little bit and maybe rough him up,” Shawn explained. “But another guy that was with me suddenly pulled out a gun and before I knew it, he was shooting at the British boy.”

  “Why didn’t you stop him?” I asked, growing angrier by the second. “Lance could have died!”

  “If he did, so be it. It wouldn’t be on my name.”

  “Y
ou’re a bastard.”

  Shawn laughed. “Like I said, I was only threatening him. If anyone is going to die, it’ll be Chris.”

  “Then why did you go after Lance? Why not me? Why him?”

  “Because I have different plans for you.”

  My next question stuck in my throat as Shawn’s words processed in my mind. What was that supposed to mean? I quickly scanned the area around me, panicking slightly.

  “You still there?”

  “Why can’t you leave us alone?” I whispered, my eyes starting to water once more. “We didn’t do anything! I don’t know what Mr. Heywood did, but it doesn’t involve Lance or myself! Stop attacking us!”

  “So you want me to just go straight for Heywood?”

  I paused, clenching my jaw. “No . . .”

  “Why not? I’ll leave you and your boyfriend alone. I’ll just get a whole group of us and surprise Chris while he’s least expecting it and that’s that. I’m sure even he can’t take on twenty people at once.”

  “No!” I shouted. “Are you a coward? Why would you do that? What did he even do to you? It doesn’t even matter, actually. Just stop!”

  “I’m not going to stop until he’s dead.”

  “Why?”

  “He hasn’t told you? Really?” Shawn snorted. “I guess I’m not that surprised.”

  “What did he do?”

  He laughed. “I’m not telling you. I’ll let Chris tell you. But it’s the reason why he needs to die, why you’ll get what you deserve, and why British boy was shot. It’ll all make sense when you know.”

  There was a click and I knew he had hung up.

  I stared at nothing for a few moments. What did Mr. Heywood do? There was no more time for secrets. Lance’s shooting had crossed the line.

  LESSON Twenty-three

  I still felt rattled after Shawn’s call from Lance’s phone, maybe most of all because it seemed like what Mr. Heywood was keeping secret was the reason for this whole mess. He was going to tell me what happened, no matter what. I wasn’t going to wait either. But first I wanted to see Lance. Turning back around, I barely took a step back towards the hospital door before I bumped into tall figure. Thinking it was Shawn, I stumbled a few steps back, throwing my arms up to protect myself. “Stay back!”

  “Holly?”

  Upon hearing the familiar voice, I peeked around my hands. “Mr. Heywood!”

  The messy-haired man grimaced at me. “Holly, Jeremy told me Lance was shot. Is he okay? When did this happen?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It must have happened recently because he is still in the ICU.” I continued, “Mr. Heywood, it was them.”

  “How do you know it was them?”

  I flipped open my phone and scrolled down to the text message I had received earlier. “They have Lance’s phone. Shawn called me.”

  “What did he say?” Mr. Heywood asked, grabbing the phone away from me and looking at it with a scowl.

  “He asked how Lance was, told me he was still after you, and he said he had ‘plans for me,’” I quoted, staring down at the ground. “He said he didn’t care whether Lance lives or dies, but he was only going to rough him up.” I looked back at Mr. Heywood who was glaring at the phone. “They said it was because he was at the towing place that night.”

  “What? Because of that? I need to put an end to this.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Holly, I’m not going to sit around while they pick off people close to me!” he cried, his voice raising a notch.

  “They want you dead though,” I breathed, blinking repeatedly to keep any tears from spilling. “Did you hear me? Dead!”

  “Yeah, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “What did you do?”

  His expression went blank for a moment, but then it quickly became hard. He narrowed his eyes at me. “I told you it wasn’t any of your business.”

  “Well now it is!” I responded, clenching my fists. “And Lance’s too! You have to tell me!”

  “Holly, just stop. It’s not—”

  Without warning, I punched him in the chest as hard as I could. He didn’t budge, but shock flashed across his face. I hit him again, trying to put as much force into it as I could. He let me hit him a few more times until his hand captured my wrist and stopped me.

  I scowled, bringing up my other fist, but he caught it immediately. I attempted to kick his shin. He let out a small groan of frustration.

  “Is it my fault you’re so violent?” he muttered. “Just like a child . . .”

  I stopped struggling at once, a little hurt by his comment. Time for a different approach.

  “Please,” I begged, putting my head against his chest. “Please. I’m begging you now! Just tell me. Please, Chris!”

  “Holly, your hand is cold.”

