Chapter 26 Aria
ARIA
Panic stirs in my chest before the sound registers: metal groaning and grinding through the familiar hush of the house.
It’s the garage.
My eyes snap open, a flutter of unease catching in my throat as my fingers freeze against the chilled section of the comforter near my ribs.
I stay completely still, waiting until the screeching grinds to a halt.
For a moment, it takes my breath with it, the world sinking back into an unnerving quiet.
Broken only by the distant chirp of birds outside and the faint, morning glow settling over the pale walls of my room.
My thoughts are still hazy and sluggish, but I force myself to move, pushing through the fog of confusion. In my rush, my foot stays tangled in the sheets and I lurch forward, catching myself at the edge of the bed.
I heave in a pained breath, shaking the grogginess away. The pounding in my ears grow louder as I straighten, my mind sifting through the myriad of disquieting possibilities. An intruder, a break-in, a breach of the only corner of safety I have left, until the memory of last night comes into focus.
First it was Jayce. That disastrous kiss.
My heart sinks before it stirs again. Ledger’s voice, low and steady, before the call spiraled into undeniable tension that caught fast and burned through the space he put between us, consuming me whole.
Flushed, I bite the corner of my lips as I inch out of my room on the tips of my toes, heart battering my chest as I dare contemplate that it’s him downstairs. There’s only one other person besides me who knows the combination to the garage and that would be—
Right as I take my first step down the stairs, I twist my ankle and stumble, my foot thudding against the wood, fingers scrambling for the railing with a sharp clack that ricochets through the quiet house.
My heart plunges like the first drop of a roller coaster, fast and defenseless, already tense as I brace to be caught.
“Aria?” a voice echoes from below. It’s familiar, but softer than usual and stretched thin with tension. Mom.
I fold inward, knees faltering as my body and spirit give way together, and drag myself the rest of the way down the staircase. Several months ago, I might’ve been relieved to hear her voice again, elated even. But that was then. Now, I know better.
She’ll come and go. Discard me as if I never existed in her orbit. As if the time we shared in my childhood can be erased, reduced to nothing more than a few old photos tucked away to gather dust in a photo album somewhere.
If this thing with Jayce has taught me anything, it’s that people don’t change just because we hope they will.
When someone shows you who they are the first time, believe them.
My mom’s stance has been made clear time and time again.
This is not any different. She’ll leave, and I’ll be left picking up the pieces of my heart, wondering what I did wrong or why I was never enough to make her stay.
Reining in my emotions, I pad through the narrow entryway into the kitchen, the cool tiles sobering against my feet. Her gaze snaps to mine the moment she spots me through the doorway, her hips propped against the counter beside the box I left there the day before.
She drops a hand from the frayed ends of her hair, her usual toffee-colored eyes dragged down by the shadows clinging beneath them, dulling their warmth. My stomach twists at the faintest glint of my mother I still recognize in them.
It’s buried deep inside those worn-out features, but there’s no point holding onto that version of her. She’s gone. The signs are written all over her as she stands there with her head hung low.
She’s using again.
Why am I not surprised?
“You look horrible,” I say plainly, pressing every trace of emotion far enough inside me so that it can’t reach me, can’t make me vulnerable again.
She worries her chapped lips, fingers twisting, picking at hangnails as she lifts her gaze. “I came back,” she starts, but her voice dies off before she can finish, too ashamed to even try.
There’s no hiding it. She knows she’s abandoned me.
Usually, there’d be a bitter sting behind my eyes. My chest would ache, then inevitably wilt again, only for the cycle to repeat, wearing down every paper-thin shred of hope until it tore.
Ruined. Unrepairable.
I can’t hold onto that hope anymore.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says softly, her eyes watering. “I got a call from the police.”
“Did you answer them?” I cut in, panic slipping into my voice. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing, it was just a voicemail,” she confirms.
My lungs expand, relieved. Thank God.
She shifts on her feet, taking a step toward me, but stops when she notices me stiffen. “Aria, I was so worried. They said some really concerning things about you being missing, and you told them you were with me? What was that about?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Yes, it does. I’m your mother.”
