by Julia Hoban
Maybe she should go downstairs and get something to eat, maybe then she’ll be able to focus on her work. She gets up from her chair, walks to the door and opens it a crack. The apartment is completely dark. Good. Willow steals down the stairs slowly, careful not to make a sound. But as she nears the bottom she is dismayed to see that she is not, after all, alone. David is in the kitchen, sitting at the table surrounded by dozens of papers. He’s extinguished all of the lights but one.
Well, she has no desire to go into the kitchen now. She can only imagine how uncomfortable it would be for both of them, but as much as she wants to go back upstairs, she can’t help staring at her brother. There’s something not quite right about the way that he’s sitting there.
David’s head is in his hands. Is it because he’s laughing? But what would he be laughing about? She’s heard him complain about grading undergraduate papers enough to know that he doesn’t consider it the most amusing task. Besides, he’s hardly making any noise. And then Willow realizes why his shoulders are shaking that way, and the reason is so shocking, so disturbing that it literally takes her breath away. She barely has the strength to stand.
Her brother is crying, he is wretched and broken. Though his sobs are barely audible, he is weeping with absolute and total abandon. She’s never seen him like this. She’s never seen anyonelike this. Such a naked display of emotion is both alarming and frightening.
Willow clutches the banister with an unsteady hand and lowers herself to sit down on the stairs. She knows what she’s doing is wrong, that she should allow David his privacy. But she feels compelled to watch.
Willow stares at him in astonishment. She herself could never do such a thing, she could never give way to her grief like this. Willow wonders if she should go to him. But she knows she can’t. Because she is the one who has put him in this position, it is her actions that have given him this pain.
As she’s thinking this, Cathy comes up behind David. He doesn’t see her, but Willow does. Her dark hair flows down her back, interrupted by the pink shawl that she’s thrown on over her nightgown.
Cathy wraps her arms around David. Without turning, he grips her forearms, pulling her closer.
Willow is transfixed. The longing and need that are stamped across David’s face are riveting. She watches as Cathy holds him tighter, as tightly as possible, then bends her head to kiss him.
Willow feels like a moth, inexorably drawn to the flame. How would it feel to cry like that? How would it feel to be comforted like that?
If she let herself, she’d drown in a world of pain. But she can’t let that happen, she simply wouldn’t be able to handle it, not thatkind of pain. Thankfully she knows how to prevent such a thing.
Willow reaches into the pocket of her robe, feeling for what she knows is there.
She never takes her eyes off of them as she slices into her flesh. The blade bites so deeply that she almost swoons, but still, she never stops looking at David and Cathy.
Her blood spouts as voluptuously as David’s tears. It drips unchecked, down her arm and onto the floor as Willow watches Cathy dry David’s eyes with her long, long hair.
Willow knows that she should leave. At any moment they could look up. But she can’t leave, she can’t move. She can only slice deeper and deeper.
The razor doesn’t hurt her. Not really.
Not like some things could, anyway. Willow savagely swipes at her wrist.
Not like some things could.
CHAPTER FOUR
Willow leans back against the linden tree in the school garden and closes her book with a deep sigh. She’s been trying to read for the past half hour, but it’s hopeless. She just can’t focus. Instead of seeing the pages in front of her, she just keeps seeing her poor brother.
She’s afraid of what will happen the next time they talk. Will her face give her away? She knows that he wouldn’t have wanted her to witness that scene. There was something so profoundly . . . well, intimateis the only word she can think of—something so intimate, both about his misery and the way that Cathy comforted him.
For once it had been a relief to go to school in the morning. She’d left the house extra early just to avoid running into either of them, hoping that if she didn’t have to confront David’s red-eyed face over the breakfast table, then she’d be able to forget about what she saw.
Yeah, right!
Missing breakfast had accomplished nothing beyond an empty stomach. Because in spite of the fact that it’s a beautiful day, in spite of the fact that she has a free period with nothing else to do but sit outside and read, she simply can’t stop thinking about David. She’d known that he was in pain, ofcourseshe’d known, but to see him like that . . .
Even now she can hardly believe it happened. Since the accident, David has been so contained, so reserved, that to witness him in such a state, shattered and broken, well, it still doesn’t seem credible.
Her stomach turns a little as she thinks of how she’d tried to cheer him up over the dinner table with some manufactured compliments. How could she have been so naive, so stupid? How could she think that anything she had to offer, anything that she could give, could help him after the horror that she’s put him through?
She hates herself for what she’s done to him. But even more than that, she hates herself for being so selfish. Because, after seeing his breakdown, she knows that her primary concern should be for him. But instead all she can think of is that if he can let go like that . . .
Then why is he always so cold and distant with me?
Willow looks up, momentarily distracted as a group of students come into the garden. She recognizes a few of them from some of her classes.
“Hey Willow, what’s going on?” one of the girls calls over to her.
“Not much.” Willow smiles a little at the other girl. Her name is Claudia. Willow doesn’t know much else about her, but she does know that this girl has been friendly to her once or twice before, and she is grateful for her kindness.
“You want to hang out with us?” Claudia sits down on the grass. She tilts her head to one side and gives Willow a pleasant smile.
