by Amber Garza
“Which one are you? The bad Robert or the good?”
“Who says I’m either.” He tugged me toward the couch. When he sat, I did as well, our fingers still knotted.
“Aren’t we all either good or bad?” I asked, perplexed by his answer.
“I’d argue that we’re all a combination, actually. Only in novels is it so black and white. Reality isn’t like that.” He circled my palm with his thumb, and a chill skittered up my arm.
Edgar stirred on the ground.
I stared down at him. “I read once that authors always write what they know.”
“I don’t have a yellow string,” Kyler said. “Or a split personality.”
I giggled. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“The Yellow String is a work of fiction, nothing more. Clara and Robert lived only in my imagination.” Kyler brought my hand up to his mouth, trailing his lips over my knuckles. “Now, do you still want that alternate ending?”
I pondered it for a minute. “No, I liked yours. It was shocking and a little scary, but now I can’t imagine it ending any other way.”
“Neither can I.” His eyes twinkled. “But for you I would’ve dreamt up a million different ones.”
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because you deserve a happy ending, Jade.”
SEVENTEEN
I threw away my tally sheet when I reached a month clean. There was no need for it anymore. The girl who stepped into this house a month ago was gone. She’d disappeared. Sometimes I imagined her sitting on that bus, alone and scared, or sleeping in an abandoned barn with socks on her hands. I felt like that girl wasn’t even me; she was someone else entirely. Someone I’d severed ties with. Someone I never planned to rub shoulders with again. Someone I’d walked away from in order to move on with my life.
When I entered the kitchen, Kyler stood with his back to me as he stared out the front window. The morning light shimmered through his ear-length hair. He had one arm propped up on the counter and the other shoved down into the pocket of his jeans. Edgar ate out of his dog bowl in the corner. When I sidled up next to Kyler, he didn’t acknowledge me. It was like he hadn’t noticed me at all. His forehead was scrunched up in a mess of squiggly lines like he was deep in thought.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I’m trying to come up with a title for my book. My publisher needs it this week.” He brought a finger up to his chin. “I’m no good at coming up with titles. How can I be expected to encapsulate an entire novel in just a few words? It’s impossible.”
“You can let me read it, and I’ll help you.” I offered with a smile.
“Nice try.” He winked. “But I’ll come up with something. They’ll change it if they don’t like it anyway.”
“Who came up with The Yellow String?” I maneuvered around him, making a beeline for the coffee maker.
“I did.”
“Then you’ll figure something out.” I poured myself a mug of hot coffee. “Want some?”
“Nah, I’ve already had enough. I’ve been up for hours thinking about this.” He dropped his hand, clutching the countertop. “The publisher bought this book sight unseen based on the sales of my last book, so now they’re pressuring me to send something. I’ll get them the title and synopsis, and hopefully that will get them off my back.” He spun around and ambled toward his desk.
“This is really stressing you out, huh?” I had never seen Kyler turn down coffee before.
He plunked down into his chair. “The story isn’t ready yet. I need more time with it.” Placing his hand over the mouse, he moved it over the pad, and the screen roared to life. Then he clicked a few times and the document pulled up on the screen.
“Okay. I’ll leave you to it.” After taking a swig of coffee, I set it down on the counter. “I’ll be outside with Edgar if you need me.”
He nodded before gliding his fingers over the keyboard. I bent down to pick up Edgar’s favorite ball. It was squishy and smelled like Edgar’s breath. With my nose upturned, I stood up, holding the ball daintily between my fingernails, afraid of letting it touch my skin.
Then I motioned toward the dog. “Come on, Edgar. Let’s go.”
