Chapter 34
Javi, Present
I know it’s in here somewhere.
I accidentally kick over a cluster of rakes as I rifle through the shit in our garage. They clang loudly against the cement floor.
I wince the slightest bit but recover quickly to keep searching.
It’s kind of late now, but I don’t care. Scott and my mom are still out. But honestly, let Scott come home and give me shit about this.
He can’t stop me right now. No one can.
A few hours have passed since I finally left Declan’s front yard. I had stood there for I don’t know how long, staring at the front door, trying to get my mind wrapped around what I now know.
When I could finally pull myself away, I ended up doing pretty much the same thing in my room. Staring off at nothing and slowly crumbling inside.
All I kept seeing was the hurt in his face. Even now, I get the occasional flash of his gray eyes, harboring a shadow that I don’t usually see there.
It dimmed him. He’s so bright. He’s colorful.
But talking about what happened drained that from him.
And he’s been dealing with that all on the inside.
The dimming. The draining. Hiding it away from everyone.
I can’t imagine how lonely that must feel.
And to have one of the few people who he trusted in the world turn his back on him.
He was right, though. I thought I knew. I was so sure that everything had happened as I perceived it. The switch in my brain was so immediate.
Shame bubbles up under my skin—hot and insistent. Needing to be felt. But I push it away for now. As much as I think I should be feeling them—the shame and guilt will do nothing to help me.
There’s a big box sitting wonkily on top of a large plastic bin. Ripping the box open, I roughly dig around but only find some old footballs. I push it away. It tips and tumbles down, landing on its side, sending a few of the balls skittering out of the box.
Unfortunately, the footballs make me think of Carter’s dumb fucking face. My hands tremble violently as I try to pry the lid off the plastic bin.
It was almost the end of the school year when the video happened last year. Carter being a senior, I only had to ignore his presence for a week or so before he was gone.
I didn’t confront him about it at the time because I didn’t think Carter really owed me anything. We had stopped hooking up a week prior to that, and I had never felt anything remotely close for Carter how I felt for Declan.
Declan had been the one who had wronged me in my eyes. He was supposed to be the one. His betrayal was cataclysmic.
I was so wrong.
I finally get the lid off the bin with a sharp jerk. I throw it to the side and start hunting through all the crap.
Old files.
Sweatshirt I outgrew.
Baseball glove.
No. No. No.
Where the fuck is it?
Just as I’m about to hang my head in defeat, my fingers brush against cool, smooth metal.
I grasp it and pull it out from beneath the other junk.
Holding the bat in my hands, I test its weight, tapping it against my palm a few times.
There was a short time when I was twelve where I had wanted to play baseball.
Right around when I started falling in love with the sport was when Scott put his foot down.
He said it wasn’t a real sport like football and that I needed to play a different sport where I don’t spend so much time standing around on the field.
I grew to love football too, but it’s always had the stench of being what Scott wanted attached to it.
I had shoved away all this stuff in the garage after I quit, and thankfully it has sat untouched until now. When I need it.
I twirl it around in my hand while I walk calmly over to the garage door opener and press the button. The garage door slowly lifts, moaning into the darkness along the way.
The streets are extra quiet and still. But that damn streetlamp keeps shining, shooting a beam at me in the reflection of that fucking silver Audi across the street.
I walk there slowly, leisurely swinging the bat at my side.
This is probably such a bad idea.
Actually, this is definitely a bad idea. I don’t know what will happen to me, but it’ll be absolutely nothing good.
Even though I know that, I can’t bring it in me to stop myself.
Truthfully, he deserves a lot more than this. But for now, it’ll have to do.
I stop right in front of his car. The place where he put his fucking hands on him.
Carter’s fucking pride and joy.
My reflection looks back at me from the window—devoid of any emotion. Resigned to this fate.
I don’t even recognize myself. Maybe I haven’t in a long time. Ever since I lost Declan.
I raise the bat over my head, my two hands holding it steady in the silent night air. I inhale and try to settle myself. Last chance to not do this.
There will be repercussions for me. Do I really want that? Is it actually worth it?
For Declan, yes.
I swing the bat down as hard as I can. I imagine it’s Carter’s smug face as the aluminum crunches the glass underneath.
I think about how he’d wail. How he’d bleed for what he did to him.
It makes me raise up the bat again and hit the car even harder. The window blows out. Small pieces of glass explode and decorate the seat and driveway.
I lose myself in the process. Whacking and whacking at the stupid hunk of metal. Climbing up the hood, I attack his windshield until it cracks, doubling my efforts to watch it shatter.
All of my frustration, my guilt, my aggression, gets felt by the car.
The windows, the doors, the bumpers, the mirrors—they all get the same treatment.
When, out of the corner of my eye, I catch the lights in his house flick on, I don’t stop. Not even when Carter himself comes running out of the front door. “Morales, what the fuck?!”
I don’t answer him, continuing my very important work.
“Stop fucking screaming and put the bat down!” he yells at me.
I didn’t even know I was screaming. It makes me pause. That’s when I feel how sore and raw my throat is.
I whirl around on him, my bat still raised in the air. He backs up quickly, a defensive hand raised in the air.
“You know what you did!” I scream at him, my voice filled with pain.
He takes two more careful steps back, now with both of his hands raised. His eyes are wide and scared as he looks at me. I can’t imagine what I look like, because I feel fucking insane. So completely lost off the edge of a cliff—like my brain is hanging on by a thread.
“What are you talking about?”
“Declan!”
I can’t stop shouting—every word is tearing out of me.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Dude, are you serious? That’s ancient fucking history. We hooked up. Go to therapy and get over it. Don’t take it out on my car.”
On his last word his eyes shift, taking in all the damage I’ve inflicted on his little baby. Carter looks absolutely grief-stricken.
I use his distraction to my advantage, tossing the bat to the side. It makes a hollow echo against the pavement of the driveway, drawing his eye back to me. But it’s too late. I’m running at him.
He tries to flee, but I catch him by his shirt collar and yank him back, flipping us around and pushing him into his battered car. I’m finally able to stop shouting, as I quietly grit out to him, “You didn’t hook up with him. You raped him, you piece of fucking shit.”
He laughs at that, succeeding in pissing me off more. “Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I pull him back a bit to slam him into the car again.
“Ow! Shit!” he howls.
“What did you do? Put something in his drink?”
My eyes ping-pong between his as the questions come out of my mouth. And that’s when I see it. It’s small. The faintest hint. Shock.
It’s an admission of guilt. He never thought anyone would guess. That anyone could possibly suspect the great, popular, handsome Carter Hayes of drugging someone and raping them.
He quickly fixes his expression, tucking that surprise away. “You’re crazy! Get your hands off of me!”
But I don’t. I keep going. Seeing that look in his eyes pushed me off the fucking cliff. I’m completely gone. No turning back.
“Then you had the nerve to spread all those rumors about him. For what? To cover your tracks?”
“You’re fucking pathetic,” he sneers in my face. “He’s a slut. He fucking wanted it that night. They always do!”
“They?”
The shocked look enters his eyes again, fleeing just as quickly. “I called the cops before I came out here,” he says with a look of uncertainty in his eyes.
I put my hands around his throat and start squeezing. “Let them fucking come. I’ll kill you before they get here.”