Run

by Byrne, Amanda K.

  “After that, I tried to reason with her. Encouraged her to try new things. And when that didn’t work, I started avoiding her. She wasn’t in any of my classes. I taught 11th grade English and creative writing, and she’d already taken the creative writing class.”

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  I shuddered. “She slit her wrists. She broke into my classroom before school one morning and slit her wrists, knowing I’d be the one to find her. I’m not sure if she intended for me to find her before she was beyond saving or not. It divided the community. I got plenty of dirty looks and malicious whispers for months afterward, and they always resurfaced as the local media brought it up. There was an investigation. I was suspended, then let go. After a while, most people forgot about it, but the damage had been done.”

  Trevor said nothing. What could he say, anyway? That it wasn’t my fault? It was, and it wasn’t. That it must have been horrible? It was.

  “You can’t stop blaming yourself.”

  I boosted up on an elbow and looked down at him. “It’s not just that. I lost a job I loved partly because of her. It pisses me off that she attached herself to me for no logical reason. Then I feel guilty I’m angry with a dead girl. I don’t know for sure that Deirdra would still be alive if I’d made more of an effort to get someone else involved, but now I don’t even have that possibility that she could have gotten the help she needed.”

  He lifted a brow. “Are you the only one to blame here? Did no one else think there was something wrong? Her family? Other teachers? Why didn’t one of them speak up when you didn’t?”

  “I don’t know!” I sat up fully and propped my elbows on my knees, clutching at my hair. “I’m stuck in this horrible pattern of ’what if’ and I can’t get out of it. I’ll never teach again. No one would hire me after that. All I want is peace, and I don’t know if I’d even know what that feels like anymore.”

  A lie. The last week was proof of that. I’d been happy, actually enjoying the life I’d started building for myself. I wanted it back.

  “Can you fix it?” I whispered. “Do you know how? Because I can’t take much more of this. I can’t take these doubts waiting to pounce when I’ve just started getting comfortable.”

  The heat and weight of his body on mine, his arms circling me and bringing me flush to his chest, weren’t the balm they normally were. “I can’t fix it for you,” he said quietly. “I hate that I don’t know how to help you. But fuck, McKenna, you don’t have to hold it together all the time. Just trust me enough to know I’m not going to pull some sort of disappearing act if you break.”

  I turned my face into his neck, breathing in the sharp, clean scent of his soap. “I know,” I murmured. I’d had strong shoulders and people to lean on before. There was something about Trevor, though, that made his more. Made it better. The certainty he meant what he said did what his embrace couldn’t, and the anger and frustration ebbed. I pressed my lips to his jaw. “C’mon. You’ll be late for work.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Night insects are creepy things. How they chirp and whirr and you can’t see them, hidden amongst the long stalks of grass. But night was when the heat dulled to a tolerable beast. And if you drove out far enough, night was when the sky descended and covered you in its icy, shimmering beauty.

  The truck bumped and jolted over the rutted track, and I kept my mouth shut rather than attempt conversation. I’d probably end up biting my tongue in half if I did. Trevor had spotted the road on the edge of the highway, almost an hour and a half outside of Austin. The glow of the city had long since disappeared from the rearview, and I leaned forward to stare out the windshield.

  He stopped the truck. I climbed out and tipped my head back. The stars were an arm’s length away and completely unattainable, scattered across the sky like a little kid had too much fun with the glitter. Big ones, small ones, winking and flickering by turns.

  We’d come prepared. Trevor snagged a couple of blankets from the back of the cab and started laying them out in the truck bed. He shooed me away whenever I tried to grasp a corner to help. When the bed was sufficiently padded, he grasped me around the waist and boosted me up, smiling when I snorted out a giggle.

  “This what you wanted last night?” he asked, once we were lying down. He’d tugged me into a position that had me sprawled over most of the truck bed, my head on his chest, knees bent so my feet were flat.

