A Tragic Heart (6 page)

“I didn’t know you were here,” he says with that painful smile.

“Yeah, I just got here when Mason was leaving.”

“Well, I guess I should start by saying congratulations.”

“He told you?”

“Of course. I’m his best friend. He tells me everything.”

“Thanks,” I say, looking down. “Why did you stop playing? It was beautiful.”

“You think so?” He asked raising one eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I say, sitting next to him on his bed. “It was a little sad. Why is that?”

“For so many reasons,” he scoffs.

And there it is
. The pain I was looking for in him for so long. Now, if only I could get him to open up. Next to him is the answer I’ve been looking for—the one thing I need to start the conversation I’ve always dreamed of having with Peyton. It’s a picture of a woman with red hair.
She was beautiful
.
She was him
. Without even asking, I reach over and pick up the picture; and he lets me.

“Who’s this?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“My mom—she died about three years ago. A car crash.” And the pain in his eyes shines through him like the burning of a thousand suns.

“I’m so sorry, Peyton,” is all I can say.

“Don’t be—I hate when people say ‘sorry,’ as if they were there—or as if they did it. You didn’t do it;
he
did. And I can never forgive him.”

I can tell the words just slipped out in anger, but I don’t care because Peyton is finally opening up to me.
And it’s extraordinary
.

“I understand…how it feels to have someone you love taken away from you…without a warning or a word…Having them there one second and in the next, God decides to be selfish and take them away. Peyton, I understand, all too well…I understand,” I say with tears in my eyes now. Somehow, I manage to hold them back.

“Taylor, what happened?” he asks in a voice that is dismantled as he gently touches my forearm.

“His name was Tyler—Tyler Caldwell—and he was my brother, my twin brother. We were only thirteen. And it’s not fair…he was sick…and they said there was nothing they could do about it. I was the only one who could feel his pain. I stayed up all night with him in the hospital…I heard his last breath…I saw how scared he was…and I felt helpless because he was
my
brother and I couldn’t save him. I had to lie and tell him that he’d be okay when I knew he wouldn’t. He hated to see me hurt, so I couldn’t cry. He held my hand…and then he left. Just like that, he was gone. And I was too afraid to cry because I didn’t want to upset him, so I waited. I waited until the doctors took him down to the morgue. I waited until my parents drove us back home. I waited until everyone was asleep. I waited until they gave him back to the earth. I wanted to make sure he was really gone before I cried because I didn’t want to upset him, so I waited until I was alone that night and I cried—
and I cut
—for the first time.” I must be stronger than I thought because I manage not to cry. I lift up my sleeves to show Peyton my marked-up arms. He looks down at my arm and reaches out to touch the scars. Some of them still have their texture. They are rough and fragile. I begin to speak again.

“I never once saw my mom or dad cry. I never once felt their pain. Kristen, my sister, pretended as if he never existed. Everyone who knew him pretended he never existed—like I never had another half. No one ever asked how we’re doing—how I was doing—except for Jackson. He knew I was hurting, so he stayed by my side. And ever since then, he’s refused to leave me. And today I left him. I turned my back on the only person who has ever been there for me. Peyton, I left—I didn’t even allow him to fight for me. What kind of person does that?” I ask, struggling to hold back my tears.

I can see the pain inside of Peyton clearer than ever now. He never takes his eyes off of me. Not once.

