Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Carter
“Thanks, man. This will work great.” After taking a look at the contents of the baggie Kellan gave me, I tuck it into my pocket. “How much?”
“Like I would charge you,” he replies, grunting like I insulted him. “And don’t worry. It’s not as strong as that shit you smoked at my place. It’ll just be a nice, chill body high.”
That’s what I’m looking for. Not that anything is bad right now—really, things are going pretty well. This is the start of our second week without parents in the house, and it’s going better than I could have hoped—if I had any hopes in the first place.
We spent the weekend hanging out around the house, not doing much of anything, and it was surprisingly fun. Watching movies, sitting out by the pool. Elliana still won’t stick a toe in the water, but she sat reading under an umbrella while I swam. We just… coexisted, but without any negativity or fighting.
Kind of crazy, but I would like more of that. A lot more.
When he sees Elliana coming our way from across the parking lot, Kellan gives me a fist bump before going to his car. Meanwhile, I wait for her, leaning against the truck, and right away, it’s dead obvious there’s something wrong.
Maybe it’s the way her neck has pretty much disappeared, since her shoulders are up around her ears and her chin is tucked close to her chest. Great. Things were going well, too.
“Hey. How was class?” I ask once she’s close enough that I don’t have to shout.
“Fine, I guess.” She won’t look at me. She only stares down at the ground until I open her door so she can escape inside the truck and hug her backpack.
I strongly consider murder as I round the truck to get behind the wheel. Somebody’s still fucking with her. What the hell is wrong with these assholes? What do I have to do to make them leave her alone?
I can’t. That’s the problem. It weighs on me as I drive home with her sitting silent, basically hiding behind her hair. I can’t fight her battles, no matter how much I wish I could. I can’t be with her constantly. There are things she has to do on her own.
But how is she supposed to find the balls to do it when, every time she starts feeling even a little confident, somebody has to smack her down?
“Do you wanna get some pizza tonight?” I don’t really want pizza, but I know she likes it. One of the things I’ve found out about her this past week. Turns out, once I took the time to get to know her a little, I found out we have things in common.
I mean, not like pizza is anything revolutionary or whatever—plenty of people like pizza. But at least it’s something we can agree on.
“I’m not really hungry.” She’s barely moving her mouth to speak, just mumbling.
“Maybe not this minute, but you probably will be, eventually.”
“It’s fine.” She almost spits it at me before going back to being silent.
I have to try. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” she snaps back before sniffling softly, and I swear to God, I’m going to crack my teeth if I have to grind them any harder. Whoever they are, I hope they suffer for making her suffer.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Just thought I would ask.”
“I just don’t get it.” There’s real rage in her voice. “What do people get out of being cruel? Like, why? What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh? You don’t know?” When I shoot her a look once we stop at a light, she turns her face toward her window. “Sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
Like I’ve never taken shit out on her. “Whatever. I get it.”
“Do you, though?” she asks. “Because I don’t think you do. I don’t think you could, because you’re Mr. Popular. Everybody knows you, people actually like you. They want to be around you.”
“Knowing who I am and wanting to be around me aren’t the same thing.”
“Please,” she groans. “Don’t act like you’re going to relate to me, because you can’t. You don’t know how it is, not really. Consider yourself lucky.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?” I ask, which only makes her heave a sigh. We’re pulling down our street, coming up to the house. She’s a captive audience now, but she’ll probably run off as soon as we get inside.
I almost wish I didn’t have her bedroom door fixed over the weekend—before Dad could find out I kicked it in—now she can lock herself in again.
That’s not going to get her anywhere. I’m not exactly the best person to give advice on, well, anything, but I have to try to shake her out of this misery she’s in. It felt like she was finally taking steps in the right direction. And all it took was one asshole with a big mouth to ruin all of it.
“So, what? We’re back to this now?” I ask. “Hiding from the world because some people are assholes?” Once I pull to a stop, she reaches for the door handle rather than actually answering me. I’m faster, engaging the child locks before she can escape.
“Seriously?” she snaps when she hears the click. Still, she tries to open it, anyway, even shoving her arm against the door as she pulls the handle.
“Do you think you’re going to break your way out?” I ask. She only stomps a foot and grunts out her frustration like a kid throwing a tantrum. “I don’t want to go back to you sneaking around like a ghost, afraid somebody’s going to notice you. I’m not going to sit back and let you lose progress.”
“Oh, you’re my therapist now?” She covers her face with her hands, and I hate to see her this way, I do, but life is never going to get better for her unless she works on it a little. It fucking sucks that’s how it is.
“I’m somebody who gives a shit.”
“Well, it’s really nice of you to decide to give a shit when you’re in the right mood, but this is my actual life. And no offense, or maybe full offense,” she adds with a smirk, “but a bunch of Instagram quotes and positivity aren’t going to help.”
“Fuck off. Instagram quotes?”
“That would be the thing you care about,” she mutters, rubbing her temples. “I’m not in the mood for this. I’ve had a shit day, and I just want to?—”
“Run away? Like always?”
Throwing her hands into the air, she shouts loud enough to make my ears ring in the closed truck. “Oh my god! Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you just leave me alone so I can process things on my own?”