Tail wagging, he followed me outside. The minute I closed the door behind us I chucked the ball across the yard. Edgar raced toward it as I wiped my fingers on my yoga pants. The grass was wet beneath my feet, but I was grateful that it wasn’t raining at the moment. The sky was grey, but not too dark, with a smattering of misshapen clouds. Every once in a while the sun would peek through as the clouds moved slowly across the sky. Edgar returned the ball, dropping it by my feet. It was wet with his drool when I plucked it out of the grass. I hurled it further this time. As Edgar chased it, I trekked behind him. This time when Edgar brought me the ball I threw it over the hill toward the barn. He bounded toward it and disappeared behind the mound of grass. I glanced over my shoulder at the house. The back of Kyler’s head was blurry at this distance, but still visible through the front window. Once I ran down the hill, the only part of the house I could see was the roof. The barn came into my view, and I spotted Edgar a few feet away trotting toward me with the ball in between his teeth. Edgar never tired of this game. I chucked it again, and this time it soared behind a cluster of trees near the fence. When Edgar went after it, I lost sight of him in the foliage.
Male voices reached my ears, causing me to stiffen. As they neared me, I ducked down behind the barn, my pulse racing. My gaze darted around looking for Edgar. Where did he go? I cursed myself for throwing the ball so far. Who knew I had such a good arm?
“I dare you to go up to his house and look inside,” a teenage boy said.
His voice sounded close, and I held my breath, pressing my back into the side of the barn.
“No way, man. I heard that his dead wife haunts the place,” another answered.
My palms moistened. Dead wife?
“I heard he’s got some other woman locked up in there now.”
I bit my lip, listening intently.
“My dad says the guy’s a lunatic. Spends all day cooped up in his house, afraid to go anywhere.”
“I’d be afraid to go anywhere too if I killed my wife.”
A gasp escaped from my throat before I could stop it. I clamped my hand over it, hoping they didn’t hear. Edgar leapt out of the trees, barking and growling.
“Shit,” one of the boys said under his breath.
I stayed crouched down in the grass as their footsteps retreated, crunching on the weeds and rocks. Edgar growled as he raced after them. When I was sure they were gone, I emerged from my hiding spot, my body trembling.
“Edgar,” I called, holding out my arm.
He barked a few more times at the fence. My gaze scoured the area, but I didn’t see anyone. They must have ran into the trees near the road.
“C’mere.” I snapped my fingers. Edgar turned from the fence, his hackles up. Then he slowly moved toward me. I stroked his back when he reached me. “Good boy.” His silky fur threaded between my fingers as I petted him. “What were those kids talking about?” I asked Edgar, but of course he didn’t answer. He stared off in the distance with those big brown eyes. But I knew the truth was buried somewhere inside of him. I glanced over in the direction of the house, narrowing my eyes. “You and Kyler are the only ones who know the truth about what happened with Justine.” I sighed. “Too bad neither one of you are talking about it.”
“Did you have fun, boy?” Kyler petted Edgar when we returned. “You’re pretty lucky that you get to spend all day with Jade, huh?”
In my experience, the words lucky and Jade were not used in relation to one another unless it was meant in a sexually derogatory way. When Kyler’s gaze met mine, I could tell that wasn’t how he meant it.
His dead wife haunts the place.
Frowning, I shivered.
His eyes flashed. “Did something happen?”
Damn, he could read me like a book. “Um…just
some teenagers horsing around on the property.” I hugged myself.
Kyler stood, his expression hard. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head.
“Jade, tell me what they did.” His gaze roved over my body as if inspecting it.
“Nothing. Edgar scared them off.”
A stream of air pushed past his lips as he exhaled. He reached for me. I’d be afraid to go anywhere too if I killed my wife. Insides shaking, I reeled back.
His eyebrows knit together. “Jade?”
I swallowed hard.
“What’s going on?”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and licked my lips. “I-I-I’m not feeling well. I think I’m gonna lay down if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Kyler nodded. “Is there anything I can get you?”
“No thanks.” Staring at the ground, I backed away from him and hurried to my room. Once inside, I closed the door and, for the first time in weeks, locked it. My heart hammered in my chest as I sank to the floor. Resting my head against the wall, I took deep, calming breaths.
