Beautifully Ruined (22 page)

I inch closer. “How does he treat you, JoJo?”

She leans back, looking up to me. I’m waiting for something—I’m not sure what, but my heart stops beating, freezing me in place until she says something…
anything
.

“I never want him to,” she whispers. The flower is gone from her hand. It wilted and disappeared, as if controlled by her emotions. “But he doesn’t listen to me.” A tear escapes, rolling down her plump cheek. It breaks my heart hearing this. “I just want him to leave me alone, but it means he’ll go to Ivy and she doesn’t want to play, either.”

Play?

“Oh, JoJo.” I want to reach for her, grab her hand and rub her arm, but she’s now a shell—an empty little girl, nothing but a vacant void sitting before me. Every bit of innocence has left her eyes, all the happiness has washed away from her face. She is now
me. She is the girl I see in the mirror every morning. The ghost of a girl.

My mouth drops open, ready to say something, but no words can help her. She’s already ruined.

“Mommy believed me,” JoJo whispers. “She made him leave and I could finally sleep. I could sleep in my bed again.” Her red-rimmed eyes look up to me. She’s aged in the two minutes since she sat down. In that stare, everything came back in a rush, crashing into me and throwing me into the mind of the girl in front of me.

I see it all.

The fighting the night I told my mom the heart wrenching truth. The screaming, the yelling, the cursing, the threats. It’s one angry blur. One aggressive, loud, angry blur that rips through me until I’m a hole.

I close my eyes, seeing everything.

“I remember,” I whisper. “I remember it all.” I pitch forward, covering my ears with my hands as the sounds pour through me, pounding into my bones.

“Then you remember The Night?” she asks, her voice growing deeper with every syllable. I open my eyes, staring into the face of someone so familiar, I swear I’m looking in a mirror. “Tell me you don’t remember?” I stare at myself, at the me I see every morning in the mirror. The hair, the dress, it’s all the same. “You’d like to
not
remember, right? It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know,” I say.

It’s never worked that way.

I can’t forget.

It was only hidden within me, dormant until now—until something in me believed I was ready to know the truth.

I wake up in Zephyr’s arms. He’s holding me tightly but I squirm, wiggling to free myself from his grip. Zephyr releases an annoyed groan as his arms enclose on an empty space before he rolls to the side, letting me free—he doesn’t wake. I just sit next to
him, grasping his warm hand and rubbing his palm with the pad of my thumb.

I’m just sitting, thinking, staring at the boy I love—breathing.

Inhale.

I don’t care about the time but I know it’s well into the early morning of tomorrow. A new day filled with those possibilities we always hear about.

Exhale
.

I should be asleep. I should be snuggled warmly into my boyfriend’s arms, I should be pleasantly dreaming about Zephyr while infomercials play endlessly on the television we left on. But I’m not.

Inhale
.

I’m scared.

Exhale
.

Completely terrified.

I drop his hand lightly onto the space of couch between us and pad up the stairs to my room. I still have a good chunk of reading to do. And as much as I’d love to forget about it, as much as I’d love to throw each and every letter into the fireplace and light them ablaze, I can’t do that. As loud as my brain and conscience scream
just burn them, Joey
, I know I can’t do it.

And I want to drop a lit match right here right now.

Crouching down, dropping until my legs cross on the floor, I reach, grabbing the next letter, and rip it open.

My beautiful baby girl, you’re fourteen today
it starts, and I’m lost in the lies from my father.





I fold the last letter, the last slip of paper before the one destroyed, and shove it back into the envelope, when Zephyr walks through the door, strolling into my room with sleep-filled eyes and messy hair. He’s dragging his hand through his crazy locks, his jeans riding low on his narrow hips. He’s shirtless but I don’t take the
time to ogle. I’m tired. I just want to crawl into bed and find the sleep I know I’ll be missing in nights to come.

“I thought you were done for the night?” Zephyr asks.

I grunt, forcing the sound.

