Beautifully Ruined

by Nessa Morgan

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I lie. I take a small sip from the glass before setting it on a conveniently placed teal coaster that matches the couch. I lean into the cushions, feeling the softness. His couch is my current heaven. Seizing the opportunity, I lie back, letting my mind wander as I stare up at the ceiling doing my best to pretend this conversation isn’t happening.

  His hand lightly taps my leg, repeatedly tap, tap, taping against my knee. He’s an inch above my ticklish spot. He better tap, tap, tap carefully. “I’ll admit I know nothing about you, Joey.” Ain’t that the truth. “But I do know that you can’t hide shit. No one hits Usain Bolt speeds for nothing. Start talking, kid.” He’s right. I’m a horrible actress.

  Closing my eyes, I drift through everything I’ve tried to ignore. Zephyr, Zephyr with the blonde, the blonde smiling at him, his laughter, his happiness when being with her.

  See a theme?

  “Zephyr,” I say, leaving it simple. Just his name.

  His hand stills against my knee before the weight disappears. “You mean, like, wind?” The confusion in his voice is laughable. Not many people know what zephyr means. He gets points for intellect.

  I giggle. “No, not the wind. My neighbor,” I answer.

  “Those neighbors you don’t get along with?” He asks, scrunching his brow with confusion. “Wait a minute, there’s a kid named after wind?” Milo laughs. “Wasn’t that girl he was with his sister? Isn’t her name Jamie?”

  “Yeah,” I reply.

  “How is her name so average while he’s named after wind?”

  I lean up, looking to the boy on the other end of the couch. “He isn’t named after wind, weirdo. He’s named for a friend of his parents who passed a month before he was born,” I explain.

  “Okay then.” He shrugs—Milo loves to shrug, it appears.

  “Anyway, I lied. When I said we didn’t get along—I was lying,” I confess slowly, ready to release this story.

  “I figured,” he replies smugly.

  I reach out to smack him in the arm. “Shut up.” If he wants the story, he’ll stop talking. Milo’s expression makes me laugh, something I need right now. “But seriously, they were my best friends.”

  “So what happened?” he asks with eager interest, leaning forward.

  Let’s see, how can I answer that? I hit eleven on the cray-cray meter and kicked my naked boyfriend from my room on New Year’s Eve just as we were about to… Not to mention I broke up with him in the middle of the school hallway after first period without a good explanation for both him or myself. Yeah, I don’t really want to say any of that.

  “We broke up,” I answer, flushing nervously from the lie. “Zephyr and me, we dated, we broke up.” It’s hard to say those words are like a knife in my heart, twisting until the pain is all I feel. But I can’t let him see that, not again. “It happens,” I whisper, failing to hide these feelings.

  “Well, why?” I’ve been asking myself that question for the past month. I don’t have an answer. “Why break up with him? I can tell you miss him.” So can a blind man.

  Why is Milo so observant? Can’t he just be an idiot like the rest of the school population? An idiot that doesn’t even notice if I bleach my hair then dye it neon pink? And what the hell is with all the questions? He should take what I have to say and move on.

  He shouldn’t care. No one cares about me.

  “We had issues.”

  “Why did you freak out today?”

  Milo already knows the answer to that. He only wants to hear me say it.

  I turn away, looking for anything to distract me. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I sit up and scoot away from him, as far as the arm of the couch will let me, placing a decorative pillow between us—as if that can stop the questions. Sheesh, Joey, you’re smarter than this, girl.

  Coming here was a bad idea. I should’ve made him take me home. I should’ve stayed in school like normal. I should’ve…

  “Joey, you can,” Milo urges. “I’m not going to judge you, I promise.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I argue with a roll of my eyes. He doesn’t know a thing about me. I’m just the girl who sits next to him in class, I’m the girl everyone wants to forget and ignore, I’m the girl to take pity on.

  “That doesn’t mean anything and you know it,” Milo argues, inching closer to me.

  I wish he wouldn’t.

