Fakers

by Meg Collett

  Sweet Kyra,

  Happy Birthday, baby girl! You’re turning one year old today, and, for me, it’s been a blessed year knowing you’re in the same world I live in.

  I can’t give you a present this year, so I wrote you a fairy tale. I hope your aunt and uncle will read this to you as a bedtime story. And one day, I hope you will read it for yourself. When you do, I pray you’ll understand why I have to leave you. I also pray that you know how happy you made me the day you were born.

  So here goes…

  Once upon a time, there was a young princess. She had a good life, a fortunate life, high up in her castle. The king and queen gave the princess everything she ever wanted. She had ponies, dolls, and all the friends a girl could ask for.

  But the kingdom was cursed. There was a darkness in the lands that only certain people saw, including the princess. Some nights it would slip in her window and stifle her cries. Sometimes she would see it when she was playing with her friends or taking a nap. Its inky depths terrified her; its shadowed tendrils chased her. She thought if she looked too long at it that it would suck her in and she would never see the king and queen ever again.

  Years passed and the young princess grew up, but she kept seeing the darkness more and more. And then one day, a handsome prince came to the kingdom, and he told the princess that he could see the shadows too. She cried with relief because someone finally understood her pain.

  The prince rescued her because he had ways to make the shadows go away. He had magic that made the kingdom pure and light and bright for a while. But it was only a short while. And when the blackness came back, it would always come back worse than before.

  Soon the princess realized she had her own little princess baby growing inside of her. It was the most exciting day of her life. She raced across the kingdom to tell the king and queen, but they were not happy. They sensed the prince’s magic on her, and they banished her from the kingdom. Magic was not allowed, but it was a rule the princess had been sheltered from. She’d never known hate, and she never knew love could be broken.

  Sad and destroyed, the princess went back to her prince. He fed her more and more magic to keep the darkness away. All the while, the baby grew inside the princess. She would hold her stomach and feel the little baby saying hello, and she knew that some love was strong enough to never break.

  But the magic started to not keep the blackness away completely. The princess couldn’t run away anymore, and men came and took her away from the prince and locked her in a forgotten, dark tower far away from anywhere she’d ever known. The magic was gone, and all she had was the baby inside her for comfort.

  And when the baby was born, the princess was the happiest she’d ever been. Her baby was better than any of the rich, lavish presents the king and queen had ever given her. It was the best day of the princess’s life. But then the men from the tower took her baby away, and the princess was alone once again.

  She had no protection from the darkness now. She had no one to comfort her. The prince was far away and never came to see her. All the happiness the princess had felt when she held her baby princess was long gone.

  So she dreamed of a sleep, a sleep so deep that the darkness could never find the princess ever again. The sleep would take the princess to a kingdom so perfect it would never be tarnished by shadows. It would have jeweled castles and white horses and knights in shining armor. The princess would be loved and cherished and protected forever. There, in that perfect kingdom, the princess would wait for her happiness again. One day, she would find her little baby princess. It would be perfect.

  So the princess went to sleep. She went to that perfect place to free herself from the binds of the darkness. Her knights in shining armor would protect her. She would ride around on fancy white horses. But all the while, she would wait for her baby to come to her. And when they were together again, they would live happily ever after.

  The end.

  I love you baby girl,

  Lila

  Kyra’s grip on the letter wrinkled the pages. She wasn’t breathing. Tears fell in torrents down her face. She swayed in her seat, feeling dizzy and overcome with emotion. Setting the letter aside to keep it from getting wet, Kyra bowed her head and sobbed.

  Her mom had written her a fairy tale for her first birthday. Kyra could have grown up falling asleep to the words of her mother. She would have cherished this letter, this story. It could have been the bridge over the dark hole inside of her.

  Her mother had felt the same darkness Kyra did. She wouldn’t have felt so alone. She wouldn’t have wondered what was wrong with her.

  Maybe she could have fallen asleep with dreams of princesses and kingdoms instead of crying into her pillow because she was a little girl who missed her mommy.

  When the tears stopped and Kyra was just hiccupping into her hands, she stood on shaky legs. She didn’t know if she was going to vomit or pass out. Her eyes drifted back to the letter.

  She didn’t understand why she’d never gotten it if her mother had intended for her to have it. Instead, it was here, lost amongst forgotten pictures. Like the photo albums, the letter had been left behind like trash left for the next person to clean out, which meant there was only one person who knew the albums and letter had been left behind.

  Florence had done this. Florence had ruined Kyra’s life like she’d ruined her daughter’s life. That selfish, evil bitch had driven her daughter to suicide and left a Kyra with no memories of her mother.

  A strangled sound ripped from Kyra’s throat. After snatching up the letter, she launched herself at the door. She would settle this. She would end this today.

  She rocketed down the stairs, her feet barely touching the treads. She hit the door at full speed, banging it open on the hinges. It crashed against the wall, rattling the windows.

  “Kyra?” Hale called from somewhere inside the house. She leapt from the porch, her knees buckling when she hit the ground. “Kyra!” he shouted again, and from a corner of her mind, she heard the fear in his voice.

