Thursday, February 10th
Cat
Step one: redemption. Step two: reckoning.
That’s my plan. I’m going to atone for my misdeeds, for the things I’ve done wrong, and then I’m going to reckon with all the things and people that somehow continue to assert control over me, my life, and my everyday decisions.
I’m by no means a confrontational person, never have been. I’m docile and compliant. “Sweet,” as Vada likes to say. But I’m also angry, filled with angst and rage. The past few weeks I’ve been feeling more like a pressure cooker, a time bomb, stewing, the tension within me rising, bottling it all up. But even my tolerance has its limit, and I have a feeling I might just be close to reaching it.
I’m desperate to find a way out of this mess, or at least the aspects I have some control over. I have to find a way to sever whatever stranglehold Adam has on me. I don’t want it to linger, don’t want him playing any part in my life once Ronan is back. Adam doesn’t deserve my attention. He’s already demanded too much of it, of my strength, my willpower. I’ve spent countless hours trying to get to the bottom of… myself, why I’m so demure, why I allow people to walk all over me.
For the longest time, I thought bad things happened because I did something to deserve them. It wasn’t until Ronan came along that I began to understand that this was a lie, one I didn’t only tell myself, but that others reinforced with their words and their behaviors. I won’t deny that I’ve made mistakes—really big ones—but I have an easier time accepting that the fallout of those mistakes may not have been warranted. What I don’t quite understand is why I have such a difficult time standing up for myself. Speak up, Cat! Yet I never do, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why.
One thing I have done, though, is repay the tips I stole… borrowed.
Despite my vehement objections, my mom still gave me my February allowance. “Did you really think I was going to make you pay for a winter coat, Kitty? I’m your mom; of course I’m going to buy you clothes,” she laughed when I asked her why she transferred $200 into my bank account at the beginning of the month.
The first thing I did was withdraw half of that money. I went to Murphy’s and made sure the bar tender got her forty bucks. The next time I saw Shane, I gave him the remaining $60. He had no idea what the heck was going on, looking at me with the most adorable, confused expression on his freshly shaven face.
“Forty is for you. For when Tori and I ate at Murphy’s last time and you so lovingly cleaned up our table. You deserve a good tip, sir,” I told him with my most convincing smile. He tried to argue with me, but I didn’t take no for an answer. “Oh, and the other twenty is for Jack, please. For the L.A. water he made just right.”
Step one: redemption. Step two: reckoning. It’s coming. I’ll make it happen.
And I’m starting today.
I’m still steaming, huffing and puffing as I pace the house after my mom picked me up from school today. My mom hasn’t picked me up from school since I was in second grade. And no, she didn’t get me because Adam has me almost constantly on guard these days, but because I had to go to the principal’s office with Vada and Tori after Vada quite literally knocked a girl’s tooth out of her mouth when we were standing by the lockers after lunch today.
The three of us were about to split up and head to our afternoon classes when a group of juniors walked past us. One very conveniently and forcefully stumbled into me. Rather than apologize, the girl huffed an insult at me, calling me a “blonde-haired hockey glory hole”—very creative, I must say—causing her girlfriends to giggle wildly and Vada to lose her absolute shit. I hardly had time to register the comment before Vada dropped her backpack to the floor and pounced on that girl, fists flying.
And then it was friends trying to come to each other’s aid, hair pulling, nails scratching, and hands slapping as Tori and I tried to pull Vada off the girl. A crowd of students gathered, cajoling and cheering on the fight.
It felt a lot longer than the three minutes it took for the fight to get broken up and for Vada, Tori, me, and the four other girls to be marched into the office. Vada was given an ice pack for the bump on her forehead, and the girl who “tripped” into me sobbed as she held a wad of paper towels to her mouth to stem the blood running down her chin.
Vada readily admitted to starting the fight without an iota of remorse in her brown eyes. Her face was stern as she told the vice principal about the rumors that have been floating around for months now, about the insults and underhanded threats.
I feel bad for the three-day suspension the vice principal imposed on Vada—after all, she was only defending me—but she just shrugged. “I told you I’m not above kicking someone’s ass,” she told me victoriously when she left with her dad, who was obviously displeased about his daughter instigating a fistfight at school.
“Why didn’t you tell me about these rumors, Kitty?” my mom asks me, her hands on her hips.
“Because it doesn’t matter, Mom. There’s nothing you can do about it. I try to just ignore it,” I tell her, still angry. As much as I appreciate Vada’s willingness to step in, I have no doubt this will only fuel the haters. I could practically feel the eyes on me when I followed my mom to her car, and I’m getting really damn fed up with it all.
“Do you mind if I take a walk?” I ask. Some fresh air, some movement would probably be good. Otherwise I’ll just sit and ruminate, contemplating what a complete crapshoot my life has been since the day after my birthday last year. Actually, with the exception of the four months between when I met Ronan and when he got hurt, this entire year has been a wash, and I would gladly erase any memory of it if it wasn’t for the incredible moments I spent with Ronan.
