The Face You See

by Amelia Legend

  My biggest challenge.

  My greatest weakness.

  I hate the power she has over me as much as I love it.

  I think over the method of my pursuit. How would she respond the way I need her to? The way I crave her to? I think I’ve figured it out, and as long as everything goes according to plan, I will succeed. I won’t stop until Dannie is mine.

  We are fated, destined, both pretending to be something we are not, both hiding beneath the mask of our own creation, both smart enough to fool those around us.

  Yes, we are meant to be together. I just have to prove it to her.

  When I arrive home that day, I can already hear the screams of my mother and stepfather, Mark, from the front walk, so I prepare myself for the scene I will surely walk into—or so I assume. I walk in just as I hear the loud crack of my stepfather backhanding my brother, startling me.

  Stay still, Dannie. Stay quiet.

  My brother, Ryan, although he is a rather tall guy, looks oddly shrunken before Mark. He looks red eyed, but he is barely maintaining an impassive expression—either from the drugs he is currently on or from holding in tears so Mark and my mother don’t see him cry. His personal rebellion. As I’m frozen at the sight of them, silently wishing I could disappear, I see my mother looking concerned, but I know from personal experience that she really doesn’t care—at least not enough. As long as Mark’s wrath is directed at someone other than my mom, she will allow his episodes, as she calls them.

  We are her sacrificial lambs.

  “What were you thinking?” An earsplitting shout holds everyone’s attention. “Get your head out of your ass, and pay attention.” Mark stares him down for whatever folly demanded his wrath. “Sue, you deal with him. He’s your bastard son.” He stalks away, swiping a glass on a table as he passes, shattering it against the wall. We all jump at the noise but otherwise continue to stand speechless for a suspended moment. Suddenly, my mother turns and walks up the stairs and into her room, no doubt pretending nothing has happened.

  My brother, trying to be brave, walks past me and out the door, but not before I see his tears starting to fall. I stoically find a broom to clean up the glass, lest my baby sister accidentally walk on a sliver of glass. I see Amanda, our half sister, playing with my older sister Avery outside in the backyard. Avery is obviously trying to keep Amanda safe and far from witnessing her father in his anger—a monster of fury, our ever-waking nightmare. It is a secret we try to hide from her so that maybe, just maybe, she might have a better start to life than we did. Although, I know she will figure it out soon enough …

  This is what we do. We try to survive in whatever way we can. My brother deals in his own way with drugs, drinking, women, and silent rebellion. But I still see the blade marks carved into his inner arms, trying to bleed out the pain that seems to constantly torment him. On the other hand, Avery always seems to have a boyfriend, or girlfriend for that matter, to keep her mind off of things. The ever-changing, always evolving enigma that is my big sister. She has been a Mormon, a lesbian, straight with a string of boyfriends, a Bible-thumping Christian, a Wiccan, and just about everything else … And that’s just in high school. I try to accept that she’s just trying to fill her mind with something that will make her feel better.

  I’m more subtle. I simply try to keep busy and keep quiet. I clean, cook, and keep my mouth shut while inside I want to scream. I want to shred this delicate house of lies down, brick by brick, memory by memory.

  I constantly keep a closely controlled rein on what I allow myself to feel. I don’t ever let my guard down. I don’t allow myself the luxury of deep feelings or, heaven forbid, trust. Emotional attachments with anyone who is in my family are too much of a risk for me to take anymore. I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. I wear a tight blank mask at all times to keep myself hidden while I try to become nobody. Maybe no one will notice me if I just keep my head down, my mask of submission on tight, and simply disappear.

  For as much as my brother attracts the wrath of Mark, I seem to attract the wrath of my mother. She has always blamed me, the unwanted third child of her first marriage, for my dad leaving us, leaving her a single mother of three kids and leading her to make the poor decision of marrying the first man to notice her—Mark.

  But Amanda is just a baby, so we try to keep her hidden, hoping to make a difference, hoping we can somehow protect her innocence a little while longer.

  Innocence I was never allowed.

