Paper Cranes (Fairytale Twist #1)

by Jordan Ford

  “Did it work?” She tipped her head like a curious sparrow.

  “What?”

  “The crane. Did you throw one out the window?”

  He nodded, a grin appearing without his say-so.

  “You’re smiling.” She pointed at him. “It must have worked.”

  “What color are my eyes?” He leaned towards her.

  “Still a touch gray. We’ll keep working on the smile.” She patted his arm and spun, gliding back to the couch like a princess.

  Tristan shook his head with a soft snicker and followed her.

  She crouched down and collected up her book before dropping onto the cushions and tucking her legs beneath her.

  “What are you reading?” Tristan slid the bag off his shoulder and pointed at the book.

  “Grimm’s Fairytales.” She held up the tattered novel, then lovingly swiped her hand over the cover before hugging it to her chest. “I must admit, I’m a little obsessed. My father gave it to me for my fifth birthday and he used to read to me every night before going to bed.”

  “I guess he doesn’t do that anymore, huh?” Tristan held the edge of the old sofa, gently lowering himself onto it.

  A sad wistfulness touched her expression and she whispered, “No.”

  Her slender fingers ran up and down the spine, a barely there frown tugging at her lips.

  Tristan reached out and tapped her elbow, wanting to distract her before that sadness took hold. He wasn’t sure he could handle seeing Helena cry. Suns didn’t cry, ever—they shone.

  “Which is your favorite tale?” he asked.

  Her gaze flicked to his, her sadness swept away by a grin. “Hmmm, how do I decide? I love them all for different reasons.” She looked to the ceiling, tapping her chin. “But if I had to pick just one, I’d say…um…”

  “Rapunzel?” He grinned.

  She dropped the book to her lap with a delighted gasp. “How did you know?”

  “Well, you kind of live in a tower.” He brushed the tip of his finger through her wispy, long tendrils. “And your hair is…” He wanted to say ‘beautiful,’ ‘enchanting,’ ‘breathtaking,’ but swallowed the words before he embarrassed himself.

  Her melodic giggle made him grin. “I do spend a lot of time up here, but it’s my haven. I love it.” She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on her paper cranes. The soft light streaming in the window gave the room a magical quality, and the breeze whistling in made her cranes dance and sway.

  “Do you sleep up here?”

  Her cheeks tinged pink. “Not usually. My bedroom’s below us.” She pointed at the hardwood floors. “Right under our feet.” She breathed in a happy sigh, hugging her book to her chest and gazing around the room again. “I just prefer it up here. I feel safe…at home…in this place.”

  Baffled yet again, Tristan couldn’t help making a face. “So you’re not being locked up here against your will? Held hostage by some dragon lady?”

  Tipping her head back with a laugh, she touched her stomach and chuckled some more, but the sound had a hard, unconvincing edge to it.

  Tristan scrutinized her expression when she looked at him again. Her smile was in its usual place, her green eyes still bright and clear, but…

  “No, I’m not a hostage. She may seem like a dragon at times, but she’s just my mother. My overprotective—” Helena bit her lips against whatever else she was going to say and ended on a whisper. “—mother.”

  The answer was hardly satisfactory and didn’t explain the flash of fear that took over her expression every time there was a creak in the stairwell.

  Tristan shuffled in his seat, tapping his finger against her elbow again.

  “Seriously, what’s your deal? Why are you up here? Why do you never come outside?”

  Her expression shut down for a second, her face going blank. Tristan half-expected her to kick him out the window, but her lips opened and closed a few times…like she was trying to decide how much to say. She glanced at his face, then averted her eyes to the cranes, blinking rapidly and licking her lower lip. “My mother doesn’t like me to go outside. It’s not safe.”

  “Not safe?” Tristan’s stomach twisted.

  “Yes.” She swallowed, her knuckles going white as she gripped the book to her chest. “The world is full of evil people who want to hurt each other. We must stay inside.” Her pale gaze ran around the room, her lips pressing together as she nodded. “Mother says these walls protect us.”