“Did you stay up and read every letter?” He asks, still standing in front of me. I can’t raise my eyes to meet his so I stare at his sock-covered feet. Typical white socks that bunch around his ankles. “Are you okay?” he asks with embellished concern.

Not knowing what to do, how to process anything I just read, I shrug. My eyes are sore, my glasses long forgotten somewhere on the desk behind me—I read better without them—but the surrounding world is blurry.

Zephyr sits next to me and motions to grab me, to pull me class and tuck me into his arms. As much as I want that I can’t have it right now.

“Don’t touch me,” I blurt. The words stop him, mid-reach. “I just can’t have you touching me right now.” His arms still outstretched, he looks to me, fear covering his face—his beautiful features twisted worriedly. “I just can’t be touched by you. Not right now. Okay?” With every word, I’m pleading—begging for him to understand.

He drops his arms audibly. With certainty, he replies, “Okay.” Zephyr doesn’t understand. How can he? But he accepts it, he listens to me, and I appreciate him for that. I love him more for that.

Now, new memories surge through my mind, waving and weaving new webs to entangle me, snap me in their traps, and tuck me under the dark mass that consumes me. I can see it all—every horrifying thing… and I force it from my mind in a blink, pretending to be fine. Perfectly fine. I shove the memory in a box and place it in the back of a closet, the things they teach you in school psychology.

Zephyr’s lucky to have the life he has, to have the memories he has. No one’s betrayed him, no one’s ruined his trust or completely shattered it. I’m not lucky like him.

But you’re still lucky, Joey
, that little voice in the back of my mind tells me. I shake it away.

I crawl to my bed and pull back the blankets, crawling beneath them and covering myself. I just want to be alone. I just want to think and breathe and be alone to understand everything swelling in my mind.

The air around me moves and I know Zephyr’s closer. Weight presses against the mattress and I know he’s there, he wants to touch me, caress me, support me, he wants to be with me when he knows I need him the most.

“You should head home, Zephyr,” I tell him, feeling the tears beginning to well behind my closed lids, fighting for freedom. “I’m not much in the mood for company at the moment.”

The weight shifts closer. I can only imagine him edging closer, wishing to touch me, even for a moment, wishing to comfort me, but knowing he can’t.

“I’m not going anywhere, Joey.” He sounds so strong and firm, he sounds brave and willing to fight my demons. If only it was that easy. “I’m not letting you shut me out. Not again.” His words force the tears from my eyes. They roll and pool on the soft fabric of my pillow. “I can feel it when you’re going deeper within that pit, Joey. You might not think I know you but I do. I’ve been around for everything. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” The weight shifts again, this time lifting. “I promise not to touch you, but I’m staying.”

Silence fills the room.

“Okay,” I say, fighting the sobs. I hope he can’t hear me crying—but I know he can.

The springs in my recliner squeak as he sits down, probably with a blanket from my closet. Soon, everything is quiet and I’m letting sleep pull me under, welcoming the eerie warmth it possesses.

It’s a dreamless sleep, surprisingly. Maybe I have nothing left to discover. The last thing I need is to see my father trying to kill me. I lived it once, I remember now—thanks to last night.

Shaking on my shoulder wakes me. I roll to face a pair of green eyes.

“Morning,” Hilary says as she presses the back of her hand on my forehead. “Are you sick?”

I shake my head in reply.

“Have you moved at all?” she doesn’t mention the pile of letters scattered around my floor. It’s for the best she doesn’t—I don’t want to talk about them anyway. I’ll have to tell her I remember, I’ll have to tell her I see everything so much clearer now, despite how much I wish I didn’t.

But I don’t.

I just let her tuck the blankets further around me, tucking them beneath my arms, and ask about Zephyr.

“His parents know he’s sleeping in your chair, right?” she points toward the snoring mass leaning back in the recliner.

I shrug through the blankets.

