Found (Lost and Found #2, New Adult Romance) (Lost & Found)

by Nadia Simonenko

  Owen hunches over one of his textbooks with his head propped up in his hands, and he doesn’t say a word as I pull out a chair and sit down next to him. He doesn’t even look up at me. Does he even know I’m here?

  I slowly wave a hand back and forth in his peripheral vision and he still doesn’t react. Wow.

  “Hi Owen,” I whisper into his ear, and he nearly jumps out of his seat. I startled him so much that his reaction startles me right back, and I almost fall out of my seat as well.

  “Jesus Christ, Maria!” he gasps. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Sorry about that,” I apologize, and then I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. He barely reacts to my kiss, and instead returns to his textbook.

  “So... I had my interview,” I whisper. It takes him a very long time to respond, and something doesn’t feel right to me.

  “How’d it go?” he finally asks, still not looking up. Whatever happened last night must still be bothering him.

  “It went perfectly. I’ve never had an interview go that well before. I got all the questions right, the interviewer liked me...”

  He looks up and smiles at me, but I can tell he’s not happy. I’ve seen his real smile. I fell in love with that smile, so I know a fake when I see it.

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” he says quietly, and he looks back down at his textbook.

  That’s not an answer. That’s just a pile of empty words, like something I’d say to make my mother think we still have a connection. Something’s definitely wrong.

  “Owen, what happened?” I ask. I reach out to run my fingers through his hair, but he pulls away from me and shakes his head.

  I yank my hand back and bite down on my lower lip as I wait for him to answer me. That one little action—him pulling away from me as I tried to comfort him—hurts me in a way I’ve not felt before. My heart suddenly feels heavy and a nagging worry starts to grow in the back of my mind.

  “It’s nothing,” he finally answers and then he sighs and flips the page. He’s reading his statistical topology textbook.

  “I don’t believe you. You said you’d tell me today.”

  Owen shakes his head and turns the page again. There’s no way he read the last page already. He’s just flipping now. Before my brain knows what the rest of my body is doing, my arm shoots out, grabs his chin and turns his head to face me.

  “Talk to me,” I insist. His beautiful gray eyes are dark and sad as he stares back at me, and he silently pulls away and returns to his textbook.

  “I’m not going away until you tell me what’s wrong,” I tell him. “I can wait all night.”

  “You said that once before,” he whispers. “You said that after I broke my hand and wouldn’t go to the hospital.”

  “And I meant it then, too. Come home and talk to me, please?”

  “I can’t,” he says, shaking his head and turning the page. “I have an exam in a few weeks and have no idea what’s going on. I have to study.”

  “Are you even reading?” I fire back. My voice echoes loudly in the dead-silent library and I lower it to a whisper as I add, “You’re just staring blankly at the pages and aren’t retaining anything. How can you study when you’re feeling like this?”

  “Even if I can’t focus on math, at least I can get my thoughts in order.”

  He swallows hard as he turns the page again and his hands are shaking so much that the paper rattles. What am I going to do? I have to find out what happened to him. I feel like he’s blocked me out, somehow, and I need to know why.

  “Owen, I’m serious. I’m not going to leave you alone until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  He sighs, marks his page and closes the textbook, and then he scoots his chair closer to mine and finally faces me.

  “The police are coming up from Long Island to talk to me on Friday,” he whispers. “I’m kind of stressed out about it, okay?”

  “The police? What did you do?” I ask, and then I immediately cover my mouth in embarrassment. Why did I immediately assume he did something? What’s wrong with me?

  He stares back at me with his mouth barely open and I can tell that I hurt him. My face burns with humiliation, and I’m sure that I’m a beautiful shade of red right now.

  “Sorry,” I squeak in embarrassment. Not that it does much good now that the words are already out.

  “It’s okay,” he answers with a sigh. “I know you didn’t mean it. They want to talk to me about my father.”

  “Did he... he didn’t call the police on you after the fight, did he?”

