Chapter 25 Emotionally Unpacking My Trauma In a Castle
Emotionally Unpacking My Trauma In a Castle
Jake leads me to the back door of the half castle, half house that’s located in front of my own house.
He knocks, and an old man answers. Mr. Jones.
Also known as the village’s not-so-nice old man.
The typical old man who screams at you to get off his lawn.
In fact, when our footballs or toys would go to the other side of his fence, he’d keep them, and it would take our parents to talk to him to get them back.
He is about Miss Patty’s age, but unlike her, he doesn’t have much hair. But he is short like her.
We rarely see him, but when we do, he’s always growling. Rumors said that Miss Patty rejected him so many times that he just went from the good side to the swarthy side.
I think I can do something about it.
“Ah, Jake, you were fast. Come in.” He says nicely.
What the hell?
He points inside, and we follow. This house makes Jake’s look like garbage, and mine, like that landing in the Philippines.
The floor is marble, and chandeliers are hung in every room I step foot into.
What did this man do for a living? The whole visit, I’m trying not to be open-mouthed.
After seeing the two living rooms, the games room, the five bathrooms, the ten rooms, and the enormous kitchen, the old man leads us to a tiny door upstairs.
It’s the only thing in this house that looks old.
It’s literally old, probably eaten wood.
“Stay as long as you like.”
“Uh, West, are you sure he’s not trying to lock us in and trying to get money from our parents?” Pause. “Or at least yours.” I add considering he’s rich and I’m… Lesser rich.
He shakes his head and leads us up the narrowest stairs, and when I think I’m done climbing them, more stairs appear.
I really hope this is worth it. I go up the stairs for a while longer before I finally reach a trapdoor.
I push it, and I see the orange-blue sky.
No way. I go up the trapdoor, and I’m in the tower that blocks the view of the perfect sunset from my attic.
The top of this tower is huge. I mean, my living room could fit in here. We’re at the very top, so it’s all flat, with nothing but a picnic towel and a lot of pillows, and a basket.
“What is all this?” I ask, astounded.
He didn’t have to make all this effort. I could have lied to anyone who would have asked me how the date went.
Just say, It was amazing, he’s just so caring, and he took me somewhere special, now back off, Lisa, without even being true.
But all those things are. It is going to be amazing, he is caring, and he did take me somewhere special.
“I figured it was more believable if you didn’t have to lie about our date being great.” He says, looking at me with that familiar gaze. Weirdly and dangerously, I’m growing to like it. Worse, I’m feeling something. Like I’m warm inside, and my stomach hurts. Is that good? It doesn’t sound good.
I’m so freaking scared right now.
“How did you convince Mr. Jones to get us up here?” I ask, already sitting and peeking inside the basket. “Don’t say you kidnapped one of his chickens and blackmailed him?” I joke and turn serious. “You did?!”
“No, I’m just messing with you.” He laughs, and I throw him a pillow. “Let’s just say Patricia West has a very strong hold on men, and she can be very persuasive.”
He could also have worked his way around it and asked his parents for advice. They’ve been together for almost 30 years. That’s a lot. But anyway, the basket is staring at me.
I lift the lid and gasp. It has Jakewiches, but this time I didn’t have to share them with five little kids.
He sits beside me and steals the one in my hand.
“I did your favorites.” He smuggly says.
I wish I could deny that, but I can’t. Since I tasted these, my favorite food is this. It’s like he can read my mind.
I dive right into the food, and five minutes later, I’m already finished. I lie on the ground and say, “Have you realized that radar spelled backwards is still radar?”
He hums and then takes another bite, and charmingly speaks at the same time.
“Why the random fact spilling? I mean, I know you’re a nerd, but-” And he takes another bite on top of the food he already has in his mouth.
And he judges me for not having manners…
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to react to you being nice to me and also…“ I say it before I regret it. “I’m still overthinking what Allison said.”
“Understandable. Even though she didn’t mean it, it’s like she rubbed the salt in the wound.” He looks forward, towards the sun, green freckles in his eyes enhancing his features. “A wound that you really try to close, but it’s like, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never be able to. I get it.”