“Go ahead, sweet pea,” my mom says with a nod, her eyes warm. “Don’t wander far, okay? And keep your phone on you. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
I can’t say it’s a conscious decision, but I find myself walking in the direction of Ronan’s house, feeling my heart rate increase the closer I get to the two-story red-brick home with its dark-green front door. I know he’s not home—in fact, he’s really, really far away from me—but still, being there in his home, maybe even in his room, always makes me feel closer to him.
I see his satin-black Mustang first, still parked right in front his house. I notice the hood up, then spot Steve bending over the engine block, apparently working on Ronan’s car.
“What are you up to?” I say when I’m just a few feet behind Steve, and I laugh when he jumps up, startled.
He whirls around to face me. “Fuck, Cat, you scared the shit out of me,” he says, eyes frenzied, his hand on his heart. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” I laugh. “What are you doing?”
He frowns, his gaze moving back to the car. “I’ve been meaning to move Ran’s car into the garage, or at least into the driveway and off the street, but I kept forgetting. I wanted to finally do it today, but then it didn’t start. Dead battery.”
“Oh no,” I say, peeking around Steve and under the hood of Ronan’s Mustang, like I have any idea what the hell I’m looking at. “Can’t you just give it a jump?”
“I tried, but that battery is dead dead.” He runs his hand through his hair. It makes me smile because Ronan does the exact same thing, only he uses his left hand. “I had to get a new one and I just finished installing it when you decided to give me a freaking heart attack.”
“Sorry,” I giggle.
“I forgive you.” He nods his head toward the car. “Want to see if we can get this baby to start?”
I hesitate. I haven’t been in Ronan’s car since the night of my birthday five months ago when he dropped me off at home—before I asked him to stay with me and before I gave myself to him completely. The last time Ronan drove his car, he was still healthy and whole.
Steve moves past me and opens the passenger door for me. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to get into the car, so I oblige. The second I’m in the seat, my eyes fall shut as I inhale deeply. Ronan’s clean, masculine scent awakens my senses, and the ache of missing him is almost unbearable.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asks me when he slides into the driver’s seat and closes the door.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just miss him.”
“I know. Me, too.” He puts the key in the ignition. “Fingers crossed,” he says and turns the key. Ronan’s car comes alive with a roar.
“Oh, thank god,” Steve says. “Good girl.” He caresses the steering wheel.
“Good girl?”
“Well, yeah,” he says with a grin. “I was so fucking scared she wouldn’t turn over. Ran would have killed me. You can’t tell him about this as it is, okay? He’ll be pissed if he finds out I let his car die. Want to take her for a ride? Make sure we move the fuel through the lines?”
“Sure.” I buckle up just as Steve puts the car in drive. “So, I didn’t realize cars had genders?” I giggle.
“Uh, duh!” Steve huffs.
I laugh aloud. “Oh, okay. And Ran’s car is a girl?”
“Obviously,” Steve says, patting the steering wheel again. “She’s kind of sensitive. Requires a lot of attention. Ask Ran!”
I scrunch my nose. “What are you trying to say? That girls need to be handled with care and require a lot of attention?” I ask with mock offense.
“I mean, Ran’s car has very specific requirements. Ran knows exactly how to drive her; I can never shift as smoothly as he does. And she needs to be tuned all the damn time. This car is much more finicky than mine,” he says, then looks at me. “That’s not a bad thing. I just mean this car has standards. And from my limited life experience, I can say girls have standards. And if they don’t, they should.” Steve shrugs.
“Got it.” I laugh again, then close my eyes, listening to the familiar sound of the engine, feeling the soft, conditioned leather of the seat with my fingertips, inhaling Ronan’s scent.
Steve takes us to the freeway, where he speeds up, merging lanes, weaving easily through the afternoon traffic, though his style of driving is different from Ronan’s, and I understand what he meant when he told me about his inability to shift gears as smoothly as Ronan. The car jerks the tiniest bit as he moves between higher and lower gears, whereas it’s almost undetectable when Ronan changes gears.
“I really need to make it a point to drive her more,” Steve says when he slows for traffic. “I can’t risk another dead battery before Ran gets home,” he adds, then turns to me. “Or maybe you should drive her,” he says with a smile.
“What? No way. I have no idea how to drive a stick shift.”
“Easy enough to learn,” he says, speeding back up. “I can teach you. I bet Ran would love that. His favorite girl in his favorite car. Nothing sexier.” He chuckles and wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“I don’t know…”
“Ran is going to come back to a whole new Cat. You’ll be a pro at skating, you’ll know how to drive a stick shift—what more could he want?” Steve says with a laugh.
“Me doing all these things naked, probably,” I say before I can stop myself.
Steve grins at me. “Oh yeah, that would definitely be a crowd-pleaser,” he laughs. “Although I’m not sure you two would get any skating or driving done if you just stood in front of him naked.”
“I don’t think so either.”