  The air in Tristan’s lungs went stale, taking his usual sarcasm a moment to kick in.

  He blinked a couple of times, his forehead bunching tight.

  Helena’s mother is crazy. Just my luck. I’m compelled to hang out with the daughter of a paranoid psycho.

  “But—” He tipped his head with a frown. “But she can’t do that to you, can she? I mean, if you really wanted to leave, you could, right?”

  Helena shook her head. “Why would I betray her that way? I can’t break her heart. I fear to think how she’d react if I tried to walk out the front door.”

  “Wait. You walking out the front door would break her heart?” He made a face.

  Helena’s fingers curled a little tighter around her book, her slender shoulders growing tense. “I don’t think you realize how afraid she is.”

  “But she’s being… Don’t you think it’s kind of selfish?” Tristan’s eyebrows formed a wonky line.

  Her gaze snapped towards him, her bright eyes intense. “Selfish? Her wanting to protect me is selfish?”

  Tristan shook his head, glancing away from Helena’s terse confusion. He didn’t want to get into a fight. Licking his lower lip, he cleared his throat and asked, “Why—why does she think the world is evil?”

  Helena blinked, her lower lip trembling. She caught it with her teeth, scratching the side of her nose before finally looking at him. Her gaze faltered and she blinked a few times before looking to the ceiling. She shrugged, then swallowed and licked her lips. “My father was murdered. About—about nine years ago.”

  Tristan’s twisted stomach began to quake. Murdered. That was heavy.

  Too heavy.

  He went to rise from the couch, not wanting to face the conversation. He had his own troubles. He was looking after his soul-destroyed father. He couldn’t take this on as well.

  Helena snatched his arm with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’ve made peace with it—mostly.” She tipped her head with a wry chuckle. “But my mother…she hasn’t.”

  He let her win, plopping back onto the couch with a worried frown.

  “He was shot, trying to stop a thief in a convenience store.” She shook her head, her eyes glazing over when she whispered, “He left the house one day in his paint–splattered jeans and brown slippers. He was only supposed to be gone fifteen minutes, but he never came home.” She sniffed. “He was a true knight, always willing to defend the weak. He was King Kenneth and I was his Princess Helena.” Her lips trembled into a smile, her bright eyes glassing with tears.

  Tristan’s eyebrows spasmed as he fought to control his growing frown.

  King Kenneth? Princess Helena?

  The girl was… Tristan didn’t know what she was, but he had a sinking feeling he couldn’t handle her weirdness.

  “They never caught the man who killed him, and my mother…she’s so lost.” The tremor left Helena’s voice, her tone deepening as she went on to explain, “They were soul mates, you see, destined to love only each other until the end of time. When he was ripped from our lives, she went into hiding and took me with her.” Helena dropped the book to her lap, tracing the swirling gold letters of the title with her forefinger. “She stayed strong until he was buried, and then she shut down. Aunt Sylvie came over from England and tried to persuade her to come home, but Mother wouldn’t have it. She wanted us to stay in King Kenneth’s castle.” Helena’s lips twitched with a grin and she shook her head as a deep sadness crinkled her expression. “I didn’t mind so
much. Mother’s family is very wealthy and I’m sure they would have tried to send me off to one of those stuffy boarding schools where imagination and storytelling are not revered the way they should be.” Her eyes rounded as if the thought alone was a criminal offense.

  If his brain hadn’t been so busy trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him, he might have smiled.

  But he was frozen, expressionless, on the couch, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to respond.

  Helena didn’t notice his internal struggle. She was too wrapped up in her story.

  “I was relieved Mother fought for me. But…” She bit her lip. “After Aunt Sylvie left, things changed. It started with small panic attacks when I left for school or blanking out at the grocery store. She withdrew from the world, cutting off her family and spending her days watching old home movies and poring over the photo albums Papa had made for her. She began ordering online and then asked me if I’d like to try homeschooling. I was in utter despair so I agreed without question and we fell into this routine. I never thought it would become a permanent thing, but…” Helena shrugged, her head bobbing like a robot. “It’s okay. I like my tower.” Her smile was fleeting and weak. “It’s a sanctuary where I can be myself.”