  My mother suddenly comes into the kitchen in a flurry of false exuberance, breaking me from my darkened thoughts. “So when does cheer start for the year?” My mother somehow thinks all things in life revolve around cheerleading. She was a high school cheerleader, and of course her girls just have to join too. I roll my eyes and don’t bother responding. I haven’t told her that I didn’t go to tryouts; therefore, I can’t possibly be on the team. I hate cheerleading, and I am done trying to make her happy. What has she done to deserve it?

  “Well, I am going to get my nails done, maybe even a few highlights.” She smiles as if it were the most exciting news. I am sure I will hear the ensuing fight this will cause between her and Mark when he finds out she is spending more money she doesn’t have. She gets manicures, pedicures, and highlights; she has a personal trainer and is constantly shopping for new furniture or clothes. Yet somehow, she always seems to look haggard—an obvious sign she’s been worn down by life.

  She turns a keen eye on me. “You could use some highlights, dear. You are looking a little dull. When I was your age, I made sure to always look my best to catch a good man. I weighed only 113 pounds at your height, so I think it’s high time to start watching what you eat, young lady. The least you could do is make sure you have nice hair.” She looks up and down my curvy body with a critical look in her eyes.

  WT heck!

  Honestly, I suffer from busty boobs. Really, it’s an issue when you can never find anything to wear without looking like you want extra attention or when they get in the way of sports!

  A hundred and thirteen pounds! How much thinner does she want me? I think I’m healthy.

  Well, it’s truly a wonder that Avery starves herself. I roll my eyes and ignore her. If she wants to be an air-brain blonde bimbo, she can go ahead. It hasn’t kept Mark from telling her how ugly he thinks she is.

  I don’t need any man to think I am hot. I don’t need any man to define who I am. If men are all like Mark and Jett, then no, thank you! I am just fine by myself.

  Unfortunately, I can’t help but think of the pair of sexy green eyes below dark hair on the tall country boy I happen to see in the library today when I saw heaven in the form of a stranger. My mouth suddenly feels like a desert. Perfect is what comes to mind. It is as if a collaboration of every spectacularly masculine attribute came together in this one walking gift from God.

  Tall—check. Dark—check. Oh so handsome—check.

  I literally have no words … except perhaps hot!

  How ridiculous.

  Could he be different from Mark or Jett? Probably not. Although maybe rough necks are different. Country boy … who could have guessed that I would be attracted to a cowboy? Beach dude, yes. Cowboy, not likely. The world is a strange place, I think, suppressing a smile as I quickly make my way upstairs to my room.

  I take my time doing homework (earphones in, Imogen Heap on), giving myself an excuse to stay locked in my room where it’s peaceful. When I finally finish my homework, I lay in bed, wondering how weak or perhaps just afraid a person must be to feel so trapped by circumstances. My mother obviously feels trapped; therefore, she lets Mark treat her and her children however he sees fit while she ignores the reality of our situation. Or is she just selfish, without any care for her children? As long as a man is paying her bills, she can live in the comfort she has become accustomed to.

  I think, deep down, if she was honest with herself, she must not love her children all that much. How can this be love? Does she not see that
this isn’t normal? Because it’s not! As much as it hurts, a part of me hates her for it. As tears start falling from my eyes, I can’t help but dwell on the two parents who have failed me.

  A part of me can’t help but feel a resentment for my dad, even if he has no idea.

  Dad is a gentle-giant type. Like Melody, he always thinks the best of people. It’s no wonder he would never suspect anything as grotesque as abuse, torment, or neglect. A part of me is angry at him. How can he not know? Obviously, he turns one great blind eye on us all. That must be it. He must not love us very much either. My mom has always told me he never wanted me. Maybe she’s right.

  I wish I were strong enough not to want to be loved by either of my parents. But I don’t think that I am. In fact, I know it because in my heart I want them to change. I want them to love me.

  I find myself staring at the phone, day after day, year after year, wishing I had enough courage to tell him, to call my dad and finally ask him to save us. A little girl’s pipe dream, right? But I think I am more afraid of telling him and him not really caring enough to try. I hastily rub my eyes, trying to wipe away the thoughts of being saved by anyone. I have no saviour. I’m alone.

