Ugh... just thinking about his wandering eyes makes me feel like I need a shower to wash off his slime.
Owen opens the envelope and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes on the road. I’m intrigued and really want to see what they sent him. He shuffles silently through the papers until I just can’t hold back my curiosity any longer.
“Well? What did Bill send you?” I blurt out impatiently.
“Um... A lot of paperwork,” he answers uncertainly. “Hang on a minute I have to read this stuff.”
He goes silent again and flips through page after page of dense legalese. I grind my teeth as I stare at the road. What could the sheriff possibly have sent Owen that could help him? His father’s dead, his mother’s probably going to die, and even if she doesn’t, that asshole DA wants to try her for murder. I have no idea what could possibly help in that pile of papers.
Owen sucks in a sharp breath and I quickly glance over to see what he’s discovered.
“It’s a reinstatement petition,” he says, almost as if in awe. “I have to finish reading through it to make sure, but I think Bill got someone to write the whole thing out for me. I just have to sign it and send it back to him to file with the courts.”
“I have no idea what that is,” I tell him. “What do you mean, reinstatement?”
“It’s a court petition to overrule my father’s denial of visitation and my removal from all the family’s paperwork,” he explains excitedly. “It’s requesting immediate right of visitation and next of kin status for the purpose of medical decision-making and reinstatement into the will in the event of her death.”
He flips back and forth between sections and skims over the dense text before continuing.
“I... well, I think it says that, at least,” he continues. “In the event of her recovery, it all goes back to the original form and this document is voided. Fair enough. If she recovers, she can decide whether I’m still family or not.”
He adds the last bit quietly, almost as if he’s afraid to know what her decision will be. Will she still turn him away and leave him out of the will, or will she invite him back into the family now that his father is dead?
“That’s amazing! Why would Bill put that whole thing together for you, though?”
Owen stares silently down at the papers in his hand and then shakes his head and stuffs them back into the envelope. He clears his throat nervously before finally answering.
“Bill and I... well, I think he’s still feeling guilty and trying to make it up to me.”
“Make what up to you?”
“Not arresting my father after he killed Samantha seven years ago,” he answers quietly.
––––––––
It took less than fifteen minutes to drive Owen to the hospital, but we’ve been sitting here in the waiting room for over an hour now. I’m starting to wonder whether the uncomfortable, molded-plastic chairs and excessive wait-times are intentional.
“So... do you think they’ll ever call me?” he asks, leaning back and stretching out his arms with a groan.
“They’re waiting for you to die from boredom first,” I answer with a wink.
“At least I’m in good company, then.”
He smiles and puts his arm around my waist, and I lean my head on his shoulder and wince as the metal armrest digs into my side. What idiot makes armrests out of metal? It’s as if some cruel-hearted company designed these chairs just to make it hard for a girl to snuggle up next to her boyfriend while waiting for a doctor who’s never going to come. There are only a few others in the waiting room and they haven’t called a single person since we arrived. I hate waiting rooms.
“Oh come on,” I silently beg the receptionist. “Call his name already.”
“Owen Maxwell?” calls out the receptionist five minutes later, and Owen gets up and walks to the door. Finally.
“See you in a few, sweetie,” I call after him, and he shoots me back a smile. God, what a smile. There is no place less romantic than a hospital and he still somehow gave me waiting-room butterflies.
Now that the waiting is finally over, it’s time for me to... wait some more. Great.
Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turn into even bigger and longer minutes, and before I know it, another hour has passed. I get up and start pacing as I wait, until a rack of informational brochures near the check-in window catches my eye. I’m so bored that I’ll willingly read medical brochures at this point.
“What to do if you have HIV?” reads the cover of the first one. “How do you test for HIV?” reads another. “Why should you get tested for HIV?” reads a third. Is HIV really such a big problem here? There’s a whole row of brochures dedicated just to HIV and another row to gonorrhea, and here I thought Cornell’s biggest problems were underage drinking and maybe pot.
Just as I decide to return to my seat, a purple pamphlet in the middle of the rack suddenly catches my eye.
“Rape, Sexual and Physical Abuse Counseling.”
It never even occurred to me that the university offered something like that. I glance over my shoulder at the nearly deserted waiting room. It’s strange how I was okay with reading HIV brochures, but now that the material hits closer to home, I’m scared that someone will see me reading it. I feel as if people will somehow know what happened if they see me reading the pamphlet.
When I’m certain that nobody is paying any attention to me, I walk the pamphlet from the rack and hastily stuff it into my pocket. I’ll take a look when I get home, where no one can see me reading it. I return to my seat and tap my feet anxiously while I wait for Owen to come out.
After what feels like hours and hours but is really only another twenty minutes, the door opens and Owen emerges. He shoots me a wide smile and holds up his hand excitedly. His skin is a pale, sickly white, and it’s shriveled as if he’s just gotten out of a long bath, but none of that matters. What matters is that he’s wiggling his fingers.
I hope Owen sees his hand the way I see it, not as an inconvenience that he has to fix, now, but as something about which he should be proud. He should be proud because his father couldn’t break him, no matter how hard he tried. Slowly but surely, Owen is healing. He’ll forget the broken bone, and with a little help, maybe someday he’ll forget the man who broke it too.
