Warning Signs (Broken Promises #2)

by Alexandra Moore

  “What the hell happened?” he asked me in a worried tone. I hadn’t ever heard him sound so worried before.

  “A lot. A lot happened.” I began to cry silently on his shoulder.

  ***

  “What happened at this local apartment building on Halloween night has created quite the stir. Bea Morrison, younger sister of famed singer Ben Morrison of alt rock band Eden Sank, was allegedly attacked when she returned to her apartment after attending a party in New York with her brother and a former band member of Eden Sank, Splinter Nightingale. Nightingale stopped to return something she had left in the car they had shared, and happened upon the scene. Soon a scuffle broke out, and local tenants stepped in to help. No comment yet from the local police, the Morrison family, or Nightingale. Here we have a witness—”

  “Bea, are you sure you’re okay?” Ben came in right as I turned the TV off. The news was the only thing I could stand to watch, but all they talked about was tragic crap. The end to my perfect Halloween happened to be one of those tragic piece of crap stories they couldn’t get enough of.

  “Yes, for the thousandth time, I’m okay,” I told him as I pulled my sweater further over my shoulder. I shuffled the remote between resting on the arm of the chair, gripped tightly in my hand, and lying in my lap. I had to keep moving. Like a shark, if I stopped I’d die. At least, that’s how it felt. I had to keep swimming, because I was head deep under water.

  “I’m worried, that’s all.” Ben couldn’t hide his worry. It had begun to age him. Between our mother and all the crap I put this family through, it wasn’t much of a surprise to see a few soft creases in his forehead, and little lines etched in the corners of his eyes. He looked perpetually tired and nervous. I didn’t blame him one bit. Though the anxiety thing was getting to me.

  “All we do is worry in this family. Now please tell me I can go back to my apartment soon.”

  “Your therapist wants you somewhere safe.”

  “My apartment is safe.”

  “No it isn’t. Not as long as that guy walks free.” I hung my head in shame. It had eventually come out that I was doing some not-so-great things with my professor. No one knew it was him that had attacked Splinter except for my brother, my therapist, and me. They’re all worried about me now. I was worried about myself, but I couldn’t worry for too long. I had stuff to do, places to be. I had to keep swimming somehow. No one understood how important it was to keep my life as normal as possible in a time of crisis. When something bad happened, I couldn’t stop everything to lie around and whine. If I stopped and complained every time something bad happened, I wouldn’t get anywhere. So I needed to fight for normalcy, because it was the only thing keeping me from dwelling on all the bad stuff. It was the only thing allowing me to catch breath from beneath the tide.

  ***

  “How do you feel today, Bea?” I was in my therapist’s office again, fixating on the same damn painting on the wall.

  “Sore.”

  “What did the doctors say about your injuries?”

  Looking away from the painting, I folded my hands in my lap and kept my gaze to my feet. “Minor compared to what would have been if not for intervention.” I looked anywhere but at her. There was a fly sitting above her generic Monet painting that was becoming highly interesting. I was distant to her because I really didn’t want to be in that office.

  “There’s a lot you haven’t told me since you’ve moved to Connecticut, Bea. How about you tell me a bit about Lia and the Morrison Study.”

  My insides curled, and I knew why she was asking. Lia had tried contacting me again. After she overheard a choice conversation between a few cackling hens in the administrative building, she knew all about professor Long and what he had done to me. Things between Lia and me weren’t great. In fact, they never were great to begin with. So when Lia tried to see me, there was a scene, and it was all over the news. When I saw her, despite my injuries, I pulled a bit of her hair out. I also threw a few mean punches. She didn’t press charges, much to my brother’s pleasure. I think half of it was because she saw my brother, freaked out, tried to talk to him and me about how she loved Eden Sank, and that’s when I lost control. I couldn’t stop punching her. Ben made me stop, but now I was stuck in this therapist’s office again multiple times a week. I didn’t think I needed it.