I snap. Everything I’ve shoved down erupts in a boiling surge of disbelief and rage.
“Oh, are you now? Gee, that’s funny, because last I remember, you showed up months ago swearing you had your act together, only to ditch me the very next day.
” She flinches at my words, like they hurt her, like she has any right to be hurt by them.
“You lost the privilege to be my mom a long time ago.”
I hold out my hand, eyes narrowing into slits as I wait for her to respond.
“Aria—”
“The keys, Mom,” I snap. “My car keys.”
Her chin quivers as she pats her sides. When she finds the keys, she clutches them to her chest, just for a moment, contemplating before she hands them over with a sigh. The sharp clink of cold metal cuts through the silence.
“There’s not enough gas in it,” she says, handing them over. Her eyes are apologetic, almost convincing. But I don’t fall for it. Not this time. I glance away and pocket them.
“Of course there isn’t,” I clip, turning on my heel and walking away without another glance.
I’m not surprised. I’ll fill it up later, maybe after I cash in my next paycheck.
Upstairs, I silence the churn of my thoughts and tug on a pair of stiff new jeans, then a warm amber tee I dig out from the back of my closet, sun-bleached and shriveled from long summers in the yard with my parents.
Back when we were still a family, before our home crumbled into a perpetual cemetery of broken dreams and haunted memories of how things were.
The hem brushes just above my waistband, giving the shirt a more fitted, accidental kind of trendy appearance.
Before heading out, I pause at my reflection in the dresser mirror, my mouth falling open as I catch sight of myself. The golden tones cast a soft glow across my skin, deepening the luster of unruly waves that, for once, aren’t the usual unsavory kind of frizz I’m used to.
Instead, they fall with an effortless, almost sultry kind of ease, like the girls in commercials who always seem to roll out of bed looking perfect without trying.
I dig through my backpack for my phone, heart thudding harder than it should. No messages from Ledger. Just a blank screen staring back at me. I slide it into the side pouch and head out, the disappointment tightening behind my ribs.
It’s full-on morning now. There’s no way he hasn’t seen it.
Thoughts unravel as I walk. Dark, intrusive ones that keep me questioning and second-guessing every tiny interaction, like how his voice dipped at the end, how distant he suddenly felt, like he’d already made up his mind about something, and I wasn’t privy to what it was.
A simmering heat grows inside of me as I reach the school’s large building, partially from the exertion of the walk and partially from the suggestive nature of the photo I sent.
With the sun blaring down on me, yesterday’s impulsiveness solidifies into humiliation that cuts deeper now that the reckless fog has cleared from my head. I almost wish I could go back and erase it, stop myself from making a fool of myself.
It’s also possible he saw it and just didn’t want to wake me up late at night. Either way, there’s no use driving myself crazy this early. What’s done is done.
I have more urgent things to worry about.
Like how I’ll break the news to Clara that I’m bailing on prom last minute.
Honestly, I feel sort of relieved. Since I started hanging around Jayce, I haven’t heard a peep about the paint incident.
The whispers have mostly died down. Probably because of my involvement with him.
If anything, that’s the one good thing that’s come out of all of it.
Sometimes I catch girls staring, their expressions twisted into a kind of jealousy that makes me feel sorry for them.
I keep my head low as I shove my bag into my locker, quickly grabbing my textbook and heading to first period, my hands clammy against the cold, glossy cover.
Nerves build fast as I take my seat inside the lab, keeping my gaze from drifting toward the far corner where Jayce and his friends sit.
Clara smiles at me as I approach, already seated with her book open. I take a seat beside her, thumping my heavy textbook down and flipping to the page number listed on the whiteboard up front.
She tries to whisper something to me, but Mrs. Straut’s already narrow eyes land on us, a long index finger raised to her lips in a silent warning.
A moment later, the bell rings. She shuts the door behind her and launches into a lesson on cell division, sketching a quick diagram on the board.
I try to follow, but the marker lines blur as my mind drifts back to Ledger.
Maybe I should text him.
Clara nudges my shoulder, sneaking me a crumpled piece of paper with a flicker of excitement in her round eyes. I carefully unfold it while the teacher’s back is to us, skimming the messy scribbles inside.