  I pulled away from him, yanking my hand out of his grasp. The tears were now spilling out of my eyes. I glared at him, taking a step away from him. Now he was going to change the subject? “I hate you. I hate you!”

  He sighed, closing his eyes. I shook my head in disbelief, taking another step away from him. How could he? I turned to walk away, but a hand enclosed on my wrist and yanked me back. Something warm enveloped me and I looked down to his jacket over my shoulders. I tried to shrug out of it, but he held it on by force.

  “Let go of me,” I said coldly.

  “Holly, you have to promise me you won’t hate me after I tell you.”

  I looked up at him in shock. His eyes pierced into mine with a scary seriousness, complimented by his somber face. I slowly nodded, clenching his jacket tighter to my body. He reached out and brushed a few stray tears from my face.

  Hate him? How could he even think that I meant that? Couldn’t he see how much I cared about him? It was quiet for a moment. Then I sneezed.

  He abruptly pulled away and cleared his throat. “You’re really cold, let’s go get you warmed up.”

  *

  “What took you so long?” I asked him in the car. “Your date?” I guessed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Is she a nice girl?” I asked casually.

  “Very nice.”

  “Is she smart?”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes.”

  I hesitated before asking the next question. “Is she pretty?”

  “Beautiful.”

  I bit my lip, staring at the dashboard in front of me. Who was this girl? Mr. Heywood seemed to like her a lot. Did that mean I had no chance? My chest constricted uncomfortably. Probably not. After all this person was probably a grown woman and I was still in high school. The affection Mr. Heywood showed was probably just something he did to entertain himself.

  When he noticed I was lost in thought, Mr. Heywood asked, “Thinking of me?”

  “No, of Jeremy,” I responded thoughtfully. “He’s been helping me out a lot lately. I’m trying to decide what I can do to make it up to him.”

  “You can date Jeremy if you want.”

  I turned to him in shock, not expecting that answer. Was he kidding? He didn’t care? I pouted. So he didn’t care . . . well, that was right. He still had a girlfriend.

  He started snickering. “Sorry, Holly,” he apologized, his trademark smirk in place once again. “You know, your reactions—”

  “Are too cute, I know,” I finished for him, rolling my eyes. “Except one of these days I’m really going to mean what I ask you.”

  “I don’t want you to date Jeremy.”

  Once more, I was shocked by his words. Since when did he say such things so bluntly?

  I shrugged. “Then I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  If there wasn’t a blush on my face before, I was sure there was one now. I hated it, but I felt that by what Mr. Heywood had just said that I might have a chance with him. Maybe he did like me. Maybe he could return my feelings. But that meant I’d have to confess and there was no way I could do that right now.

  But I wanted to. I wanted to so bad
ly. I clenched my fists, now coming up to the road. Why did he have to be my teacher? And why couldn’t I be eighteen already? My feelings were already too much for me to handle. Suddenly my thoughts turned sour as realization set in. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t tell him my feelings and have a chance of being rejected, or being accepted and making him lose his job.

  Unless we kept it a secret . . .

  The rest of the ride was silent. We had a lot to talk about when we got to his apartment.

  *

  “Let’s go in the living room,” Mr. Heywood suggested when we arrived at his apartment, putting a hand on my back and leading me into the room. “Sit.”

  I did as he asked, watching him curiously. “You aren’t going to order me to make you coffee or something?”

  He smirked. “Do you want me to?”

  I shook my head, looking away from him. In a way, I actually kind of wanted to. It just seemed like an ordinary thing between him and me. But I wasn’t about to let him know that.

  “I’ll make some hot chocolate.”

  I frowned at him. “Are you feeling alright?”

  “Fine,” he responded, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “You’re being so un-you.”

  A wry smile appeared on his face. “I can’t be nice?”

  “No! That’s not it!” I said quickly, waving my hands in front of me. “It’s just that—”

  “Do you want to hear my story or not?”

  I shut my mouth instantly, glaring at him. Well, good—he was being as rude as usual after all.

  After disappearing into the kitchen for a few minutes he returned with two steaming mugs, setting them on his coffee table. He took a seat on the chair across from me, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Now this is a long story.”

  “I’ve got time,” I pressed, a frown on my face. “You promised—”

  “I’m going to tell it to you,” he cut me off, rolling his eyes. “Don’t whine.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered bitterly.

  “I guess I should start by saying that I lied to you.”

  My eyes snapped back to him, growing wide with surprise. He had lied to me? “When? About what?”

  He sighed again, running a hand through his messy, still damp hair. “Remember the time at the fair when you first followed me into the forest?”