Authors: Ashley King
After a minute, I hear someone come up the stairs. Blink 182's "Down" rings throughout the second floor and I can hear Claire moving around. I can sense her nearness and I start to feel like a creep.
Double-checking the lock, I grab the razor with one hand, while removing the leather cuffs with the other. With one look at them, I know I need to move higher up on my arms or move to my stomach, where no one can see them. I cut my forearm first, the slice of pain easing my anxiety. Afterwards, I move to my stomach, knowing no one will see me without a shirt on before I die. Blood oozes from the cuts and I quickly clean them with the ratty old towel I found under the sink. Once I feel human again, I clean the razor and put it back inside the black bag. I pull my black hoodie on and let the sleeves rest right at the leather bands, carefully covering where I just sliced myself. I look rough. The cuts are mostly on the right side of my face and across my nose. The deeper gashes are near my hairline. My eyes are red and it's obvious I'm already sporting one heck of a hangover. It's hard to believe that only hours ago I was lying in my bedroom getting wasted. It doesn't even feel like the same day.
As I step out of the bathroom, I still hear Blink 182 filtering through the house, but the smell of food makes my mouth water. It’s a weird feeling, actually, since I don't normally eat for several reasons. One being we usually don't have much and two being that I just don't. I know I shouldn't, but I walk to Claire's room and stand at her door. She's sitting at her desk, her pencil waving around in her hand as she sings every single one of the lyrics.
"Hey," I manage and feel stupid for saying it. What kind of opening line is that? What else was there to say though?
Hey, I was just cutting myself in your bathroom because I have issues and want to die.
And plus you've seen my crazy mom and what she can do to the kid she birthed.
Claire starts and then regains her composure, that sexy blush spreading across her pale cheeks. "I was actually waiting for you," she begins and then notices my raised eyebrow. "Ugh. Not in a creepy way. My parents needed to talk privately before dinner, so I came up here to wait for you. They're probably done, so we could go down."
I take in her room, even though I've seen it before. It's like punk threw up in here. She's got posters all over the place of all these bands, all bands I like, and she has pictures in frames all over her dresser. Her parents are in a lot of them, but I see Jamie in the majority. There's a small rose and candle in front of one of them. Claire notices me staring and gets up from her chair.
"That's my favorite picture of him," she says quietly. She moves to the frame and runs her hand over it so carefully that it's almost painful to watch.
"Can I ask you about him?" I step inside the room and move to where she's standing. Just being near her drives me insane. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon and it's the best thing I've ever smelled. I have to check myself to make sure that I'm not being a loser and sniffing her.
Claire looks at me warily, no doubt wondering why the sudden interest.
Taking Back Sunday's "A Decade Under the Influence" begins to play and I take the moment to try to make her smile. "Obsessed with this band much? I mean, the poster, the shirt?"
I'm rewarded for my efforts with a small smile and then she glances at Jamie's picture before looking back at me. "Yeah, I guess. I like all kinds of bands, not really obsessed with just one. This..this is just my random playlist." There's a pause and then she speaks again, "What do you want to ask me?" She twists her wrist and eyes her tattoo. I can see the sadness pouring from her eyes and I want to kiss her more than anything. What's wrong with me? I need to stay away from her, but I can't. It's literally the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
"Why did he do it?" I ask as I stare at the picture of Jamie Morgan, the guy who seemed to have it all.
He and Claire are wrapped around each other with the biggest smiles on both their faces. He's dressed up in a Halloween costume as Jack Sparrow, I guess, and Claire's a dalmatian, complete with drawn on whiskers and nose. She's crazy cute. Even though my attention is focused on taking in every detail of this picture, I still hear Claire's sharp intake of breath as though she's just given herself a paper cut. I turn to her, instantly feeling callous, although those weren't my intentions.
"Look, you don't have to answer that."
She shakes her head and turns away from the picture. Her eyes flit to the posters decorating her wall, Blink 182, Taking Back Sunday, New Found Glory, Breaking Benjamin. Then she walks over to her desk drawer and pulls out a small wooden box with intricately carved flowers all over it. She pulls out a folded envelope with her name neatly scrawled across the front.
"This tells why he did it," she holds it in front of her and then puts it back into the box. Her hands are shaking. Crap, her entire body is shaking and I don't know what to do. "He was unhappy. Depressed….I…I had no idea," Claire's words are shaking just like her fragile body. The tears look like they're going to start coming and she holds up a hand, "I'm sorry. I thought I could talk about it, but I can't, not yet."
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me anything. I'm sorry," I move forward and surprise us both by taking her in my arms. She's so tiny that she doesn't even come to my shoulders. She freezes for a moment and then she wraps her arms around me. It's the best thing I've ever felt. She fits perfectly against me, like a missing puzzle piece. Something's happening to my heart, I feel it constrict, expand, move around and stretch from its hibernation. I want to shout for it to stop, to go back to sleep. But this feels too good. My hands run through her short hair and then I rub her shoulders, anything to calm her down. I feel the wetness of her tears on my shirt and I hold her a little tighter.
"Claire? Ryder? Dinner!" Her mom calls from the stairs. We break apart and just stare at each other for a minute. She's looking at me differently, like she's really seeing me. Finally a small smile breaks upon that beautiful face.
"Let's go," she says as she wipes the rest of the tears from her eyes, even though I wish I could be the one to do it.
We head downstairs and I feel like this is the beginning of something new and I can't help but wonder if it's too little too late or if it even matters anymore.
CHAPTER TEN
CLAIRE
He held me. Ryder Andrews actually comforted me and it felt perfect. I felt like he understood me and I swear I saw a light in his eyes. It's still there, looking at me every once in a while across from the table. He's eating, but not much. I want to mother hen him and tell him to eat more, but then again he's like a frightened animal and I don't want to scare him off.