  “What do you need?” Ben asked one night.

  “Fewer stupid people around me,” I told him. Splinter laughed, Ben didn’t.

  As for my therapist, I was mute. I didn’t say another word during my session, so I left early. I got in the car with Splinter. Ben was away on business, and Splinter was left to babysit me. I figured that the business Ben was attending to consisted of finalizing some stuff with his band, although I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that Splinter had babysitting duty, and he was milking it for all it was worth.

  “So what do you want to do today?”

  “Smash the patriarchy?” I asked deadpan.

  He laughed. “I can’t help you with that. Too big a task. Something a bit more doable, please?”

  “How about we just watch Netflix and Chill?” He seemed so surprised by my words that he ended up crashing into a parked car. We were assessing the damage when an angry guy came toward us. He may have been angry, but he was cute, and I was hoping that maybe I could try and flirt with him enough that he’d let us off easy, but he recognized us.

  “Hey, aren’t y’all two of the kids from Eden Sank?”

  We couldn’t deny it even if we had tried.

  “Yeah, we are.”

  An hour later we were driving Ben’s slightly wrecked car back to the house and trying hard not to laugh. The guy was a huge fan and had let us off easy cause of it, but we knew Ben wouldn’t be as pleased with the situation. For now, though, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or us either for that matter.

  “Don’t ever say ‘Netflix and Chill’ in the same sentence please. Ever,” Splinter said once we went inside.

  “Why? Does it have some other meaning?”

  Splinter froze, and I laughed.

  “You’re acting so surprised. What am I missing?”

  When he finally explained it to me, I only freaked out a little bit.

  “Oh god! No, not with you. Not like that. Jesus! What has our generation come to? I want to watch Netflix and chill, not get busy with a movie going on! What’s wrong with you?”

  Splinter was busting up laughing. “I didn’t come up with it, Bea. It became popular through social media, which you have condemned.”

  “For good reason.”

  We paused to think about the reason I quit social media, and then we went up to my room in our lounging clothes, put on Netflix, and had a lazy day. It was fun and we didn’t even have to hook up. I was so exhausted, I laid my head on Splinter’s shoulder so I could rest my eyes…that’s when he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. Soon enough we were scooting father down into the bed, our heads getting closer to pillows than the headboard. He eventually put the computer away and held me in his arms as I dozed off. I might have snored, though he wouldn’t tell me when I asked. He told me, “You deserve some sweet sleep. It’s a thing, y’know. Sweet sleep.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that, but it didn’t bother me enough to make me kick him out. Instead, I turned over and allowed him to cuddle me while I napped.

  “This better not lead to your hand on my ass, Splinty-kins.”

  “No worries. I know better than to make a move on you.”

  “So you wouldn’t even try?” I asked, my eyes opening up with surprise.

  “Unless you initiated, probably not.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Are you looking for a particular answer?”

  “Never mind.” I let my eyes close, and I fell asleep. When I woke up a few hours later and realized he too had fallen asleep while still holding on to me, I decided not to bother him. Because even though he didn’t properly expla
in, I knew sweet sleep when he was near. I felt safe, secure and at peace.

  When we finally woke, it was because Roscoe had managed to sneak in and dig a spot between the two of us for him to lay down and sleep.

  “Roscoe!” I shouted with a whiny voice. I didn’t want to break up the cuddling session that had been going so nicely.

  “Are you claiming your territory, buddy? I guess I should go.”

  Splinter patted Roscoe’s back and left the room. There wasn’t enough pride left me in to tell him, “Please, stay.” It had been depleted with everything I had gone through. I couldn’t use the resourceful amounts of compassion or affection to lure him back, because that would mean I had succumbed to thoughts and feelings I wasn’t so sure I was ready to be truthful about. Heck, I wasn’t even sure if it was real or made up.