  Bolting from the couch, I start to pace around the spacious living room, making a groove in the white carpet with the repeated movement. I just need to move—I need to keep moving and think.

  Pictures dot the mantle. I stare at them as I pass, slowing my pace to look more closely. Some are of Milo, young and smiling, some are of a girl younger than he, and some are of his family. Various get-togethers and family getaways, even some within which they all wear matching sweaters. That’s the most adorable of them all. I stop at a picture of a girl with a wide, toothy grin, long blindingly blonde hair, and something familiar. Staring at the photo, I lift it from its place and trace my finger along the face, the happy face smiling back at me.

  “That’s Melanie,” Milo explains. He’s now standing behind me, close enough that I can feel every breath he makes against my ear. “She’s fourteen going on forty.” She looks so much like him, same blonde hair, same large, happy smile, but her eyes are different. They’re smaller and kinder, they look gentle where his look more alert, more observant.

  “I always wanted someone,” I tell him quietly, my eyes still trained on the photo, my fingers smudging the glass. “But that wasn’t in the cards for me, I guess.” I force Ivy and Noah from my mind after they creep in. That dream the other night didn’t help anything.

  Milo takes the picture from my hands, smiling at the girl smiling to him. “I don’t know how I could live knowing my father could do something like that. That he could even be capable of doing something like that.”

  I shrug—indifferent. It’s a horrible thing to say, but that—what he just said—has been my reality for the past nine years. I can’t leave it behind; I can’t pretend it never happened. It’s my past. That piece of me, no matter what I do, I can’t ignore it, I can’t hide it.

  “Yeah, it’s not easy,” I whisper.

  I’m thankful that he’s so happy. That his parents are lovable and alive, that his sister can smile so bright and beaming with glee. I’m happy for him, I really am, but sometimes I get jealous. Why not me, why not them? And jealousy’s a fickle bitch.

  People have things I want. And it isn’t like I can go out and purchase a mother or find a sane, non-murderous father, I can’t just pick out a new sister and brother, ones impervious to death. I’m just here, just a girl going through this world wondering what it was like—having a family like everyone else.

  Don’t get me wrong—I love my aunt. I will always love Hilary. But she’s my aunt. Even she wonders aloud what my mother would be like today or, how Noah and Ivy would be. I wonder all the same things, only internally, debating how I’d treat them if we were fighting, imagining how their rooms would look, how excited I would be when they graduated or how excited they’d be for me today.

  But these are things I don’t get to know because of one crazy man on one horrible night.

  “Does he try to contact you?” Milo places the photo back on the mantle, swiping his palm over the clean glass to remove the smudge of my thumbs and any dust.

  I nod. “He sends me a letter about twice a week.” Every letter has my birth name on the envelope and I throw them all into the large gray bin in the back of my closet, never wishing to read them. I’m not ready to face that demon yet. “I don’t read them.” Moving back to the couch, I sit down, drinking the water and waiting for me. “How do you protect her? How do you protect your family?” A tear sluices down my cheek.

  It’s a stupid question, one not easily answerable, but I need an answer—from one helpless child to another, I need to know someone’s plan.
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  Milo turns to me, sadness clouding his eyes. “For the longest time, I couldn’t. I was too young, too small, too dumb—we all are, but I try.”

  “How?” I ask with a shake of my head.

  “Well, most things I can’t protect them from. I mean, they’re their own people and I try but we all know what not to do.” Milo’s right. There was no way I could have prevented anything horrible from happening to my family, not when I was so small and weak.

  It must be easier to live when there’s not a threat from inside your home, inside your family.

  “It was a big thing back then, what happened to you and your family,” Milo begins sadly, his blonde hair shielding his eyes. “It haunted people. It still does. My parents cried every time it was on the news. They cried nightly after the story ended. They were never the same after.” He turns to me, expression solemn. “I always wondered what happened to you. I never thought I’d ever meet you but I’m glad I did.”

  I turn away, avoiding this moment he’s creating between us.

