Begin with You

by Claudia Burgoa

  Before Abby, I was too busy at school. I didn’t care if any relationship lasted just a day or a few weeks. My sole purpose was to keep Dad happy, so he wouldn’t tell me that I was taking too many credits and that many of them weren’t related to my degree. Afterwards, Abby was all I needed.

  “I was busy with school—”

  “And then I disrupted your life,” she says, scrunching her nose.

  “Of course not, afterward I was busy trying to please Dad.”

  Her smile falls. “I’m sorry. You must miss him a lot.”

  I shrug. After my call with Mom, my feelings are a fucking mess. Of course, I miss my father. The man was my hero for years. I stopped looking at him like that once I understood that the company was his everything and I couldn’t keep up with him. I hated him when we fought about my future and … he was gone before we could solve our differences.

  “My experience is a bit rusty, but I’m sure this isn’t the kind of conversation people have during their first date.”

  She chuckles. “You’re right. Where should I start?” She finishes the last bite. “Color. What is your favorite color?”

  “Lilac,” I answer.

  “Liar, that’s mine,” she protests. “Yours is green, but you use blue a lot because your mother used to dress you in blue all the time.”

  “Because of my eyes,” I remind her. “And I know that your favorite candy is gummy bears.”

  I stand up, gathering the plates. “But you could eat your weight in crème brûlée or chocolate cheesecake.”

  “What are you saying, Ahern?” She grins, grabbing the glasses and the empty bottle of wine. “Did you make me chocolate cheesecake so I’d put out tonight?”

  Her face becomes stern. “Not that I would. I’m not easy.” Those dark eyes sweep my body from head to toe. “Though for you, one day I might make an exception.”

  She walks away, laughing all the way to the kitchen.

  “You’re impossible, Lyons.” I set the stuff on the counter.

  “Yet, you still like me,” she says leaning against the counter.

  I walk to her, cupping her face. Our gazes lock. Her eyes shine brightly. I hope it’s because of me. I pull her into my arms, covering her mouth with mine and kissing her hard. Professing all my love for her without saying a word. She might like me enough to go out with me, to love me as her friend, but I swear that I’ll make it my mission to make her fall madly in love with me, just like I am with her.

  16

  Abby

  Some days start off looking hopeful. Others, like today, are just perfect. It’s late June, the sun is out but it’s not scorching hot, and people are smiling. Or maybe it’s just me, since I’ve moved from Denver to cloud nine. That’s where I’ve been since last night when Wes told me that he has feelings for me. He didn’t say that he loved me, but the way he kissed me made it seem so. The same rush of heat I felt while he kissed me burns through my body just at the memory alone. His mouth was firm but gentle. At first, he was hesitant, but that last kiss of the night … I close my eyes remembering the spark that it ignited in me.

  Coffee. You must concentrate on the coffee and sandwich you’re planning on buying. Not on the hot, tall, dark man who … and there I go again. It’s so hard not to think of him or what happened last night.

  He said he wants more. And that goodnight kiss … it was demanding, giving. It felt as if he was making love to my mouth. His tongue pierced and stroked my mouth, his hands gliding across my body. My nerves jolted at his touch. I wanted him to do so much more than just kiss me. I wanted him to tug my hair down, kiss my neck and …

  “Are you okay?” Wes asks.

  He shouldn’t be asking, when he’s the one who seems to have put me under some spell. Wes kisses me on the corner of my mouth. My eyes drift closed at the heady sensation of his warm lips caressing me and kissing the scar right above my chin.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was five, maybe seven, and tripped in my skates bumping onto the coffee table that was made out of glass.”

  “Ouch,” he says, kissing it again.

  “It’s okay. Grandma gave me a teddy bear after the doctor stitched me.” I slump my shoulders remembering the bear that I loved so much.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Someone clapping like an anxious cheerleader interrupts me.

  “It’s you, Abigail Lyons!” The woman on the other side of the counter squeals, staring at me. “It’s been years.”

  “Sorry. Do I know you?”

  Her blonde hair is tied into a bun and covered by a hairnet. Her eyes are light brown, and she’s just as tall as me. I don’t recognize her at all. Maybe she’s one of those girls I met during my senior year of high school. They liked to hang out with me in hopes that I’d introduce them to Sterling. He graduated a couple of years before I started Brighton Academy, but everyone in that place knew I was living with the Aherns. Stupid girls. They really thought I’d be their link to a guy who lived thousands of miles away from Colorado.

  “It’s me, Peyton. Peyton Seymour,” she says.

  I take a step back, hugging myself because the name feels like a tub of ice water being dumped over my head. Her grandmother lived across the street from us. Our grandmothers were close friends. We used to play together when she came to visit in the summers or while her grandma was watching her.

  “Peyton?” I repeat, not believing it. “I think the last time I saw you was before we started the fourth grade.”

  “It’s been so long,” she agrees. “My parents split. Mom and I moved to Pueblo, and Dad never brought me back to Grandma’s.”

  Grandma mentioned something like that, but I don’t recall the exact words. The explanation turned into a long walk down memory lane where she talked about my grandfather. He died of a heart attack just one year before I was born.

