“Noah had to take off,” Van says vaguely.
I frown at her. “I wanted to meet him.”
“Not yet,” she says, her eyes drifting to Ketchup before dropping down.
Ah, she’s afraid my hunger will want him. “You have to find out sooner or later.”
Her eyes snap up to mine. The fierceness of her glare stabs at me. “Well, if I get a choice, it will be later, okay?”
“Later for what?” Ivy asks, suddenly next to me.
“Nothing,” I say as I quickly move away from her. I focus on the press of bodies around me and on how tired I am. Even still, it takes a lot of effort to keep my hands at my side and speak in a normal voice. “Did you enjoy the game?”
The corner of her mouth curls up uncertainly. “Yes?”
“Is that a question or an answer?” I ask. “You must not have enjoyed it.”
Van snorts at Ivy’s reaction, making her blush. “I did enjoy it. You were great. It was just a lot more violent than I expected. I never went to the games at my old school. Are you okay? It looked pretty brutal out there.”
“Brutal for the other team,” Samuel pipes in. “Zander never even gets a bruise. The guy’s indestructible.”
Curiosity flares in Ivy’s eyes as she gazes at me. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who notices. I can picture Van writing down her reaction in some secret Harriet the Spy type notebook. Eager to get the topic off me and onto something else, I turn back to Samuel, and say, “Kaliegh’s still standing over there. Go ask her out before she leaves.”
“I’ll talk to her at school,” he says, brushing me off.
“Quit being a wuss, Samuel.”
He looks like he’s about to give me another excuse, so I turn just enough so that he can see my hand as it takes Ivy’s. Instantly my hunger cinches around my neck, strangling me with the desire to hurt her. I fight it down desperately, and realize everyone around me has frozen. Even Laney stops talking for the first time since I’ve known her. Ketchup’s and Van’s eyes are both smoldering, though I’m sure for very different reasons. The only person’s reaction I really care about is Ivy’s. I look down at her, half afraid to see her expression.
Despite the shock that has left her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, pleasure gleams in her expression. Timidly, she squeezes my hand. It’s a huge effort, but I manage to smile at her. She smiles back, but she’s the only one.
I want nothing more than to pull Ivy away from everyone. I want to be alone with her, without staring eyes filled with anger and shock. My hunger is doing more of my thinking than anything else, though, so I resist the urge and make myself endure the scrutiny of everyone around me. At least Samuel decides to take my advice and head toward Kaleigh. After seeing me take a chance with a girl, the guy who asks his teammates to scare away girls for him, I guess he figured he could try too. Good for him. I watch him approach her, slip into her group of friends effortlessly, and join the conversation. Kaleigh laughs at something he says and I see Samuel relax.
Confident that he’s at least on his way to asking her out, I scavenge for a good reason to get away from everyone else and get some space from Ivy without anyone asking questions. “You want something to drink?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I start pulling her away, hopeful that I can get even deeper in the mass of students and let go of her hand before I lose it. Van’s voice, trying and failing to sound natural, cuts through the music and stops me. “Get me a slushy, will ya?”
Our eyes meet and my hand tightens around Ivy’s. Van doesn’t care about the slushy. She wants to make sure I come back to the group. She doesn’t want me to be alone with Ivy. The irritation her drink request inspires builds under my skin. It shouldn’t, because I know she’s right. I know I shouldn’t be alone with Ivy, either. Realizing that she’s only trying to protect me, I soften my grip and tone of voice.
“Ketchup, do you want anything?”
He looks up, surprised I spoke to him. It takes him a minute to realize I am serious. “Uh, sure. Diet Coke.”
I nod and turn away with Ivy. I hope she doesn’t notice how stiffly I’m holding her hand. I want to be able to hold her tightly, pull her close to me, but even doing this much is enough to make me explode with desire and hunger. Without anyone else glaring at me as a distraction, it gets harder to resist. My hand starts tightening on hers. I know any second it’s going to start hurting. I can’t stop my hand from squeezing hers. I want her knuckles to grind together, crack and crumble. I want to hear her cries of anguish.
An image of her cradling her broken hand, crying eyes filled with hurt and betrayal, flashes in my mind. My hand springs away from hers immediately. I push away from her until at least three feet are separating us. It’s the most I can manage with the entire high school population crowded under the bleachers.
“Are you okay?” Ivy asks. I look away, ashamed at my lack of control.
Ivy stops and looks up at me. “Hey,” she says, “what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry, Ivy. I told you that isn’t easy for me.”
“I know. It’s okay.” She doesn’t push me about it. She walks beside me, not too close and not too far away. “So, Van said there were some scouts at the game watching you tonight. Were those the guys talking to you after the game?”
“Yeah, they both wanted me to go to their campuses and visit so they can try to convince me to sign with them. I’ve still got another year of high school, though, so I’m not sure why they’re already pushing me to make a decision,” I say, glad for the change in topic.
“Why do you have another year left? You’re already eighteen, aren’t you? You should be a senior.”
Dodging a real answer, I say, “You’ve seen how good I am at math. Isn’t that enough of an answer?”
