Beautifully Ruined

by Nessa Morgan

  “Joey, I thought I told you—”

  “I chose a good school, Zeph,” I tell him. “UW isn’t the consolation prize. It took a lot of work to get in. I’m happy with my decision and I want you to be happy for me.”

  His face softens and his grin returns. “You promise?”

  I nod. “I don’t even have to move into the dorms. I’ll still be the girl across the alley.” His grin grows wider. I reach out to hug him, letting him wrap me tightly in his arms. There’s so much promise in this hug, this is us close and together.

  “So, let’s enjoy tonight and the summer and every moment ahead, we’ll spend together before I join you there,” he purrs into my ear. “Or a school near there.”

  I smile into his neck, smelling Zephyr–a scent of soap and him—as the room begins to fill with seniors.

  Milo walks into the room with Alexia on his arm, a giant smile splitting his face. His usually shaggy blonde hair is slicked back. Alexia looks beautiful in a long golden colored gown, her normally-blonde hair dyed dark brown—her natural color. Her blue eyes pop from the contrast.

  “You look lovely, Alexia,” I gush and compliment when they walk over to us.

  “So do you,” she replies in compliment.

  It’s weird to notice her change since she’s broken up with Ryder Harrison. Alexia’s nicer and able to make decisions to better herself, decisions I silently agree with but can’t tell her because she should want to change for herself not for others. She only seems happier.

  We dance, talk, and take professional photographs. We watch the principal crown Jamie and Marcus Prom Queen and King.

  I notice when Ryder walks in—no girl on his arm. The air shifts. He’s drunk and stumbling around, hanging around as a third wheel with his friends who have dates. I don’t feel bad for him. He brought this on himself and he doesn’t care. He leaves after an hour.

  “Hey, we’re heading out,” Jamie says as she holds the plastic crown atop her head. Marcus is standing behind her, the happiest of grins dawning his face.

  We follow them out to the limo. They have a hotel room booked; Zephyr and I are heading home. We’re not even going to tempt ourselves—because, holy balls, I am tempted to rip that tux from his body—we’re just going to laze it up with movies and junk food on the couch in the living room. Whose living room? Well, that’s still up for debate.

  “Tonight was fun,” I tell Zephyr after Jamie and Marcus hop from the car. I’m curled up with him in the furthest seat back, my legs thrown over his, my hands playing with his loosened tie. “I can’t wait to do it again next year.”

  “I can’t wait to get you home.” His cocky smile blooms across his lips—lips I’m eager to kiss.

  I lean up, to find his lips with mine, and lose myself in this moment with him. He’s soft and warm, tasting of chocolate and strawberries. Desire blooms within me and I just need him to know how much he means to me. I put everything—every mood, every thought—into this kiss, pulling him closer to me, tangling my fingers in his hair as his teeth nip at my lower lip.

  His hands find my hips, pulling me closer until I’m sitting on his lap. I drag my hands down his chest, letting them do what they wish—finding, touching every part, every piece, of him—feeling every part of him.

  He doesn’t waste his time, his hands trail everywhere that isn’t covered by silky fabric. It’s a very limited amount of space but he makes the most of it. Every place he touches turns to fire, electricity shoots from his fingertips, shocking and alerting me to their magnetism against my skin. My skin craves the touch of his, even minimally—but it wants more.

  I pull away, my breath rapid, matching his as he follows, eager for my kiss. “I feel like we’re about to do something we shouldn’t,” I say. leaning my forehead against his, my hands against the skin of his neck. He laughs. “I can’t imagine any other place I’d rather be.”

  He laughs. “I can think of a few places I’d like you.”

  I smack his arm lightly before gently kissing him. “I just want—” I pause. Everything I wish to say rolls through my mind but it’s jumbled. “Everything with you.”

  “And you’ll get that,” Zephyr tells me, his hand trailing through my hair. “I promise you, you’ll get it.”

  twenty

  As I’m walking through the living room, my cell phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I tug it from the front of my jeans, spying the picture of me and my grandmother standing in her kitchen back in Texas. I smile at the brief memory of baking the picture sends through my mind before I answer with a quick, “Hello, Grammy.” It’s been a while since she’s called. She’ll be in town for my graduation in a few days so this call could wait.