  “I felt guilty, using you like that,” I admitted. “That first night, I was on edge, afraid I’d fall apart and do something really dumb. I’ve tried medication. I’ve tried therapy. I’ve tried yoga. It’s anxiety. That was the official diagnosis. Generalized anxiety coupled with mild posttraumatic stress disorder. The therapy got me to a point where I understood what was going on, and the medication dulled the worst of it, but it didn’t do a damn thing to stop the guilt. They don’t make a medication for that. I tried pot. I’m not much of a toker, though. Drinking helped for a while, except the hangovers were a bitch to deal with. Sex, when you do it right, requires this sort of absolute focus that just pushes everything else from your mind.”

  “Don’t know that I’ve ever heard of sex as medication.” He ran his fingers through my hair, the tips ghosting along my neck.

  “I was surprised when it worked, to be honest. I went home and actually slept. I got a few good nights and days out of that.” I twisted my head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

  He moved his hand to curl around my throat, thumb stroking the curve. “I don’t know that you used me last night. I was the one who started it. And if I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have participated, right?”

  “True.”

  The conversation lapsed, the two of us content to watch the sky, his hand warm at my throat. His chest rose and fell in a steady, soothing rhythm. Minutes melted into one another. I wanted to freeze this moment. Save it, trap it so I could take it out and relive it when I needed it most.

  A breeze rustled the grass, and I shivered. Trevor’s hand stilled. “Cold?”

  “Mmm. Not really.” I shuffled around and scooted up so my body was parallel to his, enabling him to wrap his arm around my shoulders. “I think this is the first time since high school that I’ve done this with a guy. Though we didn’t spend a lot of time staring at the sky.” I snuggled closer. “There were a couple of roads that had turn-outs facing the water. Great in the summer, especially on those days when the high temperature was way up there. If we got really lucky, the moon would be out and reflecting off the bay. It’s one of the prettiest sights I’ve ever seen.”

  He tensed next to me, though his next words were curious enough. “You miss it? Where was it? Bellingham?”

  “Yeah.” If he’d asked me last night, in the heat of the moment, I would have said yes. “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I haven’t spent much time there since I left for college. Sometimes I wonder if I miss the idea of it more than the place itself.”

  He didn’t respond, and after a while we got up, folded the blankets, and climbed back into the cab. Trevor didn’t seem inclined to talk, so I kept my mouth shut. His question following on the heels of the tension bothered me, only I couldn’t figure out why.

  I must have fallen asleep on the drive into the city, because when he kissed me awake, I saw the parking lot of his building. I smothered a yawn. “Ugh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

  “You needed it.”

  We made our way up the stairs to his apartment, the chill of the air conditioning washing over my bare skin. I thought of asking him about that moment under the stars. The words wouldn’t come, though. Maybe I’d imagined the tension. Maybe he’d been quiet because there simply hadn’t been anything else to say.

  Curled up in his bed, Trevor holding me against him, his body relaxed, I was almost positive it was all in my head. We had nothing to talk about. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  “Are yo
u freakin’ kidding me?” Celia thumped her tub of silverware down on the table and slid into the opposite side of the booth. “You’ve gone beyond glowing, Ken. You’re about as bright as a fluorescent bulb now.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Gee, thanks? I think? Fluorescents tend to make me look washed out.”

  “Hush your mouth.” Silverware clanked as she dug into the tub, a stack of napkins in front of her. “You look even happier than you did a week ago. I didn’t know that was possible, because you looked really damn happy then.”

  The smile threatening to spread across my lips likely would have been smug, and I’d never been one for flaunting my gets in front of others. I bit the inside of my lower lip instead. “Time, grasshopper. All you need is time and for the boys to grow up a little.”

  She flipped me the bird, and then I did laugh. “No, I’m done with men. I’m gonna use them for sex and get a cat or something to keep me company.”

  “Pretty bold declaration. You’re only what, twenty two?”