  Tomorrow is a new day. I’ll try to forget this one by disappearing into music and books. Responsibly do homework or read?

  Mmm … one of life’s great questions.

  I pull out my deeply loved copy of Ivanhoe and swaddle myself in a quilt to hibernate in. I love books. I love words. I love stories that I can get lost in. I love the poetry and fluidity of grand tales. Since I started reading, I’ve never really been able to stop. I’m pretty sure I’ve read through most of my high school’s library by now—except for the autobiographies, because, let’s be honest, they’re boring.

  It’s dark by the time I glance up, startled by a noise outside my window. I’m on the second story, so I’m not scared, but I’m worried a bird flew into the glass. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.

  I stiffly unwrap the quilt burrito I’ve made and quietly make my way to the window. I look out at the quiet night, glad that the long day is over and the argument from earlier hasn’t turned into anything more painful.

  I quietly open my window to climb out onto the roof. I look around in the dark for the fallen bird but notice nothing out of the ordinary. I finally give up searching in the dark, having lost any concern considering there is no bird in sight. Not even a feather. It must not have hit hard enough to hurt itself, I think as I perch on the roof, looking around the yard, and freeze. I sit frozen in fear as I see a shadow of a man’s form at the edge of our fence line. I can’t tell who it is from the shadows that fall across him, but it is tall enough to make me think it’s definitely a man.

  Is it my brother outside smoking? If so, where is the glow of the cigarette?

  The shadow is perfectly still, but by the angle, it looks like the tall figure is looking right at me. I’m still frozen stiff, but I suddenly feel the need to hide myself—and quickly. Move, Dannie. Move! The fear releases me from my frozen state, and I scramble back into the darkness of my room. I quickly shut the window and blinds but stay by the window looking through the cracks. I don’t know how long the figure stays just beyond the fence in shadow, but it feels like forever as I stare, watching him in return.

  Who would watch our house?

  I’m trembling but not from the cold as the figure turns slowly and walks away. I can’t see if he goes into another house or leaves in a vehicle as he moves out of sight around a corner. I stand there, looking out into the dark night for a long time before going to bed.

  Before I know it, weeks have flown by. Homework assignments and projects have come and gone. Senior year is off to a great start all in all. No one other than Kendal and her lackeys seem to care much about the breakup. Other than her occasional snide comment or the occasional not-so-casual question, there seem to be more interesting things for people to talk about. Thankfully!

  Sexy Library Dude still shows up every day, but I always sit a table away from him. I continue to face toward him so as to occasionally sneak covert glances at him. I check every day to be sure, but he is still just as hot as he was the first day of school, in case you were wondering.

  I like our silent arrangement, looking, not speaking, and keeping him in my bubble of a fantasy. If I don’t know for sure that he is a jerk (because a face like that is surely attached to a douche), I can pretend that he is as perfect as he looks, right?

  Regardless of my nervousness around his beautiful everything, I’m surprised by my strong reaction to him. I dated Jett for two years and never felt this nervous around him—or any guy for that matter. I guess I have never met anyone that I found as appealing as my library mystery man.

  Attraction is a strange emotion. I don’t trust it.

  But, of course, now that I’ve noticed him, I see him everywhere—in the hall, during lunch, in the quad, in the parking lot, at the gym. He’s everywhere. How have I not noticed him before this year? He must be new. Unfortunately I am not the only one who notices him either.

  “Hello? Dannie?” Jem waves her hand in front of my face with an expectant look on her face. “Who are you staring at?”

  Both she and Melody look over their shoulders in the direction of my lingering glance. They spot Sexy Library Dude, who just so happens to have walked into the cafeteria, briskly moving toward the lunch line. He is a force that moves through the crowd, demanding attention while unaware of the girls watching him.

  “Ooo!” Melody nudges my side.

  I’m staring when I hear Jem distantly say, “Whoa. I see why you chose to ignore me. I’d have ignored me too.” She’s clearly impressed.

