23. Margo
Chapter 23
Margo
I slide into the kitchen, where Lenora is making dinner. “Um, is it okay if I go to the football game?”
She glances up at me. “Are you going with Riley?”
The doorbell rings, and I curse under my breath.
“I got it,” Robert calls. A minute later, he says, “Ah, Caleb. Good to see you.”
Lenora raises her eyebrows at me.
I make a face.
Caleb comes into the kitchen behind Robert.
“Found your friend,” Robert says to me. “Were you expecting him?”
“No,” I say, at the same time that Caleb answers, “Yes.”
I glare at him. “He asked if I would go to the game, and I was just asking Lenora…”
“Sorry, Mrs. Bryan.” Caleb steps closer to me. He’s ever the school supporter; his hoodie is the gold-and-black colors of our school, plus the addition of a black shell jacket over it. To me, he says, “It’s a bit chilly, you might want to wear something warmer…”
My cheeks burn. “Right. If I can go?—”
“Of course,” Lenora blurts out. “We don’t want to restrict your social experience, especially now as you’re making more?—”
“Thanks!” I lean away from Caleb, shooting Lenora a look that I hope translates to, Please don’t embarrass me.
She smiles sheepishly.
It’s such a startling mom-daughter thing to do, I almost pause. But I shake it off and race back to my room. I change from my uniform skirt into fishnet tights, then black jeans with big rips in the legs that show off the fishnet. I pair it with Caleb’s sweatshirt that he never took back, and belatedly realize we’re going to match.
You’re dressed to support the football team . Of course we’re going to match. Us and five hundred other people.
After the locker room incident at lunch, which I was able to clean up with a lot of paper towels and cold water, I almost showered as soon as I got home.
But then I got talking to Robert at the base of the stairs, and by the time I remembered to ask them about going to the football game, Caleb was arriving.
I touch up my makeup and yank on my boots. When I get downstairs, I find Caleb and Robert discussing hockey. They both look over at me.
“Ready?” Caleb asks.
I bite my lip and nod. This screams of being a trap, or a nasty trick, but anticipation swirls through me. I’m going to the game because he’s giving me something I want.
No, need.
I’m going to get to see my home again, and it’ll be more than just a glance.
He puts his hand on the small of my back, propelling me out of the house toward his car. “I like that you wear my sweatshirt. But I can’t help but consider that you’re up to something.”
I lift one shoulder. “Not sure what you mean?”
I get in the passenger seat and close the door in his face. I’m not up to anything except wanting to go see where my life splintered into pieces.
My life and my memory.
He doesn’t confirm where we’re going, but soon enough he’s pulling into the driveway of his house, then aiming for the narrow path beside the garage. He stops in front of the house we lived in, exactly where my father used to park.
My stomach cramps. Nausea-inducing snakes in my belly won’t settle.
We approach the door that I burst through in a mad rush last time. Slower now. More in control. Except, I can almost smell my mother’s cooking.
There’s grime on the windows, weeds and vines crawling up the siding. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now its state is clear.
It has been abandoned.
Just like me.
Even sitting in Caleb’s family’s backyard, a stone’s throw away from their back door, my old home has turned into a graveyard of memories.
He unlocks the door to my old childhood home and then steps aside. “The past isn’t a happy place. Why don’t you want to leave it buried?”
He’s been tormenting me because of this . Because of a past that only he seems to understand. It doesn’t make sense—shouldn’t he want me to remember?
“Why don’t you ?” I counter.
He exhales and shoves the door open. “After you.”
Stepping inside now hurts worse than before.
Before was shock. Spikes of pain. Relief that I remembered things the way they were.
Now it’s total annihilation.
I stop just across the threshold. Ghosts are here, bringing an icy chill with them. I can’t do this.
You must face your fear .
I glance over my shoulder at Caleb, but his expression is unreadable.
I’m on my own.