  “I’m sorry about … everything, I guess.” She sounds remorseful.

  What is she talking about? I don’t understand her little demonstration of sympathy.

  “So, you’re working here?” I change the subject.

  “This is one of my many jobs,” she says, excitedly. “I’m putting myself through school.”

  “Peyton, what have I told you about the line?”

  “Sorry Gil,” she apologizes to her manager and then turns back to me. “We have to catch up soon, but for now, what would you like?”

  We place our order, then she hands me a number and the cups for our drinks and begins to chat with the next customer.

  “Are you okay?” Wes kisses my cheek. “You look pale.”

  Pale is right. It’s been a long time since I last saw Peyton. When things got bad, I wondered if she would help me escape. But then I realized it could’ve put her in danger too. My heart continues beating fast.

  “I’m fine,” I lie.

  “You’re not. What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine. Really,” I repeat, following him to one of the available tables.

  After his big gesture and declaration, I forgot all about my plans— of escaping Denver. How can I leave when his kisses are all I think about and his presence is all I need in my life? But seeing Peyton sobers me up from the haze that took over my brain last night.

  What if someone else sees me?

  What if he finds me?

  He wouldn’t care anymore. I’m not a kid.

  “Hey, girly!” Peyton comes to our table with a tray.

  “This is so amazing. Wait until I get home and tell Grandma about you,” she continues chatting.

  “Your grandma moved?”

  “No, I moved in with her.” She pats me on the shoulder giving me a look of pity. “I’m so sorry about what happened to … well it was a lot in such a short time. Your grandmother, then your mother … You know, they never caught the burglar who killed that girl. My grandma thought the police would bring you back. What actually happened?”

  God had mercy and the authorities decided to put me into foster care.
Away from that hellhole.

  “It’s classified information, Miss,” Wes responds taking the food off the tray and handing me my latte. “Thank you for the food.”

  “Oh. Well, look for me on Facebook. We need to catch up.”

  “I don’t have an account,” I say, controlling my breathing.

  “Well, do you have a phone? What’s your number?” She hands me a pen and a napkin. I scribble my cellphone and wave at her as she walks away. Then regret it because I don’t want to talk to her.

  What if he finds me?

  Wes arches an eyebrow, staring at her in horror.

  “She talks …”

  “A lot,” I nod in agreement.

  “What girl was she talking about?”

  “Ava,” I mumble before taking a bite of my food.

  “Ava was your sister, wasn’t she?”

  The Aherns only know what social services told them. Obviously, social services only learned one version of what happened —his version.

  My sister died. My stepfather was heartbroken. We didn’t know who broke into the house and shot her.

  I’ve never confirmed or denied his story. They don’t know what went on inside my house, or what truly happened that night.

  Only we know; we just can’t talk.

  Ava is dead, and I should be running away before he finds me and I end up like her too.

  17

  Abby

  Abby Age Fifteen

  “Wear those clothes, but don’t stain them,” Mom ordered.

  I stared at the beautiful pink dress on top of her freshly made bed. It had been so long since I’d worn brand new clothes. The last time was on my tenth birthday. Grandma bought me a blue dress with a pair of black, shiny Mary Janes and a headband. I wore it for her funeral, but later Mom took it away and I could wear it only during special occasions—like when she brought a new boyfriend home and wanted me to play the happy daughter.

  That dress doesn’t fit me anymore, so I could see why she had to buy me a new one. Who would it be now? Another man who I’d have to play house with and convince that my mother and I loved each other. She hated me and never missed an opportunity to show me.

  “Be ready in thirty minutes,” she ordered. “We’re going to meet Corbin and his children.”

  Corbin? That’s an ugly name. I wished she didn’t drag me to her meet and greet. Playing the compassionate, sweet, sensible mother was her worst role. It surprised me that she had chosen a man with children.

  She pulled me by the hair and pushed my head against the bed. “I said get ready, bitch. And you better behave, or I swear you’ll pay for it.”

  How would I pay?

  Food, hot water, bathroom privileges … all of the above. Even animals deserved better treatment than what she offered.

  It’s only a few years, Abigail. Three more years and you’ll be old enough to ditch this psycho.

  Nothing she said or did could break me. It wasn’t me. It was her. Some people don’t have what it takes to be human, and she was one of them.

  The dress she bought was too short, and the shoes too narrow. I’d never walked in heels before, but I tried my best. Complaining was pointless. I followed her to the car and sat in the backseat while she drove us downtown. She parked several blocks away from the restaurant. As I stumbled trying to walk in the ridiculous heels she gave me, I questioned if the shoes were her new way of torturing me.

  “Stop walking like that,” she chided. “You look like a chicken.”

  Most of her comments made me wonder why God gave her a kid. Certainly, she didn’t want me. Mom left me with my grandmother just days after I was born. At twenty-eight she decided that she wasn’t old enough to care for a newborn baby. At forty-three it wasn’t any different. Then when Grandma died before my eleventh birthday, Mom had to take me back.

  It was because of Grandma’s house, placed in part of a trust under my name. If Mom wanted to live rent free, she had to deal with me. In a way, I was her landlord, yet she treated me like I was a dog begging for food.