Hilary giggles. Looking to him. She takes the comforter from the top of my closet; the thick one I rarely use—covered with pink and yellow flowers—and tucks it around him, covering the thin blanket he grabbed. He doesn’t stir. I smile as she leaves my room, staring at my boyfriend as he snoozes less than five feet away from me. He stayed for me. Because I needed him and didn’t know it, he stayed.

When I woke up, I packed up all the letters, shoved them back into the bin and took it to the garage. I didn’t need it in my room anymore. I also couldn’t bring myself to burn or destroy any of the contents. So it’s sitting beneath an old box holding this large stereo that we haven’t tossed yet. I know that stereo is going to stay in the garage, guarding that bin until we decide to clean the place out or the house burns down—whichever comes first. Either way, I’m in no hurry to rid myself of his words and lies. In a strange way, it helps me, it grounds me, and I understand things differently than before.

Zephyr and Milo weren’t lying when they said they were willing to try being friends for me. We all started hanging out together—they even started hanging out together. One would change plans with me for the other, and I didn’t mind, I was happy they were getting along.

“So, dinner. My place. Saturday night.” Milo crashes into his seat, Zephyr sitting on the desk in front of me, one eyebrow raised.

It’s as if they’re planning something.

Do I want to go to this?

“What’s the occasion?” I ask, setting up my notes. I decide on using an orange pen today.

“My Mom saw my phone,” Milo answers. “She knows I have friends—plural—and wants to meet them.”

I shrug a shoulder. “Will Alexia be there?” Along with Milo, we got Alexia—which wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. We’ve been hanging out a some, also. Sometimes I’d call Harley, Kennie, and Ksenia over—and then I’d call Alexia. It was awkward at first but a friendship bloomed. Now, Harley doesn’t want to kill her as much as before. Good thing, I’m not sure I know what to do with a dead body.

I never thought I’d see the day where Alexia Cavanaugh was my
friend
.

“She’s out of town, some cheer thing,” Milo answers. “So it’ll just be you and Zephyr.”

Me and Zephyr
—there’s a sentence I love saying. Not just that one,
Zephyr and I
is another good one too.

I look to my boyfriend, grinning wide and happily. “Consider me there, Milo,” I say.





Walking through the door, Zephyr’s hand clasped within mine, Mel rushes into me, wrapping her skinny arms around my waist. I don’t tense as I used to, Zephyr’s helped me calm my anxiety. Now, I release my boyfriend’s hand and wrap my arms around Mel, returning the hug. “Hello to you, too,” I say as her grip tightens, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Do you know what it’s like just talking to Milo?” she murmurs, pulling away. She tips her face up, hazel eyes staring at me. “He’s annoying.”

“
I heard that!
” Milo yells from another room—I think the kitchen.

Mel turns her head. “You were
meant
to,” she yells back.

Laughing, I peel my jacket from my arms, draping it over the arm of the nearest chair. The house smells delicious and my mouth waters when I wonder what’s for dinner. Whatever it is, I am ready for it.

Milo walks into the room, cleaning his hands on a white towel, smiling when he sees us in his living room.

“Hey, man,” Zephyr says, walking to the couch to take a seat, tugging me in the open spot next to his but Mel tugs me, pulling me toward her side.

Mrs. Simms, their mother, walks into the room, smiling. “Hi,” she says. “It’s good to see you again, Joey. Zephyr.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I reply.

She sits in the seat across from the couch, folding a towel in her lap. “How’ve y’all been, it’s been awhile since you’ve been to the house.”

And it had. Milo had been spending the past few weeks either at my house or at Zephyr’s. We’d been studying, trying to catch him up on schoolwork—and we’re almost there.

Mrs. Simms waves her hand through the air. “Don’t pay me no mind, the point is you’re here now.” She grins, looking like Mel and Milo. “So tell me about yourself, Joey?” she says curiously.

“Okay, Mrs. Simms—”

“Please,” she interrupts. “Call me Candace. Mrs. Simms is my mother-in-law.”