  “Joey?” Grammy asks frantically. “Thank God, it’s you, honey.”

  Why wouldn’t it be me?

  I stop in the kitchen, my hand frozen on the handle to the refrigerator. “Grammy? What’s up?” I ask worriedly. “Why do you sound so frantic?” And scared, I don’t add. “Oh God, is it Grandpa?” I ask, frightened.

  “No, your grandfather is fine in the physical sense,” she tells me, forcing a laugh. In the physical sense? “It’s just that your grandfather and I were watching the news and we saw the report—”

  The doorbell chiming cuts her off.

  “Hold on, Grammy, there’s someone at the door,” I tell her, walking from the kitchen into the living room toward the front door.

  “No,” her voice barks loudly through the phone. “Don’t answer it, Joey.” That stops me where I stand and I don’t move. Why can’t I answer the door? “Just don’t answer the door, honey.”

  Hilary hops down the stairs, Patrick trailing happily behind her. “I got it, kid,” she tells me as she checks the peephole using the stepstool we keep by the door. I’m not sure why I didn’t think to check the peephole. Her expressions changes to confusion. She exchanges a cautious look with Patrick, who walks up behind her, and tugs open the door. “Hello?” she asks someone I can’t see.

  I can hear Grammy saying—more like screaming—something through the phone but I’m not focusing on her and her words. She’s too far away, physically and emotionally, for me right now.

  “Is this the Archembault residence?” a deep male voice asks my aunt.

  Her eyes shift to mine before darting back to the unseen form before her. “Depends on who’s asking.”

  Something’s wrong. I can tell by that way Hilary looks to me. She’s not my fun aunt right now; she’s my guardian, my parent. She’s the person who promised to protect me at all costs. I walk into the kitchen to try and cut out everything going on around me. Then I remember my phone in my hand and press it against my ear.

  “Sorry, Grammy, Aunt Hil answered the door.” I force a laugh. “What’s going on?” I ask, feeling the dread growing within me.

  “He’s out, Joey.” I hear. “He’s escaped.”

  I can’t breathe—I can’t think—I’m a helpless hopeless form, vulnerable and alone. I can hurt, I can feel pain—the past of these words slices through me. They tear at my soul and leaving me in fragments.

  All hope has vanished.

  Three words. Three little words and I know what it feels like to crash. Somehow, I don’t drop the phone. Somehow, it’s still pressed against my ear as my grandmother tries to get me to say something, anything, to let her know I’m still on the line with her.

  The only thing that comes to mind is, “Who escaped?” It’s dumb question because I already know the answer.

  “Joey!” Hilary calls from the living room. “You need to come in here right now.”

  No. “Tell me this is some sort of sick joke,” I whisper into the phone as my legs slowly lead me through the door.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Grammy whispers. “I never wanted to make this type of phone call.”

  I tell my grandmother I love her before I hang up my phone, setting it gently on the dining room table before I face the people standing in the living room. There’s my aunt an
d her boyfriend seated on the couch facing a large, black male, with sunglasses covering his face, wearing a dark suit. I gulp as I take one more step into the living room.

  “Josephine Archembault?” he asks me.

  I nod.

  “You might want to take a seat for this,” he tells me, motioning with his hands to the couch, a spot next to Hilary or Patrick.

  “No,” I snap. Feeling powerless, my anger is the strongest part of me, it’s the one thing that gives me strength—but only for the briefest of moments. I calm myself enough not to scream at the man. He’s only doing his job. My anger isn’t helping. “Just tell me.” I already know, I want to yell at him. I already know someone fucked up and let a murderer escape, a murderer who only wants his daughter.

  Hilary stands from the couch, leaving the safety of Patrick’s arms to comfort me as my world crashes around me. At least she has him right now to ground her. I need Zephyr. I want Zephyr here with me as I hear this. I want him here to take me in his arms and tell me it’s all going to be okay even when we know that’s a lie.

