4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Sunny
The hours right before dawn are the worst. The silence is deafening. It leaves too much space for my mind to wander and get lost in. The memories get bold, sharpen their teeth, and tear me apart—one small piece at a time.
It's been a while, but there used to be a time I could lay here and calm the monsters, minimize the damage. Convince them to go back to sleep and leave me alone a little longer. I used to be able to dig down under all the dirt and filth I'm buried in and find a few good parts of me left. Pieces that weren't ruined and broken. But now? I think they're all gone. If there were any left I don’t think I’d be so disappointed to wake up every morning.
Mom had a meltdown when she got home and Garrett wasn’t waiting for her. She’d come bursting through the front door, all giggles and blown pupils, party favors in one hand, bottle in the other. She’s nothing if not predictable.
Her expression had gone from ecstatic to shocked to downright pissed in a matter of seconds. I told her the same story I gave the cops about what happened. She's smart though. Even fucked up she's smarter than most cops.
Halfway through my story, her lips twisted and her eyes narrowed into slits. She could see I was lying. I prefer honesty but am smart enough to know that lies have their place. I don't do it often, but I can be good at stretching the truth. But not to the woman standing in front of me. She's a human lie detector when it comes to me.
She didn't call me out on it though. Instead, she went into the kitchen, cracked open the new bottle of whiskey, poured herself a shot, and marched off to her room.
When she came out, she was wearing fresh clothes and muttering to herself about what a selfish prick Garrett was before storming out. She’s at the hospital now. The good news is that while she doesn’t believe the story now, she will eventually. It's easier that way, which is just how she likes it.
I've been lying here staring up at the ceiling trying to breathe through the suffocating tightness in my chest that makes me feel like I'm dying with no luck. Logically I know I'm fine, but my pounding heart and the thoughts racing through my mind are doing their best to convince me otherwise.
I know my mom. There’s no way she's sticking by Garrett while he heals. It’s not in her nature. She’s not a ride or die. She's loyal to herself. Period. Full stop.
It’s not that she doesn't know how to show compassion or empathy. There was a time I remember her being a good mom. A time when we were happy. But then, it all changed. Now, she only shows that side of herself when someone's watching. If there isn't an immediate payoff for her efforts, she doesn't make them. She'll only do uncomfortable for so long.
It occurs to me that maybe I'm more like her than I want to admit because I can’t help but wonder what all of this means for me. I know it's a fucked-up way to think, but even as evil as Garrett is with me, I know what I’m in for with him. I know what to expect. Usually, I'm not such a fucking idiot and can sidestep the worst. What happened today was my fault. I knew better.
I'm fairly certain though that there are more real live human monsters out there in the world. Ones with sharper claws and much bigger appetites than Garrett. Not to mention better imaginations.
I meant what I'd said to Levi when I left him sitting on the front step. He didn’t save me from anything. Not really. He gave me a momentary break, a pause. I'm thankful for it—I mean I'll take it, but I know it won't last. It never does.
Mom had Garrett moved in before Dad's side of the bed was even cold. Before anyone could even ask if he was dead or just... gone. That's how Mom operates—she’s incapable of being alone. When Garrett takes off for one of his "business" trips, she always finds someone to fill the temporary space. That someone is usually worse, never better.
I know there’s no way she’d get away with the things she does if she weren't so beautiful. Years of addiction have done little to take away from her looks. It's a distraction—how she hides the absolute disaster she is underneath it all. No one sees it, until it's too late. She’s a force of nature–she destroys everything and everyone she touches. I'm just collateral damage. Nothing more, nothing less.
Yesterday, in the backyard, when I watched the calm resolve of decision-making move across Levi's face, I knew there was no way he'd be able to protect me. I'd truly believed he was on a suicide mission. He'd been so confident—so solid and unflinching as he stood his ground. What he did opened the door, a tiny crack, to something I hadn't felt for as long as I can remember.
For a brief moment, there was a barely noticeable wingbeat in the center of my chest. A tiny flutter that asked me to consider that maybe someone saw something in me worth protecting. Something worth saving.
It was a ridiculous thought, an impossible thought. I've learned that girls like me don’t get heroes. We don’t get noticed enough to be rescued. Our lives are too messy. Too dirty. Too painful. I’ll never be mistaken for anything other than what I am. What Garrett has made me. Not in this lifetime at least.
But, for a moment, I knew what it would feel like if things were different. It felt good. It felt warm and safe and weird. And, I liked it.
