22. Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Bexley
B y Monday, I realized that I couldn't avoid the world any longer. I spent the entire weekend curled up in bed, crying, until my body was incapable of producing anymore tears. A few times, someone knocked on my door, but I couldn't bring myself to answer. It was easier to hide, to blast tunes and temporarily take myself elsewhere mentally until I was able to shut it all off.
I'd finally fallen down that spiral where no matter how hard I tried my face gave everything away. So, I hid. The world kept turning and no one was the wiser that I was broken.
Monday morning, I feigned being ill again—this time with a swollen ankle—so that I could face the inevitable without being disturbed or distracted.
It just wasn't an option to put it off any longer. The thought of Mom laying in the hospital morgue, cold and alone, destroyed me all weekend. I went to the hospital and finally spoke to the team who handled end of life transfers —aka removal of deceased patients from the premises.
Did you know that hospitals can only hold bodies in the morgue for so long? Well, I just learned all the details. Never thought that I'd suddenly be equipped with the knowledge of those types of procedures, but here I am.
Part of my emotional breakdown was also attributed to the fact that I was about to face financial ruin at the ripe old age of eighteen. Neither of us had planned for Mom to die so early, and with little financial support, I had no idea how I was going to cover the costs to bury her. Or how I would be able to afford utilities and groceries now that she was gone. Her payments would be cut off, and without a job, I have no way to support myself. Having a roof over my head is one thing, but what good is it if I can't afford to eat or pay for electricity?
But not even that could beat the heartache and bitter reality of facing a life without my mom. I'd rather be hungry and cold with her than alone without.
Today, it was a matter of picking my poison—one destructive task at a time. And that was to deal with the hospital and contact the funeral parlor.
The Ridgeview Valley Funeral Home was situated in the central business district, not far from the crater. I'd never had the displeasure of meeting Mr. Morrison before, and truthfully, I hope I never do again.
Sure, he's a lovely old man, but even though it's not his fault, I can't help but associate his presence with my grief.
It was times like this that I really wish I knew how to ask for help. Having a friend with me, to help soak in the vast information would be beneficial. But I can't do it yet.
Archie keeps messaging, asking if I'm okay. Hiding behind my screen will only work for so long. Tomorrow, I need to return to school, to check on everyone. I just hope that I've broken my tear ducts so they stop working for the few hours that I have to socialize.
The last thing I need is those Willowbrook assholes seeing me cry. I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me broken. Or give them any ammunition to use against me.
I'm stronger than my demons. I'm stronger than the lies that haunt me.
I just need to take it day by day.
I had half a mind to throw out the new shorts that Rylan gifted me. The Willowbrook crowd enjoy that class, always ready to taunt my inability to purchase new clothes. And seeing the new shorts, they definitely had something to say about it last week.
But after weighing up my options, I decided it was better to have them mock my new attire and make snide remarks, rather than have them stare at my ass all morning.
Dumping my bag by the seats near the track, I take a final look at it, wondering if those vapid, bleach-haired cheerleaders will attempt to steal it again. Part of me hoped they would, so I had an excuse to punch someone and release some pent-up energy.
"Morning, sunshine!" Sophia beams, bouncing over.
"Hey," I reply, finding it easier than expected to feign friendliness with her.
Soph stops next to me, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm so happy the rain has finally disappeared. I just dyed my hair on the weekend."
My eyes fall to the tied-up strands, smiling at the freshly touched up pink tips. "Does pink fade as quickly as red?"
"Argh, yes," she groans. "I've stained too many pillowcases. My brother gives me shit all the time about it."
"You have a brother?" I ask, intrigued. "I didn't know that."
She nods. "We're twins actually. Though he loves to remind me that he's older—by a whole seven minutes." Her eyes roll, making me laugh.
"If you are twins, does that mean he's a senior too?"
"Yeah," she confirms. "You probably know him."
Given that I barely know everyone from Willowbrook, her statement makes me suspicious. Sensing my skepticism, Soph pauses, offering a sheepish, apologetic smile.