  “Twenty one,” she confirmed. “And I’ve been chasing bad boys since I was old enough to know what a bad boy was. I’ve yet to meet this mythical ‘bad boy with a heart of gold.’”

  We rolled silverware, and I tried to convince Celia she was too young to write off dating and falling in love. “At least wait until you’re thirty or something,” I suggested.

  She gave me a sour look. “At thirty, I’ll be making a shit-ton of money and won’t have time to date anyway. No, better to do it now and give myself time to get used to it.”

  Gwen hollered for us to stop jabbering and work faster, cutting the conversation short. I scooped my silverware bundles back into the tub and got out of the booth, carrying the tub to the counter as the bells jingled over the door.

  That was the last bit of quiet I had for the shift.

  The place buzzed with noise. In the little under two months I’d been working there, I’d never seen it so busy. My break consisted of a hurried sandwich eaten hunched over a counter in the kitchen, using one hand to text Trevor back that I had to stop at my place for clean clothes before I headed to his.

  The constant movement and sound shifted my brain to autopilot. I took orders, filled them, fetched water and soda and new crayons, wiped up spills and cleared away plates. I didn’t have time to think about how much my feet would hurt by the end, or the headache brewing at the base of my skull.

  I didn’t have time to think, period.

  The first place I stayed once I left Bend was a small town in Wyoming. I’d always wanted to see the Tetons, and I figured if I was running, I might as well get something out of it. The truck stop where I picked up a handful of shifts was on one of the major routes through the state, and it was always busy at the crack of dawn. Something about seeing that ever-widening glimmer of light brought the truckers out in droves.

  That truck stop taught me the value of noise. So you know when it stops, you have to pay attention.

  I thought maybe someone had finally invented a device to stop time. Adam walked in, spotted an empty table in my section, sat, and stared. I stared back, the diner, its patrons, their noise, the creaking booths and chairs scraping over linoleum fading in the sudden silence.

  The catalyst for my departure was sitting in my place of employment, waiting to be served.

  A crash jerked me back to reality. There was nothing he could do to me here. Gwen’s was safe as houses, and when it came time to close up, I still wouldn’t be alone—Charlie would walk me to my car, like he always did.

  I held out a menu to him. “Adam,” I said evenly.

  “McKenna.”

  “I recommend the chili. Charlie made it extra spicy today. Clear out your sinuses.”

  He ignored the menu. “You think you can just run from what you did?”

  Run? From what I did? Trevor’s questions from the other morning came back to me. “What about you? I screwed up. I admitted as such, accepted it, and I tried to move on and live with it. But I am not the only one to blame here, Adam. I saw her for an hour or two a day, five days a week. How often did you see her? Your parents? Jeff or Rex or Chris? Was I really the only one who thought there might be a problem and tried to help her?” I slapped my hands on the table and got in his face. “I will have to live with Deirdra’s death for the rest of my life, and the guilt of wondering if I’d only done something different. I will have to spend the rest of my life with that image burned into my brain.” Deirdra, her pale face, the blood smeared along the edges of the desk. “I have never, not once, heard anyone in your family do the same. And until you do, you have no right to accuse me of anything.”

  If I’d thought it’d be silent before, I was wrong. This was silence. Actual silence. Every diner was watching the tableau we’d set for them, mouths hanging open, utensils suspended in mid-air.

  I pulled out my pad. “So. The chili?”

  He scraped his chair back and stalked out of the restaurant.

  In spite of the crush, Gwen waved me into the kitchen and her tiny office, shutting the door. “Am I going to have trouble?”

  I slumped against the door. “God, I hope not. He’s one of Deirdra’s brothers,” I explained. “I don’t know what he’s doing in Austin, or if he’s here because of me or if it’s a coincidence. I doubt he’ll be back, though. Not his style.” No, he preferred waiting until his prey was isolated before pouncing.