  Somehow, I can’t imagine that his father would do that. He always had to be the big, strong guy in control of everything and I don’t think he’d ever admit that his own son beat him up.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “What’s it about, then?”

  “It’s just...” he starts to answer, but then he shakes his head and turns away from me again. “I don’t even know what it’s about. Something’s going wrong back home, and I have to deal with it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  “Of course I’m going to worry about it,” I tell him. “I love you and hate seeing you hurting like this.”

  “Maria...”

  “Please, Owen,” I press. “You can tell me anything...”

  “Maria,” he interrupts, “please go away.”

  My heart goes into freefall and then painfully breaks in two as it crashes to the ground somewhere between my feet.

  “What? Why?” I ask desperately. I suddenly feel very cold and I can’t seem to breathe.

  “I need to be apart from you for a bit,” he answers, his voice dull and lifeless, and then he opens his textbook again and stares down at the page. “I... I have some things I have to settle on my own.”

  “But...”

  “Leave me alone, Maria,” he says firmly and then, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, adds, “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t know whether it feels more like he punched me in the stomach or stabbed me in the chest. He wants me to go away? He doesn’t want me to be here for him, to help him with whatever he’s going through? There’s a deep, empty hole in my chest where my heart should be.

  I stand up and push my chair in, wincing as its legs scrape loudly on the concrete floor.

  “Are you sure you want me to go away?” I ask, praying he didn’t mean it but knowing deep down that he did.

  He nods, still refusing to look me in the eye, and flips the page.

  “I need to be alone,” he whispers. “Just... go away, okay?”

  My chest tightens and I blink back tears as I back slowly away from him.

  He didn’t want me to touch him, didn’t even want to look at me... he doesn’t want to see me anymore, does he? Something changed and it’s ruined everything. I turn and slowly squeeze back down the narrow row of shelves toward the center aisle, still struggling to control myself.

  “I love you,” I whisper, looking back at him over my shoulder, and then I turn and hurry for the door.

  I don’t want to be there to hear him not say it back to me.

  Wednesday, March 27 – 4:10 PM

  Owen

  I stare down at my statistics textbook in silence as Maria’s footsteps fade. I’ve just made a horrible mistake, but it’s too late now. I can’t take back the terrible things I just said.

  The door to the stairwell slams at the far end of the floor. She’s gone.

  Why did I do that? Why the fuck did I do that to her? I need to go after her and apologize. Hell, I need to get down on one knee and beg for forgiveness after how I just treated her, not sit alone in the library and mope.

  “Get up,” screams my brain. “Go after her and tell her...”

  Sometimes I can’t help but laugh at myself. Tell Maria what? That my father’s dead and my mother’s probably going to die too? That my life is falling apart and I have no idea what to do about any of it? She’s finally happy and she doesn’t need my problems dragging her back down. I
’ve never seen someone as happy as she was over spring break and I don’t want to hurt her.

  No... I’m lying to myself. I don’t want to hurt her, but even more, I’m scared to tell her what happened to my mother. It’s my fault she’s in the hospital. If I went home, none of this would have happened.

  I sigh and stare back down at my textbook. The page is covered with letters and numbers but they don’t add up into anything meaningful. It’s like my physics notebook all over again.

  I pretend I’m doing my homework while Dad screams at Mom downstairs. I’m staring at numbers scrawled near-illegibly in my physics notebook, but they don’t mean anything to me right now. My mind is still hiding in terror behind the couch downstairs.

  Mom’s running up the stairs now, just like she always does in this terrible memory. I hear her light footfalls, followed close behind by the loud, dull ‘thud’ of Dad’s boots. Even the sound of his boots scares me.

  Any moment now, Samantha’s going to come out of her room.

  “No!” I suddenly shout, and my terrified voice shatters the waking nightmare. I’m back in Uris Library again, hiding away in the stacks and shaking uncontrollably as I try to read.

  I can’t do this. I can’t go through that nightmare again. I’ve been watching my sister die over and over again for seven years, and I’m... I’m going mad. It should have stopped hurting by now. Why can’t I move on?