"It's Tai."
"Tai?" I gape at her. "As in Tai Beckett ?"
Pain crosses her face as she scrunches it in response. "Are you mad at me? I promise I'm not as big as an asshole as he is."
I just stand there and stare at her wordlessly. To be fair, I have no idea how to feel. Betrayal is the first thought that comes to mind, but I quickly remind myself that neither of us owe the other any loyalty.
Anger is next, or at least it would be if I felt anything at the moment. The underlying numbness that I'm harboring seems to work in all scenarios. But I take the opportunity to voice the question that has been bugging me.
"Is that why you borrowed those library books?" I ask dryly.
Sophia blinks at me, pure confusion on her face. Either she's a really good actor, or she has no idea what I am talking about.
"The biology book?" she mutters. "What do you mean?"
I've always learned that you can't judge a book by its cover. And to her credit, she hasn't given me any reason to doubt her genuine friendliness these past few weeks. Hell, she even helped bring down Rylan. But while that still doesn't mean she's innocent, I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt depending on how she answers the next question.
"Your brother was the one who had my bag that first week," I tell her. "The cheerleaders gave it to him after they stole it. And your dear twin destroyed my textbooks. When I went to the library to borrow a copy, someone had suspiciously already checked them out that day."
My eyes stay on her face, unwavering as I watch for her reaction. Perplexity stares back at me, before her face twists in anger, mouth falling open with realization. "That asshole."
"Yes, but you're gonna have to elaborate."
Sophia groans, rubbing her template. "He told me he left his copy at home and asked to borrow mine. His classes for those subjects are earlier in the week before mine, so he asked to take mine and suggested I borrow the books from the library in case he forgot to bring them back to school. He's a forgetful ass sometimes. Shit, Bexley—I swear I had no idea. I'm going to smother him with my pink-stained pillow tonight."
Now that I'm looking at her closely, really closely, I can see the similarities. I'm not sure why I missed them before. While they both appear to have dyed hair, they have the same hazel eyes—even the random little spots of caramel in the irises.
Shit. This wasn't on my bingo card for this week, but it's a nice distraction from my own thoughts for a little while.
"Hey, Spencer! Who did you fuck to get the shorts?" someone calls out.
My body tenses as I slowly turn, spotting the hoard of males heading toward the locker room. To my surprise, Rylan isn't with them.
"Your father," I yell back without missing a beat. "He's disappointed in you, by the way. Wishes you'd been swallowed."
The guy gawks at my response while the group mock him and laugh, fucking me with their eyes and wolf-whistling. A few make quiet remarks about my shorts—which fit me perfectly to my displeasure. Rylan was spot on with his guess, and after hearing Sophia's confession, I'm now back to questioning his motives again.
I hate that I let him get close to me. Even removing the sex from the equation, I let him see parts of me that I normally keep hidden.
Blindsided by our supposed trauma bonding, I had let my guard down. And today is a reminder as to why I can't trust anyone.
As people start filing out from the locker rooms, I spot Rylan casually heading toward the field from the main building. As if sensing my eyes on him, he finds me easily in the crowd, eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment before his face becomes expressionless. He walks into the locker room without a word, my gaze glued to the doorway, even long after he's vanished from sight.
"Earth to Bexley."
"Hm?" I turn back to Sophia.
She grimaces. "You're mad. It's cool. I understand why you would be."
Sighing, I shake my head. "I'm not mad at you," I confess—which is the truth. Am I hurt? Yes, definitely. I thought I had found a friend in the snake pit, and I'm disappointed that she has ties to the Willowbrook kings. But it also explains a lot. It's why she and Rylan have a weird dynamic. Sophia is his best friend's sister.
At least they aren't dating.
Unlike last time, the thought brings a new type of relief. And I hate myself for it.
I shouldn't be relieved that Sophia isn't dating Rylan. He's not mine.
