Chapter 9
“Sometimes lies were more dependable than the truth.”- Orson Scott Card, Ender’s Game.
Ever feel that you’re the only sane one swimming against the current in a sea of stupid? I feel that way every single day. People mill about smiling and living happy lives not ever knowing or thinking about all the bad shit that happens in life. They walk right past me and they have no idea that they’re smiling at a terrible person. No idea that they’re right next to a dangerous person. It never even crosses their minds to question me. I look normal. I look nice. I look sweet and innocent. Mostly I look beautiful and beautiful people are charmed in life. If you are stunning you can get away with murder.
I push through the throng of people at the mall and into Tempo. I have today and tomorrow off and I really have an itch to kick back and relax. I mill about the store looking for some slouchy, comfortable wear that won’t draw attention to me. I get enough attention at work. It’s great for tips but goes against every grain of who I am. I hate being the center of attention. I hate drawing men’s gazes and I hate being touched. After an hour I settle on three new hoodies, two pairs of yoga pants and a new pair of low slung jeans that look great and are still comfortable. I always was a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl and some habits die hard.
I stop for a Jamba Juice in the food court and watch people as they pass me by. I watch as they half-smile when they cut in line or hold a door to be polite. They don’t know the day each other has had or where the other’s head is at. They’re not friends. It’s interesting to watch the interactions from afar. I was always intrigued by sociology and psychology. I shake my head from that train of thought and take a deep breath. My life now is fine. I make decent money, I have what I need in life to survive and I wake up every morning still breathing. That’s all that matters. I don’t let myself think about my old life or where I might be right now had things been different. It’s pointless, it is what it is and I’ve come to accept that.
On my way out of the mall I stop at the Best Buy and buy a GoPhone. I pay the clerk for the phone and for a fifty dollar wireless airtime card and head back to the parking lot. Every time I see my car I have to laugh just a little bit. He would have hated this car. Hell, I would have hated it then, but now there is something comforting about the big old beast. No pretenses. No promises of being anything that it’s not. Just an old, huge, reliable car. I slide into the car and toss my bags towards the passenger side. I feel under the driver’s seat for my pistol and breathe a little sigh of relief when I feel it safely tucked away.
By the end of April, Cane and I were an exclusive couple. We were almost inseparable. Aster constantly made gagging noises whenever she caught us together, and getting a rise out of Aster seemed to be Cane’s favorite game to play. Every touch, every word that came from Cane set my soul on fire. I felt like he was my missing puzzle piece. I’d never felt anything so intense and awe-inspiring before. We were still taking it easy on the physical portion of our relationship, or rather he kept insisting we didn’t ‘go too far’. I was dying to be with him. I knew without a doubt that I was ready and that I wanted him to be my first but for some reason he still thought he wasn't good enough for me. I knew it was hard for him to put on the breaks in the middle of me grinding all over him in the heat of the moment, and it infuriated me when he finally pushed me away, but I trusted him and his intentions. I knew that when he let it happen it would be perfect in every way.
Yesterday he’d officially asked me to prom. It was the most ridiculous grand gesture I’ve ever been witness to. He gotten on top of the lunch table in the cafeteria and proposed we go to prom together - in front of everyone. I must have turned seven shades of red that day. He’d handed me half a dozen red roses and laughed when I said, ‘Yes, now please get down off the table,’ and ducked my head as the cafeteria erupted in cheers and applause. However embarrassing it was, it was also equal parts the most romantic thing that ever happened to me. He’s become an addiction that I can’t seem to help. I crave the time of day when we can finally be together. Watching movies, going on bike rides or just taking a walk together, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re side by side. I hate spending time away from him. I hate knowing that he goes to his crappy house to his weird uncle when he’s not with me.
“Helloooo, Cypressss...” Aster sang, snapping me from my thoughts.
“Huh?” I blurted.
“I asked your opinion about the dress, you turd.” She looked completely irritated at my lack of attention towards her. She tapped her foot in a floor length ball gown. The deep navy color made her pale skin look like porcelain. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back and the slim fit through the waist showed off her curves. She looked stunning.
“That’s the one!” I shouted excitedly. “You look amazing, Aster. Really. It’s perfect.”
“Yeah?” she asked, looking down at herself and then doing a three-sixty in the mirror of the changing room.
“Yup,” I confirmed. She smiled her beautiful bright smile at me before disappearing into the fitting room and changing back into her clothes. We brought the dress to the register, paid for it with her dad’s credit card and headed out in search of the perfect shoes.