He glances at me briefly, a mischievous grin brightening his face. “So, I heard you got in a fight today.”
“How the hell do you already know?” I’m incredulous at how quickly news travels.
He chuckles wryly. “Shane texted me. He said you, Tori, and Vada got into a fight at school because some girl called you a name?”
I nod at him. “Some junior I’ve never even exchanged one word with called me a blonde-haired hockey glory hole.”
Steve laughs out loud. “Holy shit, that’s lame. And so Vada just clocked the chick?”
“Yep. Punched a tooth right out of the girl’s head. She really is a badass.” I should take a page or two out of Vada’s book. Maybe people would feel less inclined to mess with me. I bet Vada has never been blackmailed with nudes, has never stolen from her best friends to prevent a dirty, dark secret being brought to light.
Steve’s laughter increases in volume, and it’s so genuine and contagious that I too begin to laugh. I guess it really is only a choice between laughing or crying, and laughter seems like the better option.
“Fuck, things really have been complete and utter shit, huh?” he asks, his face alive with amusement at the absurdity of what we’ve all been going through.
“You can say that again.” He doesn’t even know the half of it.
“God, I mean, I don’t know about you, or, actually, I do, but… I’m ready for all of this shit to be over. I’m ready for it to be, like, two years later, or… fuck, just take me six months down the road to some semblance of normal again, you know? I want Ran home, I want this fucking trial to be over, I want my mom’s shit out of our house, I want to just hang out at Shane’s with everyone again…”
My heart aches in my chest at his words, a reminder of how much each of us is going through. While I continue to struggle with Ronan’s absence and suffer from Adam’s torment, the rumors and insults, my friends have had to endure their own struggles.
“So, how are you doing?” I ask him when silence falls over the car.
He shrugs. “Getting used to the idea of Penny living with us, I guess. She’s officially moving in next weekend.” I was already aware of that since my mom and Penny talk all the time. My mom wasn’t so sure if it’s a good idea for Penny to move in while Ronan is still away, but Penny shared that Frank had followed my mom’s advice. He spoke with Ronan’s therapist and even Ronan himself, who apparently gave the green light. Just exactly how green that green light was is a different question.
“And I mean, I miss Vada, obviously. I didn’t end things because I don’t love her anymore; I ended them because I don’t feel like myself right now. I have a hard time focusing on our relationship. I know I’ve been jumpy and reactive and it’s just not fair to her,” he says, staring at the road. “I’m just… I feel really protective of Ran, and Vada and I have been fighting so much. I don’t know…” He trails off with a deep sigh.
“Did you start seeing a therapist?” I ask carefully, not wanting to invade his privacy or overstep my bounds.
“Yeah, on Monday, actually,” he says with a nod. “I’m going to see him once a week for a while.”
“Oh, you’re not seeing the same therapist as Ran?” I know Ronan’s therapist is a woman.
“No. My dad contacted her and she said I could, but it would feel weird, like I’m intruding on Ran’s space. I feel like his therapist needs to just be his therapist, you know? He’s got so much to work through. I don’t know.”
“That makes sense.”
“But she recommended the guy I’m seeing, so…”
“So, how was your first session?”
“Pretty good. It’s weird opening up to a complete stranger, but I think it’ll be helpful in the long run. Or at least I hope it will be.”
“I think it will be.”
“I still feel really weird about it,” he says. “Like, I don’t have anything to complain about; my life has always been good, you know. I mean, my mom wasn’t the warmest of mothers, even with me, but she never hit me and rarely raised her voice. I got away with almost everything. I broke curfew I don’t know how many times and I never got in trouble for it,” he says. “Ran did, though. We could be doing the exact same shit, but only Ran would get in trouble for it. It’s… it’s fucking psychotic,” Steve grunts, then glances at me. “I’ve seen some more of the surveillance,” he says, the tension rising in his body. “I try not to watch that stuff, but sometimes, when my dad is in the middle of reviewing it… it’s like I can’t help myself. I want to know and not know at the same time, you know? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Actually, I think it makes complete sense,” I say with a nod. “I feel the same way. I want to know what Ran went through so I can understand and empathize with him. It feels like I don’t really know Ran at all if I don’t know about his darkest, most painful moments.”
“Yeah, well, I think we’re going to get to know him really well during that damn trial. I’m trying to prepare myself for the things we’re probably going to hear and see, but I’m not sure anyone can ever really be prepared for what Ran went through…” Steve pulls into a wide alley behind some industrial buildings.
“Uh, what are we doing here? You’re not planning on killing me and dumping my body, right?” I look out through the passenger window. There’s not a soul in sight. Strange, considering where we live.
“Nope, but this would definitely be a good place to do it,” he says with a throaty laugh. “I’m going to teach you how to drive a stick shift.”
“Right now?”
“Right now. I’ll just show you the basics for now. It’ll take some practice to really get comfortable with it, but I promise you this: by the time Ran comes home, you’ll be a damn pro at driving this baby.”