  Splinter and I were just friends. Friends can cuddle. It didn’t have to be based off of a mutual attraction, because Splinter didn’t find me attractive. He wouldn’t make a move on me unless provoked. I was out of his league and—shit. I wanted to be in his league. I wanted him, and that was scarier than what had happened on Halloween. I was a magnet for tragedy, and Splinter wouldn’t be immune to fate’s cruel jokes. Everyone I’d ever become emotionally invested in had died horribly. Mackynsie, Everett; their deaths were because of me and I had loved them so much that they decided to love me back. Innocently or not, they died when it should’ve been me.

  God, it should’ve been me. Was it too late to add Survivor’s Guilt to my list of issues?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Thanksgiving was one of the most horrible holidays on the American calendar. It wasn’t only the history behind it (let’s pretend what happened didn’t really happen, and teach it in our schools), but also the fact that no matter who you were, Thanksgiving seemed to be a cursed holiday. Families fought, fell apart, and never seem to want to be together on a holiday that, despite the horrible history, was meant to be for giving thanks. So far my brother was missing, and Lydia and I were trying to keep the peace between Rian, Grayson, and a nearly eleven-year-old girl, which obviously is nothing short of difficult.

  “Please give me the remote, Olivia.” Olivia was the dreaded eleven-year-old, Grayson and Lydia’s daughter.

  “No!” she shouted, continuing to watch her favorite show. I took it from her, and she knew not to argue with me despite not knowing me very well. Maybe it was the ugly grimace I wore on my face. Either way, she was too scared to mess with me. For once, I was glad for that. Because of her fear, I was able to get an appetizer on the table and feed the hungry people in the house.

  Hours had passed since I had last seen Ben, but we collectively decided to eat without him. After all the fake smiles and cheers to us and love and everlasting friendship I became angry; he hadn’t come home at all. I had tried calling one too many times before I gave up. My anger swelled up too fast and too much for me to keep up with him.

  Splinter didn’t bother stopping me from packing my things, nor did he stop me from getting in my car to drive back to Hartford.

  When I was finally safe within the confines of my apartment, I found a bottle of wine I had been gifted from the manager at the bar I worked. I drank the wine straight from the bottle, wondering what was happening to my life. I learned that living in your head could be the loneliest and most dangerous thing, but when you’re not really living all you’ve got are the thoughts in your head. I think that made things far worse for me, because I wasn’t living…I was a shell of the person I used to be, pretending to exist as I once was. I was a glorified zombie.

  After I had gotten sick from quickly ingesting too much wine, I found myself trying to imagine what would have happened if I really died that night with Crosley…if his gunshot had been more fatal than he thought it was or if the bullet had transcended a little deeper into my brain.

  I thought of my funeral and how Ben would probably fuck it all up and still know that it wasn’t good enough. I had never planned my own funeral, so he would have had to do it himself. I imagined him being the one lonely, afraid, and drinking. I imagined him alone with Mother, and while I had been caught up in imagining the could’ves and would’ves of my life, I heard a rapping on my door. I wasn’t sure it was real until I heard it again, which forced me to sober up and attempt to dry my tears.

  I stood up and used the sleeves of my sweater to wipe my eyes. When I opened the door, Splinter was standing there. He didn’t look well. In fact, he looked like he was ready to vomit. Paler by comparison to me and to his usual skin tone, I could see how nervous he was. I had never seen him sweat so much before; even drumming for Eden Sank didn’t make him sweat that much. It was like he had a colossal case of stage fright.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked warily.

  “I need you to come with me. Something has happened to your mother. It isn’t good.”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and shook my head. I kept myself hidden behind the door, and my discouraged attitude shined brightly.

  “What happened this time?”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “Yes I am.”

  He pushed open the door, grabbed me, and slammed the door shut behind us, dragging me out to his car.

  “Ben needs you. Your mother has made the biggest mistake to date. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Did Ben tell you this?”

  “He told me something terrible happened and that the doctors can’t save her. He just said to bring you over even if I had to drag you by your hair.”

  “What the hell happened, Splinter?”

