I hesitated. I wanted to talk to him, I really did. Something was holding me back though. Then, like a light bulb, I thought about what else Joy said…
No one wants to feel vulnerable with a person who can’t give it back.
I hadn’t understood it then. Now that I was in the situation, it seemed so obvious. “Will you tell me something too?”
It was his turn to waver. “There’s nothing to tell.”
I continued to stare at him, and I could only imagine the desperation in my eyes. He finally nodded and I let out a breath. Then I turned and walked into his living room. I knew I couldn’t look at him while I told him.
“It began like any addiction, to fill a void. My parents weren’t… overly nurturing. They didn’t want children, they wanted trophies. Damien was good at art, but he also excelled at everything else. Math. Science. English. He could have done anything. A lot of people thought he wasn’t good at those subjects. The truth was he just wasn’t motivated. He didn’t enjoy them—he preferred to spend his time creating art. But he’s very smart.” I paused and lowered myself to the couch.
“Me? Not so much,” I said softly. My heart hurt. It killed me to tell him these things. To tell him my flaws when all I wanted was for him to see my strengths.
“I tried really hard, I did. Nothing clicked. I was a C-student, and average didn’t sit too well with my parents.”
I didn’t tell Grayson that even though I’d known I wasn’t a smart girl, sometimes I’d thought I might be a pretty girl. That I still hoped I could excel at something for my mother. I didn’t tell him she said boys didn’t want to date a broomstick, or how she pinched me hard whenever she made that comment.
Shaking my head, I tried to leave those memories behind. “So after a while they stopped… stopped caring, stopped talking to me, stopped everything.”
He was quiet and it was driving me crazy. I finally glanced up at him, but his expression was impassive. It hurt and helped in equal measure. I quickly looked away again.
“Not being good enough hurt, but as they started ignoring me, that hurt more. So when I was first offered a drink, surrounded by people who were happy and talking to me, I didn’t think twice. At first I hated it, but it got easier. I focused less on the taste and more on the feelings.
“And it was such an amazing feeling… to be wanted again. To have people around you who were happy and who you weren’t disappointing. They just wanted to have a good time. It was the closest I’d ever come to feeling like I belonged somewhere.” I laughed, a laugh so sad it cracked right in the middle. “My mother said she wondered what it said about me that my place in this world was with cracked-up losers who were going nowhere in life.”
I faced him again. “You know what, though?”
“What?” he whispered.
“They weren’t all like that. Some were sleazy and some were horrible people. But others were simply lost… so lost they didn’t even know it, like me. There are good people in that world. People who had spouses and children. People with jobs and who were trying to pull themselves up. People who wanted to get better and go home. They just didn’t know how anymore.” My tears fell. “They weren’t all the same. Some were good. Some were bad. Just like non-alcoholics and non-addicts. They were just people… like everyone else.
“I think society has a tendency to look at these things as commonplace. People joke about someone being bipolar, or a drunk, or having OCD, and end up minimizing what having these disorders is actually like. Maybe that sounds stupid, or like an excuse—”
“It doesn’t,” he interrupted. I couldn’t detect anything in his expression, but I could most definitely discern his feelings from his voice. It vibrated with fury, choked with hurt, and was soft in understanding.
“It started out as a way to combat loneliness,” I said, bringing the conversation back to what he’d asked. “All I really did was trade one demon for another.” When I’d finished, I took a deep breath and let all the negativity out with it. He had been right—talking helped more than I’d thought.
“You thought being invisible was worse?” he asked, and it made me remember his earlier declaration—his superpower.
“Yeah. I did.”
“Why?” Grayson looked genuinely confused.
“Broken things can be fixed,” I said, searching his eyes for the pain he was hiding. “But forgotten things? They don’t stand a chance.”
“A chance for what?”
“Survival.”
He nodded, and some kind of understanding entered his eyes. “You know, I could sit here all day and list all the reasons you’re amazing, but I know you won’t hear them. I wish you would, and it kills me I don’t know how to convince you.”
I wished he could too. Things would be a lot easier. Maybe I simply had to wait. It would take time for me to trust Grayson enough to believe his kind words, and even then I’d probably still struggle. I was halfway there. I was proud of myself for standing up for Andy. But I still couldn’t find it in me to stand up for myself.
“You can’t keep letting the past win, Ellie.” Grayson almost sounded angry. He was right, I knew that. But he couldn’t seem to see he wasn’t any better.
“Pretending it doesn’t hurt isn’t winning, either,” I whispered. His head snapped up. “And you were right, talking helped. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something that hurts.”
TELL ME SOMETHING THAT hurts.
It had been my idea. I couldn’t exactly back out now. Plus I’d given her my word—or nod, technically. I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I’d be. I couldn’t give her my deepest pain, I couldn’t give her Taylor. But I could give her something. Right now, though, my biggest problem was calming down long enough to be able to share.