“You do a really good job hiding it, by the way.” I comment, and he turns his head my way.
“Your wound? I could never guess it. And I’ve known you for my whole life.
It’s kind of infuriating how you can always be on the bright side.
” I tilt my head in his direction. “You know you can get angry, right? Or sad? Or nervous or any negative emotion whatsoever?” I spill, and he scoffs.
“And I’m not projecting, it’s just, positivity can be toxic too, when handled in disproportionate doses. ”
“I get mad.” He simply says, and I cut him off.
“You don’t. You joke about it, you flirt about it, but you don’t get mad.” Suddenly, the memory of him and his persona in front of his friends hits me. “You don’t have to be everyone’s emotional support all the time.”
“Just because I don’t turn into the Hulk within seconds after something inconvenient happens to me-”
“Funny.” I scrunch my nose at his callout.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t get angry.” He shrugs it off, visibly uncomfortable.
I sigh.
“When my mom left… I had a psychotic break and cut and then burned all the photos I could find of her.” I glance up to find him already looking at me intently, listening. “Your turn.”
“Look, I’m sorry your mom left, but I don’t think my problems can be compared to yours. I have both my parents, and they’re in love. It could be way worse.” He brushes it off, and I roll my eyes.
“I knew it.”
He turns to me with a puzzled look.
“You never told me about your problems because you think my problems are more important, somehow?” I cross my arms, and he scoffs.
“Okay, this has nothing to do with you. I didn’t tell you my problems because you hate me and couldn’t care less.” He reasons, and I get where he’s coming from.
“I don’t hate you, hate you.” I excuse myself, and he levels me with a look. “Okay, maybe when we were younger, but now I just like you hate you.” I shift in my seat, visibly uncomfortable from all my honesty. “I wouldn’t be fake-dating you if I really hated you.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
He sighs and avoids my eyes, surely trying to get something out.
“My parents split up for a year when I was nine. Mom even moved back to England and stayed at my uncle’s.” He reveals, and my stomach twists.
“What? Really?” My head whips in his direction, in shock. Emily and Joey?
“Yeah, uh, and then they got back together and I-I don’t know, felt like I had to be a reckless joker to avoid them splitting up again?” He looks down, defeated as I have ever seen him.
He’s never like this. But I don’t dislike it. I find it charming, actually. Raw and real. No bullshit smiles and jokes to divert the question.
“It doesn’t make sense.” He covers his face and rubs it. “I really ruined the mood-”
“No, no, let us be somber for a second.” I stop him, and he looks shocked.
“It does make sense. If you were reckless and did stupid things, then they would have to worry about you and not their marriage. And if you joked around all the time, you would lighten the mood.” Pause.
“Not giving time for bad emotions to appear.”
He drops his hands, kind of perplexed.
“Exactly…”
A small smile forms on my lips, and my eyes turn truthful.
“My problems aren’t bigger than yours. They’re different, but deserve as much attention as yours.”
He narrows his eyes at me, and his mouth is already tilting up.
“Brown, are you being nice to me?”
“I’m just saying, I’m a good listener. Besides, it’s not fair for you to know my weaknesses and for me not to know about yours.”
“Ah, so this is strategic…” He teases, and my mouth drops open.
“No! I would never use that against you, you know that!”
He laughs, and my ears feel like they’re levitating from the sound.
“I know. When that vein in your neck is not about to pop out when you talk to me, you can actually be a decent human being. With a heart.”
“Okay, funny guy, enough.”
“And you’re allowed to feel good.” He glances at me intently, which makes me stare at my hands in my lap.
“I feel good.” Which makes a knot start to form at the back of my throat.
“What are you thinking about?” He asks quietly, and I try to push down my emotions.
“People kicking puppies.” My eyes start to water, and he lightly smiles.
We stand in silence for what feels like an eternity, and I decide to get closer to the edge of the tower, to really take in the last rays of sun touching the green, untouched lands surrounding the town. About two minutes in, Jake joins me.
Stop thinking about crying. Be strong.
