Quiet anger frightens me. The drunks, the idiots, the ones that rage easily—them I can handle. I know when to step out of their way.
It’s the ones that hold the anger in, the men that think about what they do and how they do it, that scare me. They’re the ones that cause damage. A small voice, a voice that sounds a lot like me when I was a child, sweetly murmurs that Scott would never hurt me. That he was our protector. Once. I don’t know this man.
“I tried,” I whisper.
“Bullshit!” Scott yells so loudly that the crystals on the lampshade tinkle. I flinch and step back. “You’ve done everything you can to make Allison and me miserable.”
I swallow. Mom’s boyfriend, Trent, started this way. He walked into the apartment all calm and cool, with anger seething underneath.
Then he yelled. Then he hit.
Dad had this anger too. So did Grandpa. My heart beats wildly in my chest as Scott crushes the cigarette in his hand. For the first time, he looks at me. “Jesus, you’re shaking.”
He moves toward me and I take a retreating step. My back hits the window and my hands HC TITLE-AUTHOR
210
fly out, searching for something—
anything—to protect myself with. “Get out.”
The anger—it’s gone, calls the little girl in my head, but I ignore her. She died along with my love of ribbons and dresses and life. She’s nothing but a ghost.
“I’m sorry,” he says slowly and places space between us. “I didn’t realize I scared you. I was mad. Allison was upset. I hate to see her cry and your teacher called…but I’m calm. I swear.”
I tried. Really, I did. I tried and this is where it got me. Trapped in a room full of windows with a man who resembles my father. Dad also used to say he was calm, but he never was.
“Get out!”
“Elisabeth…”
“Out!” My hands wave air in front of me, motioning for him to leave. “Get out!”
Scott’s eyes grow abnormally wide. “I am not going to hurt you.”
“This is your fault!” I yell and I want to stop, but if I stop I’ll cry. A strange wetness burns my eyes. My lip is so heavy it trembles. I can’t cry. I won’t cry. Embracing the anger, I open my mouth again. Damn him if he makes HC TITLE-AUTHOR
211
me cry. “You’re the one that dragged me
here. Is it not enough to take me away from home? You have to humiliate me at school?”
“Humiliate you? Elisabeth, what are you
talking about?”
“I am not Elisabeth! Look at me!” I grab at the clothes on my body with one hand and yank my Calculus book off the bedside table with the other and fling the book straight at his head. He ducks and the book makes a loud thud when it smacks the wall. “You want me to be somebody else. You don’t want me to be me. You’re just like Dad! You want me gone!”
My chest is heaving and I gasp for air. The silence that falls between us is heavy and I’m drowning under its weight.
“That’s not true.” Scott pauses as if he’s waiting for a reply. He picks up the textbook and sets it on the dresser. Right beside Mom’s parole officer’s card. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
No, we won’t. He leaves for work before I wake for school. Scott gently closes the door. I race across the room, lock it, turn off the lights, then toss the covers off the bed, searching for the phone. My fingers shake as I press the HC TITLE-AUTHOR
212
numbers. My pulse beats in my ears in time to the name of the person I need: Isaiah. A heartbeat. Isaiah. The phone rings. Isaiah.
“Hey.” At the sound of his easygoing voice I lean against the closet door. “You had me worried. It’s five after ten. You’re late for our one-minute talk.”
Hoping my lip will quit trembling, I close my eyes and will the tears to stay away. It’s all in vain. If I speak, I’ll cry and I don’t cry.
“Beth?” Worry creeps into his tone.
“Here,” I whisper back and that one word is almost my undoing. Isaiah and I—we don’t do phone conversations. Never have. We watched TV. We partied. We sat next to each other— existed. How do you just be on a phone? And that’s what I need. I need Isaiah to just exist.
“Beth…” He hesitates. “Is that Ryan guy
messing with you again?”
I swallow a possible sob. I won’t cry. I won’t. “Sort of.” And Allison and my uncle and school and everything and I feel like the walls are caving in, an avalanche preparing to bury me.
Silence from Isaiah.
I bite my lip when one tear rolls down my HC TITLE-AUTHOR
213
face. “Do you want me to let you go?”
Dammit. Just dammit—I don’t cry. “Because I know you don’t talk. I mean us. We. We don’t talk.” I swear under my breath. My voice shook. He’ll know I’m upset. He’ll know.
Silence again. Air crackling on the line.
When he lets me go, I’ll fall apart. I’ll have nothing to hold on to. Nothing to anchor me.
I’ll be exactly what everyone wants me to be— nothing.