Crowned with Guilt

by S. K. Rose

  He has a comforting and wise presence that I have always tried to emanate. The most impressive thing about my father is how far he’s risen in his career. He started out as a prosecution attorney, and worked tirelessly to help put tons of criminals behind bars. It was about seven years ago, before the accident and we had to move, when he busted a huge drug cartel case wide open in the courtroom. He became famous overnight, and it wasn’t long after he was bumped up to District Attorney. It’s one of the reasons he wanted to come back to the small town of Alder Grove, more difficult for vengeful criminals to find him. It does mean he travels quite a bit which is the only downside.

  Taking a seat at the dining room table across from Dad, I watch as Mom walks with purpose through the dining area to grab something from the walk-in pantry. As she passes by, Dad’s arms whip out from nowhere to grab her by the waist and pull her into his lap. Mom hits him with a dish towel, giggling like a teenager. He buries his face into her neck, tickling her with his beard. Marybeth yells for them to stop being gross, but says it with a grin as she looks back from the kitchen waving around a spatula.

  Apparently when we were kids, my sister and I made a pact that the only way we would get married is if we found a relationship just like our parents’. I don’t actually remember the pact, but she assures me that it happened. It’s moments like these I’m inclined to believe her. They are always loving and kind to one another, and after all these years, still just as playful. Most importantly, when things get serious, they stand as a united front, always having each other’s back.

  With a startling realization I understand that I’ve taken my parents for granted. It's so easy to forget that there are others in the world who don’t grow up with this kind of family.

  I don’t think this is the first time I’ve had that same epiphany.

  Shrugging away my thoughts I help set the table while the girls finish cooking. Mom is telling a story from what she calls “The Great Kinder Escapades.” As a kindergarten teacher, she’s never short on amusing student antics.

  “Their alphabet books are just a disaster. First off, I can’t tell you how many square apples I saw on the ‘A’ page. We are definitely going to revisit shapes here soon. Anyway, little Millie gets up to display her ‘S’ page on the projector and all I see is a little stick figure holding what appears to be a very large penis.” After a fit of laughter she continues, “Finally I was able to put on a straight face and ask her to explain her drawing. Millie became quite furious that I couldn’t tell what her picture was of, and proceeded to yell that they were obviously scissors and how stupid was I for not knowing that. Little Millie has something of a nasty temper.”

  “Oh, God, Mom, seriously?” Marybeth’s staring at her with disgust.

  “Chrissy, dear, you’re terrible,” Dad says, looking up from the news, struggling to keep his face a frown. This only makes mom cackle louder, and now we’re all shaking our heads at her.

  That is, until she grins and busts out said picture from her bag and we see just how phallic-shaped those scissors actually are. The scissor “handles” even resemble a large set of balls. At this point, we all lose it.

  “Now that we’ve shown our guest just how crude the Blackwells are, please, Tessa, why don’t you have a seat? I promise my wife will table the talk of genitalia.”

  Before I can turn to follow Dad’s line of vision, Mom doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Not what you were saying last night,” she retorts. My sister and I both groan and yell at the same time.

  “Jesus, Mom, TMI! I can’t even with you guys!” Marybeth cries.

  “Seriously? What’s wrong with you Ma?” I glare over at her.

  Dad has started dishing out his food and ignores his wife’s comment, but there’s a definite twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

  I hear a quiet giggle and am reminded that Tessa has been standing in the doorway for who knows how long.

  Looking over my shoulder, I’m immediately glad the table hides my lower half, because I become instantly alert. Not that this isn’t already a common occurrence for me these past few years. I swear I’ll go stiff from a strong breeze hitting me just right.

  I’ve seen Tess glammed up in a skintight dress and dark makeup, and just this morning I saw her in bits of lace. But this—this is a whole new level of sexy.

  Fidgeting awkwardly in the doorway, Tessa stands there in my black T-shirt and old basketball shorts. It’s hands down the hottest thing I have ever seen. Her face is completely free of makeup, and without all the dark crap hiding her face, she is breathtaking. But more than anything, there’s just something about her being in my clothes that sends a shiver down my spine.