“You’re not bad at math. You just need to focus more.” Ivy looks over at me, her eyes narrowed slightly, concentrating. “What’s the real reason, Zander?”
I don’t answer right away. We reach the snaking line to the concession stand and secure a spot. I look over the heads of the people in front of me in an effort to see the beginning of the line. We’re going to be here a while. When Ivy’s hand touches my arm lightly, the current that runs through me jerks me back around to face her.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious. I feel like I don’t know very much about you yet.”
“Does that bother you?”
She shrugs, looking down. “Not enough to make me stay away.”
“But you still want to know?”
Ivy’s eyes trail up my body to meet mine. The intensity of her gaze makes me forget everything else. I watch as one finger comes up and taps on my chest. The sparks of hunger her touch evokes is equaled by the desire to capture her.
“You are a very mysterious guy, Zander. I want to know everything about you. But if you don’t want to tell me about this, that’s okay. I understand if it’s too personal.”
Van may doubt her, but I can see the honesty in her eyes. “The last few years were tough for my family. A lot of really bad things happened to us, to me. I was really sick for a while, then I got behind at school my sophomore year. I barely made it through the year. It just kept getting worse. More bad stuff happened the next year. It was too hard to deal with everything. I got sick again because of the stress and everything, and missed the last half of the year. Rather than let me fail every class, the school said I could just start the year over. It meant another year of high school, but it saved my GPA and my eligibility to play sports.”
“Can I ask what happened?” Her voice is quiet, but the slightest bit insistent.
“My…” It isn’t because of trust that I hesitate, it’s because I can’t make my mouth form the words. Ivy briefly touches my arm, and for once it calms me more than enrages my hunger to know she’s there. There isn’t much I can tell her because it would require me to explain about turning sixteen a
nd being too dangerous to be sent to school, or any of what happened because of that, but there is one thing I can tell her.
“My parent’s died. I was the one who found them.”
Ivy’s arms tighten around her body. “Zander, I’m so sorry. How did they die?”
***
Pulling into the driveway, I notice both my parents’ cars are here. That’s odd. Dad doesn’t usually get home from work until after six, and Mom is supposed to be at her book club today. What are they both doing home already? There could be a dozen logical reasons for them to be home, but as my feet plod toward the house, the quiet seeping out of it chills me. Our house is never quiet. Even with me and Van gone, Mom loves music. She played cello all through high school and college. I can hardly think of a time when classical music wasn’t filling every nook and cranny of our home.
The smell hits me when I reach the front door. I don’t even have to open it. It seeps through the tiny spaces around doors and windows and crawls under my skin, seeking out my hunger like nothing else can.
Blood.
My hand is frozen on the handle as my hunger claws at me, screaming in a psychotic frenzy to be let loose and feed. It’s so much blood. Even the smallest amount will usually set me off, but this time is different. My hunger can’t sink its teeth into me this time, not knowing that on the other side of the door is where I’ll find my parents. Fear of opening the door outweighs everything else.
I have no idea how long I stand there. Time vanished the moment I caught that horrible scent. I don’t even make a conscious decision to turn the handle and push forward. My body moves as my head shakes back and forth, begging it to stop. But it doesn’t.
The metallic tang of blood douses me from head to toe. It’s so much, I never would have been able to control my hunger if I hadn’t seen Mom at the same time. Her beautiful blond hair is fanned out around her head. Each lock slowly turns red as it soaks up the blood seeping from her body. There are a dozen different wounds, but most disturbing are the tears not yet dried on her cheeks, the pleading expression in her eyes.
Maybe I should hold her, though I know she’s already dead. Maybe I should close her eyes. My eyes turn away as they blur with my own tears. I force myself to continue through the house. Everywhere I step there is more blood. My shoes stick to the floor with every step, and the small effort it takes to peel the soles away from the wood drains me of energy. I’m stumbling when I turn into the living room. Dad lying face down on the blood soaked rug drops me to my knees. I can feel the wetness dampening my jeans, but it’s all I can feel. The rest of me shuts down. My senses have abandoned me and made room for sickening shock. Feeling anything ever again seems impossible until a noise draws my eyes to the couch.
***
“They were murdered at our house. I was at football practice and Van was at dance class. I finished practice and went home to get something to eat before I went to pick up Van. That’s when I found them,” I say, the words tumbling out of their own accord now. Aside from Van and the police, I haven’t talked about that day to anyone. I haven’t even been back to the house.
I don’t look at Ivy. I know that all I’ll see in her face is pity, so I keep my eyes down. If I could close my ears to her voice as well, I would. For so long after it happened, it was all anyone could talk about when they saw me. Not all of the words were ones of condolences. Those other kinds of comments are the ones I fear will come from Ivy. When she does speak, her question surprises me.
“Zander, would you consider this a date?”
Looking up at her, I see only seriousness on her face. “What?”
“I know we didn’t come together, but we planned on hanging out after the game. Does this count as a date?” she asks again.
Not sure whether she’s trying to distract me, or if this is somehow related to what I told her, I shrug helplessly. “Uh, I guess so. I’ve been thinking of it as a date all week.”
“If this is a date…then I get a question, right?”
