Use Somebody

by Riley Jean

  While trying not to draw attention, I picked up the only thing in the backseat—the mirror. The glass was cracked and smeared with blood, but it was the only thing I had access to. And it was solid.

  Silent tears leaked out of my eyes. But I didn’t let myself hesitate. I knew I only had one shot.

  So I lifted the object over my head, and swung with all my might.

  * * *

  [Present]

  Vance was listening raptly, eyes bulging out of their sockets and mouth slightly agape.

  “I didn’t know,” I explained. “I didn’t know anything about what they planned to do.”

  “And you told that to the police, right?” he asked. It was the first thing he had spoken in a long time.

  I nodded. “I told them everything.” Starting with the first night Gabriel offered me the shirt off his back and asked me to dance, and ending when I crawled out of the mangled car. I’d seen enough Law and Order episodes to know that once they opened an investigation, the best thing to do was cooperate. It only looked worse if you lied or left out information. So I spoke to the cops that very same night.

  “I spent Valentine’s Day at the police station. A medic examined me, treated my cuts and washed the blood out of my hair. Then a detective came in to ask me questions, and I recapped the whole story.”

  There were a few times I broke down, so we took a breather while I gathered myself. But we stayed until the wee hours of the next morning. I needed to get it all out. I even offered up my journal as evidence and to help with the timeline, along with a box of items they probably didn’t need, but that I didn’t want. A paper coffee cup. A jar of seashells. A black t-shirt. I agreed to help in any way I could and made myself available for follow up questions. I had no part in their master plan. Fuck if I let them drag me down with them.

  I was too shook up to care about going to jail when I told them the crash was my fault. Angry tears were streaming down my face as I detailed the way I fought against them and attacked Gabriel with the mirror, then pulled the wheel so we tumbled and went head-on into the wall. The detective listened to me relive the events without batting an eyelash. In the end, they determined my actions were conducted in self defense. I witnessed them shoot an innocent man, they reasoned. Plus they kidnapped and threatened me at gunpoint. I had every reason to believe they would have killed me, too. Or worse. So I was within my rights to use deadly force to protect myself, and I wasn’t arrested.

  But I knew better. I knew in my heart that I fought them out of anger, not self defense. When I attacked Gabriel, I wasn’t thinking about the threat against my life. I was thinking of hurting the person who had so maliciously hurt me.

  Bloodlust.

  There was violence within me. I traded it for my soul that night. And their blood on my hands was a constant reminder of the destruction I was capable of.

  * * *

  I returned to the picture depicting the smashed vehicle. I remembered being so happy to buy it at sixteen. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t a brand new BMW like Lexi’s, or that it had a few rips in the seats. I loved that car.

  “This was my car,” I shared with Vance. “A Honda Accord. I bought it myself at sixteen.”

  “I remember it. From high school.”

  I nodded and then looked up into his face. He was the most understanding, compassionate person I had ever known. But even now I wasn’t sure how he’d react to my last secret. Maybe if I hadn’t been such a coward, I could have been honest and let the truth push him away, instead of doing it myself.

  My voice broke as I confessed the final part of my story, the truth that no one knew, save for the investigation officers and me.

  “I’m the one who crashed it.”

  Vance’s gaze shifted to mine. Immediately he interpreted the internal thoughts behind my confession. “You better not be saying what I think you’re saying, Scarlett Rose. You should have never been put in that position. You did what you had to do.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to justify it away. I didn’t deserve it.

  A hot tear escaped and rolled down my check. He reached out and rubbed it away with his thumbs. “Rosie… no.”

  “You think Evelyn was a selfish girlfriend?” I met his gaze with watery eyes. “My last boyfriend and his brother are dead. And it’s because of me.”

  As I finally spoke out loud the shameful truth that I’d been carrying all these months, the dam inside me broke. A year’s worth of tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks, mourning the fall of my hero, my abandonment of hope in this world, and the loss of myself.

  Emotions that had been guarded behind a wall all this time finally emerged. They felt more raw and intense than ever before, as if they had become infected and magnified while buried deep within me. Guilt. Pain. Emptiness. Loneliness. Helplessness. Fear. So many tragically diverse feelings, physically crushing me from the inside out. They all came rushing back. My heart was pounding faster than my body could keep up. The grief burned deep in the pit of my stomach as I wept openly, brokenly.

  He launched himself at me and clutched my face in his hands. I could feel his frustration in the desperation of his grip. It was the first time he had touched me since our horrible demise. My skin heated at the contact, but it did little to assuage the depravity and remorse I felt.

  “Do you realize how brave you are? Don’t you regret fighting back for one second. You hear me?” His intensity shook me, as if he could make me believe it with sheer force of will. “He would have killed you.”

  I shook my head again, rejecting his words, as the tears continued to fall. I could feel the heartbreak in his fingertips. I could see the compassion in his eyes. Everything about him made me so damn vulnerable. But he was powerless to save me this time. If only he hadn’t fallen for a girl who was so beyond redemption.

  “No,” I whispered. A single tear rolled down my cheek. “He wouldn’t.”