“Do you feel better?” He nudges me.
“Yeah.” My mouth twists, and I try not to break.
In this moment, I have so many questions, questions that for years were pushed back to the vault in my mind, but why is the vault fragile now? Why around him?
“Don’t lie. Tell me the truth only if you’d like, but don’t lie.” He says, turning his head to me.
Something about his look, about his person, about him, makes me want to unlock the vault and let it all out. So I do.
“I was just thinking about my mom. Shocking, I know.” I spit out in the most inaudible sound I have ever let out.
For the nod he just gave, he heard it. I’m expecting him to say something, like Don’t worry about it or a simple Let’s talk about something else then.
But he doesn’t say a word. He’s looking right through me, listening.
When I don’t add anything else, he starts to move his hand closer to mine, and when they touch, he moves his head to the side, as if he’s asking if it’s okay, and surprisingly or not at all, I nod yes.
He pulls me into his arms and hugs me gently.
I want to be strong, and I want to pull away, but I can’t.
So the walls I built for years are now falling apart.
Piece by piece. “My dad said that she-” A triple knot is starting to form in my throat at this point, and I try my hardest to swallow.
“That she loved me. But if she loved me, w-why…” I feel a single tear running down my face.
I hate this. I hate to be seen crying and emotional. I hate that I ruined our date. Why can’t I stop messing up? And why now?
“You know what, you don’t have to hear me complaining.
I already ruined our date. I don’t know, drop me at my house, and I’ll pay for dinner for the effort with the projector.
” I say, looking up at him and trying to get out of his arms. His arms soften for me to get out, but he’s not moving.
He’s just standing there, looking at me.
Then his treacherous dimples lighten my day.
“Now, why would I watch Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone alone? That’s just sad and cruel.” He tilts his head, and his mouth morphs into a smirk.
“I can’t believe you just said that.” I blink, because it was not at all what I expected him to say.
“I don’t care, because it worked.” He says this as if he needed this to work. Like my smile means something. My happiness.
“I guess that’s what-” He coughs weirdly. “Friends do.”
A small laugh gets out of my body.
“What, what now do?” I get my head closer to him, and he rolls his eyes.
“Friends. I said friends, now let’s go.”
I’d like to know how this happened. We are friends.
Because a friend is a person that you can trust, that you can always have a laugh with or a cry with, and mostly, is a person who is there for you, ready to take you in their arms and listen to all your problems. That understands you.
How did he manage to walk through the invisible line that separated acquaintances from friends, with ease and without me noticing and evicting him?
I look at Jake, the biggest smile spattered across my face.
“But I will not call you Madelaine! That’s just weird.” He warns, a finger pointing back at my face while he walks towards the trap door.
“I agree.” I assure scrunching my nose.
But it is kind of funny, if you think about it.
The only person who calls me by my last name is him, and he makes it sound like he enjoys it.
Like he likes calling me Brown, and my first name is just invisible.
And I don’t mind it because every time he calls me Brown, I already know what to expect.
Because I’m certain that to him, there’s a difference between the two names.
Madelaine, Mads, or Maddie is this person who’s ready to be there and be sweet, with feelings showing, and immune to teasing.
Brown, on the other hand, is fiery and sometimes rude, but always ready to counter back any teasing because she’s definitely not immune to the teasing.
She’s this fierce person with a short temper that sometimes shows the worst. She’s not the eldest daughter, keeping it together for her dad and little sister.
The only similarity in both parts is the hopeless romantic part, but Brown is better at hiding it.
We get out of the castle, and Mr. Jones and his twisting face, trying to be nice, leave us dead of laughter inside.
As soon as we’re alone by his motorbike, I consider confessing that this was the first time I cried, like really cried and sobbed, since the incident with the photos and such, but I figure I already told him too much and decide to lock the vault and throw away the key.
There is little chance of this happening again.
And I was right not to ruin the mood for now. Because we spent the rest of the night quoting Harry Potter and deciding which of us quoted who. He also had my popcorn ready for me and an extra water bottle when I finished my Coke.