No. Willow does not want to join them. She wants to stay under the linden tree and try to read. But she hasn’t had much luck with that, and anyway, how can she say no? Claudia’s being friendly, it would look odd to reject the overture, and she has a bad feeling that she looks plentyodd already.
Willow gets to her feet and slowly walks over to the group. She’s a little unsure of what to do or say to these girls. If this had been a year ago, she wouldn’t have even waited to be asked. It would have been the most natural thing in the world to go right over to Claudia and introduce herself to everyone else. But now . . . It’s not that she’s shy exactly, it’s more that she doesn’t know how to behave around people anymore.
There’s something else too, she thinks, as Claudia shifts to make room for her. She wonders if this invitation is as innocent as it seems. Everyone knows that there’s something different about her. Well, aside from everything else, she’s new, and by itself that’s enough to raise questions, even of the most innocent kind. But Willow is sure that the interest she’s aroused is more sinister than that. There mustbe a million rumors floating around. There have to be some people who know what happened. There have to be some people who know she lost her parents. There have to be some people who know she killedher parents. So far nobody’s asked her anything directly, but she can tell that they all want to know her story.
It’s hard for Willow not to feel anxious as she sits there. By joining them she’s opening the door. Any moment now and the questions she’s been dreading could start. So instead of relaxing and enjoying the sunshine and the innocent chatter of the other girls, she waits, tense, to see what will happen.
“If I get into my first choice I’m coloring my hair red,” the brunette sitting next to her says.
“Excuse me if I don’t get the connection,” another girl responds. Willow recognize
s this one. This girl is already a redhead, she’s the one that Willow had been staring at so intently the other day, right before her spectacular pratfall. She’s the one with the scratch on her arm. The one that Willow thought might have been a kindred spirit. “And anyway,” the redhead continues. “Why do you want to change your color?”
“Well . . .” The brunette lies back on the grass and shields her eyes with a baseball cap. “If I get into my first choice, my parents will be so happy that they won’t care if I color my hair, and besides, I like red hair. You should be flattered.”
“Yeah Kristen, it’s so attention getting.” This is from Claudia.
“Did you bring anything to eat?” the brunette under the baseball cap says. Willow can see her name written on one of the books that rests by her side: Laurie.
“I have a day-old Luna bar somewhere,” Kristen says, and roots around in her bag.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Laurie laughs.
“What about you. It’s Willow, right?” Laurie lifts the baseball cap off of one eye and looks at her. “I don’t suppose you have anything more appetizing, do you?”
“No, I . . . Nothing . . .” Willow trails off.
“You want to cut out and go for croissants?” Claudia glances at her watch.
“I don’t have enough time.” Kristen shakes her head. She looks at Willow to see what she has to say about the matter.
Willow tries to smile, but it comes out sort of funny. More like a grimace. She avoids Kristen’s gaze and stares at her shoes instead.
“So Willow,” Claudia says, fanning herself with her notebook. “What classes are you in, besides history, I mean.” She and Willow share fourth-period history.
“Oh, who cares?” Laurie complains from underneath the baseball cap. “I mean, no offense, Willow, but I’ve had it up to here with school.” She makes a slashing motion with her hand at the base of her throat. “You’re not a senior, are you? School is all I think about these days. Where will I go next year? What should I do for my last semester of extracurricular to look good on my transcript? I’ve had it. Can’t we just gossip or something?”
“Just making conversation,” Claudia says mildly. She nudges Laurie with her boot. “I was trying to be polite,you know, Laurie, find out about Willow.”
“Oh sure.” Laurie nods. “Don’t think I’m not interested in you, Willow. I’m dying to know if you think I’d look better as a redhead.”
But Willow is saved from answering this by the real redhead—Kristen.
“Oh, c’mon Laurie, you’re alwaysup for talking about this kind of stuff. You’re just over it now because your first choice is already a missile lock. You’ve got the highest SATs of anyone I know.” Kristen has found the Luna bar and bites into it. “You’ve got nothingto worry about.”
“That’s not all it’s about,” Laurie protests. “I’m not a legacy at any of my top choices. These days it’s about a lot more than just grades and scores.”
“Kristen’s right, Laurie,” Claudia says. “Your scores are so good that those other things don’t matter. Besides, you’ve done so much other stuff it’s like the Pope sprinkled holy water on your transcript. I’m the one in trouble here.” She frowns for a second as she gathers her hair into a ponytail. “I mean, not only are my scores not that great, but what else have I done?”
“Maybe you should retake the SATs,” Laurie suggests. “What about you, Willow? Are you taking any prep courses this year?”
“They’re so worth it.” Kristen nods.
Willow knows that she should say something. Anything. She feels more and more uncomfortable sitting there and not joining in, but what canshe say? An SAT prep course? Nothing could seem less important.
Of course, if things hadn’t changed so much for her she probably would be thinking about taking an SAT prep course. But things have changed. College? How about the moon? If she’s thought about life after high school at all, it’s only been to wonder whether David will have put the house on the market by the time she graduates—otherwise they won’t be able to pay for college.
There’s an enormous gulf that separates her from these girls. She knows, because she used to be on the other side along with them. She wishes—desperately—that she could connect with them, but she’s simply forgotten how.
Willow casts about for something, anything,to say. Then Kristen crumples up the Luna bar wrapper and stretches out her arm to put it in her bag. For a second the red mark that Willow saw the other day is visible.
“Are you a cut—” Willow blurts out before she can stop herself. Her voice is much too loud, but even worse . . .
What am I saying??
“I mean, are you a cut—”
God almighty!!
Can she save this? They’re all looking at her expectantly, she’s got to do something.
Cut, cutters, cutting,what the hell can she spin out of cut?? Willow looks around at them, looks at Kristen and remembers. . . .
“I mean a cat . . . A cat person . . .”
Better than cutter, but just barely.
“What I mean is . . .” Willow pauses and closes her eyes for a second. If she stays like that, will they all just get up and go away? Forget it. She doesn’t have that kind of luck, she’d better just finish this thing. “Do you . . . Do you . . .”
What?? Does she what??
“Do you have a kitten?” she finally manages after a few more seconds. The girls look at her in stupefaction.
Good God!
Willow can feel that her face is flaming. To think, she’d only sat down with them because she hadn’t wanted to seem strange!
“No,” Kristen says after a few moments. “I’m way too allergic. Which reminds me.” She turns to Laurie. “That lotion you told me to try gave me the worst rash.” She rolls her sleeve up all the way and starts to rub her arm vigorously, and Willow can see that the mark she’d been so fascinated by is in fact just a scratch. Absolutely nothing more. Most probably brought on by the way Kristen is irritating her skin. Even as she watches, the other girl clearly raises a welt or two. Unlike the cuts that score Willow’s arm, this girl’s abrasions are perfectly innocent. She is no more a kindred spirit than anyone else in this little group. Than anyone else anywhere. “How come you want to know if I have a kitten?” Kristen fixes her shirt and looks at Willow. “Were you . . . Were you maybe thinking of getting one?” She says this slowly, as if she were talking to someone who doesn’t speak the language very well. She’s trying to be nice, but clearly, she thinks that Willow is an idiot.
Even worse, it’s hard to miss the bemused glances that the other girls are sharing.
“Well,” says Laurie. She removes the baseball cap and rolls over to rest her head on her hand. “My sister volunteers at a pet shelter if you need me to set you up with a kitten.”
Willow nods. She can tell they all think she’s weird. They’ll try to be nice, offer to help with kittens, but behind her back they’ll roll their eyes and thank God that they’re not crazy like she is. Maybe they’ll tell other people that they’ve hung out with the new girl. No, they don’t know the whole story, but she is strange,all right. . . . Maybe they’ll add a few rumors of their own.
“Excuse me.” Willow scrambles to her feet. She can’t sit there with them anymore. “I have to . . .” To what? She can’t think of anything to say. But it doesn’t really matter. Is it her imagination, or do they look relieved to see her go? The invitation had only been out of politeness anyway.
“See you in history,” Willow manages.
“Right.” Claudia nods.
Willow moves as fast as she can out of the garden and into the building.
She still has some time before her next class. But she doesn’t know where she should go. Neither the library nor the cafeteria holds any appeal.
She doesn’t know where she should go, but she knows what she wants to do, all right.
She’s a little worried about the practicalities of it, though. Her ar
ms have so many marks on them—you could almost play connect the dots. She’s going to have to wait until some of the cuts heal before she can start working there again. What about her legs? She’s wearing jeans—can she even get to her legs? If she does it on her stomach, will her sweater stick to it? Willow shakes her head. She should have planned for eventualities like this. Tomorrow she’ll wear a button-down shirt.
Still, as desperate as she is, just thinking about the details helps to calm her down, makes her forget the embarrassment of what just happened, of how awful she sounded when she asked about the kitten. It almost makes her forget how sad it is that she won’tbe taking a stupid SAT prep course.
Willow heads for the bathroom with a sense of purpose, but she’s in for a letdown, because the bathroom isn’t empty. Two girls are smoking in there. Another illicit activity, only much more acceptable.
Willow isn’t quite sure what to do. She could wait until they leave, but there’s no knowing how long that will take. As Willow considers this, the girl closest to her stubs out her cigarette in the sink and lights up another one.
“Want one?” she asks, offering the pack to Willow.
Willow shakes her head. She knows how ironic this is, she might as well smoke, why not? But cigarettes, while damaging, are pleasurable too, and besides . . .
Nicotine, that takes years before it hurts . . .
She backs out the door and it swings shut behind her. Willow looks up and down the hall, which is blessedly empty.
Willow starts walking. She doesn’t know where she’s headed, she’s not even sure where this particular hall leads to, she just knows that she has to move, or she’ll explode.
She’s moving faster and faster, her legs hurt, she realizes suddenly that she’s running, hurtling down the hall, rules be damned. Her ribs ache, both from the labored breaths that she just manages to draw and the way that her backpack is slapping against her shoulder.
But that’s good. All of that is good. Not as good as a razor would be, but uncomfortable enough to distract her.