  I just want him to lie to me.

  “Joey.” From the sweet softness in her voice, she wishes this weren’t the truth, that Benjamin were still behind bars, but we both know it’s a hopeless wish and a nightmare turned reality.

  In a brief flash, my dream comes to me. I’m standing by the piano shoving my homework into my backpack when the front door—that I’ve left unlocked for my neighbors—opens and tall man steps into the room. He’s holding a bloodied knife and he smiles to me, calling me Josie. The man smiles, walking toward me and reaching out a hand. Maybe he’s hoping I’ll take it, maybe he’s hoping I want to be with him again—but all I want to do is run and cry and scream. Just like this very moment. All I want to do is run, cry, and scream.

  “No!” I yell loud enough to shock the officer—or whatever he is—standing in the living room, loud enough to make my aunt jump. I fight through my aunt’s grip, trying to get to the front door, but she won’t let go.

  I want Zephyr. I want him here now.

  “Where are you going?” she asks me as she tries to pull me closer to her, wrapping her arms around me.

  “To him,” I tell her as I struggle to fight away her hands.

  “Joey.” Hilary shakes me. “It’s not safe outside for you right now.”

  “And I’m a hell of a lot safer in here,” I bite back at her. We’re sitting ducks in this house if he’s already in Washington. I don’t know how long ago he escaped. Right now, I’m as trapped as a rat and there’s nothing I can do about it. It was over the moment he escaped.

  “We need to talk about this, Miss Archembault.” Who is he talking to, my aunt or me?

  I shrug off my aunt’s arms. “I thought I was safe,” I snap at the large man. “I thought I was going to stay safe. I thought he’d never hurt me again.” I’m directing all of my anger at the officer standing in the living room. “I kept up my end of the deal, why didn’t any of you?” I scream at him. He doesn’t appear affected by any of it. He doesn’t look surprised either. He was expecting this outburst, he might even be waiting for me to hit him—which I really wish I could do but it won’t help. Nothing will help me now.

  After a few moments of silence, Hilary turns to Patrick. “Go get Zephyr,” she tells him. He leaves. My aunt turns to the officer standing in front of me. “What do we do now?” she asks.

  “We’re placing you under surveillance until you can get enough things together to leave and join protective custody until we find him.”

  I have to leave? I don’t want to leave.

  The front door flies open, slamming against the closet door behind it, and Zephyr is immediately at my side, wrapping his arms around me in a tight embrace. The feel of him makes my body shiver, something he can feel himself. “I’m right her, Jo. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where do we even go?” My aunt asks.

  “We'll discuss that at a different time, Miss Archembault.” The officer turns his gaze to Zephyr and Patrick. These are two people who can't hear anything about my relocation.

  “But I'm graduating,” I tell the large man.

  “What?” Hilary asks. She looks surprised I've spoken.

  “I graduate in a week, I can't miss that,” I argue. “I’ve earned this, I deserve this more than anything.” It’s a stupid thing, but I want to walk at my graduation.

  Hilary's face falls and I know what she's about to say. I'm going to miss my own high school graduation. “We'll call the school, Joey. you'll still get your diploma.”

  “So after all the effort I went through to graduate early, I don't even get to walk?”

  “Your safety is all that matters, Jo,” Zephyr tells me, trying to prevent a fight.

  I stare into his eyes and I know he's right; it's all about my safety now. It's all about protecting me.

  “Well, we don't know for a fact if he's coming here, exactly—”

  My aunt is quick to cut off the officer. “If?” Her voice develops an icy chill that scares me. “What do you mean, if? He’s definitely on his way here as we speak. He could already be here. We don’t exactly have a time frame.” Her green eyes turn to me. “Joey, honey, listen to me.” With every word she says, I can feel the tears gliding down my cheeks. She sighs when she looks at me. “As soon as you walk, we're out of here, okay?”

  I nod.