“I’m going to kill you.” His hands closed around my neck, crushing my windpipe. I clawed at his hands, piercing the flesh with my fingernails, but he didn’t let up. He squeezed tighter. I kicked and flailed, but it was no use.
A gurgle bubbled up from my throat as I frantically tried to breathe. His eyes were dark slits on his face as he stared at me, glaring. A vein throbbed in his forehead from the effort it took for him to strangle me. Dark spots filled my vision. My lungs hurt, and my skin burned as if it was on fire, like flames were licking across my neck. The walls bent and closed in around me as the air left my body. I reached up, raking my fingernails over his face until bright red lines appeared on his flesh. He released me.
“You filthy little bitch.” The back of his hand smacked my cheek, and my head snapped backward. “Next time I’ll kill you for real.”
In the other room I heard Kyler talking softly to Edgar. Then I heard the sound of his feet shuffling on the floor and the rustle of papers. I wanted to join them, to sit on the couch and talk with Kyler, or open up a book and read beside him. But then the words the teenagers spoke flitted through my mind, keeping me rooted in place.
Was Justine dead? And if so, how did she die? My gaze caught on The Yellow String sitting on my nightstand, and my insides twisted. A knock on the door startled me, and I jumped back. Clutching my chest, my heartbeat bounced underneath my fingertips.
“Jade?” Kyler spoke through the door. “You okay?”
“Um…yeah.”
“I’m going to make some soup. You want some?”
“I think I’m okay.” My voice wavered.
“Suit yourself, but I’ve been told I make a mean chicken noodle. It’s known to knock out any illness.” He paused. “Makes sense, I guess, since I am an eighty-five-year old at heart.”
A smile cracked despite my best efforts. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me,” I said, my voice stronger, steadier than before.
“So is that a yes?”
I heard she was burned in a house fire.
I heard a jealous lover poured acid all over her face.
I heard she tried to kill herself.
Over the years, many rumors had been spread about how I got my scars. The funny thing was that none of them were true. Was it fair for me to judge Kyler based on town gossip?
“Because not only am I an amazing cook,” Kyler continued, “but I’m a pretty good writer. I might be able to come up with some choice adjectives about my soup that would sway you.”
Resolve slipping, I laughed lightly under my breath.
“I heard that,” he said. “That was the sound I love.”
My heart melted. I scrambled up off the floor and swiftly unlocked the door. When I flung it open Kyler stood in front of me, his hair unkempt, his t-shirt and pants a little wrinkled, and his eyes bloodshot from staring at his computer all day. Regardless, to me he looked amazing. He gave me one of those genuine smiles of his, causing the words of the teenagers to quiet. My gaze flickered down to his hands. Hands that had never struck me, or hurt me in any way. Hands that were gentle and soft every time they’d touched my skin. “Okay, you sold me.”
“On what?” He gave me a teasing smile. “The chicken noodle soup?”
No, you sold me on everything. On you, this place, this life. “Yeah, the soup.”
Before I could step forward, he placed his palm on my forehead.
I froze. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to see if you have a fever.” He drew his hand back. “You don’t.”
“I guess your soup is working already.”
“Imagine how it will be when you actually have some.” He grinned. His hand touched my elbow as I stepped out of the room. “Magical soup,” Kyler said as we walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll have to add that to my resume.”
“It does sound impressive.”
“Doesn’t it?” He winked.
When we reached the kitchen, he bent down and pulled a giant silver pot out of the kitchen cupboard. As he set it on the stove, he rubbed his hands together. “Alright, magical soup for Jade coming right up.” I giggled, and he turned to face me. “If I had known that my soup would have this effect on you I would’ve made it for you every day since you got here.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t know,” I said. “Soup’s okay every once in awhile, but I don’t want it every day. But I do plan to laugh like a freakin’ hyena next time we have ice cream.”