  “If I’d protected Samantha, he’d have killed me instead. Maybe it’d have been better that way.”

  Maybe it would be better that way. I wouldn’t have to dream about Dad hurting me. I wouldn’t feel guilty about Mom or Samantha anymore. ‘Nothing’ sounds very appealing right now.

  I snap myself out of my morbid thoughts and let my head drop to the desk. I’m glad that nobody else studies back here and that nobody heard my outburst. I’m feeling bad enough without adding any extra humiliation to my mess of emotions. I suddenly have a brief but nearly overwhelming desire for a beer to calm my nerves, but the craving passes as quickly as it came as my thoughts turn back to Maria.

  Why didn’t I just tell her what happened? What the hell was all that about?

  I can’t believe myself. I told her to go away and leave me alone. I don’t want to be alone—I never want to be without her. The idea of being without her actually hurts, like someone’s squeezing my heart to the point of popping.

  “I’m so sorry Maria,” I whisper to my textbook, as if that’s going to make up for being the worst boyfriend in the world. She was trying to help me and I pushed her away. No, it was worse than that; she tried to help me, and I went out of my way to hurt her.

  Maria’s terrified, sad face bursts to life inside me and my jaw drops as I realize the full extent of what I’ve just done.

  Oh my god... I just broke up with her. I just told the woman of my dreams to leave me alone, that I needed to be apart from her. Why the hell did I do that? I... I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t know what I really meant, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

  “Call her, damn it! Apologize to her!” shouts a voice in my head that I really ought to listen to occasionally. “She’ll understand what you’re...”

  I shake my head and ignore myself as usual. She’ll think I’m insane. How can I tell her about all the crazy and sometimes suicidal thoughts racing around inside my head? Gee, Maria, sorry about ripping your heart earlier; I’m just a psychotic nutcase. Oops, my bad. Still friends, right?

  I shake my head again. No, that’s not going to cut it. I don’t know what will, but that’s not it.

  “I should’ve gone home. If I’d gone home, Mom wouldn’t be in the hospital.”

  I can’t seem to keep my thoughts focused on anything. Maria’s tear-streaked face fills my mind one moment and then my mother’s battered, broken body the next. She’s lying at the bottom of stairs, looking straight up at me just like Samantha did. Every bruise, every black eye... years and years of abuse, all visible on her skin inside my mind.

  Years and years and years of that asshole beating her senselessly, and the whole time she was being tortured, I thought she was a terrible mother. I was a horrible son.

  If I’d just gone back, none of this would’ve happened. Mom would be alive and he’d have killed me instead.

  “I should have killed you the day you were born,” hisses my father’s voice inside my head.

  Suddenly, I’m seven years old again.

  “Oh no,” I yell. “The dinosaurs are attacking the truck!”

  The king’s knights and the green plastic army men circle around the dump truck full of shiny pebbles—the king’s gold—as toy dinosaurs emerge from the mud puddle to steal the precious treasure. Can the army men save the day? The army takes aim and the knights charge into the midst of the dinosaur hordes.

  “Owen? You out there?” calls Dad.

  “Coming!” I answer, and I put down my toys and run to the back door. I accidentally step straight into the mud puddle in my hurry, but that’s okay. I’ll take off my shoes before I go inside.

  Dad’s waiting for me at the back door with his arms crossed and he looks a little nervous. He’s wearing his green and brown military suit so there must be something important happening tonight.

  “Owen, I have company coming over in an hour, so you need to get dressed for dinn...”

  His voice trails off and his mouth drops open when he sees me, and I stare back at him in confusion. Why is he looking at me like that? Is it the mud? I’m not inside yet so it’s still okay.

  Suddenly, he grabs me by the arm and yanks me so sharply toward the house that my shoulder pops. I trip over my feet and fall, but he doesn’t even slow down. He keeps dragging me across the flagstone patio.