“A person who’s afraid. Someone who knows they made a mistake—someone who thinks that they’re unfixable. That’s what kind of person leaves the one they truly care about. Someone who’s afraid they’re not good enough. I know how that feels because I’ve been that person. I left a little after my mom died. My stepdad and I hated each other, and my real dad divorced my mom and left right before my seventh birthday. I haven’t seen him since. My mom and stepdad, Karson, used to fight a lot. He would hit her, and I would watch. I hate myself for watching because I feel like I should’ve done something about it. I mean, I was only seven but I should’ve done something. It wasn’t long before he started hitting me, too. When I was thirteen, my mom decided she’d had enough. Karson was threatening to kill her and me if she left, but she says she had to leave because if she stayed, she was as good as dead anyway. She rushed and packed our things—whatever she was able to take—and hurried to the car. She was speeding. That’s all I can remember. The next thing I know, a truck slams into her side. I blacked out for a while and when I woke up, I found my mother bleeding everywhere. I tried to help her hold on, but there was nothing I could do. I wished it was me instead, because my mom was a surgeon—at least, if it was me, she would have known what to do. And if I died, so what? The ambulance finally came, but she was already gone. That was the last time I ever cried. I was forced to live with my stepdad because when I finally found my real dad, he didn’t want me. We never met face to face…it was decided in a phone call. He
already had a new family—a wife, a son, and a daughter. I was just extra baggage, even though I am his oldest child. Life with Karson was hell. He beat me almost every day for no reason at all. He was drunk most of the time. But the night I decided to leave for good was the night when Karson beat me so bad I was almost unrecognizable. I had to stay in the house for a few weeks before I went outside—I needed time to heal. I just made sure I stayed out of Karson’s way. I called Mason and he came for me, and ever since then, we have been best friends. It only made sense. He was the one who cried with me when my mom died. He told me I shouldn’t hold it in—that it would only make everything worse. He said it’s okay to cry, ’cause if I did, he would cry with me. He’s the one that told me that I don’t always have to put on my I-can-do-anything face; that it’s okay to show that I’m human sometimes. I owe it all to Mason.”

I knew there was more to him. I knew something about him related to me. I’d felt it from the first time we met. His perception of Mason made me love him even more.

“I decided to take up boxing professionally. I promised myself that if I ever came face to face with Karson again, I would fight. I would fight him the way he fought me; the way he fought my mother. I was going to fight for all the pain he caused me—and her—and for all the times he made me feel like cutting myself was the only way to get through all the pain. I was going to fight for my tortured soul.”

Peyton lifts up his left sleeve and shows me the words “FUCK UP!” carved into his forearm.
Peyton is my missing half
. It’s like getting my twin back.

“Peyton, will you be my best friend?” I realize it sounds “grade school” but I don’t know any other way to say it. I lay my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.

“Only if you promise not to hurt Mason…”

I find it pretty unusual for him to base our friendship on how I treat Mason, but I don’t care. I guess they are closer than I thought.

“I promise.”

***

A few months have passed, and the news that I married Mason traveled fast. Rumor has it Jizelle is too heartbroken to deal with the reality of it, so she switched schools. I kind of feel badly for her. Although she’s a total bitch, no one deserves to be that broken. It’s senior year and things couldn’t be any better. I am emancipated and so is Mason. We have our own apartment. It’s not too far from Peyton’s. We really are best friends now. I share everything with him and vice versa. I think Mason is getting a bit jealous of Peyton and our relationship. I keep telling him there’s nothing to worry about. Peyton is still his best friend and I’m still as in love with him as I was the day I decided to marry him. Peyton is a great friend, and that’s it. He didn’t replace Jackson, because no one can replace my Jackson, but I haven’t spoken to him since the day I left. I heard he’s been busy in New York and Europe, recording and performing. I hope he makes it bigger than he ever imagined. He deserves it. He’s a wonderful person, and I miss him. He’s tried calling me, but I just can’t bring myself to pick up the phone. I feel too guilty about leaving him.

“A penny for your thoughts,” a voice whispers behind me.

“I miss Jackson,” I say to him.

“Then call him.”

“I can’t.”

“Guilt is an ugly thing; it can ruin a life and a relationship. Don’t let it get to you. Call Jackson and tell him you’re sorry for leaving him like that. I’m sure he’ll understand. He’s like your other half—you know, besides me,” he says, laughing.

“Peyton, do you really think it’ll be that simple?”

“I know it is,” Peyton says.

We sit together at lunch now. Mason doesn’t have lunch this period, but sometimes he cuts class to be with me.

“What are you doing tonight?” Peyton asks, distracting himself by playing with his food.

“Nothing. Mason works. And why do you even bother getting lunch if you’re just going to play with your food? It’s disgusting!”