  “Son, you just gonna stare or invite the young lady to eat?” Dad rumbles from beside me. I get up and pull out the chair next to me, not before shooting him a scathing look that screams shut up. Unfortunately, he’s too busy helping himself to a pile of pancakes to notice.

  Tessa takes a seat and murmurs a thank-you. We all begin filling our plates and the table conversation jumps around from school projects to Mom’s students. Tessa doesn’t say much, just responds to direct questions or laughs at mom’s craziness.

  Since Marybeth helped cook, I jump up to clear the table after breakfast. Tessa tries to help, but Mom refuses it. I stifle a laugh when I see that she’s clearly frustrated with being told, “Sit your cute butt down and get some more meat on those bones.”

  She glares at me, but I turn my back to her and continue smiling and cleaning. I can tell how hard she’s trying to stay polite and rein in her wild attitude.

  Dad takes off for a round of golf with his buddies but makes a point to let Tessa know how nice it was to meet her. I ignore the wink he shoots my way before whistling his way out the front door. Mom drags us to the backyard to relax and enjoy some coffee and tea before we “abandon her to be reckless teenagers” as she dramatically puts it.

  “So, Tessa, I hear that your aunt has been out of town for a while?” Mom slips in the question between a sip of coffee so casually that I almost miss it. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I notice Tessa immediately stiffen. She nods her head in response and takes a small drink of coffee. I don’t know what Marybeth said to her this morning, but if I know my Mom, she doesn't believe that aunt story for one second either.

  The Blackwells aren’t idiots.

  “Well, that’s just a shame. I worry about such a beautiful girl being on her own for any length of time. Now, I’ve talked to Mr. Blackwell and we are both in agreement that should you need a place to stay, our guestroom is available for as long as you like.” Mom smiles gently at her.

  “What?” Tessa withdraws with a sharp intake of breath, almost spilling her coffee. Her blue eyes widen in confusion. “I’m sorry. Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.” Her eyes dart back and forth between my mom and Marybeth.

  “My children adore you, and well, that’s really all I need to know.” She shrugs, as if it’s the most natural reason to allow someone to move into their home. Marybeth is smiling while simultaneously looking nervously over at Tessa.

  This is a recipe for disaster.

  Chapter 31

  ─────

  Tessa

  I scoot forward on my chair and apply some weight to the balls of my feet. It’s officially half past time to get the fuck out of here. I can’t begin to fathom why this wonderful lady would allow me to stay in her home.

  Oh wait, that’s right, because she sees some poor homeless girl who needs a helping hand. What she doesn’t know, and doesn’t see, is the girl who caused her son to have his skull bashed in.

  A rope snakes around my heart, tightening and cutting into each vein with every second I continue to look at her concerned face. I want to scream that it was all me, that it was all my fault. I need her to hate me as much as I hate myself.

  Like the coward I am, though, I say nothing. I thought it was a blessing she didn’t recognize
me after all these years.

  It’s a fucking curse.

  I thought I could pretend for just a minute that I was part of a family.

  The illusion has shattered.

  I thought I could have my Andrew back without hurting everyone around me but. . . Tessa the Reaper has come.

  This angelic family never deserved the sad demon child to butcher their happy lives. And now I’ve slept in their bed and eaten their food, all while hiding the Grim Reaper behind this mask of a broken girl.

  I set down the mug of coffee carefully on the little glass table next to me. With how bad the tremor in my hands are, it’s a miracle that I don’t spill it. My empty hands clench in and out of fists as I place them in my lap.

  “Thank you very much for breakfast, Mrs. Blackwell, but I really must be going now. My parents must be worried sick.” My voice is uneven and ragged, like I’ve just run a marathon. A single hot tear slides down my face, and before anyone can utter a word, I stand up and jolt toward the backyard’s side gate. I learned the hard way that you always take inventory of possible escapes in new surroundings. I will never be trapped again if I can help it.

