by Meg Collett
Blood streaked across her phone as she fought to pull up a text to Stevie. Tears coursed down her cheeks, knowing that she’d finally done it. She’d finally broken herself beyond repair.
“Hello? Kyra?”
Kyra blinked down at the phone. She’d somehow called Stevie instead of texting her. She hadn’t meant to do that. Her brain was too sluggish to keep up. Another course of shivers cascaded through her body.
Cold. So cold. So tired.
“Kyra? Dude, what’s up?”
“Stevie?” Her voice cracked, and she choked over the dusty dryness of her throat.
“Kyra? Kyra, what’s wrong?”
“Stevie, I…” She looked down at her arms. Gashes spread across them. She hadn’t kept them neat or ordered. There was no pattern, no method. It was just a gruesome checkerboard of a girl who needed relief, a girl who’d lost control.
She couldn’t cover these marks. There would be no hiding now.
“Kyra! Talk to me!”
Stevie sounded frantic. She sounded scared to death. Looking at her arms, Kyra thought her friend might have a right to be scared. She couldn’t remember what she’d said.
“She told me a story about a princess and the magic that kept the darkness away, but it doesn’t work.” She sniffed, feeling lightheaded. She looked away from the blood and swallowed loudly. “It never works.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Did you cut yourself, Kyra? Did you hurt yourself?”
She couldn’t help it; she looked back down at her arms. “No.”
“Oh,” Stevie said, sounding confused. “Dude, are you drunk? Cause you should hear yourself right now. You really had me freaked out.”
She laughed, the sound making Kyra laugh too. The storm was getting worse. The banging on the side of her house grew louder.
“I didn’t cut myself.”
“Well, that’s good. You know it’s not too nice to call your friend who’s in alcohol rehab when you’re drunk.”
“I couldn’t feel it anymore,” Kyra mumbled. She fell back to the floor, cracking her head against the wood. The phone fell from her hand, but she still heard Stevie’s reply.
“Couldn’t feel what? Wait…Kyra?”
She picked the phone up. She had to try a couple times because her hands were slick with blood. “The cuts. I couldn’t feel them anymore. So I cut deeper to feel it. To feel something besides all the…the pressure in my head. But…but I think I did too much.”
“What?” Stevie shrieked. She started screaming to someone in the background for help. “Kyra, what happened? Are you at your house?”
“I didn’t feel it, I swear. That’s why I kept cutting. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I just needed relief.” Kyra sobbed. “She’s dead, Stevie.”
“Who?”
“My mom. She’s dead, and I have nothing.”
“Listen here, you have everything, you bitch. Now get a towel and wrap up your arms. Do it now. Wrap them fucking tight or I swear I will kill you myself.”
Kyra heard glass shattering downstairs. “The storm’s hurting my house,” she mumbled before she blacked out.
thirty-six
Kyra!”
Something stung across the side of her face. Blurrily, she blinked her eyes, looking up to see a figure shrouded in shadows looming above her. She tried to cringe away, but the figure held her tight.
“Damnit, Kyra, stay awake!”
The figure sounded a lot like Hale, but Kyra thought it was more likely Death or maybe even the prince from the fairy tale. She was lifted into the air rather indelicately. The figure kept slapping her and shaking her until she bit her tongue.
“I should’ve known…I should’ve…” The figure was sobbing as they bounced down the steps. Before they were even outside, Kyra felt the drops of water like rain dripping down onto her face. “Please, be okay. Be okay. I love you. Kyra, I love you.”
thirty-seven
The first time Kyra woke, she was in a hospital. Slow, continual beeping filled the room. She was too weak to move, but she couldn’t if she wanted to. She felt the restraints tight around her bandaged wrists.
Outside her room, through a large glass window, Hale was wrapped in Cade’s arms, his massive shoulders wilted over and shaking with sobs. The sight was wrong, off somehow. Hale was the protector, the fist around all those he loved. He was supposed to be the one who held instead of the one who was held. But he looked small and broken. Cade’s long, lanky arms were the perfect length to envelope the broad, bowed form of his brother.