“Hmmm, I don’t know. But anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to come over or I could come over to your place because
there’s a TV special. They’re showing
The Nightmare Before Christmas
over and over.”

I laugh. “I couldn’t believe it when you said that was your favorite movie of all time. I thought only Jackson and I loved it that much.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks. “That’s one of the greatest animated films ever! You know I always wanted to name my son Jack, after the pumpkin king; and my daughter, Sally. I just always thought it’d be cool.”

“Yeah, it would be…for you.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asks jokingly.

“Nothing. You’re just a little weird, that’s all. So it’ll be a cool thing for you—”

“Uh huh. So have you and Mason thought about kids?”

“We have, but we decided now wouldn’t be a good time. Maybe after college…or a little later.”

“Yeah, that’s smart,” Peyton says, staring into my eyes.

I turn away with an uncomfortable feeling.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asks pushing his tray away and turning to face me.

“Regret what?”

“Getting married so young.”

“N-no. Not at all,” I say, looking past him.
And I’m telling the truth
.
I think
.
Or at least, I hope
.

***

“Mason you’re always working!” I yell.

“Because I have to!” he yells back.

“I know that, but can you take one day off? Spend some time with me? I barely see you anymore. It’s like being married to Henry!”

“Well, that’s just how it’s going to have to be for now. I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’ll make it up to you soon. I promise.”

At least that’s one thing I can count on. Mason always keeps his promises. I love him, but he can seem so distant sometimes. He doesn’t always open up to me, and I just wish that he would. I
know he cares about me, but I just want him to say it more, like he used to.

“I’ll be home as soon as I’m through with work, okay?” He kisses me lightly on the lips. “I love you.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say halfheartedly.

I choose to call Peyton and tell him we should hang out. We haven’t hung out since we decided to watch
The Nightmare Before Christmas
together last month. There aren’t many places to choose from, so we decide to go to the park. We’re the only ones here, since it is evening, and hardly anyone ever comes here after four.

“So how’s life?” I ask Peyton, who seems down for some reason or other.

“It’s okay,” he says in a tone that isn’t even close to believable.

“Peyton, you’re my other half. I know when something’s wrong,” I say in a you-can’t fool-me tone.

“I saw my dad the other day,” he says blandly.

“Karson?” I ask, shocked.

“No! My real dad.”

“Did you say anything to him? Did he see you?”

“Yeah, he saw me. He even spoke.” Peyton lifts himself using the metal handles on the children’s monkey bars. I continue to listen and watch his every move as he moves from one bar to the next. “He told me he was sorry about how he treated me the last time we spoke to each other and that he’s really sorry about my mother’s death.” He continues to move down the line of metal bars, and I follow to meet him on the opposite side. “It happened three years ago today, and the first time he’s ever thought about saying he felt terrible was a few days ago. What kind of bullshit is that, huh? He obviously loved her once—he was married to her—and it takes him almost three years to say he feels terrible about it?” Peyton looks at me, but I can tell he doesn’t need an answer. “So I asked him why he left, and he told me because he stopped loving her and to be honest, he never wanted me. He always thought they were too busy for children. He just dealt with me for as long as he could.” Peyton makes it to the last bar and vaults to the ground. I silently stand in front of him. “He says that he’s very sorry he took my childhood from me and he really wants to get to know me better.
What am I supposed to say to that?” Peyton avoids my eyes. I can tell from the way he clenches his jaw that he was fighting his anger. “I used to bitch and moan about never knowing my father and now that he wants a relationship with me, I’m not sure if I want one with him!”

“Well, I would say try it. If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ve tried. That way, you won’t have to worry about all the ‘what ifs.’ And don’t make him feel anymore guilty than he already does,” I put my hand on his arm. “My best friend once told me that guilt is an ugly thing; it can ruin a life and a relationship. Don’t ruin your relationship with your father before it even starts.”

“What about Jackson? Have you rekindled that relationship?”

I looked down, feeling guilty. “No. But I will soon.”

“Well, you should hurry. You don’t want time to run out.”