“Sorry.” I blush, looking to the carpet as everyone in the room giggles at my mistake.

“It’s okay, honey,” she tells me, smiling. “I want to know your life story.” I lean back, shocked. That might have to wait, Candace. You won’t like it and I doubt you want to hear when I have to say.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” I say with a shrug. No parent wants to hear about their child’s closest friend’s near death experience. While every mother at the bake sale gossips about me, this one doesn’t and that’s a lovely change of pace. Let’s face it, she doesn’t know—I’d like to keep it like that.

“Doubtful, honey. Milo tells me that you’re from Texas”—damn it, Milo—“Were your parents from there? And where?”

“Uh, Dallas, and I believe so, I don’t really know much.”

“Well, how can you not know? Don’t y’all talk in your house?”

“Mom,” Milo says from where he sits. “Stop.”

“I just want to know about your new friend, Milo, baby, let me ask questions.”

“She doesn’t want to answer your questions.”

This is about to get then kinds of awkward.

“No, I don’t mind, Milo.” I say. I take a deep breath to prepare myself. “Uh, my mom died when I was seven. My father went—
well, he, uh… he killed her. And my brother and sister. He tried to kill me, but I guess that didn’t work. So…”

“Oh my God,” Candace covers her mouth politely with her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry, I was just being nosy.” She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug.

“It’s all right, Mrs.—I mean, Candace,” I tell her. “It was a long time ago and my aunt moved me away from where it happened, so I’m trying to move on.” That’s a stretch—I’m just trying to live my life as best I can.

“This happened—this happened back in Texas?” she asks, a curious look covering her features..

“
Mom
,” Milo warns.

“Yeah, in 2004,” I answer.

Candace narrows her eyes. “Who was your mother, maybe I knew her.”

“Keisha Lucas.”

Her eyes widen and she backs away from me. She looks scared. “Never heard of her,” she clips out, slapping her hands against her thighs before she bounces up from her seat, saying, “I think it’s about time I check on supper, wouldn’t y’all say?” She leaves the room.

“That was weird,” Mel says, following her mother. “I’ll be right back.”

“That
was
weird,” Milo whispers, agreeing with his departing sister.

“It was,” Zephyr agrees.

“Surprisingly, not the weirdest thing I’ve been a part of,” I add.

“You’re exempt from weirdness, Jo,” Zephyr tells me.

He’s right. Everything is already weird around me.

“You two look alike,” Zephyr whispers once Mel’s left the room. “A lot alike, it’s scary.”

“We do not,” I whisper back. “She looks like Milo.”

Zephyr narrows his eyes. “You look like Milo. When you smile, you two also look alike.”

Now that you mention it.

I blurt out a laugh. “I’m done talking to you now.”

“Just look at that picture, Jo.” He points to a photo on the mantle of Mel and Milo. She’s latched around his neck, holding on. Her hazel eyes are shut while her brother stares at her. I stand and walk closer to the picture, to all the pictures lining the mantle. Zephyr’s right, Mel looks like me. Milo, although slightly, looks like me. But these are only slight similarities.

“God, I hate that picture,” Milo says as he walks in, taking the picture from my hands, he laughs at it. “Of course, Mom had to frame it and put it up here. But Mel looks so happy.”

“Where’s your dad?” I blurt without thinking. It’s something I’ve wondered, just never asked. He mentions him—but barely.

Milo turns to me. Zephyr walks up. “What?” Milo asks.

“I’ve met your mother; I’ve heard you talk about him but only
about
him. Where is he?”

“He’s back in Texas. Why?”

I don’t know where I’m going with this but I have a feeling. “Do you have a picture of him?”

“Yeah.” He grabs another picture from the mantle, one hidden behind another. “My parents haven’t divorced if that’s what you’re asking. His job is in Texas, that’s why we’re going back when my Mom’s done up here.” He hands me the picture of his father.