I daydreamed about it a lot…what I’d wear, how I’d fix my hair, what kind of corsage my date would bring me, how I would dance. Prom was the highlight, to me, of our senior year. I wanted it to be perfect. The plan? Meet up with Aster and her date, Jim, for dinner, then convoy over to the big event for an evening of dancing, fun, and magic! It was going to be so perfect!! I stood in the foyer of my house with my stepmom on one side of me and my dad pacing back and forth on the other. I smoothed my hands down over my black, fitted floor-length silk dress. My stepmom spent three hours curling and pinning up my long black locks, but the outcome was stunning. I wore a little more makeup than normal but not too much. I must have done something right because when I came downstairs my dad’s eyes had bugged out and he demanded that I change. Carol and I had just laughed at him. The knock on the door startled him. I watched Carol shoot him a look before he swung the door open. Our prom theme was Mafia so Cane went with a blood red cummerbund and mini-roses for his boutonnière. He stepped through the threshold after shaking my dad’s hand and when I caught sight of him in his white tux my draw dropped. Carol nudged my shoulder and I instantly picked my jaw up off the floor.
“Hi,” I breathed.
“Mags, you’re stunning...wow…” Cane said and let out a low whistle. His eyes dragged slowly over my body from toe to top. His eyes seemed darker than usual and it set my belly on fire. Our contrasting outfits were tied together by the blood-red flowers he’d picked out. We looked rather dashing. I’d never felt so beautiful and wanted in my life. “This is for you, I hope it’s right,” he said, handing me a wrist corsage of red roses. It was gorgeous and I had really been hoping he didn't go for one of those pin on corsages. The air whooshed from my lungs. Seriously? Hot. No, strike that. The definition of hot and thoughtful. “It’s exactly perfect,” I gushed as he slipped the elastic over my hand. His fingers grazed the inside of my wrist,. leaving the skin tingling. We let my dad and Carol take at least a hundred pictures of us before we finally headed out to meet Aster and Jim at school.
When we arrived there were champagne colored balloons, in different sizes, taped on the wall as a backdrop. Paper flower garlands were strung between the lights over the dance floor. Everything looked expensive and magical. If it wasn’t for Cane being so handsome I’d never have torn my eyes from the twinkling lights. Cane leaned down and kissed that spot just behind my ear that drives me wild. “What do you think, pretty girl?” he murmured. His thumb swept back and forth at my lower back across the silky material. It was divine. We got photos taken as we walked in, and then Aster and I decided to dance all night.
We never stopped, even when the guys took a break. Every once in a while Cane would bring me a drink. He was always so sweet. Our slow dances just about undid me. Swaying together, the feel of his hands at the small of my back and the sound of his heart in my ear as I rested my head on his chest was heavenly. I was sure tears leaked out of my eyes when Kip Moore’s ‘Hey Pretty Girl’ came on and Cane murmured all the words in my ear as we danced. How on earth did I get so lucky? My feet hurt so much, and Cane and I kissed until our lips were numb under all the glitter and lights. I couldn’t have asked for a better night.
“God, Mags, you’re gorgeous,” he growled as we headed to the hotel room he booked for us. Aster and Jim were meeting us there for our own private after-party.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Ash,” I giggled. He rested one hand on my thigh and brushed his thumb back and forth. It drove me insane with want. Cane didn’t know but tonight I had plans of my own. I fully intended on giving myself to him. It might seem a cliché but to me, it would be the perfect ending to a perfect, romantic night. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes,” I grumbled as he pulled into the hotel parking lot.
I woke up from my nap in the worst mood and with tears streaming down my face. Prom. Jesus, I’d had the night of my life, well up until I’d passed out at the hotel. Not exactly how I’d planned it but still, I wouldn’t have traded the memory for anything. Unfortunately for me, dreaming sets me back a step. It hinders my ability to live a normal, or almost normal, life. Normal for me is hate, biding time, and training with a healthy dose of fear at what awaits me.
“Dip! Slip! Punch! Come on, Mags, get your head in the game!” Brock yells at me as I twist under and around the rope strung across the ring. I momentarily squeeze my eyes shut to try and refocus. It doesn't work. I have no past, I remind myself. My rhythm is off today. My head’s not in the game. I stop moving and pop up to the left of the rope.
“I’m done, B.” I wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm and squeeze between the ropes before jumping down onto the floor. “I can't focus.”
“That’s not like you. You’re my warrior. What’s up?” He looks genuinely concerned. I shrug at him.
“Don’t know. Just off today, I guess,” I offer. He twirls the towel into a tight rope before whipping it at me. The crack of the towel snap and the sting of the whip make me smile. I deserve it, for one, but Brock doesn't know that. He just thinks I’m smiling because it’s all in good fun. He doesn't know I like feeling pain because it means I’m feeling something, anything, in the present. I need it to keep me grounded. I run my fingers slowly over the pink welt on my side and feel normal for a moment.
“I’ll be better tomorrow, B, I promise,” I toss over my shoulder as I head for the locker room.
