Bran
I’m not sure how to play this since Destiny’s been home, so I’ve let Lilah take the lead. I’m trying not to read too much into it, but I’ve felt on the edge of a panic attack since she came in last night to play at the bar. She was distant, not like she was angry, or even upset, but more distracted. Or really, haunted.
I gave her space, because it’s all I really can do. She and Destiny have some things to work out. My biggest fear is that I’m the root of it, and as hard as I’ve fallen for Lilah, I can’t be responsible for driving a wedge between her and Destiny. Which is why I told her I needed Destiny on board with this. I’m just not quite sure how to make that happen.
My phone wakes me early Saturday and I pick it up and squint at the screen. When I see Lilah’s number, I snap it up.
“Hey.”
There’s a long pause. “Do you have time to talk?” she finally asks.
“Yeah. Absolutely.” I climb out of bed and rake yesterday’s jeans up from the floor next to my bed. “Should I come by or…?”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you out front.”
“On my way,” I say, tugging them up my legs. I disconnect and find a fresh T-shirt, then yank on my leather jacket on the way out the door.
When I pull up, she’s already waiting outside. I reach across to open my passenger door and she climbs in.
“Where to?” I ask.
She shrugs and slumps into the seat.
I roll away from the curb and drive. “Everything okay with Destiny?”
Finally, she looks at me. She looked tired yesterday and it made me wonder about her nightmares. Today, she’s worse; purple crescents under red-rimmed, lifeless eyes. I know that look. She hasn’t slept in a while.
“I’m not sure.”
“She hasn’t…you know, had any meltdowns or anything, has she?”
She shakes her head. “We’ve never talked about the night our house burnt down. I always thought it was because…” She shrugs then lifts her gaze to mine. “You know that scar on her forehead?”
I nod.
She lowers her gaze and watches her fingers fidget with the strings of her hoodie. “She got the cut that night. I used to keep a big carving knife under my bed because there were some scary people squatting at our house most of the time. I’ve seen the tip of that knife making the cut in my dreams. I was afraid to bring up the fire because I was afraid I’d hurt Destiny even though I couldn’t remember.”
I don’t like the thought of Lilah feeling like she needed a knife to protect herself in her own home, and again find myself wishing her parents bodily harm.
“I asked her on Monday when we got home. She said it wasn’t me. But…” She shakes her head. “Something happened with Destiny and me the night of the fire that I can’t remember. The thing is, every time I try, I feel sick and ants start crawling under my skin.”
“Have you asked her?”
“She won’t talk about it.” She rubs her eyes then looks at me. “I’m scared, Bran. I’m not really sure if I want to know.”
I snag her eyes with my gaze and hold them. “Only you know if you’re ready to face down your demons, Lilah.”
She tips her head against the window as if it’s too heavy to hold up.
We’re passing the shelter at the downhill end of the park and I pull over. “You want to walk?” I ask, nodding at the path that winds up the hill to the playground up top.
She looks at me a long second, then pushes out her door. I climb out and take her hand. She wraps her fingers tightly around mine, but her skin doesn’t scorch through mine the way it usually does. She feels clammy, and there’s a tremor in her hand.
The last stubborn leaves of fall are now curled in dry brown heaps at the side of the path, crunching under our feet as we start up the hill.
“I talked to Destiny’s therapist on Monday,” Lilah says, watching the dead husks swirl around our feet in the crisp breeze. “She was asking about the night of the fire. She thinks Destiny needs to remember what happened, but I think she already does.”
I try to follow what she’s saying. “You think Destiny’s pretending not to remember?”
She pulls her hand from mine and shoves them into her hoodie pockets. “I only remember parts of what happened that night. She seems nervous that I might start to remember more.”
“Maybe if Destiny’s trying not to remember, you should be glad you don’t,” I say wishing that I could forget half of the things that I relive in my nightmares. “Some things are better left alone.”
She watches the path unfold in front of us and leads me to a bench under a group of leafless trees. For a minute, she just looks at it, but then she brushes the leaves off and sits. I sit next to her and loop my arm over her shoulders. My heart releases the breath it’s been holding when she leans into me and lays her head on my shoulder.