Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (20 page)

The anger from last night ignites within me.

I tilt my head sideways.
“
You don
’
t know shit about me.
”

“
Seriously?
”
She shakes her head.
“
You know what? You
’
re right. I don
’
t.
”
She points at me and I see her freshly painted nails glittering in the overhead above us.
“
But that
’
s not because I don
’
t care, it
’
s because you won
’
t tell me a damn thing. How do you expect me to act?
”

I sit there staring at her.

“
What do you want me to say, Jessa? I don
’
t get it. I didn
’
t think friendship meant you needed to share your deepest, darkest secrets. I thought that was reserved for elementary sleepovers where you tell ghost stories over the fireplace.
”

Even though I never had one of those, I know a few girls who did.

“
I don
’
t know how many friends you had back home
…”

None.

I don
’
t say anything.

“
You have to understand, Stephanie. This is a two way street.
”
She motions from her chest to mine. She starts counting off her fingers.

“
What I know about you: you hate when people touch you. Something weird happened with the poem yesterday. I think you may want to be my roommate. You love the ocean. You fucking
hate
the cops. You wear black but you want more color in your life
—
I see you staring at my outfits all the time.
”
She pauses and rests her hand against the counter.
“
And this is all from observation.
”

I shrug.

“
And?
”

I still don
’
t know what she
’
s looking for
—
and I
’
m starting to feel antsy. My feet bounce on the metal rings underneath me and I pick at my chipped fingernail.

This is why I don
’
t do friendship. Like ever. How do you even act?

She falls back on the heels of her feet and crosses her arms. She stays like that for a few minutes
—
looking everywhere but in my eyes. Which, for Jessa, is really weird. Normally I
’
m the one who is fighting eye contact. Finally, she takes a step back toward the counter and rests on her elbows. She looks right at me.

“
I had a friend once in middle school.
”

“
Really? Just one?
”

A shot of anger flashes in her eyes and I pinch my lips together.

See? I have no clue how to act right now.

“
Her and I connected immediately. At least, I thought we did. Anyways, we did everything together. She
’
d spend the night at my house. We
’
d go to the mall or the beach on the weekends. I would go over to her house to do homework and talk about boys and dream about getting into the Fine Arts academy. Her dad was always there. Always watching us. I never thought anything of it, just chalked it up to over-protection, you know?
”

I nod.

“
Slowly, she started changing. She cut off all her hair
—
”
she runs her hand around her head,
“
like shaved it all off. Started talking to me about these voices she was hearing. When I freaked about that and told her we needed to find someone to help her, she stopped answering my calls. Refused to eat with me at lunch. It was the weirdest thing. One minute we
’
re inseparable and the next, it
’
s like she
’
s avoiding me.
”
She looks down and plays with the beads of cloth hanging off the towel.

“
We both got into the fine-arts academy. I never saw her because she was in fashion design and I was in music but I missed her
—
a lot.
”
She wipes her cheeks and I close my eyes before opening them again, forcing myself to focus on
her
but not focus on the wetness building in her eyelashes.

God I hate crying.

Jessa shakes her head swiftly and closes her eyes tight, standing straight for half a second so she can breathe in deep.
“
Shit. This was so long ago; I don
’
t know why I keep crying over it.
”

I pinch my tongue in between my teeth to keep from saying anything.

“
I had my dad drive me to her house one day. We were pulling up and I got out to walk to the front door. I remember walking up the sidewalk and seeing her dad
’
s truck in the front lawn and wondering how the hell he decided it was a good idea to park
there.
”

She looks at me.
“
My dad still talks about watching me walk up those steps and seeing the curtain flutter before the door opened and Genevieve came running out.
”

She stops for a moment and the air around us hangs damp with the weight of knowing.

I swallow and feel the pulse in my neck growing heavier and heavier. I think I know where the story is going
—
and I
’
m trying really, really hard to maintain a level posture. My fingers grip the sides of the stool where the metal railings meet the cushion.

“
She looked so different. Like she wasn
’
t herself anymore. Her eyes, Stephanie. Her eyes were
dead.
It was like I was looking at a zombie.
”

Jessa hides her head in her hands and speaks into her fingers.

I feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

“
She told me to run. Had this crazed expression on her face and kept talking about her dad
—
how he had been drinking and was yelling and freaking out inside and she needed to get back, needed me to leave.
”

She sniffs and straightens up, throwing the towel behind her in our canister for laundry. She twists her lips and then looks me in the eyes.

“
That was the last time I saw her. The next week, there was an announcement at school that her body had been found in the ravine. Within a month, her dad was arrested.
”
She shakes her hands in front of her.
“
Stephanie, I
’
ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life. A lot. I know what it
’
s like to want to just end it all. But that? That was different. That was
evil.
It has a smell, did you know that?
”

One
—
two breathe, Stephanie. One
—
two breathe.

She levels me with her gaze.
“
I
’
ve never forgotten the scent of hopelessness and despair that took over Genevieve when her father gained control. I smell it on you. You hide it well. You know how to laugh and joke and carry on like nothing
’
s wrong and every once in a while the spark takes over your eyes and it
’
s like you
’
re alive.
”
She hiccups and wipes her eyes again.

“
But most of all there
’
s this emptiness and it
’
s like having Genevieve with me all over again. And I don
’
t know what kind of evil you
’
ve seen
—
what hell you
’
ve brushed up against. But I smell it. And I want to help. Please let me help.
”

I
’
m quiet for half a beat and then I clear my throat. I don
’
t even look at her, I just stare at my hands shoved in my lap. I can feel the muscles in my neck stretch as I let the weight of everything fall on my shoulders.

“
I can
’
t really talk about it.
”

“
Why?
”

Silence.

“
I don
’
t know how.
”

She sniffs.
“
I don
’
t know what to say
—
open your mouth. Say something. Anything. What
’
s going on? What happened yesterday? Why is your dad in prison?
”

“
I wouldn
’
t know where to begin.
”

“
How about at the beginning?
”

I laugh.
“
The beginning? Would that be where I lost the ability to trust anyone? Or would that be when my father discovered poker? Or would that be when my mom took to Nyquil because dad took all the money to the local bar?
”

She watches me and I feel the burning take over
—
starting in my gut and spreading out into my limbs. It
’
s too much. It makes me jumpy. I hop off the stool and start pacing, clawing at my jacket and trying to wrap it tighter around me.

“
You want to fucking know me? Then you should probably know this: I
’
ve had one person I
’
ve met within the last two years that I thought could possibly be a friend because she seemed to know what I
’
d been through
—
knew my thoughts before I even said them. Turns out? She knew my thoughts because my dad fed her my fucking journal so she could get on my good side.
”
I glance at her and her eyes are wide.

“
Stephanie
…”

“
Yeah. How
’
s
that
for fucked up?
”

I
’
m on a roll now, and out of the corner of my eye I see the darkness of night edging away to the blues and pinks of dawn.

And well, that just pisses me off even more.

“
What about my brother? Should I mention how I watched his skin build scars the size of polka dots because my mom didn
’
t know how to take her anger out on anyone except for him? Or how a few months ago he was taken from me in our house and I had no idea where he was or if he was safe?
”

The rage is building and I can feel my face turn the deepest shade of red
—
the color that filled my vision last night as I waited for life to finally leave me.

“
Or how about the fact that I can
’
t even see a fucking sunrise anymore without thinking about the one person who was supposed to love me
—
the one person I trusted
—
the one person who reminded me of hope and new beginnings and getting out from under my dad
’
s thumb alive? Huh? That
’
s an amazing story. Because he was fucking using me as a
job.
”
I wipe my arm across my nose and let the sobs rack my body into oblivion. I stop trying to pace because it
’
s no use. I
’
m doubled over now, my arms wrapped around me, my hands gripping my elbows.

That
’
s when I hear the door open behind me.

“
Stephanie.
”

My hands fall to my knees and I blink to keep from collapsing. I would know that voice anywhere. I stare at the linoleum square right underneath my foot and try to make sense of what
’
s happening. Nothing is coming to me.