Chapter 42
LACHLAN
When I get home from rehearsal, I race inside, drop my bag, brush my teeth and freshen up, and head back out. “Going for a walk,” I yell, leaving my phone on my bed.
No one replies. Ivy’s making noise in her room. Sounds like she’s moving furniture or something. Norm’s watching TV. Mom and Grandma are in the kitchen.
The evening sky is dark with impending rain. It’s not cold, but the air feels volatile.
Isak is waiting for me outside his house. He’s taken off the bandanna and is in his usual snap-front cap, and his freckles pop in the light from the streetlamp. I stare at those freckles onstage enough that I could draw them from memory.
He’s got on a black band shirt with the sleeves ripped off, bell-bottom gray jeans, and a white studded belt. I love the way he dresses—I’m in a T-shirt and red basketball shorts. But I need to stay focused.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I say, “C’mon. This isn’t the kind of talk I can have anywhere near here.”
Isak keeps his hands in his pockets but leans toward me, his tone soothing. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
We start walking down the street. I reach out and touch his wrist, and he grabs my finger, squeezes it, then lets go quickly. My shoulder brushes his.
I silently point to my secret spot under the bridge, and we climb down. Isak remains quiet, just letting me be with him.
I adore him.
I feel safe with him.
“I want to talk with you about my family,” I say after we sit down next to each other, my left ankle crossing over his right.
I start breaking a twig into pieces, unable to meet his eyes.
“The whole story. I think I need to. Like you said, if I keep bottling this stuff up …” I shake my head.
“And this is really fucking hard, because I don’t talk to anyone about this stuff, but I know I can trust you not to spill things. ”
Keeping my head down, I glance over. Isak nods.
“I’m supposed to be all tough and badass or whatever—at least that’s what Uncle Norm says—but it’s so fucking heartening to know I’m not all alone. That one person sees me.”
He swallows audibly. “I see you.”
I sigh. “So for starters, after the accident, everything went to shit.”
Isak reaches out and sets his hand on my nylon-covered thigh. It burns in a good way under the weight of his touch. “Yeah,” Isak’s voice is hoarse. “They never had a chance.”
A memory comes to me. Isak and I were seven when my twelve-year-old sister and my dad were killed in a car crash.
T-boned by a semi. Two sheriff’s deputies showed up at our front door.
I didn’t really understand what they were saying.
But when my mom’s knees buckled and she started screaming in agony, I ran away.
Isak ran after me. He stayed at my side until I couldn’t run anymore, and then we walked.
We didn’t say anything. We just walked and walked and walked until we had to turn back and go home.
That’s all. He knew that something was wrong, and he came with me. He was a kid, and he knew he couldn’t fix it, but he made sure I wasn’t alone.
Now I’m an adult, and I still can’t fix anything. But, thanks to Isak, at least I’m not alone.
“Why did they have to die?” I whisper. “It wasn’t fair.”
Isak looks at me, his eyes wet with tears. “It wasn’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember your sister. Or your mom before the accident.”
“Neither do I. I only have a few memories of each of them.” My throat closes up, because he knows the next part, too.
Or some of it, anyway. “My mom couldn’t handle it.
She started taking pills to cope. Still does.
She lost her driver’s license because of DUIs.
She even spent time in jail, and now she can’t get through the day without pills.
She’s either strung out or yelling.” And it’s like a floodgate opens.
“My uncle hurt his back at work—before he was mayor. He was always mean, but the pain makes him worse. He’s always yelling at his sister—my grandma—and the rest of us.
I try to intervene, but the only language any of them know is yelling. And I’m sick of it.”
“I don’t blame you,” Isak says. “It sounds … awful. And it seems like it’s standard operating procedure at your house. Like that’s the way you communicate.”
“I fucking detest it. I yelled back at them once, and it made me feel out of control. Sick to my stomach. Like I was turning into them. I never want to do it again.”
“I think you’re strong enough to not yell.” Isak’s quiet faith is something I’ve never experienced before.
No one believes in me.
I mean, yes, sure. People voted for me to be student body president and homecoming king. But that’s not the same as seeing who I really am and still believing in me.
He puts his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder.
I’m quiet for a while. He doesn’t say anything, just waits patiently. He glances at me, and I want to kiss him, but I don’t think I should. Not until I get everything out.
“I’ve grown up with the shadow of a dead sister hanging over me. My mom is always sad about Denise. Rightfully so. But she forgot about her two living kids.” I squeeze my hot eyes shut. “This is all about me. I didn’t mean to make it all about me.”
“Babe, I’m here to listen to you, okay? That’s why we’re here. Just get it out.”
“Yeah. Thank you.” We’re silent for another minute. Then I say, “I asked my mom about what happened with her and your mom. Do you know?”
Isak sighs. “I think it was during the divorce. My mom was fighting my dad for custody, and your sister had died, and I guess neither one of them had any emotional energy left to think about what the other was going through.”
“Sounds about right.” I tilt my head up and look at him. He runs a hand through my hair and scritches my scalp. I move closer, so I’m kind of in his lap. He’s the most comforting person I’ve ever known. “Do you ever see your dad?”
“A few times a year. He’s got a new wife and family now. He doesn’t think of me much. He taught me how to catch a ball and throw a punch and some other dad-dude-type things, but he’s mostly out of my life.”
“Do you miss him?”
Isak shakes his head. “I miss your mom and my mom being friends, though. I remember, when we were little, your mom coming over and baking cookies with mine. I remember them laughing and drinking tea. I think my mom might miss yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing she’s said out loud. Mostly the look she gets on her face when you guys yell. I think they should talk.”