  “Ow! What did I do?” I cry out as he drags me toward the house, and he stops for just long enough to bend down and slap me hard across the face.

  “I told you I had people from work coming tonight!” he screams at me. “I told you not to get dirty, and look at you!”

  His eyes are wide and crazy with anger, and he grabs me by the neck and drags me inside.

  “I’ll go take a bath,” I offer, hoping desperately that he’ll stop hurting me, but he isn’t listening. Even if I could find my balance for long enough to get back on my feet, I don’t think my legs would support me anymore. I’m too scared of what he’s going to do to me now.

  “You did this on purpose,” he hisses at me. “You’re trying to ruin me!”

  Ruin him? I don’t know what he even means. I was just playing outside like he told me to while Mom cleaned up for company. I can’t breathe to answer him, though. He clenches his hand tightly around my throat as he drags me toward the laundry room, and every time I try to loosen his grip, he slaps me again. My ears ring painfully as he hits me again and again, and the laundry room starts to spin.

  Something strange happens and it suddenly feels as if the room is falling away around me. I can hear myself crying, but it’s like I’m not there anymore. I’m watching myself from somewhere outside now, peacefully detached from everything.

  That’s not me he’s hurting—just a little boy that looks like me.

  This happens sometimes when Dad’s angry at me and I kind of like it. I’m safe and numb out here.

  He shoves my head into the laundry room sink and freezing-cold water starts pouring down on top of me. Suddenly, I’m back inside my body again as water fills the sink and pours into my mouth. I cough and sputter, flailing desperately as he holds my head beneath the water. He’s still screaming unintelligibly, still hitting me the whole time I’m choking. My heart races uncontrollably as I try to break free from him, but I can’t get away. I’m going to drown!

  “Todd!” screams my mother from somewhere behind me. “Stop it! What’s wrong with you?”

  His grip on my shoulders loosens as Mom tries to drag him off me and then suddenly I’m falling. I collapse on the floor and lay limply on the cold tiles as my parents yell at each other above me. Maybe i
f I close my eyes and wait, this will all go away. I curl up in a ball next to the dryer and squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can. I can’t stop shaking.

  “I should have killed you the day you were born,” he hisses from somewhere high above me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whimper, not daring to open my eyes. “I’m sorry I got dirty.”

  The pencil snaps between my teeth and suddenly I’m back in the library. I’m still humiliated that I can’t break that horrible chewing habit, but today I’m thankful for it. That’s twice this semester that it’s yanked me out of a nightmare.

  I don’t know why the news of him dying hurts so much, but I’m certain of one thing: I’m glad he’s dead. I’m so fucking glad he’s dead.

  I grab my backpack and start rummaging. Where’d my phone go? I need to tell Maria what happened, and more importantly, I need to apologize to her. I need to fix the terrible mistake I made.

  There is nothing in the world more urgent to me, right now, than to undo that horrible mistake.

  One ring... two rings... voice mail.

  I hang up and dial again. This time, my call goes straight to her voice mail. She shut her phone off rather than talk to me, and I can’t say I blame her. If she’d treated me as badly as I just treated her, I’d be upset too.

  Time for the back-up plan: a text message.

  O: I’m the biggest asshole ever. Sorry. Plz call me.

  My back-up plan is even worse than my primary ones. A real man would get off his worthless butt, go find her and apologize. He might even bring roses or something. I’m too big a wimp to do that. No, I’ll just sit right here and mope while I hide in the library. Look how well that’s worked over the years.

  I put my phone away, sigh and stare down at the textbook again. The words still aren’t making sense to me. Just like the day I lost Samantha, I’m hiding away from what’s hurting me and pretending that it doesn’t matter, like if pretend it’s not there for long enough, it’ll go away.

  My worst fear is dead, though, so why am I still so scared?

  I check my phone again—no answer from Maria in the last forty-five seconds. No big surprise there. I know exactly whom I need to talk to if I ever want to figure out why I’m scared, and I just drove her away.