There’s dust collecting over every inch of the space. The wine-red rug under the kitchen table with four chairs crowded around it, one of which has a loose leg. Dad used to stuff a folded newspaper under it when company came over.
Company being Caleb, of course. Sometimes Savannah.
The cup is in the exact same spot by the sink. I move through the kitchen. Caleb follows me like a second shadow, past the living room on our right and into the narrow hallway. Mom got a grippy material to put under the rug when I was eight, after I slid headlong into the wall with the rug bunched around my feet.
That was a game of chase that ended poorly, but I never blamed Caleb. The bump on my forehead made him feel guilty enough.
The first door on the left is the bathroom, and my bedroom the next door down. Between them, on the right, is the door to my parents’ bedroom. I hesitate, brushing my fingers against the painted wood.
“It’s not going to bite,” Caleb whispers.
Yes, it will . The memories will sink their teeth into me and never let me go.
I take a deep breath and push the door open anyway. What I see steals the air from my lungs.
It’s a wreck. Vandalized.
There’s a broken lamp on the floor next to the bed, cracked into three pieces. The lightbulb is smashed. Clothes… everywhere . It’s like a hurricane went through the room.
I take a step back, bumping into Caleb.
“What happened?” My voice is steady, even if the rest of my body wobbles.
He doesn’t answer.
I turn. “Caleb, what happened?”
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he says. “You wanted to come in here. You’re asking questions you should already know the answer to.”
I… should?
He takes a step back. “Move on.”
I shut the door.
After a second, I continue into my old room, where I had run the other day. The door swings open with the barest touch.
I walk in and inhale the odor of stale air.
When I was twelve, I had nightmares about being locked in here. In the dream, I beat my fists against the door until they were bloody and bruised. After Caleb follows me in, moving a bit slower than I’d prefer, I close the door.
I don’t expect to find anything.
Hell, it was just a dream I had when I was twelve.
And thirteen.
And fourteen.
Ms. McCaw, my social worker, set me up with a therapist. The foster families I was with were terrified of the screaming that happened while I was asleep. And with the therapist, I convinced myself it was just a dream blown out of proportion.
But…
There are smudges of blood on the white door, at my chest level. Scratches, too.
I point at it. “What the hell happened?”
He watches me like I’m crazy. “You did that.”
I shake my head and sink down onto the bed. It’s either sit voluntarily or collapse—and then my visit would be cut short.
“That’s wrong,” I whisper.
I drag the pad of my finger over one of my nails. I couldn’t have scratched at the wood hard enough to leave those marks. I would’ve ripped my nails out. Whatever happened when I was ten… there’s no trace of it on my skin now.
He trails a finger over my dresser. He lifts something from it and tucks it away before I can get a good look.
At my raised eyebrows, he just rolls his eyes. “Just something of mine that you stole.”
“Why has no one come back here?”
He yanks the door open and points. “Time’s up. If you want me to explain exactly what happened… that’s another beast entirely. You’ll owe me more than a sloppy blow job.”
“So you do know.”
His nod is short and jerky. “I know pieces.”
“I know pieces, too.”
His expression is pitying. “Apparently not.”
This is a puzzle I’m trying to solve blind. But why am I so fucking blind? What happened that was bad enough for my brain to block it out?
Am I ever going to get it back?
Or, better yet, will I survive if it does come back?
A weight settles on my chest, and even though the door is open, those scratches are ingrained in my mind. The dreams of frantic pounding, screaming, breaking nails against paint. Confusion and anger.
“I can’t breathe.” I press my palm to my chest. “I think I’m h-having a p-panic attack.”
Caleb suddenly kneels in front of me. His face swims in my vision, concern drawing his brows together.
Or I’m delusional, and he’s just clinically fascinated.
“Hey. It’s okay.” His palms are hot on my cold skin.
I’m gasping for air at this point. My heart is pounding out of my chest.
“Margo.” Caleb’s voice breaks through the fog. Barely. “Look at me.”
