by Lindsey Iler
“Okay, why did you come get me if he called you?”
Violet’s apprehension is clear by the way she avoids looking at me. Her head shakes a few times before she speaks. “She needs you,” she whispers.
We pull into the parking lot, and my breath deepens as I jump out of the car without even turning it off. In a dead sprint, I race through the front door, Violet on my heels. Mark’s eyes widen at our appearance.
“Where is she?” I yell, my voice unrecognizable with fear. “Mark, where’s Ken?” I step into him until our faces are inches apart, demanding an answer to where the girl we both love is.
“Why is he here?” Mark addresses Violet.
“Mark,” Violet barks his name like she ate something sour.
“Where the fuck is she?” I shout, pushing Mark out of my way to begin my search.
My only concern is finding Kennedy. I send up a silent prayer when I open the door to a small room. A large window provides a clear view into the practice area. The remains of the mirrored wall grab my attention. My eyes shift back and forth until I find her, flat on her stomach, surrounded by shards of glass and a small pool of blood.
As if I’m having an outer body experience, I open the door and close it quietly behind me. Small steps take me to her. My fear, or perhaps a bit of déjà vu, is she won’t be breathing. Relief washes over me when her lungs heave. I whisper her name, but she doesn’t shift or stir or give any indication she’s here with me.
“Kennedy.” I touch her shoulder, reassured by the warmth of her skin. “You’re okay. I’m here.” She whimpers at the sound of my voice. “I’m going to pick you up, okay?” I warn, not wanting to scare her more than she is already. She nods and takes a deep breath only to release a staggered, harsh noise. “Ken, I’m going to have to touch you. I need to make sure you aren’t cut too deep.” She nods again.
With one hand under her shoulders and another below her knees, I roll her until she’s cradled in my arms.
“What have you done?” I whisper. My eyes widen at the disarray. Glass and papers scatter over the floor. A lamp and picture frame lay bent to hell next to the desk.
“I... I...” she stammers.
I brush her hair back until I can see her face. Through blood shot eyes that never stop to look at anything, her fear is evident. I’d do anything to take it all away from her.
My inspection of the cuts on her arms reveals most of the damage to be minor, except for one long, deep laceration a few inches below her elbow.
“I lost it,” Kennedy blurts, her voice low. “I just... lost it. It’s too much. All of this is too much.”
“Everything’s going to be okay now. Sit up for me real quick,” I instruct, assisting her.
Her slow movement gives me enough room to peel my shirt over my head. Kennedy melts into me when I press it to her elbow.
“Does it hurt?”
“I can’t feel anything. That’s sort of the point, isn’t it? To be numb?” Her voice is empty of all emotion. Her scattered stare is catatonic, lifeless.
“I’m going to carry you to my car.” I stand with her in my arms. Her hands tighten around my neck as she holds on for dear life. Her chest quakes as more tears fall.
“I didn’t want him. When I heard the news, I didn’t want him,” she whispers into my shoulder. I know she’s referring to Mark, but I stay silent.
Violet swings open the door and watches me take Kennedy through the hall to the front door.
“Where are you going?” she yells just as Mark steps in front of me.
“Where you taking her?” He reaches out to take her from me and I feel her wince. Her fingers dig into my t-shirt. Mark steps back, hurt filling his eyes.
“Follow us if you want, or don’t, but I need to make sure she’s okay.” The cool air of the night hits our faces.
“And I’m not trying to do the same thing?” he yells out as I open up the car door and slide her onto the seat.
My head pops over the top of the car. “This isn’t a competition, Mark.” I peek into the car to see Kennedy staring down at her feet. “You okay? Do you think you can put some pressure on that cut?”
She nods in answer, which is good enough for me. I shut her door and round the front of the car. My eyes scan Mark as he stands frozen on the sidewalk, but I don’t stop to humor him.
“She needs to go to the hospital,” Mark yells as I open up my door and slide in, but I ignore his plea. His hands rest on the top of his head and Violet pulls him to his car.
