Authors: J.P. Barnaby
Aaron (9 page)
“May I help you?” the young woman from behind the desk asked as Aaron approached. The smile faded quickly from her pointed little face as Aaron looked up, his scars illuminated harshly in the fluorescent lighting. He could tell that she was trying not to stare as she twirled her blond hair around one finger, obviously nervous and uncomfortable. Aaron handed her his receipt without a word, and she looked it over before going to the shelves a few feet behind her to get his bag of books. Looking around at the different products on display as he waited, he was glad that his mother had already taken care of getting everything else that he needed. Aaron thought that maybe his mother took a special kind of comfort in doing something as mundane as picking out his school supplies, because he was still around to buy them for. Picking up notebooks and pens was his mother’s way of celebrating the fact that he needed them.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he felt someone standing in line behind him. He didn’t want to be here any longer than was absolutely necessary. God, he didn’t know if he could sit in a classroom surrounded by people if he couldn’t even stand in line to get books. The girl stepped back to the counter and double-checked the bag’s contents to make sure they matched his receipt. It seemed to Aaron that she was almost deliberately taking her time checking his stuff. It made him uncomfortable. She pushed the bag to him, but didn’t let go of the bottom when he grabbed the handles at the top.
“I don’t know if you remember, but… uhm… we went to high school together,” she said finally. Warning bells started to sound in his head, and his heart raced. His breathing became shallow, and he tried to pull the bag away from her and leave, but she held on. “I’m so sorry about—” That was as far as she’d gotten before Aaron ripped the bag from her grasp and bolted for the door. He had no idea if she was going to express her sorrow about what happened to him, or Juliette, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. He fucking hated the word
sorry
. They couldn’t possibly understand what the word meant. The girl, well, all of them who tried and failed to console him, they couldn’t possibly be as
sorry
as he was. He didn’t want their hollow platitudes, no matter how sincere they seemed. Aaron didn’t know the girl behind the counter, didn’t remember her. She certainly didn’t know him, at least the boy he had become. There was absolutely nothing she could say that he wanted to hear.
His hands were still wrapped into tight fists, one around the handles of the bookstore bag, the other awkwardly hanging at his side as he walked out into the quad with its perfectly landscaped lawns and modest, well-kept buildings. The campus also happened to have the best IT program within a hundred-mile radius. His parents had insisted that he go to college, even if he didn’t feel like he had any kind of future. The shrinks had told his mother that Aaron should live as close to a normal life as possible, to assimilate him back into society. It was a joke. Aaron would attend this school not for its academics, but because it was ten minutes from his home. His mother stayed home to care for him and his brothers, so she would never be more than ten minutes away from him at any given time. It had been like that all his life, but now, more than ever, that proximity was crucial.
Exhausted and lost in thought, Aaron sat on one of the benches, trying to stop his heart from racing before he went back to the parking lot where his mother waited. The smell of freshly mown grass hung heavy in the air as the cool late summer morning turned into a warm late summer afternoon. He could hear a mower off in the distance, but mostly, the quiet chatter of students on the sidewalk near him was the only sound. With his bag held tightly in his arms, as if it were an anchor tethering him to reality, he stared unseeing after a long and sleepless night. The bench near where he sat was one of three in a semicircle around an abstract statue of metal concentric circles standing atop a square base. Small bushes sprinkled the open area, with little purple and blue flowers still in bloom. He should go back to the car before his mom started to worry, but he didn’t want to go yet. It was peaceful here, almost serene. Aaron never really went anywhere, and this beautiful oasis of freedom was much less oppressive than the bedroom he rarely left. A girl he did not know half waved at him, until he looked up fully and the sun brought his scars into relief. Her expression changed to the shock and horror he knew so well, almost like a welcoming friend, signaling a lucky escape from a would-be conversationalist.
The hand that touched his shoulder was so unexpected and scared him so badly, he shot off the end of the bench, stumbled on shock-numbed legs, and fell onto the ground. His bag landed near his feet and his books scattered from it along the sidewalk. A searing pain ripped through his side as he landed on the corner of the statue’s base and avoided screaming only by the sheer grace of God. Aaron curled in on himself, to the only protective position he could think of. Pulling his knees to his chest and covering his head with his hands, he didn’t even have the presence of mind to grab his cell phone from his pocket. At that point, the only goal was to keep himself safe.
The sound of the van door slamming was loud in his ears as he struggled against the guy who held him. His nostrils were assaulted by the stench of stale beer and sweat, as the arms remained clamped around him like a vise. Looking over, he saw Juliette struggling as hard as he was.
Flashes of that night came back, strong and unbidden, as he cowered beside the concrete base of the statue. Its solid, unyielding presence was mildly reassuring, and Aaron pulled harder against it, trying to shield himself from the attack that he knew was coming. The burns, it would be the burns first.
“Don’t hurt me…. Please… d… don’t touch me,” he chanted over and over again to his knees, which were now almost directly in front of his face as he rocked on the ground. With his arms locked over his head, he was only vaguely aware that the figure standing over him was still looming. Then, a car door slammed in the distance, and he heard footsteps. Still, he didn’t dare move.
“Aaron… Aaron, I’m not going to touch you. Baby, can you hear me?” His mother’s voice filtered through the fog of fear and panic.
Thank God.
No one could hurt him with his mother protecting him. She’d even saved him that night. That horrible night she’d come through and she’d saved him.