Sure, words were said in the heat of the moment, but the only truth that was spoken that night was that we hated each other.
We do hate each other. Right?
The coach calls for our attention before Rylan has emerged, and I welcome the distraction, making sure my back is facing the locker rooms. But even though I can't see him, I can feel his presence when he joins the group. My skin feels like it's being burned under watchful eyes, and for once, I want to run. Not away—but actual disgusting cardio.
When we're split into groups, Soph and I hang back, letting all the psychotic sprinters go first before starting our jog. But despite trying to keep pace, my body pushes ahead, making my running buddy curse under her breath.
"Jesus, Bex. Slow down," Sophia begs, panting as she tries to keep up.
But her words barely register in my mind. They sound faded, almost like they are being spoken under water.
Because all I can focus on is the wide back ahead, the dark brown hair ruffling in the breeze as light reflects off silver rings, beckoning me like death's version of the Bat Signal.
"I'm worried about you again," Arch says during fourth period.
"Why?" I ask, not glancing up from my textbook.
Despite meeting up at various times throughout the day, Arch apparently waited until we were in class together before questioning me.
We're at the back of the room, and even though I'm burning holes in the pages, I can't focus or absorb a single written word.
The Three Musketeers are in this class too, and every so often, they turn to look at me. But it's the difference in glances that puts me on high alert.
Hunter looks like he wants to bury me alive.
Tai throws bizarre stares that emanate pity.
And Rylan… He appears almost sad. With hints of… guilt?
If I didn't know any better, it's almost as if they have an idea of what has happened—well, Rylan and Tai anyway. But that's impossible. If my own people don't even know what happened on Thursday night, then they can't. I've made sure to cover my tracks.
"You've been sick a lot lately," Arch points out, ripping my attention away from Rylan as he glances over for the seventh time. Not that I'm counting.
"Probably just a little rundown," I offer pathetically.
He pauses, sparing a quick look at the teacher before leaning in. "Bex, I'm only going to say this once. You know I don't like to call you out on things, but something is going on. If there's something I can do to help—"
"It's fine," I snap, a little too harshly. His eyes widen, before narrowing in suspicion.
"Bex," he growls sternly. "That's bullshit and we both know it. Did they do something? Has someone hurt you?"
I laugh sarcastically under my breath. "No one has hurt me," I reply, monotonously.
Not really, anyway.
Arch reaches over, placing his hand on top of mine. "You don't have to deal with things alone. I promised you in fifth grade that I'd always be there for you."
"Don't you dare," I threaten, only half playfully, knowing what's coming.
He raises an eyebrow. "Nope. I'm initiating the pact. We promised to always be honest with each other—sealed with a pinky promise. So, tell me what's going on. You're legally obligated under the Barchley oath."
My lips twitch at our bestie name. It was one of those ridiculous things we did in elementary school, when I decided to adopt him as my friend forever. There was no escaping my grip once the scrawny little kid had stolen my favorite crayon by accident. Oh, Arch. Where would I even start?
I check to make sure the teacher is still facing the board before I pivot in my seat toward him. "Not here."
"Yes," he says sternly. "Because as soon as class is over, you're going to bolt, Bex. I know you too well. And I'm getting far too old to chase with my dodgy knees."
I'm fairly certain I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown, because all I do is laugh quietly in response. That and because his knees are far from dodgy. One season of basketball and a torn ACL that was repaired, and he thinks his knees are screwed for all eternity.
But I guess I just laugh, because my life is a joke right now. Laugh, because in about ten seconds, Arch is going to regret everything and he's going to feel as bad as I do. And then I'll feel ten times worse for bringing him into my mess.
And worse of all, laugh, because he might never look at me the same way and I don't know how I'll cope with that. I need him. I can't lose the one person in my life who is constant.
Taking a deep breath, I dissociate from my feelings, allowing that numb relief to wash over me like Lidocaine.
"Mom is dead," I finally say quietly. "She died last week. And I wasn't there with her because I was in bed with the Devil."