I can’t really see anything except for the floor between my knees.
He tugs my hand away from my head— when did I grab my head? —and pinches my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Breathe.”
A whole damn waterfall of grief and confusion is thundering down on me. It’s the realization that my nightmares have been real. Caleb will never be nice, or tell me the truth, unless I give him something in return. My parents are gone.
He lifts me suddenly, cradling me to his chest, and starts walking. I suck in short gasps as the hallway melds into a living room, then a kitchen, and then suddenly we’re outside. The sun beats down on us, but it doesn’t touch the ice frosting over my skin.
He sets me down on the hood of his car, and with no hesitation, he cups my face with both of his hands and presses his lips to mine.
I can’t respond—shock, the panic—until he nips my lower lip. The pain wakes me up.
I gasp against his mouth. He kisses me harder, licking along the seam of my lips until I open for him. My horror falls away. The panic ebbs. I wrap myself around him, my legs around his hips, my hands on his shoulders.
God, what kind of demon is he?
Finally, he pulls back. His hands stay on my face, his fingers fanned from my ears to my jaw. It’s a nice act, except for the smirk—which seems to grow wider while my face bursts into flames.
Can I manage to have one normal interaction?
No.
On the other hand, he’s perfectly composed, the bastard. My body aches like I just ran a marathon.
He pats my thighs, winking at me. “You want to stay here?”
My legs are still locked around his hips. I grimace and release him, then slide off the hood of his car. “We’re going to be late.”
To a stupid game I don’t even care about. But right now, it seems like a great excuse to get out of here.
“You don’t want to be late,” he repeats.
“I was hoping to slip in undetected…”
He grins. “There’s no such thing as undetected when you’re with me.”
“Oh, come on.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You think people wouldn’t notice me walk in to one of the biggest football games of the year? They love it when the other athletes support the football team.”
“Time out.” I make a T with my hands. “Biggest game of the year?”
He unlocks his car. “Well, yeah. It’s against Lion’s Head. Emery-Rose’s biggest rival… number one in the division… You don’t pay attention, do you?”
I huff. “I’ve been too busy being mocked and tripped at school for people to talk to me.”
“Eh. Well, a lot of people are going to be there.”
I swallow.
“Get in, little lamb.” He opens the passenger door for me.
I guess there’s no avoiding this.
Once we’re on our way, I ask, “Is Amelie going to kill me for walking in with you?”
His grip tightens on the wheel. “Are you jealous? You threw in my face that I was cheating on her with you.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Either you’re jealous or you’re not.” He glances at me. “But I hope you are.”
I groan. “I just don’t want to be involved in your mess.”
He turns into the school parking lot, killing the engine in a spot right up front. It seems to have been left open just for him, because the rest of the parking lot is completely full. He twists toward me, meeting my gaze. “You want me to break up with her.”
“You haven’t.” I shake my head. “Of course you haven’t.”
“Not yet.” He grins. “I had to get your thoughts on the matter. And your thoughts are… that you’re jealous?”
“She’s literally going to murder me for even talking to you. You-you’ve been avoiding her for days!” I smack my forehead. “I hate you.”
He taps my temple with one finger. “I do love a good mind fuck. Just admit that you’re jealous, and I won’t ‘accidentally’ leave you to the wolves.”
“Did you just air quote at me?” I glower at him.
“Say you’re jealous and I’ll break up with her.”
I climb out of the car. Amelie and I used to be friends, but now we’re the furthest thing from it. Hell, I’d go so far as to claim we’re enemies—if only because of Caleb Asher.
He stops in front of me. The football field is around the corner, just out of sight. Yet the smell of a food truck, the sound of hundreds of people, drifts toward us.
“Well?”
I clench my teeth and force out, “Yeah, I am.”
“Good girl.” He beams at me.
That does something interesting to my insides.
“Are you going to?” I demand.
He winks. “Let’s find out.”