  “Corbin,” her voice changed to a sticky sweet tone. Her smile seemed to increase when the guy named Corbin kissed her on the cheek.

  “You look radiant, Olga,” he greeted Mom and then turned his attention to me.

  “Is this your sister?”

  “Aren’t you adorable?” Mom grinned at him. “Abigail, this is Corbin.”

  His eyes flickered as he looked me over from head to toe, staring at my legs for too long.

  “Shaun,” he called someone over. “Meet your new sister, Abigail.”

  Shaun looked at me in the same way that his father did. Then he stared at my mouth and grinned.

  “You’ll do,” he said, winking at me.

  “That’s Ava?” Mom asked about a girl who stood closer to the restaurant’s door. “She’s so precious.”

  “Yes, she’s the quiet one,” Corvette, or Cordial or whatever his name was, told Mom.

  He glanced at me before he spoke, “You two are going to be best friends—share everything.”

  What was “everything?” I asked myself. His words sounded like a threat, not a sweet invitation to share my toys with his daughter, which would be weird. At fifteen I didn’t go on playdates or own any toys. The tone he used made me shiver. I hugged myself, closing my eyes tight. I sent a prayer to God and Grandma. Hopefully, like the others, this man would leave before he got too comfortable.

  “Let’s go, Abigail,” Mom ordered. “We’re having our first family dinner.”

  I stared at her with my mouth open wide. How could she say that when we barely knew these people? I followed right behind them. Ava began to walk a few steps after me and Shaun joined her.

  My heart stopped when I heard his creepy voice. “Dad got us a new toy. You’ll cooperate, won’t you, sweet Ava?”

  — — —

  Present Day

  “Until I turn into an elephant,” Wes says, thumping his hand against the table.

  “What?” I frown at Wes, who’s talking nonsense.

  “Are you okay?” Wes looks at me in bewilderment.

  “Yes, why would you ask?”

  “You’ve been staring at your food. I’ve been talking to you, and you’re just nodding and shaking your head.”

  Peyton reminded me of them … Corbin and Shaun. The girl. Poor little Ava, who is finally at peace after having to live with them.

  “Can we go?”

  “Yes. We can order something and eat at the office,” he says taking me into his arms. “I just want you to remember that you’re safe with me.”

  “Of course, I am, silly. And I’m okay.” I lie, scratching my head hard. Letting my nails dig deep into my scalp. The pain releases the anxiety building inside my gut.

  Nothing is going to happen to me.

  Yet, the dread is overtaking me so swiftly that no amount of self-inflicted pain will help me.

  What if they see me?

  I have Wes by my side.

  “I don’t want to pry,” he says as we board the elevator. “But who died that night?”

  “Ava.” I stare at the floor.

  “Who was Ava to you?”

  “Ava was …” I remember the thin, little blonde girl who barely spoke and was afraid of her own shadow. When I met her and her family I knew something wasn’t right. Shaun’s bloodshot eyes coupled with his weird comments during dinner. The way he touched her knee with a fork and ran it over her leg. It was so bizarre and sickening.

  “My mom met a guy when I was fifteen. They got married a year later and moved in with us,” I explain trying to filter my story.

  This isn’t the time to be open with him. We’re just starting a relationship. How would he react if he knew what I lived through, what I saw, and what I had to do … would he ever understand?

  “He was a single parent, too,” I continue, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

  “Corbin had two children—twins. Ava and Shaun.”

 
“We were told that Ava was your sister,” he says with an inquisitive tone.

  His hands tap lightly against the table. He’s dying to throw multiple questions at me.

  “But she was like your sister?”

  I shrug. We weren’t related, nonetheless by the end we’d shared so much. Ava and I barely exchanged words. Yet, we had a bond that would keep us together until …. My heart thumps fast remembering her last moment. The way she lay on the floor bleeding but finally leaving the pain behind. Though, it almost felt like when she died, she left all of her anguish behind for me to pick up. Every second that I lived with her, what we lived through in that room together, is coming back to me now. It feels like it happened last night and like I should be hiding in case he comes back.

  “What happened to Shaun?”

  I freeze at his question; my heart accelerates.

  “You say one word, bitch, and you’ll die. Do you understand?”

  “Kill me,” I begged him. “Just let me die.”

  18

  Wes

  “Stop,” she says, her voice trembling.

  Fuck, she’s shutting down. I had her right where I wanted for a few minutes and now … she’s about to run away. But we can’t stop right now.

  “Abby, it’s just a question,” I reassure her, gently.

  “What are you doing, Wes?” She shakes her head, stands from her seat and walks away.

  I stare at her silhouette for a few seconds thinking about everything she just told me. It doesn’t sound like much, but I feel like I just opened the vault and I’m about to find the secret. Or, in her case, hopefully I’m about to find a way to help her. In order not to lose this window, I follow and catch up with her before she steps out of the coffee house.

  “We’re done with story time,” she says firmly.

  She’s shutting down. This can’t be it now that I know that there’s so much more to the story. If only I can convince her to answer a few more questions. I link our fingers together and realize that she’s trembling.