  When I get to the gate door, it’s padlocked shut, but I refuse to go back and face the music. Instead, I quickly hop up and heave myself to the other side without a single look back. I run between the brick wall and their house to the sidewalk that runs along their residential street.

  I take a minute to try to catch my breath. Fuck, my clothes! I’ll just have to get them from Beth later. It’s time to figure out where the hell I am so I can get to the high school and hide away until Monday morning. Looking to my left, I see a nice neighborhood, aside from the rundown house next door that. . . Holy shit, that’s my house.

  Jesus—I didn’t realize when the Blackwells moved back home that they literally moved back to the exact same house.

  Now that I think about it, a “For Sale” sign never did go up next door. They must have kept it knowing they would be back someday. It’s not like I ever saw inside Andrew’s house as a kid so I couldn’t have realized where I was.

  I haven’t set foot inside my old home for what feels like forever. Not since that day. The day I’ve shoved so far into the dark recesses of my mind that all I have left are fuzzy fragments of a shameful memory.

  Although she invades my dreams constantly, this is the first time I’ve thought about my Mom consciously in a very long while. She’s a horrid shell of a person, yet a miniscule part of me can’t help but worry if she’s been all alone this whole time. It’s been almost two years since I’ve seen her, she could have easily come to school and found me, had she wanted to.

  I wait to feel that old rage to rear its ugly head, but it doesn’t come.

  There’s nothing but a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  My body begins to move like a hijacked puppet toward the backdrop of all my nightmares. I stare at the front door for a few uneasy minutes until I finally get up the urge to knock.

  No response.

  Trying the doorknob, I find that it’s unlocked, and giving it a twist, I push open the rotting door. Sunlight pours into the quiet, dark house.

  The swing of the door kicks up a swirling cloud of dust along with stagnant memories hiding in the dark crevices of my mind. I stand frozen in the doorway, and my silhouette glows as sunlight shines and peeks around the curves of my body.

  The dust slowly settles around me, but my mind however, is not so lucky. Instead of settling my memories, they relish their newfound freedom as they force images and words to run amok in my head. Closing the door behind me, I’m forced to tread carefully as shards of glass are scattered randomly across the tiled floor. I’m barefoot and can’t risk cutting myself and getting an infection. I need more hospital bills like I need more blood on my hands.

  Little Reaper, remember when you caused your daddy to go to prison?

  Do I know that voice? It’s oddly familiar. Fuck. I just need to ignore it, this is just the monster of my memories and I don’t feel like becoming reacquainted. If I can just ignore it, I’ll be able to shove it back into the locked chest of my subconscious. I’m scared that being here, in this place, will only serve to feed my monster. That he will grow too big and be able to consume me—leaving nothing left but a shell.

  He was thinking about you, silly, when all the bad things happened in that prison shower.

  No. He. Wasn’t. Ignore the voice, Tessa.

  Pushing on, I see black sheets pinned up over all the windows, and the further I go in, the colder it gets. A rotting smell emitting from the kitchen overwhelms all my senses as I pass by. Without me to clean up and take care of the house, it’s in shambles. There are piles of garbage on all the surfaces, a sea of empty cans and bottles in every direction.

  You betrayed Daddy, and it was ALL your fault he died.

  I shake my head ferociously which only results in a pounding headache. Nonetheless, I continue to be pushed forward by an invisible force.

  The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling away in strips. Closer to the living room, I trade the smell of rotting food for stale vomit and I’m afraid I’ll be sick myself. Once the churning of my stomach passes, I take two more steps before my foot smacks into a shapeless lump on the floor. Bile rises in my throat and I squeeze my eyes tight.

  Oh, God, please don’t be a dead body.

  I go quickly to the small window in the living room and pull back a sheet, hooking it on a nail that's jutting out of the wall. Sunlight fall across the room, highlighting all the floating specks of dust. I go back to the stairs and see the lump is actually my mother, curled up on the floor. Standing over her, I move out of the direct path of the light so that it sweeps across her face. A gasp escapes my lips.