  The rain came down harder now, but she didn’t go to her Jeep. She raced out to the road and took off for Florence’s house. It wasn’t far away, but she couldn’t think about any of that rationally. She would have run to the next state if she needed to.

  She was soaked in less than a minute. The wind made her stumble as it blustered about. The trees whipped above her, and all the houses were closed up and prepared for war. No one walked the streets and no cars passed her. It was a ghost town; Kyra was the only one crazy enough to venture out into the weather.

  She wasn’t even breathing hard when she leapt over the front gate of the large, white house two streets over from her own. She jumped up the steps and pounded on the front door. When it opened and Florence stared down at her with wide, shocked eyes, Kyra reared back and slapped her grandmother as hard as she could.

  thirty

  Florence screamed.

  Kyra screamed louder.

  “How could you?” She waved the soaked, sloppy mess of a letter in front of her grandmother’s face. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Florence?” Garlan came from the kitchen holding a newspaper in his hands. He looked between Florence and Kyra, understanding instantly.

  “Get her out of here! Call the police!” Florence shrieked, stumbling back as Kyra advanced farther into the house.

  Kyra threw the letter at Florence, who ducked in time. The paper sailed straight past her like a lumpy ball. “You kept her letter from me! It was the only thing I had, and you didn’t give it to me!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kyra stalked closer. Garlan bent to pick up the letter from the floor. He didn’t look like he was calling the cops anytime soon. “But how could you do that to your daughter? To your granddaughter?”

  “You are not my granddaughter. She is not my daughter.”

  “Yes, we are!” Kyra screa
med inches from Florence’s face. “No matter how many times you say it or how cruel and vicious you are, it doesn’t change the fact that we are your family. And you killed us. You destroyed us. You tore everything we had from us.”

  “She deserved to have nothing!” Spit flew from Florence’s mouth. “You weren’t wanted, just like she wasn’t wanted.”

  “How can you say that? She was your child!”

  “Florence,” Garlan started, but she shouted above him.

  “She was dead to me the day she walked out of my house. I mourned my baby then, long before she hanged herself in that disgusting prison.”

  Kyra recoiled, vomit rising in her throat. She’d never known how her mother had killed herself, but hearing it now only fueled her trembling rage. “You should have loved her through it. You should have done something to help her! She just needed help!”

  Her words were jagged, guttural shrieks. She could barely understand herself. Garlan came farther into the room, his eyes dancing between the two women.

  “Nothing could save her. She was on her own. That’s the way she wanted it, so I gave it to her.” Florence sniffed, tilting her chin as if she’d only deigned to give Lila her greatest wish.

  Kyra wanted to hit her grandmother so hard that she lost any memory of her daughter, which, sadly, was probably exactly what Florence wanted too.

  She leapt forward and grabbed the material of Florence’s linen shirt. The woman screeched and flailed, but Kyra held on. The sound of material ripping filled the house. “You could’ve saved her! She needed her mom, and you just kicked her down further! What kind of person are you? You’re horrible and ugly and filthy and…” she petered out, her words turning into a garbled mess. She began to shiver, began to see shadows building in the corner of her vision. Her hold on Florence slackened.

  Florence’s face looked stricken; she stumbled away from Kyra’s grip and began to cry. “You’re crazy. You’re crazy. Get out of my house. Garlan, help me!”

  “You broke her heart, you know that? And you broke my fucking heart…I needed that letter. I needed to know she loved me, but you took that from me too…”

  “You are just like her! You’re selfish and hateful! You probably take those evil drugs and spread your legs for any man who walks by. You’re despicable. Just like her. She burns in Hell, just like you will.”

  “Florence!” Garlan bellowed.

  Everyone quieted. Exhausted, Kyra looked at her grandfather, who had finally had enough. Florence cringed away, her face paling and her tears falling harder. She sniffled, looking between her husband and Kyra.

  “That’s enough. I can’t take this anymore,” he said, shaking his head and looking as if the weight of his wife’s bitterness had aged him more than time. He walked past Florence and handed the letter to Kyra. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the letter. If I had, I would’ve made sure you got it. I hope one day you can forgive us for what we did to you and your mother.” Garlan turned his head to his wife, his expression loathing. “If we ever deserve your forgiveness.”

  Kyra looked down at the letter. It was completely ruined. The water had turned the paper into shredding clumps of goo. The ink bled and blurred into an unreadable mass. The only link Kyra had to her mother was ruined. She’d ruined it.

  The line between her and her mother was blurring. She felt the darkness inside her open its gaping maw and devour her. She was cracking apart, right there, in the house of her enemy.

  A sob escaped her throat, and she turned and ran. The door was still open where she’d barged in. She didn’t bother closing it. Halfway down the steps, she fell, wrenching her ankle to the side. Sobbing, blinded by her tears, Kyra tried to stand. She would’ve fallen if not for strong hands wrapping around her waist.

  “I’ve got you,” Hale said.