  The silence grows thick around us, quickly becoming awkward.

  His hands slap against his jean-clad things, disrupting the silence within which we descended. “We should watch a movie,” Milo blurts loudly. Thank baby Jesus, I love subject changes. “Something to pass the time until I take you home.”

  I nod, drying my eyes with my sleeve.

  We choose a movie—or he chooses a movie while I lounge on his couch, I’ll watch anything provided there are no speedy flesh-eating zombies. Luckily, he doesn’t choose a zombie flick. Halfway through the film, he chose Unstoppable, the front door bursts open. The tiniest girl I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’m pretty tiny myself, so her size is truly surprising to me—walks through, dropping her neon green backpack next to mine on the floor.

  She flips her blonde bangs from her eyes and says, “Holy balls, it is friggin’ cold out there.” Her accent is thick and I’m instantly reminded of my cousins. “Hey, what are y’all watching?” She rubs her hands together, blowing onto her fingertips.

  “Unstoppable,” Milo answers, his attention fixed on the screen. I’m leaning against a pillow propped against his side while his arm rests around my chest. It’s awkward but extremely comfortable. I don’t even mind the constant touching. It’s not like he’s feeling me up or anything inappropriate, his hand is planted on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles on the blade.

  “Again, Milo?” she whines. “This movie gets annoying after a while, you know?” she tells her brother. “I’m Melanie, by the way, but everyone calls me Mel,” she says to me. “Are you Milo’s girlfriend or something?”

  I’m surprised. I forget to respond as she stares at me, waiting for some form of words to leave my lips.

  Milo chuckles. I’m still staring at his interesting specimen of a sister. “This is Joey. She’s just a friend and she’s in my AP Euro class.”

  Thanks, Milo.

  “Hi, Joey.” Her voice is upbeat and chipper. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile is sweeter than sugar and brighter than the sun in July. Oh dear, how do people deal with that?

  “You too,” I reply, smiling just as excitedly. Mel’s infectious.

  She plops onto the couch by my feet, leaning against my legs. Her long hair drapes over my arm, the ends tickling lightly against my skin.

  “This movie is so boring, Milo,” she whines loudly, reaching for my glass on the table. “Whose is this?” she asks, leaning her head back to look at us. I raise my hand. “Well, don’t mind me, sugar,” she says before taking a long drink, clearing half of it.

  I laugh.

  “That’s the thing about my sister, she doesn’t believe in boundaries or personal space,” Milo explains.

  “How is that any way to make friends?” Mel asks, giggling. “Just assume that we’re best friends already, ‘kay Joey?”

  “Okay,” I answer, worriedly. She seems harmless. She also seems like my kryptonite: bubbly. It’s terrifying. She’s terrifying.

  The movie ends and we go through two more movies before their mother walks through the door clad in a red suit and tall black stilettos. Mel’s asleep with her head in my lap. I just woke, feeling Milo’s fingers sift slowly and gently through my curls.

  “Good evening, children of mine,” their mother announces cheerfully as she sets her bags in the nearest chair. She turns, her blonde hair pulled tight away from her face in a slick low bun. Her face falls to confusion as she spies us on the couch. “There’s one more child here than when I left,” she says to no one particular. “You’re not mine.” She points a manicured finger to me.

  “No,” I answer sleepily. “I’m not.”

  “Mom, this is Joey,” Milo tells her. I may need to start my own introductions soon. “She’s in one of my classes. We decided to hang out.”

  “You’re already making friends!” She squeals, walking over to place a big kiss on his forehead, leaving red lipstick behind. “I’m so proud of you, baby.” She smiles to me—beams is a more appropriate explanation. “It’s so nice to meet you, Joey. Thank you for taking some pity on my son, he doesn’t make friends easily.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Milo murmurs sarcastically behind me. “Way to sell me out.”

  “That’s what mothers are for, baby,” she replies with a wink.

  Milo’s grin contorts. “Or at least mine.”