My fingers grip the steering wheel with anger. The lights of businesses roll by us as we make our way through the desolate streets.
When I pull into the driveway, only one light can be seen from outside. A shadow passes by the bay window, then the front porch light flicks on. As if I’m on auto pilot, I open the door and sweep her up in my arms. Her head rests peacefully on my chest. When I step onto the porch, the front door bursts open.
“I’m sorry, Coach. I didn’t know what else to do.” My shoulders hunched over, I shake my head.
“Is she bleeding?” Coach takes a step toward us. Kennedy’s head turns when she hears his familiar voice. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We got you.” His voice is like balm to her nerves, and my shoulders slump in relaxation. “Take her to the kitchen,” he instructs. “I’ll grab the wife.” He pats me on the back in reassurance.
Careful to keep from hurting her more, I ease her into a chair and lean against the counter. While we wait for Candice, my eyes never leave Kennedy.
“Candice will be in here in a second, I’m sure,” I say to break the silence.
Kennedy nods, but doesn’t look up.
“You’re going to be okay, Kennedy,” I whisper. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
“Will I?” Kennedy’s head snaps up, her hair disheveled and bloodshot eyes from the constant stream of tears. Our eyes meet.
“If I could, I’d take all of this away from you.”
Her eyes soften as she takes me in. They shift slowly behind me as I feel a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s see what we have going on here.” Coach’s wife whistles as she walks in like nothing is out of the ordinary. She winks at me as she slides by and pulls a seat up in front of Kennedy.
Kennedy looks to me for reassurance, and I nod to let her know that Candice will be able to help her.
“Oh, god, that hurts.” Kennedy cries as Candice unwraps the shirt from her cut.
As I watch her clean up, Coach grabs my attention from down the hallway and nods for me to follow him. I find him in his office, sipping a cup of coffee.
“What happened?” Coach questions our impromptu visit. He’s used to me showing up as if this is a hospital, but this time is different.
“I found her in the dance studio with glass all around her. She’d lost a little bit of blood, not enough for me to worry too much, but I knew she’d need to be cleaned up,” I explain the night events. “The dance studio is a mess. It’s obvious she snapped, Coach.”
Coach’s shoulders curl forward. “What makes someone do what Craig did? Two girls are forever changed because of that sick bastard and the only silver lining is he’s going away for a very long time, never to do this again.” He watches me with sad eyes. “You know I’ve got to call her parents. This doesn’t feel right.”
“I figured as much.” My feet shuffle against the carpet. “Can you just give her a little time? Let her have a few minutes without being obligated to answer questions,” I plead with him.
“Sure.” Coach stands from his desk, slaps me on the shoulder, and walks out the door.
I follow him, and as we reach the kitchen, I hear Kennedy’s voice. It sounds stronger than when I left.
“I don’t know what came over me,” she explains. “It’s like I was there, but I wasn’t. If that makes any sense.”
“Honey, no one expects perfection from you. I don’t know the whole story, but I know what I’ve hea
rd and read. You, little lady, have been through hell and back. You’re allowed a bad day,” Candice urges with a softness to her voice. “Don’t try to keep all that anger inside all of the time. It’ll bubble up inside of you, and at some point, it has to go somewhere.” Candice leans down to look in Kennedy’s eyes. “You’ll be okay. You have good people standing beside you.” When her eyes turn to me and Coach, she pats Kennedy on the hand and stands to take care of the first aid kit.
Kennedy turns to me and our stares lock. When the front door open, I expect her to drop hers from mine, but she doesn’t.
Mark races in and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her against his body. She folds her arms around him with a hesitancy that makes my heart beat fast. Her sad eyes stay locked on me over his shoulder as she tells him she’s okay and Candice stitched her up. He insists she needs to be seen by a doctor, but she brushes off his concern.
“I’m going to go now,” I blurt. “That is, if you’re okay?”
Kennedy pushes off Mark and her long legs carry her to me. She slips her arms around my waist, rests her head on my chest just as she did in the studio, and takes a long, deep breath.