  Kyra looked up at him. Water dripped down his face, but his eyes were full of real love and compassion. She wilted against his arms, sobbing even harder. “It’s ruined,” she said over and over.

  Hale tucked her into his truck. He must have followed her over and waited outside for her. The thought tore through her harder than the wind that blew around them. The storm was upon them, but she had already been through one.

  She was destroyed. Everything was gone. All that remained was a skeleton.

  thirty-one

  Please just go!” Kyra howled.

  Hale hovered in the door to her bedroom. “I don’t think you should be alone like this…”

  He was right, she thought. If she’d told him about the cutting, he would know not to leave her. He would know that the only thing she wanted in the whole wide world right then was a shiny metal blade. He should stay, but the rational part of Kyra wasn’t strong enough to tell him that, to tell him that she needed help right now. She was too lost, too ravaged, to speak the words. She’d told no one but Stevie that she was broken. No one else knew. And Stevie didn’t know what was happening right now.

  She didn’t know that Kyra had fallen into a hole so deep that she couldn’t feel anything but the hollow echo of her silent screams around her as she plummeted down and down and down.

  “I don’t want you here!” she shouted. “Leave me alone!”

  Hale still hesitated. He was torn between going and staying. “Kyra…”

  “Get out of my fucking house!” She threw her laptop at him. It bounced off the wall and landed on the floor, cracking apart like a split fruit. She screamed in frustration. Nothing was working to make him leave, and she needed to feel that cutting pain before her heart exploded inside her chest. Hale advanced toward her once again, his hands stretched out, reaching for her. And that made her snap.

  “I bet Cade tried to drown himself just to get away from you!”

  Hale jerked as if she’d slapped him. The compassion that had been in his eyes moments before iced over. She’d done the trick.

  “You know what, Kyra? Fuck you!” Hale shouted, his rage twisting his face. He slammed her bedroom door hard enough to crack the picture frame that’d been hanging on her wall. She hadn’t even noticed it.

  He’d framed his drawings for her.

  thirty-two

  Kyra didn’t know what time it was. It was so dark outside that she couldn’t tell if it was night or day. The storm rocked around the house, making the old structure howl and screech like a banshee. She covered her ears and screamed until her head threatened to split apart.

  She felt nothing but her own pain. The darkness ate itself around her and bore down on her like a monster with snapping jaws and dripping drool. This was it, she thought. This was where she’d go finally crazy.

  Her eyes flickered to the bathroom. The door was open. Inside the medicine cabinet was a razor blade. She couldn’t hold off the desire any longer.

  She didn’t want to kill herself. This wouldn’t be a suicide attempt, she told herself. She was in control. She just needed one cut, one little slash. Besides, she just wanted some relief. Relief from the howling inside of her. Relief from the everlasting fall through the darkness inside her. Relief from the pictures of her mother that played across her mind in an endless loop.

  Tutus and dance recitals. Birthday cake crumbs and melting candles. Lila on Garlan’s shoulders, laughing and clinging to his head. A whole life. A good life. A short one too.

  Something banged against the side of the house and Kyra fell out of bed.

  She crawled to the bathroom.

  This had to end.

  thirty-three

  Deeper.

  Deeper this time.

  Don’t be scared. Make it deeper to feel. Make it deeper to float away.

  Deeper and it’ll take away those bad feelings.

  Kyra whimpered at the searing fire stretching across her skin. The tears pressed against the back of her eyes. But the pain…the pain was the most intoxicating relief. It drowned out the black hole that writhed inside her.

  Even if only for a moment. And then she had to cut again.

 
Like the princess and the magic, she thought. A laugh bubbled from her mouth. She choked on it, gagged, and cut again.

  The blood trickled down the bone of her wrist. It felt cool against her feverish skin. Shivering on the bathroom floor, she watched its inching path down her thumb. There it hovered, curling into itself until it fell ever so slowly to the floor. There it splattered, sending tiny droplets over the beautiful white tile. There it lay, waiting for company.

  As more drops fell, Kyra wondered if her blood would stain the grout.

  Hale would hate that.

  thirty-four

  They kept coming back. Kyra couldn’t keep them at bay. The tsunami of emotions gave her no relief. She felt them all, the entire gamut. They were relentless, battering against her.

  The darkness. The princess. A kingdom of white horses and knights in shining armor and castles that glinted in the warm, summer sunlight. There, just there, in a sleep so deep that not even the sadness could reach her.

  She shook her head. No, not the sleep. Just relief. She only wanted relief. So she kept cutting. She kept thinking she was in control, only to feel it slip away more and more with every passing moment.

  “Please,” she prayed. “Please.”

  She couldn’t stop. She prayed to stop. She’d lost control.

  Lost herself.

  thirty-five

  She crawled out to her room, stopping once because her body was shaking too badly to move. Her vision slanted horribly, but she managed to make it. She threw her hand up to the night stand, fumbling about until she found her phone. The glass lamp tumbled off the table and crashed to the floor beside her. It shattered inches from Kyra’s face. She ripped her phone from the wall where it had been charging.