  * * *

  [Past]

  The first thing I saw when I lifted my head was the cracked windshield. Like a spider web, fracture lines stretched out in all directions and connected at the concentrated center. Red marked the points of impact.

  Everything outside was dark and almost too distorted to see, but after focusing for a few seconds, I could make out a solid wall only inches away from the windshield. My car had fought hard to take up the same exact space that the wall occupied, Newton’s Law be damned. It appeared that the wall had won.

  The next thing I noticed was that I was pinned into place—smothered—by a person.

  I cried out as I tried to pull myself out from under the full weight of his body. It was quickly apparent that the only thing left to fight against me was gravity. Once I was free, he slumped over right where I let him fall, and I retreated to the backseat with another garbled cry.

  My breath was ragged as I took in my surroundings. The air was growing thicker with smoke. Glass and jagged edges were everywhere, no longer resembling the inside of a car. Two bodies laid tangled in the front seats, limp and covered in blood.

  I was going to be sick.

  I didn’t want to be in this place another second.

  I had to get out of there.

  My hands were still tied together, but they weren’t useless. I pulled on the handle and tried to kick the door open. Nothing. I double-checked the locks and tried again, throwing my shoulder into it repeatedly. It didn’t budge. Crawling across the seat, I tried the other door, the one behind the driver’s seat. Over and over I used all my weight to shove at the door while lifting the handle. No results. The car’s frame was too mangled, the doors were stuck. A frustrated whimper escaped as I realized it was futile… I was trapped.

  Not willing to give up, I even tried pounding my fists against the windows, hoping to break the glass. With my movement limitations and what little strength I had left, I couldn’t even manage a solitary crack.

  I leaned forward and rested my forehead against the seat in front of me. The pain was e
verywhere and my energy was nearly depleted. I coughed and wheezed. Everything hurt: my body, my mind, my heart…

  How could he have done this? He promised to protect me. He promised he’d never leave me alone. Yet here we were… here I was…

  Tears streamed down my face as I sent up a silent prayer. The smoke was getting thicker by the second. The stench of gasoline and blood was growing stronger. The only way I was getting out of this alive was by a miracle. So that’s exactly what I prayed for.

  I didn’t even detect the movement until it was too late.

  A strong hand reached around and grabbed me by the back of my hair, smashing my cheek further into his seat. I screamed and struggled against his hold, nearly yanking all my hair out, but he just pulled me closer with his other-worldly strength. The angel of my dreams. The monster of my nightmares. The villain who never quite dies. After blowing his whole elaborate scheme, I had no hope of his mercy, no doubts that we would both meet our fate in this car.

  Exhausted, I stopped struggling and leaned against the seat between us. Both of us were trapped. If these were my last moments, and I was all out of hope, I was at least going to be brave.

  I lifted my head and met his shining, blue eyes through the gap between the seat and the headrest. And one last time, I pretended. It was stupid and illogical, but I didn’t want to die alone, filled with fear and begging and cold, cruel reality. So I pretended that he was still my hero. My Gabriel. The Good Samaritan sent to rescue me, like he always had. And that was how I’d face my mortality. I was going to go quietly, in the arms of the angel.

  That thought reminded me of the day I sang to him on the beach. It was the first time he kissed me and the only time I’d ever felt like everything in my life made sense. That day was full of love and promise, so I clung to its memory in the last moments of my life.

  Sparks and hissing sounds from the dying car provided backup as I quietly began singing the somber melody again. It was all too surreal, and I was desperate to focus on something other than the blood and billowing smoke around us. Gabriel watched intently as I sang the words about vultures and thieves that were suddenly so fitting.

  At the end of it all, I whispered to him, “Why, Gabriel?”

  The lively blue color of his eyes that had once seemed so vibrant was quickly growing dim. But I didn’t look away. Not even when he lifted the gun and took aim.

  Those blue eyes were the last thing I saw…

  His kiss was the last thing I felt… when he fired that final round.

  * * *

  [Present]

  “He didn’t shoot you,” Vance said, adamant. His hands and eyes roamed every inch of me, needing to reassure himself.

  “He didn’t miss,” I said. “He shot out the back window of my car. It was the only way I could escape. And I made it out… seconds before the car went up in flames.”

  His groan was pained.

  “They both died in that car. I’m alive because of him.”

  He stared at me, wide-eyed. “You’re traumatized because of him.”

  “How am I supposed to feel, Vance?” I demanded, leaking tears of anger, guilt and grief that seemed to be in never-ending supply. “He protected me twice when he didn’t have to. He saved my life that night, first by using his body to shield me from the crash, then again by allowing me to escape the car. And I let him die.”

  He was vehement, his eyes as wild as mine. “He almost got you killed! He was crazy! Like you said. A thief, a stalker, a murderer. A con man.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, I stared forward into the darkness, well aware of how delusional I sounded. “But a part of it was real.”

  “No. Do you hear yourself? No! None of it was real!”

  I turned back to him and inquired, “Then why did he save me?”

  It was just one of a thousand questions that would forever remain unanswered. Had he grown to care for me at all, or was he just laughing at me the whole time? Did he have regrets? Did he blame me for ending his life, or his brother’s?