“Mama?” Aaron’s voice was shaky and quiet as he allowed his arms to fall from his head and wrap around his knees. “Mama, I want to go home.” Her breathing hitched, and she sounded almost like she might cry. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d called her “mama”— probably not since he was a small boy.
“Okay, baby, we’re going home,” his mother replied in a soft, reassuring voice. Her voice changed then as he heard her addressing his unknown assailant.
“Did you need something?” Aaron’s mother asked coldly. She was obviously upset by Aaron’s incapacitation. The response that she got was strange, and sounded almost foreign, even though it was in perfect English.
“I. Am. Very. Sorry..” The guy’s voice was shaky, and he spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable very clearly, like he was not used to speaking or like he thought Aaron was slow. Frankly, Aaron didn’t care; he wanted to get the hell out of there. There was something about the stranger’s slow, measured pronunciation that just sounded off, and Aaron found that he didn’t want to look up to see the guy’s face. He didn’t want to see horror or pity. He wanted to go home.
“I. Was. Asking. Him. For. Directions.,” the guy continued, still in that slow, measured speech. “I. Cannot. See. What. He. Is. Saying.. What. Is. He. Saying.?”
“He said ‘please don’t touch me’. What building are you looking for?” The exhaustion in his mother’s voice filled him with shame. He knew that she just wanted to get him home, but the fact that he couldn’t even deal with a guy just asking for directions caused his chest to tighten. It infuriated him that he couldn’t act like a normal human being, that he had to sit cowered in the shadow of this boy who was no real threat.
“Patterson..”
“It’s the building over there across the lot,” his mother explained.
“Thank. You.,” the guy replied, and sensing an escape, Aaron scrambled to his feet and bolted for the car, not looking up at the lost student. It was a minute or so before his mother joined him, and together they got into the car and headed home. The silence in the car was almost deafening.
His mother brought him a tranquilizer and a bottle of grape juice as he sat on his bed staring at the door. The soft whirring of his fan was the only sound in the room as he took the pill without a word. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d needed one, but today he certainly needed it. Images from the flashback he’d experienced in the quad were burned into his mind, and he knew that only the tranquilizer would make them fade. Nothing made them leave completely, but for a while, they wouldn’t torture him. Still fully dressed with the exception of his shoes, he rolled on his bed to face the wall, pulled his knees up to his chest and waited for the drugs to do their job.
This day hadn’t really started out so bad. How did it go so wrong? He felt his mother’s weight leave the bed as she stood up.
“Mama, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice almost pleading. One day she would grow tired of his childish behavior and let his father send him away. That thought drained him of what little strength he had left. His mother sat back down on the bed, and with the powerful tranquilizer to keep him calm, briefly touched his hair. He wanted so badly to be able to cry.
“It’s not your fault, Aaron. None of this is your fault, baby. Now, just take a nap, and when you wake up, I’ll bring you some dinner.” She stood again and left the room quietly, turning off his light and closing his door behind her. He was asleep before she made it to the stairs.
The light at the intersection that led to the main road turned red just as he approached. Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and waited, hoping that the car pulling up next to him at the light wasn’t the boy and his mother.
Please God.
It wasn’t. Malibu Barbie pulled up next to him in a Jetta and smiled over at him. Normally, he’d have the patience to flirt back. Even if he wasn’t interested, he liked being wanted. Right then, he couldn’t be bothered. He just wanted to get home and talk to his father about what happened in the quad.
The next light turned yellow, and the car in front of him stopped, forcing him to stop as well. Jesus, it was a conspiracy. The boy’s face swam in front of his eyes again, terrified and lost. Spencer didn’t think he could pull himself into a ball as tight as the guy did. His knees had been practically behind his head in some sort of defensive position that someone who did yoga couldn’t have gotten into. Did he really think Spencer was going to hurt him?
The light on his console flashed, indicating a loud sound, and he looked up to see that the light had turned green and the car in front of him had moved. He looked around, ever cautious, and then stepped on the gas. His pulse pounded in his head, and he couldn’t stop the adrenaline coursing through his body. It was almost like he was the one who’d been scared.
Finally, he caught a green light and sped up. He drove a little faster than he normally did in an effort to outrun the images in his head, to leave them at the college.
Spencer gave a silent prayer of thanks to see his father’s BMW in the garage when he pulled in. After grabbing the bag from the bookstore out of his back seat, he ran to the back door. It slammed behind him, getting the attention of his father, who stood in the kitchen with one hand on his head and the other around a tall glass of something. Damn it, he’d started already.
With one look at his father’s bloodshot eyes and hunched shoulders, Spencer walked right past and up to his room. He wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to lose himself in the fog of alcohol like his father. Would it help get the boy’s ruined face out of his head?
“Mom,” Aaron said, and his mother stopped in the doorway, turning to look at her son curiously. He rarely, if ever, initiated a conversation with her, so she looked fairly surprised. “Would you mind taking me to visit… Juliette tomorrow?” It took her a minute to respond. Aaron had never visited Juliette’s grave, not once in almost two years. He had still been in the hospital when her parents held her funeral. Michelle stood in the doorway while she appeared to consider it. The silence between them hung heavy in the air while she no doubt thought about the damage that visit could do to her son, or maybe the way it might help his recovery. After several long and tense moments, she spoke.