“I wouldn't want you to lose your willpower,” he chuckles at me.
“That’s okay. I’m not very good at controlling it anyways,” I laugh.
I started boxing and mixed martial arts when running just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. I couldn't lose myself running anymore and I really needed to lose myself. Brock mentioned one night at work that he went to a boxer’s gym around the corner from work and that I could tag along sometime. He was hitting on me then. He wanted me to think he was big and bad and ripped while I watched him move around the ring. He wanted to impress me by showing me how to hit a bag or wrap a hand. The shock he wore on his face when I already knew all those things, when I showed I clearly knew my way around this kind of gym, was hilarious to me at the time. Needless to say, instead of becoming a couple we became friends, sort of, and now he’s my training partner. I never thought I’d set foot in a boxer’s gym again, but I also never thought I'd purposefully choose to call myself Mags either. Working out this way allows me to feel pain. I like it. I crave it. It helps keep the guilt at bay, and drinking does the rest. I want so desperately to escape him but my need to hold onto him is greater.
On my way home I swing into a nearby nursery to pick up some plants. The sun is shining, it’s warm out and there’s a slight breeze. It’s the perfect day for a little gardening. By the time I swing into my driveway it’s late afternoon. I schlep all my crap from the car in two loads and change into comfortable pants and a tank top that I don't mind getting dirty. I sweep my hair up on top of my head and secure it in place. When I catch my reflection in the mirror I stop and stare. I hardly recognize myself anymore. I turn slightly to the left and stare at the visible portions of my magnolia tree tattoo. I think about the three four-hour sessions it took to complete it. I’d stopped at Bloodlines Tattoo Parlor in Blacksburg Virginia. Clara asked few questions and made me feel safe while I was there. It was like she knew I needed the tattoo. Looking back, she probably shouldn’t have done it for me; I was a wreck, barely holding it together. But I’m glad she did. It starts just above my left butt cheek and sprawls up and across my back. Beautifully detailed branches reach up to my right shoulder and arm, the blossoms bursting color throughout the branches. The branches are gnarly and twisted, like my heart. It’s gorgeous for a tattoo but I’m not a tattoo girl, not really. The pain that came with getting it was fitting. Bittersweet actually. The longer I stare at it the more lost I feel.
My vision turns blurry and I feel like I’m swaying. Memories that I keep deep in the recesses of my heart assault me. I grab the countertop to steady myself and count slowly to ten while deep breathing. When I can take a step I grab my disposable phone and dial from memory.
“‘Lo?” comes the familiar peppy voice.
“Aster,” I blurt. “It’s bad today.” The line is silent for a moment before her voice starts and instantly soothes me.
“It’s okay, you’ll be okay. Breathe. How are things besides that?” she asks trying to distract me.
“I miss him so much. I still miss him so much. Fuck. It hurts...” I cry brokenly into the speaker.
“STOP!” she yells firmly. I sniffle a few times and get myself back under control.
You give me like two measly phone calls a week, bitch! I am not spending them wasted on that situation anymore.” She sounds mad, and guilty, and sad all at the same time. I suck in another deep breath and exhale. Just keep breathing.
“I miss your face so much, Aster. God, I miss you,” I croak.
“Not as much as I miss yours, you stupid jerk. Seriously. Finals are just around the corner and I’m dying without you. I suck at school!” She laughs.
“You don't, you know, you just actually need to go to class and not party so much,” I counter.
“But the boys are soooooooo cute, Mags, so damned cute.” This time I’m the one laughing. It feels good. It feels familiar, but only with her. She’s all I have left from that life. “When can I see you?” she asks, breaking my mood.
“Aster, we talked about this.” I grimace.
“Yeah, but it’s been over a year. It has to be safe now. Come on,” she pleads.
“I don't think so. I promise to call twice a week to check in still but I don't think it’s safe for you. He might watch you.” My tone is hushed even though there is no one around me. Thinking about him gives me chills. Aster lets out a long sigh on the other end.
“Mags, six more months, that’s all I’m giving you. Six. Months. Then, I show up at your door,” she states with determination.
“Fine. But keep your eyes open, Aster. I need you. You’re my sanity.”
“Are you still...medicating?” she all but whispers to me.
“I promised you I wouldn't get that bad again and I’m not. I barely drink at all now,” I tell her hoping she can hear the sincerity in my voice. We chit chat for a few more minutes about nothing but gossip before hanging up. I always feel better while talking to her but once the line’s dead I feel heavy with a different guilt. I abandoned her. My cousin, my best friend. I left everyone else behind without a thought, but I couldn't with her. I still need her, I always will. So for now, I keep her with me the only way I can. Phone calls on a different burner phone each week. She’s really the only one I miss. Well, not the only one, but the only one who’s still alive to miss.