  “Shut up, honey, I want to meet your new friend, here,” she says, placing her hand over her son’s mouth. “My name is Candace, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Joey.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” I reply as Milo fights his mother’s hand from his mouth. When he wins, she fusses with his hair before planting another kiss on his forehead.

  I can’t help my laughter.

  When he drops me at my house, he grabs my arm, holding me back for a moment. “I just want you to know that if you ever need anyone, I’m here for you.” Concern covers his face, concern for me and my well-being. “To talk. To listen. To get hit. I can do it all.”

  I nod, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. And apparently, thanking him is beneath me when I’m caught off guard.

  “I mean, since we’re going to be best friends, I’m perfect to be your shoulder to cry on whenever you want.” Milo’s grin splits his lips.

  I shove him away. “Who said we were friends, anyway?” The previous moment ruined when I smile.

  “Oh, we are friends.” Milo nods knowingly, not taking no for an answer.

  “Keep dreaming, Cowboy.” I slam the door shut, watching him chuckle as he drives away.

  After that, he never asked about Zephyr again, not even when we passed him—and the blonde—in the halls. It was a forgotten topic. And Milo and I developed some kind of friendship. He would openly mock me with jokes and I would cut him down with wit and sarcasm. That was the beauty of us. It was even more beautiful when I punched him in the arm but I tried not to do that so much.

  Seven

  Lounging on the couch, my feet propped on the back as I lie with my head dangling back and off the couch. I watch television upside down while Milo flips through channels undecidedly. He’s so indecisive; I’m surprised he agreed to come to my house. Normally, I spend twenty minutes just listening to him discuss it with himself. Well, I can go over to your house or you could come over here. Option A: I have to move and drive, but Option B: I can be lazy.

  “I don’t think that’s good for your head,” he tells me as he changes past a sports channel playing a beer commercial. I made that a rule—no sports. Especially football. It’s football season and he’s a Cowboy’s fan.

  No.

  “Oh, go shove it,” I reply loudly. “I don’t care,” I mutter, my head growing heavier and painful, but I won’t move. That’d be admitting defeat and I don’t do that. Not willingly. I can only hope for a real reason to sit up—like someone breaks in and I need to prepare my ninja moves. Okay, maybe I’ve sitting like this for too long.

  We have been spending
more time together. Mostly doing homework like a couple of nerds. Milo needs help catching up on schoolwork after his move across the country. It really set him back. He didn’t know about the Senior Project. Well, he knew about the project—they have that in Texas—but ours is extensive for reasons I don’t understand other than to ruin our chances of graduating on time. But I’ve been walking him through it as best I can. Today we wanted to do something completely different.

  Just be lazy.

  Bruno Mars plays through my mind. Sometimes, I love a soundtrack.

  The joys of the weekend.

  Milo chuckles quietly.

  “What?” I ask, looking at an upside-down tire commercial.

  “You act so much like her,” he answers quietly and cryptically.

  Hello! Vague much?

  I sit up as best I can, which is only raising my head enough to see the the top of his pale blonde hair. “Like who?” I ask, wanting an answer.

  “Mel.” Shifting in his seat so he can look down to me. “She does the same thing, tells me to shove off whenever I say it’s a bad idea to watch television upside-down.”

  “Well, then that girl knows how to handle herself with you.” I resume my position, dropping my h back and feeling my hair spill above me—er, below me.

  “It’s weird, though,” he continues, shifting his seating again, it bounces me where I lay.

  “What’s weird?” Dude, do not make me lift my head again. I will not be a happy lady.

  “You two look alike.”

  And now I am lifting my head…

  “We don’t look alike,” I reply defensively. Bad habit.

  If he’s talking about Mel, his sister, I don’t look like her. She’s gorgeous, tiny, and blonde. She’s so aware of herself and confident. I’m nothing like that. I could aspire to be her one day, but that’s a long time away. Maybe two ice ages away.

  “Actually…” he trails, drawing out the suspense.

  This is why hanging out with him gets annoying. “Just spill it, Cowboy.”