  “Don’t you get lonely?”

  She glanced at him then grinned. “I have you.”

  Tristan shook his head, an unexpected anxiety clawing at him. “No, I mean, you’ve got to see that this is unhealthy, right? You can’t stay locked in this house forever.”

  “It’s what she needs right now.” Her calm voice and contented smile irritated him. She was basically being held hostage and she was totally cool with it!

  “But you’re only…only…” He waved his hand at her.

  “Fifteen.”

  “Well, that’s insane.” He shot off the couch, tugging down his sweater and pacing away from her. “You’ve got the rest of your life ahead of you. She can’t lock you away from the real world.”

  “It’s what she needs to do right now, and you know, maybe she’s right. The world is full of evil people. My father was murdered for trying to be helpful.”

  Tristan spun around, planting his hands on his hips and getting ready to argue.

  Her slender fingers rose into the air, stopping him before he could speak.

  “She can control the environment here. She can keep me safe. Fear has taken ahold of her and she believes that leaving the house will get us killed or hurt. She’s just…trying to give us as many heartbeats as possible.”

  “That’s insane.” Tristan looked to the floor with a huff, digging the toe of his shoe into a jagged hole in the floorboards. “What kind of life is that? That’s—” He kicked his foot and scratched his forehead, a righteous anger that he didn’t quite understand pulsing through him.

  It wasn’t fair!

  A girl that kind and beautiful deserved everything, and she was being locked away for no good reason. He tore his gaze away from the floor, catching her eye and giving her a desperate look he hoped she’d comprehend.

  Her lips parted and she gripped the back of the sofa. “I know it’s hard to understand, Tristan, but—”

  “She can’t do this to you. You deserve a normal life.”

  The imprisoned girl shrugged, her eyes glassing over with a resigned smile. “She needs me to comply. She’s not ready to handle the idea of leaving the house and letting me go.” She pressed her lips together. “I just… I can’t see her fall apart again. If being here with me is what holds her together, then this is where I must stay.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she bent her head and sniffed. “I don’t always like it, but I love her. She’s my mother, and I won’t cause her any distress by fighting.” Running a hand down her hair, she pulled the locks over her shoulder and began playing with the ends. A peaceful smile fluttered over her lips. “We like to think that he’s still here, sitting with us at mealtimes, looking over my shoulder when I read. It brings me comfort, and I don’t need more than that to be happy.”

  Tristan’s face was tight with confused frustration. “How can you talk like this? How can you say those words with a smile on your face? You’re crazy.”

  Her eyes snapped up, the warm green tinged with ice. “We all do what we must to survive.”

  “Surviving’s not living. You can’t spend your life this way.”

  She raised her chin. “I’ve accepted it. If you can’t respect my choices, then maybe you should leave.”

  “Fine.” Pacing back to his bag, Tristan snatched it up and fought the burning in his throat. Anger coursed through him, bashing into a wave of sadness that was trying to envelop him. He’d only known the girl for a fleeting minute, but the idea of never seeing her again was crippling. He knew better though. He’d been around enough fighting in his lifetime and he wasn’t about to engage in more.

  In spite of that, his knees were ready to buckle as he hobbled to the window.

  He couldn’t look at her. One glimpse of her face and he’d spin around, lurch back to the couch, and try to understand her plight.

  But what was the point of that?

  What was the point of letting someone in who could never leave her house? He had enough problems in his life; he didn’t need to add a bucketful of crazy.

  Shuffling out the window, he kept his eyes down, not looking up when he was sure she was above him. He clutched the trellis, scrambling down as quickly as he could.

  It was ridiculous. He barely knew the girl. He shouldn’t be feeling like his world was about to fall apart.

  A snap sounded beneath him, his muscles tensing up as he lost his footing.