  She looks as if she’s aged ten years instead of just two. Her face is gaunt with hollowed cheekbones, her skin is pale and leathery, and open sores run rampant across her face and arms. I half expect to see her arm wrapped in a rubber strip and a syringe sticking out of a vein like in the movies, but instead, lying on the first step above her, is a blackened spoon and a lighter.

  Ooooooh look, ladies, the geek and the freak! So cute it makes me want to throw up.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I grab my head and beg for the words to stop. Looking back to my mom, I notice that even though I yelled, she didn’t move, not even a flinch. I find her neck, and with an unsteady hand, I feel for her pulse. It’s there, but faint, slow. She could likely be dying if she overdosed.

  Just couldn’t keep your legs closed, could you, Tessa?

  No, Ma, guess I was just a big ol’ whore like you said. Cruel bitch.

  Instead of going back in the kitchen for the house phone to dial 911, I take a careful step over my unconscious mother and head up the stairs. Each step creaks and groans under my bare feet.

  Remember when Mommy’s boyfriend made you a real woman?

  I ignore the voice as I stop to stare at my old bedroom door.

  Now, Mom seems pretty sure you’re still a virgin which I find very hard to believe.

  Opening the door, I expect to see the room destroyed, covered in garbage like the rest of the house. Instead, it looks exactly as I left it. My shitty mattress is still shoved next to my dresser in the corner. The rest of the room remains empty, aside from the few pieces of clothes I left scattered behind. I eyeball the place where a loose floorboard hid the treasures of my childhood.

  What a sweet, sweet sixteen this will be, baby-girl.

  Clenching my jaw with fear, I take a rushed step back and slam the door shut. There’s no reason to go in there, it’s not my room anymore.

  Time has frozen here, as if it’s stuck on that day, repeating over and over. I place my hand flat on the door, taking a second to grieve for that scared girl who was brutally raped.

  I rotate my heels to the left and go further down the hall.

  Sorry it’s not a candle. Mom says I’m not allowed to play with candles anymore.

  These wor
ds stab at my heart more than the others. But it’s not real, none of this is real.

  Okay, princess, make a wish and blow out your candle!

  Just fucking stop, stop, stop. Stop now!

  The door to my parents’ room is wide open. My eyes sweep over the tornado of clothes, bottles, pipes, and magazines. I don’t know what I’m doing here, or what I’m looking for. Closure? No. This place doesn't hold any answers for me, just heartache.

  What have you been doin’ here with this boy, sugar?

  Feeling foolish and exhausted from fighting with the monster, I turn to leave when a stack of opened envelopes on the dresser catches my eye. Tilting my head with curiosity, I carefully cross the room and pick them up. Two of the envelopes have my mother’s name on them, but the rest are all addressed to me from the Oregon State Penitentiary. The date stamped on the oldest letter is just a few months after my father was imprisoned, when I was still living at home. My heart stops cold in my chest.

  She is mine!

  The words rattle my skull, and then all the voices go blissfully silent.

  These letters were for me?

  Why haven’t I ever fucking seen them?

  I rip out the letter from the envelope that’s dated the oldest and furiously start reading.

  Hey Sugar,

  This has been the longest four months of my life and through all the hell my body’s been through I could only think of you. I’ve taken up drawing and reading in here. I hope you’re still the little bookworm I remember. I wish I coulda gotten you more books when you asked, but all I cared bout was my next fix. I know you can never forgive me, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. I have been clean for a while now, sort of didn’t have a choice in here, you know? Been hell on earth, but not just because I miss that awful shit. I think part of me will always miss it, but because all my sins are being thrown into the light. I was a terrible husband and an even worse father. You both deserved so much more and I am sorry. I’m sorry for how I treated you, I’m sorry for what I did to that poor boy, but most of all, I’m so fucking sorry for all the promises I broke to you, sweet girl.