I dropped my phone in my lap and pushed my face into my hands.
Something happened. There was no way she would change her mind about us so quickly. Whatever it was, we could get past it. I would give her the night to think it over and blow off steam or whatever she needed, and then I would go over and talk with her and see if we could fix the problem.
Me: I don’t believe you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Please get home safe. I love you.
TWO DAYS LATER AND I STILL HADN’T HEARD FROM HER.
I called and texted, but it seemed she had me blocked. I went to her apartment, but her car was never there. Only Lilly was working the store, and when I asked her what was going on, she seemed just as clueless as I was.
I was pulling my hair out trying to figure what happened. I was getting nowhere.
A week later and nothing.
Eating was making me feel sick, and most days, I would stay at home with my phone close by in case she changed her mind about me. After a few days of not leaving my house, I decided I needed to get out for a bit.
I drove down to Waterfront Park and sat on the same swing where I first kissed her. Depression hung over me like black smog, choking me when I breathed and making it next to impossible to fill my lungs to capacity.
I couldn’t breathe. I missed her so much my entire body ached.
The following day, I visited Twin Oaks. I hadn’t been there in a while, and I thought maybe Jermaine could cheer me up.
“Damn, dude, you look like shit,” he said, scrunching up his nose.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“No, for real, though, what the hell happened to you, man?”
“She left me.”
His face cleared and sorrow filled his eyes. “That sucks, bro. What happened?”
That was the million-dollar question.
I kept thinking if I knew what happened it would be easier to move past it, but I knew in my heart of hearts that was bullshit. I would never get over Shannon. She was it for me.
Being at Twin Oaks made the ache worse. Every inch of the building held memories of her, and I kept hoping that the longer I stayed there, the more likely I was to run into her. Sadly, I didn’t even know who she visited when she came. At least if I knew that, I could maybe question them.
Since I was there, I helped Jermaine clean the place. Going from door to door, I collected trash and replaced the bags with fresh ones. When I got to room three hundred, I tapped on the door and opened it to find Miss Iris sitting in her chair crocheting.
Her face lit up with a smile when she looked up and saw me standing in her doorway.
“Hey, honey, come on in.” She stood from her chair, shuffling across the floor toward me for a hug. “It’s been too long. I was starting to worry something happened to you.”
I wanted to open up to her—tell her all about Shannon and how badly she had hurt me—to see if maybe she had a clue why a woman would just up and disappear since I couldn’t seem to figure out why.
“Sorry about that. I’ve been a bit busy,” I said, going for her trash can and pulling out the bag.
“Don’t you worry yourself, hon. I might be old, but I remember what it was like to be young.”
She sat in her chair again, picking up her yarn and crocheting needles. When she did, she bumped a small box on the table, knocking it to the floor. The lid flew open and pictures spilled out.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m a clumsy old fool.”
She chuckled, trying to lean over and collect the things.
“I’ll get it, Miss Iris,” I said, making my way over and leaning down to pick up the box and photos.
When I leaned over, my eyes latched onto the photo on the very top.
It was a young girl with a long red braid hanging over her shoulder. She smiled at the camera, missing her front teeth, her green eyes sparkling with happiness.
My lungs deflated, and my fingers shook as I picked the photo up and held it closer to my face.
Shannon.
It was definitely my Shannon.
She was just a little girl, her features not as defined, her body skinny and unshapely, but it was her.
I looked up at Miss Iris, the picture dangling from my fingers.
“That’s my granddaughter,” she said, smiling proudly. “Isn’t she a beauty?”
I nodded, my voice caught in my throat.
All this time, Shannon had been visiting Miss Iris. All this time, her grandmother was a patient at Twin Oaks, and I never asked to know any better.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered, feeling tears prick my eyes.
“Yeah. She’s having a bit of a hard time right now. My poor girl,” Miss Iris said, her crocheting needles clicking together as she started on her work again.
“Is that so?” I asked, hoping she would shed some light on the situation.
Obviously, she had no idea Shannon and I had a thing. Maybe she would open up to me about Shannon in casual conversation.
“Yeah. She confessed to me not long ago that a young man had pushed himself on her.”
I clenched my eyes tightly, remembering how broken she was. How hard she had cried in my arms when she told me her story.
“He seemed like such a nice boy, too. He came to my house to pick her for prom, and I approved. Sometimes, I think it’s my fault for letting her go out with him. I should have known better to let her mess around with one of the rich boys,” she continued, gossiping while she worked her fingers through the yarn. “His family lived on the lake in our town. A gorgeous house.”
I sat on the bed, my eyes moving over the many pictures of Shannon.
Shannon with braids and missing teeth.
Shannon with a big smile on her face and curls in her hair.
Shannon holding a trophy for junior varsity volleyball.
Then I reached a photo that made me pause.
It was Shannon and her prom date. Except the date had been cut from the photo and only his arm around her shoulders was still visible. They were standing on the front porch of an old run-down mobile home. She smiled into the camera, her red curls pinned on top of her head in an updo, and her eyes popping against her green prom dress.
She was young and beautiful.
Happy and unbroken.
But it wasn’t her beauty that had inflicted the massive amount of pain thumping around my chest.
It was the arm of the person standing next to her. He was obviously wearing a tux. I could tell that by looking at the part of his leg still visible in the photo, but he must have removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves a bit because his arm was visible. On that arm was a birthmark I knew well.
A crescent-shaped mark that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
He was her prom date … the asshole who had raped her and altered her forever.
And that arm belonged to my best friend.
It was Jonathan.
The only guy in the world I gave a shit about had been the one to destroy the woman I loved all those years ago.
THE YACHT WAS EMPTY AND DARK, anchored at the end of the dock like a shady ghost ship full of immorality.