“Thank you,” she whispers into my bare chest. “I wouldn’t have been able to get off the floor without you.”
My hands press on her shoulders. Holding her at arm’s length, I do a once over, reminding myself she is, in fact, okay. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, babe. You’re stronger than you think,” I insist.
“I’ll take it from here, man,” Mark interrupts, physically removing Kennedy’s hand from my arm. I nod and walk out the front door.
Instead of going home, I text Violet, asking her to meet me at the dance studio with the keys. She waits for me in the parking lot. It’s a little after midnight, way past curfew, but this has to be done before morning.
“What are we doing here?” Violet questions as I step out of my car.
“We can’t let it stay like that in there,” I explain as I take the keys from her hands.
Violet shakes her head, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
The building is dark as we enter. We walk into the large room and Violet flips the light switch, illuminating the destruction.
“Grab a broom and start sweeping up all the glass. I’ll get everything else,” I instruct.
“Why are you doing this?” Violet asks as she walks to the small closet.
“This place is Kennedy’s escape. I don’t want her to have to deal with the burden of all of this.” My hand gestures to the mess. I walk over to the desk and gather all of Kennedy’s belongings.
I pick up the broken lamp and make a mental note to replace it in the morning. The scattered paperwork is my next obstacle to tackle. When I realize sorting them is a lost cause, I stack them into a neat pile and put them on the desk. I round the corner to see more. My eye catches a familiar red G. Gathering the remaining papers, I see an acceptance letter to The University of Georgia.
Why would she be getting an acceptance letter from Georgia?
“What’s that?” Violet stands on her toes to get a better vantage point.
“It’s nothing,” I lie, tucking them behind my back.
Violet’s small frame ducks around my hip to grab the acceptance letter. Her eyes scan the words and I watch her face contort and shift. “She got in,” she whispers through a small laugh.
“You knew she was thinking of applying?” My eyes narrow.
“She mentioned it during the summer,” Violet explains with a shrug of her shoulders. “She was still hopeful then.” Her smile falters when she looks at me. Her eyes scan the half-cleaned mess and then shoot straight back to me. “She got her acceptance letter today.” Violet shakes her head at me as if this news should mean something to me. “Graham, she got her acceptance letter today, and then she heard the news about Craig.”
The papers slam against my chest and I grab them. “Let’s get this place finished up. I’m exhausted.” I turn my back on Violet to avoid seeing the pity in her eyes. We both know I’m ignoring the elephant in the room. I place Kennedy’s acceptance letter in her dance bag and zip it out of my sight.
“What about the mirrors?”
“I’ll get someone to come in and replace them in the morning.” I turn to face her and catch her small smile.
We straighten the rest of the small messes around the room. I carry the broom back to the closet as Violet finishes mopping the small blood stains from the floor.
“Ready?” Violet asks as she walks to the door. As I stride by her, she links her arm through mine. “She’s going to be okay.”
“I know, but I don’t know if I will,” I state with a heavy sigh.
Violet tightens her hold on my arm to stop me from leaving. “Graham, I’m sorry for my comment earlier. You know, about running Kennedy over. That wasn’t fair of me.”
I wave her off, assuring her it’s not a big deal.
When I pull into the driveway at home, my father’s car is parked inside and the garage door is still open. He must have just gotten back from his ‘business trip’. That’s what he calls them, but we all know, in reality, he’s meeting his mistress at some of the nicest hotels around Tennessee.
I shut the garage door, punch in our alarm code, and tiptoe down the hallway to my bedroom. No lights come from my parents’ room, telling me it may have been an easy night for her. I close my door and fall backwards onto the soft mattress. My body stretches and bends as I stare up at the white ceiling.
After the night I’ve had, all I want to do is close my eyes and pretend none of this happened, but life’s not easy. It’s not meant to be, I suppose, so I lie here, wide awake, begging for exhaustion to take over. It never comes when you want it to, though. It comes too late, after all of your nightmares won’t leave your head. No, exhaustion doesn’t come when you need it to. It comes when your body feels like it can’t take one more hit.