Thursday, April 4 – 12:15 AM
Maria
Spring break is over and I can feel the difference from the moment I set foot inside the school. With every step I take, I feel another pair of eyes latch onto me. It’s a long walk to my locker, and at this rate, the entire school will be watching me by the time I get there.
Why are they all staring at me? It’s like they know.
No, that’s crazy. I’m just jumpy because of... because of what happened. Because of what Darren did to me. They can’t possibly know. The only people who know are Darren and me, and I can’t tell anyone or he’ll hurt Micah.
“How was your break?” asks my classmate Susan. Her locker is right next to mine, and as good of friends as we were before the vacation, something’s changed. She’s looking at me like there’s something wrong with me, like she knows I’m hiding something.
“Oh, pretty good,” I stammer. “I didn’t really do anything. How about you?”
I start to feel queasy as she stares at me, digging into me with her eyes and trying to find out my secret. No, she’s not doing anything—she’s just asking about my vacation. God, what’s wrong with me?
She rambles on about her family’s trip to Florida, but no matter how hard I try to focus, I can’t keep my attention on what she’s saying. I feel like everyone is watching me, waiting for me to confess to what I did during my vacation. It wasn’t my fault!
One of the seniors on the football team walks past, and I catch him looking at me out of the corner of his eye. None of the seniors ever paid attention to freshman girls before, especially not me, so why is he looking at me now? It must be my imagination. It has to be... doesn’t it? Unless he k
nows, somehow... unless he knows what happened to me and thinks I’m easy now that I’m broken.
As he walks, he turns and looks over his shoulder at me. I freeze up, and my entire pile of notebooks slips through my shaking hands and hits the floor with an embarrassingly loud clap. Now everyone really is staring at me.
“Are you alright, Maria?” asks Susan worriedly as I kneel down to gather my books.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I answer, but she doesn’t look convinced.
“Why are you shaking your head, then?”
A lump forms in my throat and my face grows hot as I realize that she’s right—I’m saying ‘yes’ but shaking my head ‘no.’
“I... I’m just tired,” I lie, and before Susan can say anything else, I turn away and hurry down the hall. I forgot close my locker but I don’t care. I’m not going back until I’ve calmed down. Susan’ll just ask me more questions if I go back.
“Deep breaths,” I whisper to myself as I hurry toward my first period classroom. Seriously, why is everyone looking at me? It’s starting to scare me.
“Hey Maria, wait up!” calls out a boy from behind me, and my chest unexpectedly tightens in fear.
What’s happening to me? It’s only Farid from my fourth-period algebra class. He’s my homework partner. I’d recognize his voice anywhere. Why am I so scared?
I glance over my shoulder back at him, and as he hurries to catch up to me, something dark and horrible bubbles to life inside me. He’s not trying to catch up to me so much as trying to catch me outright. Suddenly I’m not at school anymore. His eyes are Darren’s eyes and I’m backed into the corner against Micah’s bed.
As quickly as the vision came, it’s gone. Farid is standing dead still and staring at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.
“Are you alright? You’re really pale.”
“I have to go,” I stammer, and I dart to the right and into the girls’ bathroom.
I’m still hiding in a stall when the bell for first period rings, but I don’t dare go back out there. My stomach keeps heaving as if I’m about to throw up and my chest tightens painfully every time I try to leave the stall. I’m too scared to get up. I’m afraid to go back outside again.
“No... please don’t do this to me!” I silently beg myself.
Darren broke something beautiful inside me and now dark and scary things are growing in its place. I’m afraid to go back outside, terrified to face the prying eyes and dangerous stares of my classmates. I’m scared of them in a way that I never used to be.
What did he do to me? What the hell did Darren do to me?
My eyes snap open and I sit up in bed, my skin coated in sweat and my heart pounding in my chest. I fumble in the dark for the switch and then finally the bedside lamp clicks on. It leaves the room in the dim, warm light, and I feel myself start to unwind.
The counseling pamphlet—it’s on the nightstand.
I snatch it and start leafing through it again. No... It’s no use. What good is talking to someone about what happened? I’ve been doing that for years. Tina’s been my counselor since I was a freshman and that didn’t work at all. I’ve been trying to open up to Owen, too, but that hasn’t worked either.
I sigh, shake my head and toss the pamphlet on the floor next to my bed. It’s just no use.
I shut the light off and stare up at the ceiling, hoping I’ll fall asleep again. I’m too wired-up after the last nightmare; how am I going to fall asleep while I’m feeling like this? The nightmares come back when I close my eyes, forcing me to relive it all every time I fall asleep. I need Owen... I could sleep if he was here. He keeps the nightmares away.
I get out of bed, wrap myself in my comforter and tiptoe downstairs. A surprised panic grips me and my heart skips a beat when I see someone snoring on the living room couch, but I calm down when I realize it’s only Dinah. She usually sleeps at her sorority and it’s a rarity to see her at the apartment at all these days.