A chuckle leapt from Kyler’s throat. “Promise?”
Smiling, I nodded.
“God, you’re perfect.”
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I said, you’re perfect.” Stepping forward, he swiped a finger across my chin and then traced my lips. The pads of his fingers were soft against my flesh.
“No, I’m not.” Lowering my head, I allowed my hair to fall over my face.
“Jade, what did I say about hiding?” He smoothed my hair back, and then curved his hand around my face. His palm caressed my skin. “I wish you could see how beautiful you are.”
The words were like a slap in the face. My body went rigid. “Don’t.” I shoved his hand off my face, scooting away. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a lie.” My lips quivered, as my back bumped into the counter.
He reached out his hand and touched my fingertips. Every motion was deliberate, his gaze never leaving my face as if gauging my reaction. I stayed still, but allowed him to touch me. His fingertips brushed mine, softly like the sweep of a feather.
“It’s not a lie, Jade.” His hand trailed up my arm, across my shoulder and rested in the crook of my neck. “I think you’re beautiful.” His thumb grazed my cheek. “No, scratch that. I think you’re breathtaking.”
Moisture filling my eyes, I looked at the ground.
“Look at me, Jade.”
Reluctantly I did.
“I would never lie to you about this.” His eyes slammed into me, the truth evident. I saw no hint of deceit or manipulation. How can that be? “I need you to trust me. I need you to hear what I’m saying.” He brought his other hand up until both framed my face. “When I look at you I see an incredibly beautiful woman.”
“What about these?” I guided his fingers over my skin, forcing him to touch my scars. “These are not beautiful, Kyler.” Tears tumbled from my eyes now. I couldn’t take it. I had looked in enough mirrors to know that what he was saying was bogus. And I’d endured the horrified looks on other’s faces for years. Enough to know that nothing about my face was beautiful.
Kyler’s eyes softened around the edges. “Jade, your scars only make you more beautiful.”
“Oh, please.” I snorted. “This is not a scene from one of your books.” I pushed away from the counter and turned my back on Kyler. “My scars don’t make me beautiful. They make me hideous.”<
br />
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that again.” His voice was firm.
I grabbed at the fabric of my pants, rolling it between my fingers. Edgar lifted his head from where he lay in the other room. I understood now. Kyler was no different from the others. Sure, his intentions may have been nobler, but he wanted what they all wanted. To control me. To make me obey.
I was steel. I was brick. I was iron. I wouldn’t crumble. “Or you’ll what?” My tone was low and deep, icy. “What will you do if I say it again?”
“I’ll convince you that you’re wrong.”
“And how will you do that?” He’ll hit me, kick me, punch me, burn me, cut me, starve me.
“I’ll tell you that you’re beautiful again and again.”
The words crashed into me like a powerful wave. “What?”
“I’ll say it over and over, as many times as you need until you believe me.”
I was glass. I was ice. I was fragile. I was breaking. I was his.
EIGHTEEN
Kyler was talking to someone. I pressed my ear to the door in my room, honing in on the other voice. It was a man, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. My pulse spiked. Who could it be? We never had visitors. Other than the florist and those rude teenagers, no one had been on the property since I’d arrived. The door clicked closed, and then there was silence. The only sound I could detect was Kyler’s feet pounding on the floor.
After a moment’s hesitation, I stepped out of my room. Slowly, I walked down the hallway, keeping my hands pressed to the wall. I heard movement in the kitchen, so I peeked around the corner. Kyler stood with his back to me, reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a couple of plates. I scoured the area. He was alone.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the wall. “Who was at the door?”
Kyler held up a white plastic bag filled with small containers. “Take out. My favorite Chinese food in town.” He carried the bag and empty plates to the table. “Tonight you and I are celebrating.”
My shoulders relaxed, and I stepped into the kitchen. “What are we celebrating?”
“The fact that my publisher loved my title and synopsis.”