Both protectors. Both perfectly molded to weather the storms for each other.
Cade met her eyes through the window, glaring as if he hated her.
Kyra understood. She hated herself too. She turned her head away and went back to sleep.
thirty-eight
Three weeks later, Kyra returned to her house. She’d spent a few days in the hospital while her wounds healed. She’d suffered bad blood loss and shock, and if it hadn’t been for Hale returning to her house to finish their fight and then breaking in when she didn’t answer, she probably would’ve died. The hospital released her into the care of Dr. Clemens. She’d spent the next couple of weeks healing at The Lodge.
Her aunt and uncle had come to see her many times. Stevie and Cade had come too. Cade was like a puppy following her around, but she was committed to her sobriety first and foremost, she told him. Then she would roll her eyes at Kyra. Hale never came. Kyra made the mistake of asking about him once, but Cade had looked so uncomfortable that she didn’t ask again. Never again did she catch Cade glaring at her.
Stevie didn’t offer to carry her bags, which Kyra took as a good sign. For weeks, everyone had been tiptoeing around her as if she was a cracked porcelain doll. But now she must look well enough for Stevie to deem her fit to carry her own luggage. Luckily, it wasn’t much. She tossed the backpack over her shoulder and looked up at her house.
The exterior was finally done. The mint green paint thrilled her. It looked inviting and cheerful—everything that Kyra needed right then. The shutters were a deep purple, which complimented the green perfectly. All the delicate scrolls and twisted wood were painted in white to set them off against the house. It was beautiful.
“I feel like I’m walking into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. I can’t believe I’m going to have to live next to this for the rest of my life.”
Kyra wrapped her arm around Stevie. “Oh, come on. It’s awesome, and you know it.”
“Whatever.”
Stevie helped her get settled, but Kyra could tell she was lingering. When she offered to help dust, Kyra knew she was worried about her. “Go on, Stevie.” Kyra laughed. “I’m fine. Seriously. It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” Stevie frowned. She looked around. “Will anything in here trigger you?”
“If it does, I’ll call Dr. Clemens.”
“Okay…” Stevie bit her lip. “Well, remember, no surfing until the bandages are off.”
Kyra looked down at her arms, but they were covered by her hoodie. Some of the cuts were so deep that they were still wrapped in bandages to cover the stitches holding the flesh of her arm together. “I remember.”
“Good. Well, I’m coming over for dinner, and we’re eating meat. You need your strength.”
“Fine,” Kyra said, smiling at her friend. She pulled her in for a hug. After a quick moment, she tried to step away, but Stevie clung to her.
“Never again,” she whispered. Kyra couldn’t see her friend’s tears, but she heard them in her voice. “Don’t ever do that again. You’re all I got, and you’re supposed to be the good one, okay? Leave this shit for me to do.”
Kyra hugged Stevie back, squeezing her tight, even though it made the wounds pull in her arms. “How about neither of us do anything like this again?”
“Sounds good. But I’m still entitled to some small form of meltdowns. Just nothing Chernobyl-scale like this.”
Kyra laughed.
“Okay, fine. I’ll agree to those terms.”
“I love you,” Stevie whispered into the side of Kyra’s hair.
“I love you too.”
Finally, she released Kyra. When she stepped back, she looked cool and collected as always. She pulled her sunglasses down onto her face. “See ya later, alligator.”
When Stevie left, Kyra was once again alone. She walked through her house, opening windows to air out the stuffy smell. She noticed Hale had put all her mother’s albums on the bookshelf in the living room. Everything was pristine upstairs. Her bed was neatly made, and the lamp was replaced. Kyra trailed a finger down the side of her chin, where a few stitches held together the cut made by the shattering glass.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Her finger hovered over the text button. All she wanted to do was text Hale, but she wasn’t sure. All she could think about was seeing him in Cade’s arms that night in the hospital. Like she needed to heal and restore herself, he probably needed time for the same after what she’d done to him. Plus, she had a lot of therapy in front of her, and she doubted Hale wanted a part of that.