I quietly put on my shoes, grab my keys and head out into the cool night air. The sky is dark and clear and the stars shine brilliantly overhead. Ithaca doesn’t often have clear weather and I almost wish I could stay out and stare up at the beautiful night sky until dawn. Not tonight, though. It’ll have to wait until next time.
I climb the long staircase, being careful not to trip over my comforter with each stride, and I hurry down to Owen’s apartment at the end of the row. Craig hid a spare key above the doorframe for me so that I can check in on Owen, and I quietly unlock the door, replace the key, and tiptoe inside.
I flit across the kitchen, up the stairs and into his room. Moonlight streams in the window and illuminates two empty beer bottles lying on the carpet, and I step over them and then snuggle up in bed beside Owen.
He groans as he wakes up and rubs his eyes, and I kiss him softly on the cheek and put my arms gently around him.
“It’s just me,” I whisper. “You can go back to sleep.”
“What are you doing here?” he mumbles, his brain only barely awake.
“I missed you. Just snuggling up and going to bed. Don’t mind me.”
He misses my lips entirely in his sleepy daze, and instead kisses me softly on the chin before rolling over to make room for me. I wriggle under the blankets next to him as he wraps his arms around me and holds me close. He’s asleep again almost instantly.
His slow, peaceful breathing is so comforting to me. I could lie in his arms like this forever. I snuggle up close to him and close my eyes, letting his warmth fill me. Nothing bad can find me now. He protects me from all the dark and scary things hiding inside me. It’s more than just protection, though... there’s something else about lying together like this that makes it so special and wonderful to me. I wish I knew how to describe the feeling...
I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, but just as they roll back in my head and I teeter on the edge of sleep, I finally think of a way to describe it.
I’m supposed to be with him. When I’m with Owen, I know that everything is right in the world and that everything is going to be okay. I love him to death, and that’s how it’s meant to be. We’re meant to be together.
I smile as the thought flutters out of my mind like a butterfly escaping from an open jar, and I know that I’ll finally sleep tonight. Tonight will be the first peaceful night I’ve had in a long time.
Friday, April 5 – 5:00 PM
Owen
I’ve been staring at the clock for so long that my eyes are starting to burn, but I need something to keep my mind off the interview. Sheriff Marino and that asshole DA are late; they should have been here by now.
Maria laces her fingers through mine and lays her head on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. She knows how anxious I am about this meeting. I’ve had butterflies in my stomach all day long.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.
“Thanks for sticking around for this,” I whisper back. “I really need the support today. The district attorney is... well, you saw how he was last time. A real class act.”
She nods silently. I saw the way he looked at her last week and, more importantly, I saw how it made her feel. I’d accepted the idea before—the idea that she was nervous around men after what happened to her—but now I feel like I really understand her fear. That look he gave her, that greedy, almost hungry gaze... it’s no wonder she’s been scared for so long. She knows firsthand all the dark and terrible things that evil men can do.
And yet she’s still sticking by my side through tonight’s interview in spite of that slimeball’s wandering eyes. Chalk it up as one more reason that I don’t deserve her.
The doorbell rings ten minutes later and I leap up to let them in.
“Good evening, Owen,” Bill greets me. He reaches out to shake my hand, but quickly pulls his hand back when he sees my pale and atrophied right hand. “I... what happened to you?”
“Broke my hand back in February, remember?” I answer as I show him into my apartment.
“The cast came off Tuesday.”
The DA follows silently behind him, sits at the dining room table and drops his heavy, black briefcase on the floor next to his chair. Bill plops down in a chair beside him, and as I sit across from my two interrogators, Maria gets up and nervously heads into the kitchen. The DA’s eyes follow Maria as if glued to her butt, and I grind my teeth and resist the urge to strangle him.
“She’s half your age, you scumbag,” I fume to myself. “Back the fuck off, buddy.”
“Tea for any of you?” Maria calls over to us from the kitchen.
Bill and I decline politely, but the DA just grins at me and says, “Got her in the kitchen already? Sounds like a keeper.”
I glare at him and bite my tongue. Now’s not the time to fire back, I tell myself, but I can’t help but think about how great it’d feel to punch that shit-eating grin right off his face. It might even be worth breaking my hand again if it knocked out a few teeth in the process.
Maria comes back with a cup of tea for herself and a stolen plate of Craig’s chocolate chip cookies, and she squeezes my hand comfortingly as the DA gets down to business.
“Okay, we have more questions for you today,” he says, pulling out a notebook and voice recorder. “They’re building off of the stuff we talked about last week.”
“Okay, go for it,” I answer. I’m ready and feel comfortable now that Maria’s here.
“I’m going to have to ask Miss...”
“Miss Ayala,” I finish for him, watching in disgust as he stares at Maria. He’s practically drooling over my girlfriend and he doesn’t even know her name.
“Right, Ayala,” he continues. “I apologize for interrupting her tea, but I need to ask Miss Ayala to leave for the duration of the interview.”
She turns to me in alarm and I simply shake my head.
Found (Lost and Found #2, New Adult Romance) (Lost & Found) Page 11