My thoughts wander to different corners where only dark thoughts live. The ‘what-ifs’ and the ‘I should haves’ bounce around, trying to make their way to the forefront. When it all begins to be too much, my eyes finally succumb to slumber.
I’ve had enough.
Chapter Thirty-One
Kennedy
As the days pass after the incident, I build up the courage to visit and explain the situation I’ve put Ms. Sherry and Stacey in. When I walk in, the studio looks as if I’ve never disturbed it. My eyes remain locked on the beautiful, floor-length mirrors as they both explain to me everything is okay and reassure that what happened no longer needs to be spoken of. I walk out to my car feeling a sense of relief that this won’t follow me around any longer.
I spend hours apologizing to Violet for dragging her into my mess, but she insists that’s what best friends are for. Mark hasn’t been as easy to apologize to. Things have become tense and uncertain between the two of us, even more than they’ve been before. He seems disconnected and frustrated with everything I do.
Graham, on the other hand, has made it his mission to send me a text every day. Sometimes, they’re funny. Sometimes, they’re motivational. But every time, they help me somehow. My determination to make the best of today might have been induced by the text Graham sent me last night. I read the quote (and every other one he’s sent over the past few weeks) three times this morning.
When you go through deep waters, I’ll be with you.
Graham, did you just quote the bible to me?
Did it help?
It helped. Thank you.
“Honey, it’s time to wake up.” A sharp knock and my dad’s voice rip me from my haze. “You have to get in the shower if you want to get to Jackie’s office in time.” His words fade as he walks down the hall.
As for my therapist, I haven’t seen Jackie in over two weeks. After the dance studio fiasco, I’ve avoided her, purely out of fear of what she will say. I rush through my shower and throw on my clothes, ready to get this part of the day started.
�
��Dad, can I drive myself?” I ask. I lean over the couch and kiss him on the cheek.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” he replies, watching me search for my keys. “They’re on the kitchen counter.”
“I’m okay, Dad. I promise.” I walk into the kitchen and grab them.
“I know you are, but I worry about you. Sometimes it’s hard to sleep because I’m afraid I haven’t done everything to protect you.” He stands, tears swimming in his eyes.
Craig’s arrest has been hard on all of us. It’s a lot to process and dredges up too many emotions. I wrap my arms around his waist and he rests his chin on the top of my head.
“You’ve done everything right, Dad.” As I walk to the front door, I turn back to him with a smile before walking out into the crisp morning air.
To say my parents have become protective and overbearing is the understatement of the year. I don’t blame them. I’ve scared them enough in the last twelve months to last a lifetime. That’s why I got out of bed this morning, for them, but also for me. Jackie is a name that has come up daily in the Conrad house. They’ve encouraged me to talk to her, to open up about what’s really going on, and I’ve been uncooperative, until today.
Filled with hope, I drive to her office, and as I pull in the parking lot, she walks out the front entrance, a cigarette dangling between her lips.
“I see you haven’t had much luck with quitting,” I yell as I step out of my car.
“You don’t have any room to talk, Ms. I’ll Never Miss an Appointment,” Jackie hollers back. “I haven’t seen you in a while, sweetheart. You know how I worry.”
“Can we talk now?” Tears trail down my cheeks. My strong reaction after not seeing Jackie for so long is unexpected.
“My doors always open, except on Sundays because that’s the day I go to church and ask forgiveness for the sins I’ve committed all the other days.” She gives her best effort to cheer me up. We meet where the sidewalk and parking lot become one. Her arm drapes over my shoulder as she pulls me into her side. “Let’s go talk, sweetheart.”
I follow Jackie into her welcoming office. The bright yellow walls and the colorful couch in the weirdest abstract print somehow manage to work with the space. The first time I walked in here, I remember thinking it looked more like a living room rather than a therapist’s office.