“But my mom’s really fucked up,” I admit. “She takes so many prescriptions. Maybe some aren’t even legal; I have no idea.”
“I’m sorry, babe,” Isak says. He continues playing with my hair. “Would she ever go to rehab?”
I shrug. “Unlikely. Not without an intervention or something. As soon as I can, I’m going to get out and leave them all behind.
Except for Quinton. I need to do what I can to take care of him.
But everyone else, I never want to see again.
I know that’s a shitty thing for a son and brother and grandson and whatever I am, grand-nephew, to say. ”
Isak’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “It’s not shitty. You’ve been abused, Lach. Verbally and emotionally.”
I shake my head. “It’s not abuse. It’s just the crappy way they are.”
Isak opens his mouth, then pauses, seeming to reconsider. “It’s not your fault those things happened,” he ends up saying, “but I still wish I could’ve done something about it. Stopped your family from hurting you. I don’t want anyone to hurt you, ever. Not even me—especially not me.”
“You’re not going to hurt me.”
“I hope not. Not intentionally. But it still feels like I could fuck up and do something I didn’t intend.”
“You could never. Not like them. They’re fucking assholes.” Hot tears run down my face, and I wipe them away furiously, sitting up and starting to scoot away from him. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Isak pulls me back to him and holds me tight.
And everything I’ve been keeping inside overflows. I cling to him and beat on his back. Not hard—I don’t want to hurt him—but I need to let out the pressure inside me.
The pressure that’s making me think I should give up.
The pressure that’s exploding right now.
Isak makes me believe that things will be okay. That I can keep going.
But it’s so hard sometimes.
“I hate crying,” I sniffle. “When I was little—not that long after the accident—my uncle made fun of me for it and yelled at me. I never wanted to feel that awful again.”
“What an asshole. What did you do?”
“I stopped crying. Ever, if I could help it. Problem is, I still have feelings. I wish I didn’t. I think things would be easier if I didn’t.”
“No, they wouldn’t. Feelings mean you’re human.”
I break down and sob. Heaving, shuddering sobs. Wailing sobs that sound like an animal is escaping from my chest. Sounds that I’ve never made before. That don’t sound like me.
Isak holds me. He lets me … be.
“I can’t live like this anymore,” I whisper. A fresh stream of tears slides down my cheek. “I can’t. I’m going to become them. Maybe I already have become them, I don’t know, but I can’t keep doing this.”
Isak keeps his arms around me. “I know, babe.”
“I want to stop living this way,” I repeat.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
“Then you will.” Isak says it like it’s simple. He doesn’t understand.
Except … I know he does. Because he’s seen me. He’s watched my family. His mom has known my mom.
“How?” I sniffle.
“I said it before, but I meant it. You can move in with me. Mom said it was okay.”
He shakes his head. “That’s a nonstarter. My uncle would blow his stack, and it would affect you.”
“Offer is still open. And in the meantime, you could go talk to a therapist. Or do some journaling. Both would probably be good. You’ve lived with trauma for years. It’s not going to go away with one hug from me. But I’ll help you however I can.”
I don’t know how I ended up with the kindest person I’ve ever met. I can’t speak. I just cry.
He squeezes me. “You don’t have to change anything about yourself in order for me to care about you. But I understand you want to make some changes to be happier. Just know you don’t have to do anything right now. But whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there for you.”
“Being there is a lot,” I whisper hoarsely.
I don’t like talking about this stuff, because that makes it real. But I can’t hide from Isak.
“There’s something else,” I say.
He keeps hugging me as I bury my face in his chest. “Okay …”
“I … have some scars.” I start pulling up the leg of my shorts.
He frowns. “On your dick?”
I snort, despite myself, and scramble away so I can show him. “No, not on my dick. I … Fuck. I cut myself sometimes. On my thighs. Where no one can see it.”
Isak’s face falls. Damn. I let him down.
But instead of yelling at me or leaving, he again wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry you feel you need to do that.”
A lump forms in my throat that’s almost impossible to swallow around. “Sometimes things get to be too much, and I get desperate …” My chest constricts.
I trail off, but Isak is nodding.
I’ve never felt accepted in my family. I’ve always felt like they were going to ditch out on me. Though I don’t know why I’m trying to hold on to them. “You make me feel like I’m not worthless,” I whisper.
Isak squeezes me tighter. “You’re light-years from worthless. You’re amazing.” He shifts and pushes my legs apart. I know what he’s doing. I clench for a moment, then relax.
He runs a finger up my thigh to the places where my knife has met my skin. I shiver when first his index finger, then his lips find my scars.
He looks up at me with eyes holding back tears, and I almost lose it again.
“It’s no big deal,” I lie.
“It’s a very big deal,” he corrects. “A big deal that you told me. A big deal that you let me see you. A big deal that you hurt so much that this is what you do to cope with it. Seriously, have you ever considered going to therapy? Not because you’re bad or wrong or—” He shakes his head.
“But because there has to be another way to handle the stress you feel.”
“No.”
“You should. Maybe there’s a way you can do it through school, where your family won’t know.”
“Like I want anyone seeing me going to the wellness center. That’s for—” I stop.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m sure I was going to repeat some programming from my uncle.
Guess I really do have some shit to work through.
” I sniffle. “Maybe insurance will cover a private therapist. Anyway,” I say, affecting a breezy tone, “that’s why I wanted the lights out that night in your room. ”
“I can’t fix things with your family, so we’re going to put a pin in that and get you some help,” Isak says. “But I can do something about you being seen for who you are.”
A drop of rain hits my nose.
He stands and holds out his hand. “Come with me.”