My Mom and Dad seem to be doing really well and I can already tell what their decision is regarding Ryder, especially given the glances that Dad keeps shooting at him. Ryder's been really cordial, but you can tell he's not used to having a real family or even having dinner at a table.
"Ryder, we wanted to talk to you about something," Dad finally says as he puts down his fork. Mom does the same and blots her mouth with her napkin, a huge smile spreading across her lips. She's about to split at the seams. Jamie's parents sucked, so my parents kind of took him under their wing too. Now Ryder's their newest project, I guess.
Ryder takes a drink of water and smiles as he sees the aspirin I placed next to his glass. He then looks up at my Dad. "Yes sir?"
"Mallory and I were thinking that you could live with us. Claire's told us a little about your situation and she said there's no family that you could live with. Well, we could take you in. There will be rules of course."
Ryder looks at me, disbelief clouding his eyes, and then he looks back at Dad. Dad continues, "You'd sleep in the guest bedroom and we can change it up for you, whatever it takes to make you comfortable. You'll have a curfew, same as Claire's. You are not allowed to go out on school nights. There will be no alcohol, no drugs. And most importantly, you will sleep in your own room at all times and will not touch my daughter."
My face turns beet red at that comment and my Mom's mouth drops open. "Greg," she admonishes.
"It's true, honey. He's a teenage boy and she's a teenage girl. It's got to be said," he tells her and then glances at me before turning back to Ryder.
"I can't ask you guys to take me in. I have a car…" Ryder's voice trails off as he begins to play with his food. He moves it around the plate, not making eye contact with anyone at the table.
"You haven’t asked, dear. And you can't live in a car. We've got plenty of room here and we've got the means to take care of you, if you'll let us. Claire's on board too, aren't you honey?" Mom looks at me, her hands folded in front of her face, elbows on the table. She looks so excited to have another person to take care of. I swear that makes her feel needed.
Ryder meets my eyes and it feels like we're the only two people in the room with the way he's staring at me. His shaggy hair is brushed to the side, showing off his beautiful eyes. "It wouldn't be weird for you? I don’t want to mess up what you've got going on."
"I think it'd be good for her," Dad pipes up. We still don't look at him. Ryder's watching me, waiting for an answer.
"I want you to stay with us. I want you to be safe and taken care of," I surprise myself by saying. And I mean every bit of it. Ryder's eyes grow wide at my declaration and I think my mother says "Aww" or something crazy. Ryder shakes his head and looks back down at the plate of food and I wish I could crawl inside that mind of his. What's he thinking?
"What do you say, Ryder?" Dad asks, leaning back in his chair.
"You and your family are really generous, sir. I would appreciate it if you'd let me stay here," he says, a small, barely there smile across his lips.
"Wonderful!" Mom cries as she claps her hands together. At the same time, Dad smiles and announces, "So it's settled."
Ryder looks at me and I offer him a smile to show I'm glad, too. The rest of dinner goes on without much excitement. Ryder explains to us how he has to go to court tomorrow and my parents announce they'll be there to inform the court of their plan. I insist on going too and my parents know I don't give up, so I get the okay to stay home from school. I even throw in how Ryder and I can use the time afterwards to work on our project for Mrs. Weathersby.
After dinner, I help Mom clean up and start on washing the dishes. That's been my only chore since I've been in middle school and I'm okay with that. It's uninterrupted thinking time. Ryder wonders into the kitchen and puts his plate in the sink. He turns and leans back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You sure this isn't gonna be awkward for you?" he asks.
"It won't. But I'll tell you what, grab a dish towel and make yourself useful," I smile at him.
Ryder gives a little laugh and grabs the rooster dishtowel from the counter and starts drying the dishes. We do this in silence for a while and then finally Ryder speaks up.
"My face looks rough, huh?" The way he says it surprises me. He sounds lighter, if that makes any sense. I bust out laughing at the question and the way he's looking at me, one eyebrow raised.
"Wow, Claire, you don't have to laugh in my face. I can take a hint," he says as he throws down the towel and pretends to walk away. I take my soapy hands out of the water and dry them off on the towel. He's standing there watching me and I don't think, I just do. I reach my hands up to his face and touch the tiny little cuts. He doesn't even flinch, he just continues to watches me carefully.
"You still look hot," I laugh. The words filter through the smart part of my brain well after they’ve come out of my mouth and I want to snatch them from the air and put them back inside. Oh, wow.
"I knew you thought I was hot," he jokes, but even when he's joking, I can tell he's sad. I don't think about it at the moment, I just go with it. I over think everything more than usual because of Jamie.
I clear my throat, "Let's finish the dishes before midnight."
We get back to it, quieter than before. As soon as Ryder puts the last dish in the cabinet, the phone rings. I look at the clock, a familiar fear wrenching my heart. My mom passes by the kitchen and looks at my stricken expression. "Claire, answer the phone or let Ryder get it. Don't just stand there."
Ryder gives me a strange look and then he looks at the phone. It keeps ringing. He makes up his mind and picks it up. "Watkins residence."
I know what's on the other end and I already know what they're saying. Ryder's face pales and then with vehemence, he spits out, "Go screw yourself." He slams the phone down on the receiver and stalks towards me. "You knew, didn't you?" I say nothing, but that doesn't stop him. "That's not the first time they’ve called you, is it?" he continues, his voice shaking.
I refuse to look at him. Instead, I turn and run for the stairs. My parents are in the living room watching television and reading, so they don't even notice my escape. I can hear Ryder trailing behind me, so I race to my room and shut the door, turning the lock.