  “You can defer your acceptance, right?” she asks. “I mean colleges can make exceptions for protective custody, right?”

  I tune her out, leaning away from my boyfriend. He leans every which way until he’s in my line of sight. “I'm sorry,” he tells me quietly as my aunt begins to discuss everything with the officer. I don't even know his name yet, maybe I should’ve asked before I started yelling at him.

  “I'm going upstairs,” I tell everyone when Hilary takes a moment to breathe. She nods to me.

  Zephyr follows me up the creaky stairs. He follows me into my room and watches as I collapse onto my bed. I feel numb, completely numb. I feel dead, I feel lost, I feel every emotion I can't even name and I know from this moment my world, my life, is crashing around me and there is nothing I can do.

  My hands tremble in front of me, something I didn't even notice. I feel my legs quake as I use them to push me further back onto the bed.

  Zephyr closes the door, leaving it open a crack, and crawls into bed with me, wrapping his arms around me. I cry into his chest, ruining yet another shirt with my tears. Minutes pass, or it could be hours, and I'm asleep—well, now waking—in his arms. We're on top of my comforter but there's a throw blanket covering us. It's still daylight. I'm not sure if that means that we slept through to tomorrow or we've only been asleep for a few hours. I believe the latter.

  I shift slightly, loving the feeling of Zephyr pressed against me. How can I just leave him, maybe permanently? How can I just throw what we have away like it was nothing? This isn't nothing, this is something, this is important to me. I’ve never been more open with anyone in my life. Sure, there are things I haven't told him and he knows that, there are things I've kept hidden to myself, and he knows that more than anyone, but I feel that if he were to open his eyes at this precise moment, I could tell him anything and he’d understand every little piece of me.

  His lips press gingerly against my forehead and I know he's just as awake as I am. I look up, my hazel eyes meeting his brown and I open my mouth. “I have nightmares,” I tell him honestly.

  “I know that.” His hand starts making light circles along my back. My head is lying on his arm. I'm pretty sure it's asleep and tingling by now.

  “I had nightmares of things I never knew about, things I couldn't see, so I could never tell anyone about them.” I take a deep breath. “They never seemed real to me before, not until a face joined the madness inside my head.”

  “You don't have to tell me, Joey.”

  “Yes I do,” I defend, sitting up and tucking my hair behind my ear as I look down to hi
m. “Because I love you, because I think this was a mistake that I'm too selfish to destroy, because you are my best friend, I need to tell you everything.”

  And I do. I tell him about my father and I tell him about my mother. I tell him about my sister and how she was his first victim. I tell him how my father is not my father, how he’s man who enjoyed all the wrong things. I tell him about how my mother ran believing it to be the best thing for her and her family, about how she found safety in Canada before I was born, about how my father threatened to seek custody of all of his kids if she refused to return to Texas to be with him. I tell him about how my mother tried to protect us, about how she kicked him out only to have him return to kill her. I tell him about everything that I know. He learns about my grandmother, about how evil she was to think that taking me to see my father in jail was the best thing for him. I even tell him how I talk to my brother and sister in my dreams, not like I were talking to children, like I were talking to them as I would if they had lived today. And he doesn't look at me like I'm crazy, his expression fills with more love than I probably deserve.

  “Thank you for telling me, Joey,” he whispers from my pillow. I smile—I smile so widely, my cheeks burn—because he loves me. He loves me so much I can feel it surge through me when he touches me, when he accidentally brushes against me, when he kisses me. I can see it in his eyes and his smile, because there is no one on this earth more perfect for him than the broken girl lying next to him.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve known that.

  And I know he can fix me, I know he can change me for the better because this is all we are, we are more important to each other than air.

  As I look into his eyes I can see our future, I can see what we'll be.

  I lean closer, resting the weight of my body on top of him, my hand brushing his hair away from his face.

  “I need a haircut, don't I?” he asks, jokingly.

  “Never do it,” I tell him with a smile. His hand reaches up to tuck my fallen hair behind my ear, again, and he pulls me down to his lips, kissing me like it could be the last time. It very well could be.