  The what-if’s… The why’s… They were endless.

  There was no closure in his death. My heart was still shattered. My trust was still broken. My questions and confusion still ate away at me daily. Those blue eyes would always haunt me. His blood would always tug at my conscience. Even after all this time, it was Gabriel’s death that I relived over and over in my worst nightmares… not Gavin Lockwood’s.

  “So this is the reason?” he demanded, lifting the article. “Him? You defend this sadistic bastard while you push me away? This is who you choose?”

  I ripped the paper out of his hands and spun it around, pointing to the photo of my mangled car. “I did this on purpose, Vance, because I was pissed at him.” My expression hardened, my voice deadened, but that didn’t stop the tears from spilling over. “You want to know if I loved him? Yes, I loved him. I loved him wholly and obsessively. But that night… I hated him just as much.” Could he even understand a hatred like that? A regret like that? “Three men are dead. And it’s my fault. How can I ever forgive myself?”

  His anger softened, but the emotion he emitted showed no less desperation. “You’re smart, Rosie. Just think for a second. There’s no way both of you were going to walk away from that car. Who do you think deserved to live? The innocent girl or her captor?”

  “I know what you want me to say. I know it seems obvious, from the outside. But it’s not as simple as you think.” I closed my eyes and made a vain attempt to dam my own tears. “Those men deserved justice for what they did… prison. They didn’t deserve to die by my hand. Those men were people too, Vance. Somewhere deep down, they had hearts and dreams and the chance at redemption. And I took that away. So unless you’ve ever made a decision that single-handedly ended someone’s life, you’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

  * * *

  Other than a few local articles, the story didn’t generate much media attention. Robberies, police chases, and yes, even deaths happened every day on the wrong side of town. So without my comments being released, there wasn’t much public interest. And for that, I was grateful. I wasn’t keen on attention in general; I sure as hell didn’t want to be famous for the worst thing that had ever happened to me.

  I did, however, attend the old man’s funeral. Warren Maxwell was his name—retired accountant, widowed for nine years. I sat by myself in the back and listened to his family recall stories of his life, and say how happy he must have been to finally be reunited with his late wife.

  It broke my heart to learn about the innocent life that had ended that night. Even though I wasn’t the one holding the gun, I felt the full weight of guilt for his death. If only I’d been braver and not dragged him into the line of fire. If only I’d been clever and figured out Gabriel was not the man he portrayed himself to be. If only… then Warren Maxwell would still be alive.

  * * *

  Even after all the ways Vance had proven the endless capacities of his heart, I was nothing but a doubting Thomas. I didn’t think he could love me if he knew the truth—the depths of my naïveté, the magnitude of my demons, the blood on my hands. The truth of what I’d done, of what I was capable of.

  Yet Vance was still here, surrounding me with his warm embrace, rubbing my back and rocking me softly.

  I had stopped believing in trust, in love, and in the hope for redemption. I had stopped wanting to connect with anybody, to set myself up for loss and disappointment again, or to give myself the chance to hurt someone else.

  Yet here I was, clinging to Vance like a lifeline.

  I wished I could understand for one second why he chose me, what hope he saw in someone so broken, how he could still care for me even in my worst, most unlovable moments. He once told me he’d be there to help carry my burdens. Well now he knew. But as I predicted, it didn’t lighten the load. It just dragged us both down.

  In time my body became sore and exhausted, and my cries started to slow. Vance’s voice slowly came back into m
y consciousness.

  “I’m so sorry Rosie, I’m sorry this happened to you.” he murmured, planting kisses on my hair and threading his fingers through the curls.

  I sniffled, but didn’t know what to say.

  “He promised to protect you, and that should have meant more than just saving your life. What happened wasn’t your fault. You need to forgive yourself.”

  I squeezed Vance gently for the sentiment, but remained silent.

  He sighed. “You need to talk to someone,” he said. “If you can’t talk to me, you need to find someone. You need to get help.”

  I cleared my throat and changed the subject. “I’m sorry about everything, Vance. I wish I was stronger. I wish I could have met you first. Before any of them. Some days you made me forget. Sometimes, all I wanted was just to love you back. But some days… I don’t know how to live with what I’ve done.

  “You deserve the very best of everything. Some lucky girl is going to appreciate how wonderful you are. But I can’t… I can’t continue to hurt you.”

  His grip around me tightened, dreading the thought of being apart just as much as me. “I don’t want anyone else,” he appealed.

  I knew that. And I knew as long as we had one another, we would never move forward from here. Taking a deep breath, I somehow mustered up enough courage to say my next words, “Vance… this has to be goodbye.”

  His whole body went rigid, absorbing the depths of what this meant for us. Tomorrow I would be in a different state, and all contact would be permanently severed.

  His voice became adamant. “No. You’re not shutting me out now.”

  “Yes, Vance. And I mean it this time. It doesn’t fix everything just because you know the truth about that night. You mean everything to me, but that terrifies me. I’m still so messed up inside… look what I did with Dirk… I wish I could change the stars, but I can’t.”