“Maybe because you don’t really process anything. You’re stuck in the past all the time. You’re back in high school, surrounded by a bunch of assholes who I hope will eat shit and die. All I’m asking is for you to actually try to find ways to handle this shit. That’s it. Just try.”
“Why do you care?” Her dark, wounded eyes turn my way. I’m pretty sure they’re going to burn holes in me. The anger and resentment written all over her face make me feel small, because I’m responsible for some of it.
And that’s why I reply, “Because I’m tired of you seeing yourself as a victim when you don’t have to be. And honestly, I can’t be with you 24/7. So you need to get a little more confident and stick up for yourself. That, I can help you do. Will you let me?”
At least she doesn’t shut me down right away. “What do you plan on doing?” she asks after a long, silent few minutes.
I already have an answer for that one. It’s the most obvious choice. “I’m gonna unlock the door, and we’re going to the backyard.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” she says in a shaky voice.
“I didn’t ask you to like it. This is what has to happen. Step one of moving on with your life.” I release the locks, but, big surprise, she stays exactly where she is.
“I said I would help you, and I will,” I remind her. “You can’t be happy this way. I know you aren’t. So let’s do something about it.”
“I hate this,” she whispers, but she also gets out of the truck and follows me around the outside of the house, stepping through the back gate and closing it behind her.
“It just so happens I bought a couple of joints from Kellan.” The bag is still in my pocket and now I remove it, setting it on a table for Elliana to stare down at, like I pulled a dead kitten from my pocket instead of some weed. “I’ll get a lighter from the kitchen. Be right back.”
“You want me to smoke these?” she calls out in horror while I’m on my way inside.
Jesus Christ, she’s determined to kill me. “Not both of them, and not on your own.” There’s a lighter in the junk drawer in the kitchen, just like I thought. I take it out there to where she’s still staring at the joints, though now she’s chewing her lip with her arms wrapped around herself.
“I’ve never done this before,” she confesses.
“I’m so shocked.” Taking one of the joints from the baggie, I can’t help but snicker. “I didn’t think you’d ever done this before. Kellan promised it’s a really nice, chill high. And the idea is for you to relax. That’s all you have to do right now. Relax. It’s just the two of us,” I remind her, since she still seems nervous.
But she hasn’t run screaming into the house, either. I move slowly, deliberately, demonstrating what she’s supposed to do. It’s the simplest thing in the world, but I can see how it would be overwhelming.
“You don’t have to hold it for long,” I explain on the exhale. “And it probably won’t take much for you to feel it. You should sit down.” Since all I need is for her to fall on her ass—or worse, on her face.
“You really think this will help me?” she asks, skeptical, but she sits down. This is progress.
“I really do, but you need to give it a chance.” After taking another hit from the joint, I pass it to her. “Don’t take a lot. Go slow. Tiny hits.”
She looks absolutely terrified but goes for it, and her face twists in discomfort before she coughs up a cloud of smoke.
“I said tiny hits!”
“I don’t know what that means,” she argues before coughing again. “Oh, that sucks.”
“Here. I’ll make it easier.” I crook a finger, inviting her to come closer, then take a hit, which I shotgun into her mouth. It’s hardly anything, but this time she takes it without coughing up a lung.
“That was better,” she agrees. “When will I feel it?”
“I’ll give you one more, then go inside and get you some water. You’re going to need it,” I warn before taking a hit and leaning in, touching my lips to hers and blowing smoke into her mouth. There’s something really intimate about it, but something tells me she’s too busy trying to handle things to think about anything else.
After bringing out water, I sit back in the lounge chair next to hers. “This is much better than what I smoked at Kellan’s,” I tell her with a satisfied groan.
“I think I’m feeling something. I mean… warm and loose all over.”
“That’s good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.”
“I like it.” She’s even smiling when she tilts her head back so the late afternoon sun can hit her face. I wish everybody could see her the way I’m starting to see her. There’s more to her than what she shows the world.
Her eyes open, and she turns her head my way. “So, was this the plan? Getting me high, forcing me to relax?”
She’s almost got it.
“Close. I think it’s time you conquer what’s been holding you back. That means showing yourself you’re strong enough to face your shit and proving to yourself you can get through it. You don’t have to let it rule you.”
Slowly, she turns her head to look at the pool. “I’m a little fucked up right now, but I think I know why we’re out here.”
“I’m right here with you. We can go in the shallow end,” I suggest. “It’s, like, four feet when you first step in down there. You could stay with your feet flat on the bottom and the water won’t be anywhere near your head.”
“I really don’t like this idea.”
“Only because people have only ever been assholes to you when you’re in a pool,” I reply. Is that true? I’m not a doctor, I don’t know. But it sounds good. “I want you to feel better, and I want to help you. Let’s try, at least. If it’s too scary, we can stop, but at least try.”
When she still sits there, silent, keeping me waiting, something inside me hardens. “Or you can let those fuckers ruin your life. It’s up to you.”
“Okay, okay, enough with the psychology stuff.” With a heavy sigh, she kicks off her sneakers. “Let’s get it over with before I lose my nerve.”
Not exactly positive, but I’ll take it.