Halfway through her story, I wondered how I’d make it through more than one. I knew I was right all those months ago: her beauty was far deeper than anyone realized. It wasn’t for the casual passerby, and it wasn’t for the faint of heart. Because with her beauty came pain. So much she hardly knew what to do with it.
My heart shattered as I listened to this broken girl tell me how she tried to put herself back together. How she used alcohol to fill herself up, only for it to drain her. How all she wanted was to be loved, and everyone around her was too fucking stupid to see how worth it she was. And my heart broke for the woman who thought her pain was hers alone, that no one could understand.
But I understood, and my heart cracked a little more with each word from her beautiful mouth.
I didn’t know why I thought I could listen to her stories without absorbing them, without memorizing every word falling from her lips and letting them shape my feelings for her even more.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t control any of this. Not my feelings for her. Not my actions. Nothing. And I couldn’t stop myself from sharing with her.
“I was bullied when I was a kid,” I finally confessed. Her head snapped back and her eyes widened. She stared at my arms and then down toward my abs. I grinned and she blushed as she realized what she’d done. It was nice to be able to smile amidst the pain.
“These muscles didn’t come till later,” I explained. “I used to be scrawny. Think of me as Steve Rogers before he became Captain America.” Ellie looked horrified by the analogy. “It wasn’t too bad in the beginning, physically at least. It was more mentally exhausting after a while.”
Leaning back against the couch, I rubbed my hand along my jaw. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
Ellie immediately nodded, shifting infinitesimally closer.
It had been so long since I’d thought of my torment. She was right. I’d thought ignoring it would eventually make it go away. But as I was sucked back into one of the worst moments of my life, I realized there were certain memories that could never be forgotten…
“Weirdo.”
I didn’t turn around as I walked faster. It didn’t matter. They followed.
They always followed.
<
br /> “Hey, loser! We’re talking to ya.” I heard them laugh as something flew by my head, thankfully missing its mark. I didn’t stop to see what it was. It was most likely trash; that was their favorite thing to chuck at me, after all.
I kept moving, eyes forward and head up. Just like my dad taught me. I couldn’t seem to control my feet though. They sped up, revealing my fear.
Laughter continued to follow me. I turned the corner and jogged down the hall. I breathed a sigh of relief. The stairs were in view. My next class was one of the first classrooms at the top.
I’d been so happy when Mr. Casey asked me to stay late this morning. He pulled me aside and told me about a chess tournament coming up he thought I’d be interested in. None of the other kids in chess club were asked to stay. My hard work paid off. I’d been practicing with my father almost nonstop. The second he locked away his gun and took off his badge, I’d grab his hand and drag him to the board. For a thirteen-year old, I was exceptionally good.
Now, as I reached the middle landing and could see no one else in sight, I hated the fact I’d stayed late.
My foot had just reached the next step when I felt a tug on my backpack. I flew backward into Nixon’s chest. Smiling down at me, he kicked me behind my knees until I dropped. I lifted my head to find his two best friends—Darren and Jacob—staring down at me.
“W-what do you want?”
It was a pointless question since I already knew the answer. They didn’t want anything except my fear. They wanted power and to feel better about themselves. This had nothing to do with me.
At least that was what I tried to tell myself. But my mother’s words weren’t helping much today.
Nixon chuckled, shaking my backpack, and me along with it. “I want to know why you’re such a freak. No wonder you’re always alone.” He looked to his friends and forced me to stand. “What about you guys?”
They both nodded.
I wanted friends. Everyone did. But it had never been easy for me. I liked things other kids didn’t. I was quiet and preferred to listen rather than talk. I didn’t actively seek out friends—growing up in a house with six siblings meant alone time was precious.
But I always wanted to belong.
My fists clenched. I was so sick of this.
Without warning, I rammed my elbow back and connected with Nixon’s stomach. I took advantage of Darren and Jacob’s surprise—I’d never fought back before—and darted around them, heading for the top.
Nixon reacted faster than I thought possible. My backpack was jerked, harder than ever, and he whirled me around to face him. I’d never seen him so mad.
“You want a real fight?” he asked, his mouth twisting into an evil grin, right before he punched me in the stomach. I bent over as pain ripped through me. I was still curled forward when he jabbed me in the side and I fell into the railing.
“What? Lost your balls already?”
“Did he ever have any?” Jacob asked from behind me. I heard the telltale sign of a high-five while they laughed.
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I straightened and turned around to face them. They usually let me go by now.
“Please move.” The three of them stood with their arms crossed until Nixon slowly walked forward.
“It was just getting fun,” he hissed. “Don’t you want to hit me again?”
“No.” And it was the truth. Even after everything, I didn’t have any interest in hurting him. I only wanted to be left alone.
I shuffled back two small steps. He continued to come closer, his lips curling into a snarl. “Liar.”
One step forward.
One step back.
One step forward.
One step—
“Dude, watch out!” Jacob hollered. My foot met air and suddenly I was falling backward. Nixon’s eyes widened and he reached out a hand, but it was too late.
I cringed as my body and head collided with the steps I’d just walked up. It felt like I tumbled down the stairs for years instead of seconds. My head throbbed and by the time I reached the bottom, I felt a searing pain shoot through my left arm.
I noticed it was bent at an odd angle. My eyes started fluttering shut.
“Dude!” Jacob said again as three sets of feet pounded down the stairs.
“It was an accident,” Nixon rushed out, his voice sounded high and nervous. I could understand why—we’d never gotten into a fight like this. Never with lasting consequences, at least for him.
The two years I’d spent being picked on by them would last forever, but no one else could see that.
“I think his arm is broken,” Darren said.
“No shit,” Nixon snapped. “We… we gotta go.”
“We should get help—”
Nixon cut Jacob off. “Someone will come by soon enough. Do you really want to explain what the hell happened?”
I didn’t hear his response or any of the conversation that followed; my head was too muddy. A minute or two later I heard them running away. The pain in my head intensified until I passed out.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed.
“Honey?” My mother sprang up from her seat and put her hand on my arm—no, on my cast. My left arm was indeed broken.
“How are you feeling?”
My father came in before I could answer, his eyes immediately falling on me. “Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?” he asked, unknowingly repeating Mom’s question.
“Fine,” I mumbled, turning my face away.
I couldn’t look at him. My father. A police chief. A man known for his strength, a man who was freely given respect.
What did he think of me?
I would never be like him. He was probably ashamed of me—
“Grayson?”
My eyes stayed on my lime green Vans set in the corner of the room.
“Grayson?” he asked again, softer this time. I finally looked up when he took a seat on the bed. “You okay, son? Be honest.”
I tried to sit up straight, despite the pain. He never slouched. “Yes, sir.”
My dad frowned and I wondered what I was doing wrong. His expression changed as he grabbed my right hand.
“You’re a very brave boy, Grayson. I’m proud of you.”
I froze.
I could still hear the shouts. Loser. Freak. Weirdo.
I could still feel the tug of my backpack.
I could still remember the pain of my body making repeated contact with the stairs.
I was haunted by the laughter that echoed down the halls.
I bet that never happened to him. And I never heard about it happening to my older brother, Brad, either.
Brave?
Hardly.
Proud?
He shouldn’t be.
“Grayson.” His voice was stern now, and my head snapped back up. “You are brave. You are strong. You matter.”
Trembling, I fought to hold back my tears. My mother was softly crying as my dad reached forward and drew me into a hug. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he whispered.
Soft, gentle fingers wrapping around my tightly coiled fist brought me out of the memory. I looked over and saw Ellie’s eyes full of sadness and understanding.
I’d thought I’d buried my past. But my readily available recount of what happened proved the grave was shallow. It was probably more a part of me than I knew—just like it was for Ellie. Now we were forcing each other to reexamine everything.
I couldn’t deny my past any longer.
My parents had tried over the years. Of course, I hadn’t told them the truth. I gave them facts. Something people were usually content with. They treated facts as truths, though they weren’t even close to the same thing.
We asked others to dig deeper for us, yet we were usually reluctant to give them the same courtesy. We wanted understanding and yet were hesitant to return it. I imagined if we did, the world would become infinitely more complicated. If we all really l
ooked at each other and saw the truths, not just the facts, we would be forced to understand people rather than alienate them. Because understanding requires empathy, and no one wants to imagine they could become an alcoholic like Ellie. Or accidentally kill someone in a car accident like the teenage boy I had to arrest last week.
We didn’t want to imagine we could reach certain places. Certain lows.
The reality was that a thousand truths could hide behind a single fact, and yet people often only cared about the surface.
Ellie was forcing me to reveal the truth, to examine my life more than I ever had before. I had always been able to recite the facts, to my parents, to the nurse, to the principal… but never the truth.
Fact: I had been shoved in a locker. Truth: It made me feel as small and insignificant as the tight space I was crammed into.
Fact: I had been tripped in the cafeteria and was sprawled out on the floor while everyone laughed. Truth: It made me feel like I belonged on the ground.
Fact: During gym someone broke into my locker and replaced everything in my backpack with garbage. Truth: It made me feel like garbage.
And so on and so on… I could probably go on for days.
“Grayson?” Her voice was sweet and soft, and her hand squeezed a little tighter around mine. A reminder. I’m here.
I looked over at her and felt as though I was seeing her for the first time. It felt like she was seeing me for the first time.
Our childhoods had been so different, and yet there was a kinship between us. We had both been lonely and desperate, trying to find a way out of our sorrow. She turned to alcohol because of the friends it gave her. I turned to Taylor because I’d been able to hide my pain beneath hers.
Neither worked. Internal torment couldn’t be fixed through external means.
Right now, it didn’t feel like we were trying to fix one another. Right now we were just there for each other, sitting together in our collective pain.
It helps.
I’m here.
Small reminders that we had each other now.
Ellie smiled, and her eyes lit up, making me wonder if she’d been thinking the same thing.
Unveiling Fate Page 10