  Helena gasped while he slid down the tower. His fingers fought for him, snatching a thick strand of vine and clinging to it. Struggling to find a foothold, he swung to the side and shoved his toe into a small opening that held him long enough to let him descend to a safer section of the tower.

  He heard a sigh of relief somewhere above him but couldn’t look up to check.

  He’d been protecting himself against heartache for the last two years; opening himself up to a girl he couldn’t be with was the worst thing he could do. He should never have gone back.

  Shoving the kitchen door open, he clambered through the house, not even checking the couch to see if his father was there.

  Screw dinner. The guy could eat peanut butter sandwiches. Tristan wasn’t hungry anyway. Thumping into his room, he slammed the door shut and threw his bag into the corner. It smacked against the wall and dropped with a thud. He pressed his hand into the desk and closed his eyes, dipping his head and fighting for air.

  When his lids popped open he spotted the cranes. He probably should have reached for a pen, but instead he snatched the paper birds into his palm and made a fist, squeezing them out of shape before dropping them into the trash.

  14

  A Hateful Life

  School was total shit. It had been all week. Three days after Helena’s deranged news bomb and Tristan was still struggling to wrap his head around it. He was battered by guilt at skipping out on her, anger at her insane way of thinking, and sorrow at the thought of not being with her. Life was impossible. It hated him. Any time something good came to light it was snatched out of his grasp.

  It made him want to retreat into a foxhole. Somewhere dark where no one could find him, need him, hurt him and tug at his heart.

  Throwing his shirt on, he shoved the rest of his sweaty PE gear into his bag and zipped it shut. Hustling past the row of half-naked guys, he kept his head down and ignored the comments floating around him.

  “Did you see Dana working out with the cheer squad this afternoon? Damn, man, that girl is fine.”

  “Shut up, dude. She’s got a boyfriend. Besides, Harley is way hotter than that girl.”

  Flinging the door back, Tristan twisted out of someone’s way and set a fast pace for his locker. He didn’t care about Dana or Harley with their preppy good looks and flirty smiles.

>   There was only one girl occupying his thoughts, and she was out of reach.

  The idea was bitter acid in his brain.

  He wanted so badly to go back to his old life, where baseball ruled and his team was everything. Heck, he’d even take his ex-girlfriend Natasha if it’d kill the ugly feeling in his chest.

  But it wouldn’t…because he couldn’t turn back time.

  He couldn’t make his mother not cheat, and he couldn’t make his father not be a loser. Just the way he couldn’t rescue Helena from her warped green castle.

  Shit, I wish I could.

  Gripping his bag strap, he kept his head down and hustled to his locker. All he wanted to do was get the hell out of school and hide away in his room.

  He reached his locker without any more drama, only to find Mikayla leaning against hers. He would have said hello if it hadn’t been for her blotchy cheeks and red nose. He didn’t want to know. He had enough angst to deal with and couldn’t take on anyone else’s.

  Flipping his locker open, he snatched out the copy of Romeo and Juliet, irritated with Miss Warren for calling him out in front of the whole class. So he hadn’t done his homework the night before; did that really deserve a public reprimand?

  Yanking the textbook out of his bag, he winced when he noticed his algebra test float to the floor. He hadn’t meant to fail it; he’d just forgotten to study. He’d had a lot on his mind over the weekend!

  Snatching it off the floor, he balled it up and threw it into his locker before slamming it shut. Mikayla jumped, her small shoulders tensing.

  Mumbling a barely audible apology, Tristan brushed past her and headed for his bike. All he needed was for the damn day to be over!

  The bike ride home was quick and reckless. He nearly got taken out by a pickup truck and had to pull onto the curb and swerve around a pissed-off pedestrian to avoid getting squashed. He stood up on the pedals, cycling hard to get away from her bellowed insults.

  Little Red, Matty, and a posse of kids were out playing ball by the time he zipped into his driveway. He ignored their invitation to join them, shouldering the back door open and hightailing it up the stairs.