  She catches my attention. “Do either of you know him? I see him during my pause period,” I whisper.

  “Never seen him in my life, and I think I’d remember him. He’s sexy with a side of delicious. What do you think, Dannie?”

  Yes, he is.

  Jem smiles, while I continue to admire him from afar. I don’t like how much it bothers me that she is still scoping him out. I glare at her a little before I realize what I am doing. It’s not like he belongs to me.

  Melody smiles, sitting up. “Yeah, he is in my calculus class. His name is Reed Fischer. He transferred here from the Midwest somewhere. He seems nice, a little quiet maybe, but nice.”

  “Single?” Jem asks, still staring.

  “Not sure.”

  “Gay?”

  “Don’t think so, but I’ve never actually talked to him,” Melody answers.

  I look at him again, now that he has an actual name. Reed. I like it. It’s kind of fitting now that I know his name, considering I met him at the library. Fitting because I love to read, and I kinda love his face … or maybe just his body? I smirk to myself while trying to ignore the surprised stares of my friends.

  “Sooo, are you going to go over and say hi, or should I?” Jem asks me.

  “No, I don’t really want to get involved with a guy like him,” I reply quickly.

  “A guy like what?” Jem questions me with a knowing look.

  “A ridiculously good-looking, swaggering, jock-type guy. Any guy actually is a need-to-avoid situation. I don’t really need the mess right now,” I say vehemently, but a part of me is sad that I said it. Because eventually someone will approach him. And I do not look forward to the day I see him with some slutty airhead who is surely his type.

  “No doubt.” She nods knowingly.

  “I don’t want to be the girl who dates nothing but jerks. Been there, done that. Sorry, Jem,” I add.

  “No offense taken, girl.” She apologetically nods.

  Melody doesn’t agree. “Give him a chance, maybe even just as a friend. You shouldn’t judge him so harshly, Dannie. He seems to be really nice and kind of shy. He hasn’t really talked to anyone in class …”

  Melody always thinks the best of people, even if they don’t deserve it. I find myself contemplating her words of wis
dom before I can stop myself. Do I bother, or do I keep myself at a distance out of a sense of self-preservation?

  Either way, I didn’t get much of a chance to decide.

  In the library after lunch, I am walking past Reed toward my usual table when I hear a deep voice. “I don’t bite, you know.”

  I halt and slowly turn toward an amused expression on an irritatingly perfect face, a face that is hard to look at for too long without losing my courage. Yikes. It even hurts to look at him directly.

  “I know,” I whisper, heat burning my face.

  He casually pulls out the chair next to him without response, clearly expecting me to sit, and to my horror, I do. My first thought is, What does he want? I’m skeptical, but my curiosity gets the better of me—that and the fact that my body apparently wants to be closer to him. I am truly a masochist. No one so beautiful could look at me as anything more than a friend. Maybe he is just lonely or desperately in need of a friend like Melody suggested? I can do that, right? Friends. I like it. It’s safe. And I can’t be disappointed when he eventually makes it evident that he isn’t interested in me that way.

  Which he will do. When will you learn, Dannie? Don’t trust men! You don’t need to get involved with any guy after Jett, I reprimand myself silently.

  “So why have you been avoiding me?” he asks, turning in his chair to face me, waiting for my response.

  I can’t help but take a deep breath, his subtle cologne imprinting itself in my mind, before responding.

  “I’m not. Why would I avoid you?” Do not look at him in the eye. Do not look.

  Crap!

  I look into his green eyes, which are waiting for my honest response. Hmm, here it goes. “I don’t really talk to guys,” and it’s true. I may be a wit in my head, but I tend to keep it in. I am suddenly glad to be sitting beside him and not across the table where it would be significantly harder to avoid looking at him directly. Truthfully, I’m not good with guys. I’ve never been good at talking to someone I am attracted to. And I’m very attracted to the guy sitting next to me right now. Some girls are flirty and cute, while I am all over here blushing, stumbling over what to say, making an overall spectacle of myself. No thank you!