A knock came from downstairs. Instantly, she hoped it was Hale, but she knew better. With a sigh, she walked back downstairs.
She opened the door and found Florence standing on her porch. If her vision could’ve turned red with anger, it would have. She tried to slam the door in her grandmother’s face, but Florence put her hand on the door.
“Wait, please,” Florence said, stammering.
“What do you want?” Kyra hissed. She was trembling. Tears pricked in the back of her eyes, which only made her angrier.
Florence cleared her throat. She looked as nervous as Kyra was angry. When she finally met Kyra’s eyes, she saw the normal hostility wasn’t there. “I heard about your…your accident.” Kyra snorted at Florence’s words, but the woman hurried on. “But I came over to say that I’m sorry about that day you came over. You caught me off-guard, and I…I just…” Florence looked away, taking a deep breath. “It’s just so hard.”
“If you’re looking for sympathy or something from me, you’ve come to the wrong house,” Kyra said, refusing to feel sorry for this woman. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s hard, because disowning your daughter and granddaughter was the wrong thing to do? Maybe it weighs heavily on your conscious because it was a bad fucking decision.”
Florence cringed at her language, but she didn’t mention it. “I think you’re right,” she said so quietly that Kyra had to lean forward to hear. The words surprised her.
“Then why did you do it?”
Florence’s light blue eyes swam with tears when she looked up. Kyra realized that Florence was holding a small wooden box in her hands. “I was so angry. You can only be that angry with someone you love the most. You know exactly the right way to cut someone down when you love them that much. So, I cut her down,” Florence breathed, the words shaky. “I cut her down and kicked her out.” Her voice cracked and the tears streamed down her wrinkled face. “When she needed love the most, I only gave her hate, just like you said. I still loved her, but I thought anger was the best response. So I broke her. And I… I think… I think I killed her.”
Kyra didn’t hate her grandmother so much that she didn’t feel the slightest bit of empathy for her. She was glad Florence had some remorse for her actions. But she still didn’t invite her in. This was her mother’s house, and only love for her was allowed inside. “She killed herself, Florence.”
She shook her head, and for an awful moment, Kyra thought the older woman thought herself capable of murder. Until she spoke again, and Kyra’s defenses crumbled. “She died of a broken heart. I did that to her. I broke her.”
Kyra couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. But they weren’t angry tears or tears of forgiveness. She stepped out of the shield of her house and embraced Florence. The box she held pressed into Kyra’s abdomen, but she didn’t care. Her grandmother seemed to wither in her arms. She couldn’t wrap her arms around Kyra because of the box, but she put her head on Kyra’s shoulder and sobbed as Kyra sobbed.
“I was…” Florence’s words hitched and cracked around her tears. “I was her mother. I was the only one who could love her through it, and I broke her down instead. I was her mother.”
“Shhh,” Kyra said, rubbing Florence’s back. “She knew you loved her.”
“You can’t know that,” she whispered.
“You were her mother. Of course she knew you loved her. And she loved you.”
“I said awful, horrible things. Things a mother should never say to her daughter. I told her she would die young and alone.”
Kyra stiffened at the words. Florence was right; those were words that should never be spoken to daughters. Actually, Florence was right about a lot. As a mother, she was supposed to love her daughter through the hard times. A mother’s love was the only kind of love that should never falter. Kyra didn’t understand Florence, and she knew she would be angry with her for a long time, but she pitied her.
Kyra’s shirt was soaked with her grandmother’s remorse. It was years too late, and the woman was crying on the wrong daughter’s shoulder, but it was still remorse. She kept consoling Florence until she could straighten and wipe underneath her eyes where her careful makeup had run.
She sniffed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come over here to be a blubbering mess. I just wanted to give you some of her things.” Florence held up the box, offering it out to Kyra.
It was a little cedar chest with tiny flowers drawn onto the lid. She took it from Florence and clutched it tight in her grip. “Are you sure?”
Florence nodded. “I don’t feel right keeping them anymore.”
“Well…thank you.” The silence stretched out, and Kyra shifted awkwardly. She didn’t know what else to say, and no matter what, the woman wasn’t coming into her house.
But Florence seemed to need to say something else. She visibly steeled herself before she met Kyra’s eyes again. “I know this is probably the last thing you want to do, but would you come to her grave with me on Sunday?”
Kyra clenched her jaw. Everything in her screamed to say no, but Florence looked so raw, like she’d been split open before Kyra. “Sure.”
Florence’s smile was shaky. “Thank you, Kyra.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned to leave, making her way carefully down the steps. Kyra stood on her porch. On the road, Garlan sat in the car. He turned it on as Florence approached and lifted his hand in a silent greeting. Kyra waved back, offering her grandfather a tiny smile. She knew he’d been a big part in Florence’s reformation.
She paused halfway through Kyra’s front garden and turned back around, shielding her eyes against the sun. “You’re a lot like her, you know.” Kyra tensed at the words, thinking Florence was going to add something hateful. “You have all her best parts, and I can see you struggle with the same depression. Don’t let it take you like it took her.” Florence was crying again. She swiped at the tears as if she was frustrated with them. “If you need any help or need anyone to talk to, I’m here. I’m here,” Florence repeated mostly to herself before she turned back to the car.
Kyra didn’t wait for her to leave. She went inside and closed the door. With the box in her hands, she slid down the door onto the floor, feeling as if she’d been wrung from the inside out. With a deep breath, she opened the box.
There wasn’t much inside, which she was thankful for. She had Dr. Clemens’s number pulled up and ready to hit send in case something upset her. But the box was just a few pieces of jewelry, a medal from a science fair, and a diary.
Kyra knew better than to try and read it now. She closed the lid on the box and set it beside her. There was plenty of time for that later. After a few minutes, Kyra stood and went into her living room. She put the box next to the albums. It looked good there, she thought. And it could stay there until she was ready.
thirty-nine
That evening
, Kyra heard another knock on the door, followed by Stevie tromping in. “Hey, dork,” she called, her voice ringing off the walls of the house.
“I’m in the kitchen!” Kyra shouted back, smiling at the familiar comfort of her home and Stevie’s humor. She finished planting the last little herb container. She’d purchased a kit today along with some new plants. Stevie had tried to water her flowers while she was gone, but, well, Stevie would be Stevie, in all her forgetful glory.
“I hope you’re ready to swallow some meat,” Stevie said in a sing-song voice as she came into the kitchen. “‘Cause I brought pepperoni!”
“Very funny, Stevie,” Kyra said, rolling her eyes. She looked over her shoulder as Stevie deposited the pizza on the counter and hopped up next to it. Cade walked in the door behind her.
“Hey, Kyra. I hope you do not mind…” Cade’s voice had never sounded so shy and unsure around her. She still didn’t know how he felt about her, but she thought it was a good sign that he’d come over.
“No!” Kyra said, walking over to hug him. “It’s totally fine.”
“You sure about that?”
Kyra froze, her eyes darting back to the kitchen door. It was Hale who’d spoken.
Hale…
He stood in the doorway, hesitating and even more uncertain than his brother had been. His hair was a bit longer, and Kyra could tell he had some new tattoos that covered the tops of his hands. He looked tanner, as if he’d been in the water more lately. Somehow, it looked as though his muscles were even bigger. But his beautiful eyes watched her and waited.
“Of course,” she said. She had to clear her throat. “Thanks for coming.”
“Oh, shitballs. I left the…uh…the water over at my house.” Stevie hopped off the counter. “Cade, come with me to get it.”
“But I am sure Kyra has—”