My stomach drops, my body tightens, and dread fills me from the tips of my hair to my toenails. Whatever she asks, I promised I would answer. The single word slips from my mouth unwillingly. “Right.”
Ivy hesitates. Her eyes dart around before settling on me. She looks nervous, but her curiosity and concern are too much for her. “Why is Oscar in a mental hospital?”
Van told me Ivy knew about Oscar, but not why he was being held. After what I just told her, I guess she doesn’t need to be told anymore. Closing my eyes to the inevitability of her reaction, I force myself to give her an honest answer.
“Oscar was very unstable at the end. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“He’s the one who killed them?” Ivy asks quietly.
I nod, but can’t utter the actual words.
When everyone in school heard what had happened, it was unbearable to walk down the halls. Van handled it her way, and I handled it mine. Van’s way landed her in the principal’s office more times than I can remember. Mine pushed everyone away. Almost everyone. Lisa wouldn’t let me push her away, and she paid for it.
My eyes close when Ivy doesn’t respond. What else could I have expected? Of course she’s smart enough to realize I’m just as dangerous as Oscar. My body turns away from her in a futile attempt to spare myself from her reaction.
There is a moment where I can’t feel Ivy anywhere near me. So when her fingers rest against my cheek, it startles me enough to make me look up, hungry and frightened.
“I’m not afraid of you, Zander,” Ivy says quietly.
I stumble back. “Maybe you should be.”
Ivy takes a step back, but makes no move to get any farther away from me. She drops her arms to her sides and looks at me without moving. Ten, fifteen seconds go by before I give up and ask, “Ivy, what are you doing?”
“I’m looking at you.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to see this scary person you think is inside you, but I can’t find him. All I see is you, Zander. You’re not your brother. You aren’t going to turn into him,” she says.
“You don’t know that for sure. I don’t know that,” I argue.
Ivy steps toward me, closing the distance between us to mere inches and setting my hunger on fire. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to hurt me, but you haven’t.”
“Yes I have,” I say as my fingers hover over her arm where the bruises I gave her have finally faded.
“You didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident.”
That word sends a jolt through me. An accident. It was an accident. Her lifeless eyes stare up at me, her mouth open in a silent plea. I can’t stop seeing her. I close my eyes against the sight, but she follows me inside my head, silent and accusing. I can never get rid of her. The heels of my hands press into my eye sockets. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to do it.
“Zander? Zander, are you okay?”
Ivy’s voice pricks my bubble of torment and sends it skittering away on the sound wave. It doesn’t go far, though, only back into the recesses of my memory that will never be deep enough to keep it buried.
“Zander, what’s wrong?” Ivy begs.
“Nothing.” A shiver runs through my body as the last hint of her image fades away.
“Did I say something that upset you? I’m sorry I brought up your family. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Ivy says.
I shake my head and struggle to regain control. “No, it wasn’t my family. It was nothing. Just forget it, okay?”
“It wasn’t your family?” Ivy’s pleading expression is hard to resist, but I don’t answer her. She looks at me, a mixture of compassion and need to know filling her expression. “What else happened to you?”
My arms cross over my chest. A single step back drops an invisible wall between us. I try to keep my voice normal when I speak, but I fail. “No more questions, Ivy.”
The hard edge to my words makes her chin fall. I can’t puzzle out her expression well enough
to know whether it is in disappointment, hurt, or something else. It kills me to refuse Ivy anything, but I can’t talk about that night. Not now, not ever. That is one secret I plan on taking with me to Hell.
Zander hands me the drinks with barely a word and walks away. Not far, but far enough that I can’t hear anything he’s saying. It doesn’t stop me from seeing the odd expression on his face. Troubled would be an understatement. He’s trying to hide it, but I know my brother too well. No doubt Ivy is the source of his strangled mood.
“Are you going to give me one of those, or what?” Ketchup says.
I jump at the sound of his voice. I hadn’t noticed that he’d come up behind me. Without taking my eyes off Zander and Ivy, I hold his soda out to him. He takes it with a grumble, which I ignore. My attention is focused on my brother. He held her hand half an hour ago, but now he is back to keeping his distance. An impenetrable buffer of at least three feet separates them at all times.
“Your slushy is melting.”
Annoyed, I turn and glare at Ketchup.
“What? It is,” he says. “What’s your deal with Ivy anyway? One minute you’re ready to punch her teeth out, the next you’re chatting with her at lunch.”
I look around the area, and ask, “Where is Laney?”
“She got mad that I wasn’t listening to her and went to get some nachos.” Ketchup shrugs, showing how little Laney's whereabouts mean to him. That’s one thing he and Zander have in common. Neither one of them can stand talking to Laney for more than five minutes.
“Maybe I should go find her,” I say. I turn toward the concession line, but before I can get a good look, Ketchup hooks his arm around my shoulder and jerks me to his side. I look up at him, startled. “Ketchup, what was that for?”
Just then, a few of Zander’s teammates plow through the crowd like a pack of wildebeests. Not a one of them are paying attention to what’s in front of them. They knock a few others down as they charge forward. When I look back at Ketchup, he smirks at me. “You’re welcome.”
Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes) Page 18