That is the real reason I told Levi to leave and stay away. I’m not ready to let go of that feeling yet. I want to wear it a little longer. And, if he'd stayed...
Well, if he'd stayed, we'd have started talking. Which can be dangerous.
I know how it would go. Nothing big at first. Surface questions meant to hold the space between us and keep us dancing around what'd happened. Eventually though, he'd start asking questions I didn’t want to answer, couldn't answer. Of course, I'd end up unable to stop myself from asking some of my own. Then, after we both were a little more comfortable, I'd ask the big one. Why? Why did he do what he did for me?
As I was standing on the curb watching the ambulance pull away, I'd gone through every answer I could think of to that question. I decided that I'd rather send Levi away and keep guessing, than risk having that tiny, fluttering beat of hope crushed inside my chest.
If nothing else I've learned over the past few years that hope can be cruel. It makes you weak at times you can't afford it. It makes you want things you have no business asking for, and no right to think you could have. Worst of all, it makes you start to believe in impossible things. Things like maybe there is someone, with a perfect smile and beautiful green eyes, who isn't afraid to risk everything for you.
I wake up, choking on the scream stuck in my throat. Inside my chest my heart is pounding so hard it hurts, and I'm covered in a thin sheen of sweat. A deep shiver runs the length of my body even though it has to be close to a hundred degrees in my room.
I sit up, trying to focus my eyes and gulp down a raw, gasping breath. I let out a low groan as the room starts to come into focus and my head clears. There isn't an inch of my body that doesn't ache and throb. I can't remember ever feeling this bad before—and that's saying something.
A loud, thud, thud, thud coming from downstairs hammers its way into my skull turning the dull hammer strikes into icepicks. I lay back down, stare up at the ceiling, and try to ignore it. No one ever knocks on our door. Ever. Even the guys in suits carrying bibles seem to know to stay away.
If I ignore it, it'll go away.
A second series of hard knocks is followed by a third before I decide that whoever it is, isn't leaving. I roll out of bed, fighting back tears once my feet hit the floor. I would never have thought it would be possible for every single part of me to hurt this bad.
I trip and almost kill myself trying to make it down the stairs. By the time I get to the door, I'm irritated, and positive my head is going to explode any second. The clock in the living room says it's almost 5:00. In the afternoon. Which means I've slept almost eighteen hours. No wonder I feel like shit.
I yawn and stumble to the door. My plan is to crack it open, get rid of whoever it is, and then get back to bed as soon as possible. But the loud crack and shooting pain that runs up my leg when I stub my toe on the door frame is the last straw for me. Now, I'm pissed. At the door. At my toe. At whoever can’t take the hint and leave like a normal person.
Instead of cracking it open to peek out, I yank it open, stand there with my hands on my hips and manage to croak out, "What the fuck do you want?"
I stand there in horror when I realize it's Levi. I watch the smile slide off his face as he takes me in.
I'd rolled out of bed in my pajamas—a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. Great for sleeping in, not so great for hiding in. My cheeks catch fire as he looks me up and down knowing full well what he's seeing.
My skin is a mosaic of bruises and welts and bite marks. I went over all of it last night in the mirror when I got out of the shower, but I know they always look and feel worse the next day. Judging from his shocked expression and the anger flaring in his eyes, it's bad. Maybe even a little worse than it feels.
"Hey, uh, Angel," he says sheepishly. His eyes stay fixed on my bare thighs where the damage is most concentrated.
His gaze is so intense, it's a struggle to keep from trying to cover myself with my hands. But, I don't. I refuse to hide. He's the one showing up where he's not wanted and doesn't belong. It would be pointless now anyway. He's already seen it all.
I don't give him a chance to say anything else. "Look. I appreciate what you did for me yesterday. I do. But I told you. You need to stay away from here. Away from me. I have nothing for you." I lean over slightly, wincing at the sharp pain from a spot near my ribs and tilt my head to catch his gaze. I lock on to his eyes and drag them up from my legs to my face as I stand straight again. "Nothing," I repeat.
"I needed to check... I wanted to be sure—"
Fuck. Of course. How could I be so stupid?
A cold rush of panic floods my chest. My breath catches and my fingers twitch against the doorframe, ready to slam it shut before he can voice whatever threat he came here to make. I should have known better. I should have known this was coming.
"I'm not a snitch. I promise. I won't tell a soul what happened yesterday. As far as my mom, the cops, and everyone else knows it all happened exactly the way you told me to say it. You don't have to worry."