  “I can’t…I can’t tell you.” He seemed more in shock than I did.

  I slapped him, hoping it would bring him out of it. “What. Happened?”

  “She cut herself, Bea. She tried to kill herself. So much blood…so much blood.”

  Everything froze in time. I took the keys from him and made him sit in the passenger side while I drove back to Hanover and to the hospital where Mother had been admitted for her psychiatric care. When I got there, I was praying to anyone who was willing to listen as I searched for any sign of Ben. Splinter stayed in the car. He had never seen someone so near death. He had never seen someone try to take their life. He had never seen the amount of blood one shed when they’re trying to die. I decided he could sit out. I had seen blood shed. I had seen lives end like a burning flame that was snuffed out by a light breeze. I had seen death. I had been dead; this was nothing new to me.

  “Ben?” I called out. He was waving his hand from one of the first rows of chairs in the waiting room. When I approached him I saw all the bloodstains on his shirt. He was there when she did this. I had nothing to say about how he had practically ruined our first Thanksgiving together in eight years. I grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood off his cheek.

  Before I could ask any questions, the doctors came in. I grabbed Ben’s hand and squeezed it tightly. He needed it. Out of all the times he had squeezed my hand to give me strength, it was my turn to be his strength for tonight, because for whatever reason, he needed it more than I did.

  “Mr. Morrison, we…”

  “Please, just tell me.”

  “Mr. Morrison, I’m afraid to say we did the best we could, but it was not enough to save your mother’s life. She is gone.” Suddenly the air had been taken from my lungs. I can’t tell you how many times I had wished my mother dead, and now that she was, I felt so horrible. Horrible, ha. That word doesn’t even come close to what I feel. She’s gone, just like that. I hadn’t once visited her while she sought treatment here. I didn’t even ask the doctor how she was able to slice her arms open and take her own life. I wrapped my arms around my brother and let him cry today. I did this because he never really cried, and today I was his strength.

  ***

  A few weeks had passed until we were able to have our mother laid to rest. It was odd being in a cemetery with a headstone that had my father’s name on it with one right next to it that had my moth
er’s. Both of my parents were dead and now all I had left was Ben. He had been pretty angry lately, so I moved back into his house to take care of him. I put aside all of my feelings to make sure he could have his. Because he had sacrificed so much for me, I could sacrifice a few things for him in return. We were silent through the entire mass, and we gathered with the few people left who cared about our family and watched as our mother was lowered into the ground.

  As they piled dirt over her coffin, I walked back to the cars with my brother. Paparazzi were watching us like hawks. It was hard enough to grieve in private when we lived in an age of over-sharing and the Internet, but when you’re in the public eye it’s almost impossible to grieve. You had to be brave and unbreakable. You had to be strong and filled with compassion. Not loud, but not quite silent.

  No one wanted to hear about our problems until we decided we didn’t want to share them. Every person who owned a camera was snapping our picture as we left the cemetery and headed back to New Hampshire the same day. We wanted to live our lives as normally as possible, but they were never normal. I didn’t think it’s possible for our lives to be normal ever again.

  Ben went straight upstairs to his room where he stayed the rest of the day while I unpacked, cleaned up the house, and threw out the condolence cards and flowers. Ben had made it clear he didn’t want them. There was nothing that could ease our pain. Our mother’s death was the end of our pain, and also the beginning. She died a long time ago in spirit, yet physically she lived on. Now that her physical body was gone, we were left with the notion that our pain of watching our zombie mother harming herself along with everyone around her was gone, and that she was finally at peace. Now we had to be able to find peace with that. I was beginning to doubt the peace I felt when I saw envelopes addressed to Ben and me on the counter in a Ziploc bag with my mother’s rosary and her prayer cards. I opened the bag with care and took only what was mine. It was a letter from my mother, and the things inside I never wanted to remember. I didn’t want her to remember them either. But somehow, she did. The last line of the letter read: