“I’ll just pretend you didn’t say that,” Mathilda says, making a sour face. “I haven’t walked anywhere since I was twelve years old.”
Dillon’s car is parked in Kyle’s driveway, and Pepper’s white Jeep is behind it. A dozen or more other vehicles I don’t recognize are lined up and down the street, and loud music booms from the small three-bedroom house.
“This will be fun,” my friend insists before getting out.
I follow her and Herb through the front door I used to spend summers walking in and out of when we were younger. Kyle’s house looks the same as I remember it, and it helps me feel not so out of place.
Until I see Dillon with Pepper in the kitchen, smiling and talking in quiet voices only to each other.
“Remember, I’ll eat her face,” Mathilda says, walking me past the kitchen to the living room and passing me a beer. “Drink this and relax. I leave for college in six weeks, so let’s make the most of it.”
I hold the icy silver can, but don’t take a single sip. Three brews in, Mathilda doesn’t even notice. She controls the room, animated and fun with conversations she makes a point to include me in. Redhead retells stories about when we were younger—holding hands while we rode on handlebars and dirty faces as we explored the woods—and it’s truly not until this moment that I realize I’ve always been important to her.
“It was back when Pen wore colored sunglasses every day. One of the lenses popped out, and she wouldn’t stop crying until we found it. Turns out some freakin’ squirrel snatched it. Dillon literally chased it around all afternoon. Meanwhile, I walked Pen back home to grab a new pair of shades, and we were making mud pies when D showed up a few hours later with a squirrel bite on his hand and the purple lens.”
We all laugh, and Dillon comes out of the kitchen at the sound of his name.
“Remember that?” Mathilda asks him. “Your mom rushed you to the ER for a rabies shot, and you couldn’t play outside for a week.”
The boy next door looks at me and actually smiles. “Yeah, I remember.”
The tension eases with his simple statement, and as the conversation continues, Dillon and I don’t directly speak to each other, but his presence isn’t horrible. I finally let my guard down and enjoy myself.
It isn’t until I excuse myself to use the bathroom that I realize my cell phone has been ringing. Joshua’s name shows up five times under Missed Calls, and he’s left a few text messages.
Where are you?
Why haven’t you called me?
Heard you’re at Kyle’s.
His last one sends me running out of the bathroom door, but it’s too late.
I’m here.
Josh and his friends are already inside, and the mood of the party has dwindled significantly. Instead of caring about my boyfriend’s reaction at seeing me here, I wait for Dillon’s. His response doesn’t surprise me.
“Mind taking your trash out, Pen?” He nods toward the party crashers lingering in front of the door.
A true troublemaker, Josh pushes past me like I’m not here and attacks the boy he’s held a grudge for since the day a bus dropped him off at our school four years ago while his friends go after Herb and Kyle.
Everything after that goes by so fast.
Josh hits Dillon, and he falls.
Dillon fights back.
Both boys bleed.
Everyone shouts.
Mathilda pushes me into a corner and won’t let me move.
Dillon’s hit in the stomach. He’s doubled over and looks up at me as I cry for Josh to stop.
“Please! Please, stop!” I scream.
It’s not until blue and red lights start to flash through the front window do Josh and his friends bolt out the door they came in through. Left in the wake of their destruction, no one has to say anything. I know they blame me.
“You’re not staying in bed all day again, Pen.” My mom yanks the covers off my body before she walks over and opens the window. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Millions of people live with depression and don’t sleep their lives away. Get up.”
Blinking against gray light brightening my room through parted curtains, I give my mind a second to catch up to an ache buried deep within my bones and stiffness weakening my muscles before I say anything. That’s all the time it takes for anxiety to realize I’m awake and strike straight through my deadened heart. Panic rises next, lodging itself in my throat so I can’t take a decent breath. I turn over on my back and stare at the white ceiling above me, praying today is the day this goes away.
I missed one dose the night of Kyle’s party. Two weeks later, I’m still fighting to get back on track.
“Why don’t you understand it’s not that easy?” I say in an uneven tone.
If she’d leave me here, maybe I could get decent sleep and feel better when I wake up on my own. Instead, she barges in here every few hours with the same demands, sparking the same argument.
“I started the shower for you,” she says.
We’ve been here before. Mom and I have had this conversation during this identical situation hundreds of times, but she still doesn’t get it.
I’m broken.
A shower isn’t going to help me feel better.
All I want is to be left alone.
Mom sits on the edge of my bed and rubs her hand up and down my leg. I gasp for air, clawing at my throat and chest, crying and frustrated. There’s not a thing I want more than to disappear, but it’s impossible because I’m made of nothing.
The woman who brought me into this hell holds my face in her hands. “Is it never better, Penelope? You can’t live like this.”
Tingles swell from the tip of my nose to the ends of every stand of hair on my scalp. Collapsing lungs push shallow gasps of air between my clenched teeth and cracked lips. I dig the balls of my feet into my mattress and bunch the fitted sheet into my white-knuckled fist.
“Go away,” I cry, pulling the white cotton from my bed completely.
Mom kisses my face, mixing her tears with mine. “Tell me what to do, baby. Tell me how to fix this.”
Dillon.
I haven’t seen my boy in so long and miss everything about him: his face, his hands, his voice. I miss his laugh, his love, his arms, and his strength. I miss him between my legs and all around my body. I miss his presence and his conscience. I long for his kindness and caring. I miss him so fucking much it hurts. So I cry, and I fight, and I scream until my mom leaves my room and shuts the door.
Pulling the covers over my head, I block out any light and curl myself into a tight ball. Panic continues to rage, alive inside my chest, but slowly my body calms and my breathing regulates. Burning eyes drift from open to closed, and my aching jaw rests. One by one, my stiff fingers release their hold on my sheet, and sleep sweeps me into its embrace.
My only company in this void is my longing for Dillon.
In the blackness of unconsciousness, I miss him so much.
Tomorrow I will try. Tomorrow will be better.
For now, I need to sleep.
“I overheard Coach Finnel talking about Penelope last night. Do you want to know what he said?” Risa asks, sitting at the kitchen table.
Pouring myself a glass of orange juice, I shrug my shoulder and look at my sister over the rim of my glass as I take a drink of the cold citrus. It’s taken twenty-three years, but the girl born a half-decade before me has finally grown up. She didn’t spend this summer following some band going nowhere around the state, sleeping in the back of a van, or getting tattoos with unsterilized needles. The dreads are gone, and her hair is its natural blonde color. Risa still lives at home, but she got a job at the diner in town and even started taking a few online college courses.
Much to my parents’ dissatisfaction, it’s more than I’m doing.
“The medication she’s been on for the last year stopped working, and her doctor is having a hard time finding something that does. Wayne said she’s on her third prescription in three months, but
it doesn’t look good, so he’s not coaching this season to be home with Pen more often.”
I set my empty glass into the sink and place my hands on the edge of the counter while what my sister tells me soaks in. Dropping my head, I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself that it isn’t my responsibility to go next door and force madness out of bed.
More than twelve months have passed since she broke my heart, but I have to tell myself this daily.
“What do you want me to do, Risa?” Clearing my throat, I stand straight and turn to face judgment.
The same person who lectured me about taking care of myself when I was in the thick of sickness with Pen stares back at me with bright green eyes that reflect my own yearning for her. I look away and swallow the responsibility loving Penelope requires and force one foot in front of the other before my sister layers blame on top of guilt I already live with.
“I only said something because I thought you would want to know,” she calls after me.
“All right,” I say quickly.
It’s hard when my family loves her as much as I do. None of them appreciated the turn our relationship took, but our families are close, and they come to me with her conditions and diagnoses. What do they expect me to do? Run over there and somehow save her? I couldn’t before, and I won’t now.
“Dillon, you owe Penelope some of your time,” Risa says, conflict thickly laced in her voice. “I know she hurt you, but this is larger than that now. She’s not doing well.”
“You have no idea what she’s done to me.”
Despite the pain I could easily run away from and regardless of my refusal to face sadness, I’m still in Castle Rain while college acceptance letters sit unanswered in my room. Goals I’ve had since childhood fall further out of my reach as everyone I know moves on with their lives. I live with my mom and dad’s disappointment every day because I’m afraid to leave the girl next door behind.
It’s a purgatory I can’t escape.
Risa snatches her keys from the counter in haste. “I have to work, and Mom and Dad won’t be home tonight. Can you hang here alone until I get home?”
“I’m eighteen.” I smirk. “You don’t need to babysit me anymore.”
“I know, but I worry,” she says. “If you’re not going to school, you should get a job or something. It’s not good to sit around the house all day. Ask Kyle if he can get you on the road crew with him.”
Rolling my eyes as I take the stairs up to my room, I’ve heard that same line from my life-givers all summer long. They don’t agree with my decision to skip a year before continuing my education. Ending up in medical school will put a hold on my life long enough without prolonging it by twelve months, but neither one of them needed me to actually spell out the reasons behind my choice.
Pepper put on a show before she left a month ago, complete with smeared mascara—because of some one-sided tears and claims that she thought this was love. I felt I owed her my time after stringing her along, so I sat through her breakdown and apologized when she threw an empty shoebox at me and asked, “How could you do this?”
She knew.
Before I left her house that night, Pepper Hill’s last words to me proved it.
“Your Penelope is with Joshua Dark. She doesn’t love you.”
Upon opening my bedroom door, my space is colder than the rest of the house, lightless—thanks to the board hammered around my window. After staring at it for a moment, knowing the thin piece of plywood never did anything to block sadness out, I walk over and slip my fingers between it and the wall. Metal nails easily slip out of the dusty drywall as one corner at a time comes free.
Gray October light fills my room again, and I squint against its brilliance. Old metal blinds, bent and broken, fall free, shaking dirt and dust into the air. Tearing them down entirely, I unlock the window I haven’t seen or touched since I nailed it shut and lift the rickety panes of glass to let in some fresh air.
Penelope’s yellow curtains are open, but she’s nowhere in sight. I can’t bring myself to go over there yet, but I hope she sees the board down and knows I’m still here.
“Herb and Mathilda are home for Thanksgiving,” Kyle says, breaking off half of his sandwich and taking a large bite. With food in his mouth, he asks, “They’re having a party tonight. Wanna go?”
I took a job filling in potholes and repainting the lines in the streets with Kyle and the rest of the Castle Rain road crew when my dad wouldn’t get off my back about school and my inability to support myself. Sitting on the curb along our worksite, decked out in an orange reflective vest, old jeans, and work boots, I have calluses on my hands and a new respect for manual labor. This is it for my oldest friend who decided a long time ago that another four years of school wasn’t for him, but grinding this hard has solidified my decision to work toward earning an MD.
“I don’t know,” I say, kicking gravel into the middle of the street.
With the second half of his turkey on rye in his right hand, Kyle swallows his last bite and says, “Penelope’s going to be there.”
I heard the girl next door got a part-time job at the grocery store, and my mom mentioned that she saw her driving Wayne’s Chrysler in town a few times. Pen and her family go into the diner where my sister works at least once a week, and Herbert told me she and Mathilda have kept in touch after their move to Seattle. But despite living in such a small town and being neighbors, my path doesn’t cross with hers any more than that.
Even with the board covering my window down.
I stand at the mention of her name and lean back against our work truck. Squinting against rare November sun, I say, “It’s probably not a good idea.”
“When’s the last time you talked to her? Maybe it’ll give you some closure or something.” Kyle wipes crumbs from his hands on the front of his dingy white T-shirt.
The right side of my mouth curves up, and my friend shrugs his shoulders.
“You guys split up over a year ago. How long are you going to avoid her?” he says, placing his hard hat back over his blonde hair. “Besides, seeing you out here breaking a sweat and popping blisters instead of learning how to save lives breaks my heart. Get this shit with Pen figured out so you can start living life, my man.”
Grabbing my shovel, I follow Kyle out to the street where we were working before we broke for lunch and ask, “What do you know? You’ve never even had a girlfriend.”
“I went on a date last night,” he says, shoveling a scoop of asphalt into the hole.
“With who?”
Kyle stands straight and pushes his hard hat back. With a crooked smile bowing his lips, he winks and says, “This older chick.”
I park down the street and smoke a cigarette to calm my nerves on the walk up to Mathilda’s parents’ house. With the moon covered by storm clouds, the streets are dark, and a light mist starts to fall from the sky onto my face. Blowing burned nicotine into the air, I flick my cigarette butt into the gutter and pull my hood over my head before knocking on the white security screen.
Herbert answers, flooding the porch with light and the sounds of laughter and music from inside.
“Get out of the rain,” he says, moving to the side so I can come inside.
He pats me on the back and hands me a cold beer bottle, but my attention has already fallen on madness. Everything but wavy brown hair and uncovered sad eyes dissolves into a blur of nothing important. My feet carry me over to where Penelope’s sitting on the couch alone, and I lean down and kiss her cheek.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Hi.” Sadness pushes her hair behind her ear.
She’s smaller than I remember and uncomfortable in her own skin.
Rubbing my thumb over the roundness of her cheek going red, I stand over the only girl I’ve ever loved and wonder how I’ve gone so long without touching her. Holding my gravel-scratched, road-rough hand out for hers, she slips her small bones covered in soft skin into mine without hesitation. Lacing our finge
rs into a mended fist, I pull Pen up from her seat and lead her to the first room I come across.
This isn’t the girl who used to draw peace signs on her cheeks or write me notes across our lawns in the middle of the night. The softness in Penelope’s eyes has hardened with the fucked-up deal life has dealt her. She doesn’t cover obvious sleeplessness with thick layers of makeup anymore, but allows the world to see the dark purple stained beneath her lower lashes.
Lifting regret onto a dresser along the wall, I spread her knees and shove her skirt up her skinny thighs before standing between them.
“Tell me not to,” I say breathlessly, staring at her parted lips.
Penelope scoots to the very edge of the stained wood and jerks me closer by the front of my hoodie. Her round chest expands and contracts against mine with every heavy breath entering and existing lungs that won’t work fast enough. Wrapping her arms around my neck, Pen circles her warmest part against where I am hard.
“Please, don’t stop,” she says, turning her face into my neck. “Don’t leave me here.”
Kissing the side of her heated face, I reach between us and unbutton my jeans. Penelope cries out as my knuckles brush against her tenderness, and in an attempt to hear it again but louder, I push her underwear over and enter her in one harsh thrust.
We melt.
“Do you feel me now?” I ask, pulling almost all the way out and slamming back in.
Shaking around every part of me, madness pulls on my hair and sinks her teeth into the base of my throat. My knees crash into the drawers, and my fingers get caught between the edge of the dresser and the wall as our bodies send groaning wood into the semi-gloss finish. Practically climbing on top of her, I cover every inch of sadness with my bursting need to be nearer and more inside.
“I love you. I love you,” I say before attaching my mouth to the thin skin of her neck and suck.
I empty every emotion I’ve had since this girl broke my soul inside her and pull her thin veins and flimsy tendons between my teeth, breaking blood vessels with my lips. I leave her throat black and blue by the time we finish, marking Penelope with my incapability to control my need to be with her. Brushing my fingers across marks she doesn’t deserve, guilt slices me open when I look up and watch her eyes spill devastation.
True Love Way Page 16