The words rush out of my mouth. Desperate. As soon as he started talking, it dawned on me how important it might be that I convince him of everything I just said. He doesn't know me, doesn't have any reason to trust that I won't say anything. I feel nauseous.
He took Garrett out. Put him in the hospital like it was nothing. Of course he wants to make sure you aren't going to say anything to anyone.
A scowl etches his face. "No. Wait. That's not—that's not what I meant. That’s not what I’m here for." The words are gentle when he speaks them even though his brow is furrowed and his eyes are hard.
I feel like I'm on the verge of falling apart in front of him and there's nothing I can do to stop myself. Every muscle in my body is wound tight to the point of pain.
"Let me start over." I watch as he draws in a deep breath, holds it and exhales slowly. He closes his eyes as the air leaves his lungs, and when he opens them again a small smile tips up the edges of his mouth and his eyes have softened.
"I wanted to stop by and see how you're doing, make sure you're okay. Yesterday was," he pauses and I can tell he's weighing his words out carefully, "a lot. I came by earlier, but there was no answer, and then I saw your mom leave and..." He stands there in the doorway and jams his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Angel. I'm not going to hurt you. I'd never hurt you."
"Oh." I stand there looking at him with a stupid, blank look on face unsure of what to say next. The knot in my stomach stays firmly in place, but the tension in my jaw and my shoulders drains away.
A full minute passes, before he speaks again. "So, are you?"
"Am I what?" I feel like I missed something.
"Okay," he chuckles.
"I'm fine." It's not quite a lie. I will be fine. Judging by what I saw in the mirror last night, it's going to take a while, but I'll be okay. Eventually. I always am. Even though I feel like an idiot, and my body aches and my head feels like it's getting squeezed in a vice, I offer up a big, wide, toothy smile as proof.
His expression turns serious as his eyes travel down my body and back up again. "Right. Um, I think we might have different definitions of 'fine'."
He raises an eyebrow not taking his eyes off me, but the judgement and disgust I'm expecting to see written on his face isn't there. It feels like he's waiting for a response, but he doesn’t push, doesn't say anything else. The words sit between us, heavy and awkward. I swallow hard. Obviously, he doesn't believe a word I've said even though he doesn't say it. It's irritating.
I shift uncomfortably, wiggling my toes, digging them into the worn wooden floor. He's not the first person to have seen evidence of what my life is like. Most people don't have the stomach for it though—I think it makes them nervous—as if bruises and pain are contagious or something. My mom ignores them completely. She has since the day Garrett moved in with us. If she doesn't acknowledge them, she doesn't have to ask questions she doesn't want the answer to. My friends, at least the ones I used to have, couldn't handle the heaviness of seeing and knowing. There are a lot of things I blame them for, but that's not one of them. I wouldn't want to deal with it either. Not if I had a choice.
But Levi? He's not looking away. He's looking right into the center of it all and not flinching. I've never had anyone stare so openly and see so much of me—with no trace of guilt or pity or contempt. He's just... looking. And somehow, that's harder and more disturbing than any of the reactions I've gotten before. I don't know what to do with it.
"Really. I'm fine. Or, I will be. I've been through worse." Again, a half-truth. I've never been through anything that comes close.
Now it's his turn to stand there with a stupid, shocked look on his face not knowing what to say. After a long moment he responds.
"You don't have to lie to me Angel." He hesitates, his tone low and careful as he continues. “What I mean is, you don’t have to be ‘fine’ if you’re not. I’ve seen enough to know that…” He trails off, like he’s searching for the right words, then lets out a long sigh.
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he doesn’t know anything about me, but the words won’t come. They stick in my throat and I have to force myself to swallow over the lump they make.
“Look, I just wanted to check on you. You don't have to do anything with what I said,” he says quietly. “But I’ll be around if you need... anything.” He takes a step back, hands still stuffed in his pockets, watching me with a gaze that sees so much more than I want him to.
I want to tell him to go, to leave me alone and let me pretend this never happened. But somehow, I can’t find it in myself to push him away again. I don't have the energy or the desire.
Instead, I nod stiffly, feeling his stare as he takes me in one last time before turning to leave. Right before he steps off the porch, I hear him murmur, almost to himself, “I meant it when I said I’d never hurt you.”
I close the door, leaning against it. Part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of what just happened, but the other part—the one that feels small and raw and exposed—aches.