Hazel eyes stare back at me from the frame in my hands, hazel eyes and a gap-toothed grin. Glasses cover those eyes. The man’s hair is curling in front of his forehead.

It’s all so…

“Jo, hey.” Zephyr wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You look worried.”

“Milo, tell me about him,” I beg.

“Well, his name is Owen and he was this big football star. He was always upset that I didn’t follow suit I’ve never done well with contact sports. And the man could sing, he could sing better than anyone I’ve ever heard. He’ll be up to see me graduate but he’s taking care of my grandparents down in Austin.” He smiles. “Why do you want to know about this?”

“Are you okay?” Zephyr asks.

“I don’t think so.”

Freckles dot the man’s nose. And I can’t start staring at those hazel eyes. Because they look exactly like mine.

But that can’t be true. My father, he’s in jail. My father is a murderer. I am the daughter of a murderer. Right? I have to be. Because if I’m not, if everything they’ve been telling me for the past ten years, is wrong then I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.

I turn, barging into the kitchen, holding the picture at my side. “You knew my mother,” I say to Candace as she stirs something in a large pot. “You knew her. When I mentioned her name, you got this look on your face as if you knew her. You
knew
her.”

“Joey, honey—”

“Please, you know something. You have to. Because everyone knows something and they don’t tell me.” I hold out the picture. “This is your husband. Why do I look like him?”

“What are you talking about?” Mel asks from where she sits on the counter. I didn’t notice her when I walked in.

“I’m not saying that he cheated. Or maybe I am, I just need answers. I’ve lived the past ten years believing I’m destined for nothing but horror. I just need to know. Please, tell me I’m crazy, tell me I’m wrong. I just
need
to know the truth.”

“This is crazy, Joey, there’s no way my dad is your dad?” Milo says.

“It’s true,” Candace says.

“What?” Milo and Mel shout.

“What do you want me to say, kids?” Candace drops her arms, leaving the dinner preparation unattended. “Mistakes were made early on in our marriage, one of the biggest made by your father. I love him, I will always love him, and I loved your mother, Joey. She was my best friend.”

I shake my head, not understanding what I’m hearing. “What happened?” I ask quietly.

“Your mother, Keisha, she came to us for help. And help her, we would.” She takes a deep breath. “But she and Owen, they became very close during this time.”

“Daddy didn’t do it,” Mel shouts, defending her father. “You’re wrong. You have to be.”

Candace looks to her daughter. “But he did, honey.” Her sad eyes cast to the floor. “Joey, I met your mother in high school, I met her through Owen. They were neighbors—or what you can call neighbors there. We became very close and she was like my sister. But she started dating Benjamin.”

My father? But not my father?

A hand clasps mine, squeezing tightly, letting me know he’s here for me.

Not my father, not my father…

“Benjamin—he wasn’t the greatest guy, not even in the beginning, but your mother was drawn to him. She was so infatuated. I never understood it.” Candace takes a deep breath. “When they got married immediately out of high school, we all thought she’d gone crazy. But she loved him—with everything she had, she loved that man.” She looks to me. “The fighting started immediately, followed by the abuse. Your mother would come to my house covered in bruises. We’d talk about her leaving him but she knew that would never be enough. She knew she had to disappear. Running was her only option. We planned it perfectly. But then she said she was pregnant and it all got harder.”

Ivy.

“One baby became two and she said they were working on their issues. We wanted to believe her. We did, we believed her and continued with our lives. I married Owen, we had Milo, and things seemed to be going well.” I can hear the
but
before she says it. “But then she knocked on the door, one eye swollen shut, unable to move her arm, and we had to get her out of there. So Keisha stayed in our guest room with Ivy and Noah. It was nice knowing she was safe.

“I started working more hours, taking on more shifts, as did Owen, because we needed to get Keisha out of the country. We knew that was the only to protect her and the kids. We knew we could send her to Owen’s parents in Winnipeg until she could figure out where to go from there.”

“Where I was born,” I say to myself.