  She nodded, and I made my way through the kitchen to the dining room to finish my shift. By the end of it, I’d managed to quarantine the incident with Adam in a corner to handle later. I clocked out and walked with Charlie to my car.

  The confrontation had shown me something I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting for. I didn’t have anything left to apologize for. Once the words left my mouth, I knew they were true; I wasn’t the only one to blame. And I was as strong as I was going to get.

  It was time to return to Bend and see if home really waited for me, or if it would be just another place I’d rested my head a while.

  I pulled into a space close to my building. Someone had shot out the streetlight again, leaving the only light in the parking lot the dim bulbs over each stairwell. I squinted into the dark, checking the shadows, before I opened the door and got out. On the agenda for that weekend was looking at a few apartments. Trevor had wanted to come with me. I refused. It was a little too much too soon, and we both knew it. Celia was coming with me instead.

  A car door slammed shut right after mine, and I whirled around, heart thudding. “McKenna.”

  Oh, Christ. Adam. I shifted my grip on my keys so they spiked out between my fingers. “What more do you have to say?”

  A car rolled down the street, music thumping loud enough to drown out his response.

  Loud enough neither of us registered the gun shot until warmth bloomed on my stomach.

  Cotton doesn’t do much to staunch blood flow. Not when it’s a gunshot wound. The dark stain spread wider and wider the longer I stared at it. It slicked my hand, the metallic scent drifting under my nose. Funny, it didn’t hurt. I would have thought getting shot would hurt.

  Something was happening to my legs. They were wobbling. I had a hard time feeling them, like there was a part missing. Maybe sitting on the ground would help. I pitched forward, the cement bruising my knees. That I could feel. Like I could feel a burning in my side, where the bullet was.

  The ground was dirty. Dirt equaled infection. I should stay off the ground, not get an infection.

  “Fuck. Hold on. Just hold on for me, okay?” I didn’t recognize the arms holding me up, but as I blinked to clear my vision, I recognized the face. Why was Adam holding me? He hated me. He wanted me dead.

  “McKenna.” He grasped my jaw, tilting so he could see my face. “Stay with me, okay? Don’t pass out.”

  Is this what Deirdra felt like in those last minutes? Dazed? Pain slowly creeping in? Growing colder? “Cold,” I whispered. Cold, and getting colder. And alone.

  Very, very alone.r />
  “McKenna!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The world was a blur of red and white and black, voices running together, rising and falling over a low growl of a rumble. One face after another appeared over mine, none recognizable.

  “Female. GSW to the abdomen. No through and through.” I shut my eyes against the blinding light hovering over my head, drifting in the pain. I was still so cold. The noise was incredible and constant, voices tumbling over the beep of machines. Keeping my eyes closed seemed like the best option, so I lay there, half-numb from pain. There was an elevator ride, and a mask over my nose, a kind-eyed woman instructing me to breathe normally.

  I woke some time later, still in a considerable amount of pain. My body was stiff and achy, pulled tight in all the wrong places. The room was dimly lit and empty, quiet but for the beep of a machine next to the bed.

  Someone had stuffed cotton balls in my mouth. I ran my tongue over my teeth, trying to get rid of the fuzzy, dry feeling, wishing I had some water. I tried to lift my head and found I couldn’t. Too heavy. Thirsty and uncomfortable, I plunged into sleep.

  The crack of the bullet.

  Someone shouting my name.

  Warmth spreading over my stomach, fog creeping in and stealing my strength.

  The dirty, dirty ground, arms like iron clamps keeping me from it.

  All those lights and faces and voices, blending together.

  I slit open an eye and found the room still mostly dark. I still couldn’t move my head. I groped around, tried to close my fingers around the railings along the sides of the bed. My fingers bumped over a ridge of plastic, buried in the covers, and pulled it free. A call button. It had to be. If I’d had any tears, I would have cried. I pushed the button once, twice, three times, willing someone to come through the door.