Dying to Forget (2 page)

When she finally pauses to take a breath, I push the radio button and on comes the crooning voice of Bruno Mars. Despite the competition to be heard over the music, Bree continues her story, boring me nearly to death. I itch absentmindedly at the bandage under my long sleeved shirt and push hard on the accelerator when the light turns green, lurching us forward. Bree sighs and I know she’s glaring at me but I stare straight ahead, pretending to care about the traffic as we make our way through the irritatingly slow drivers.

“So, are you coming to the party tonight?” She asks in a perky sing-song voice.

“Um, no. Why would I?” I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Bree should know better than to ask me to another party.

“Come on, Piper! It’s Grad-night! Don’t you want to say goodbye to everyone?” She crosses her arms over her chest and blinks at me.

“I thought we already did that…today.”

I don’t look at her. She sighs loudly and eventually turns away to look out the window. I love her dearly but for some reason today she’s getting under my skin. I shift in my seat again and then turn the music up, hoping it’s a distraction for both of us.

Five minutes later we pull up outside the roller-rink. Bree hops out of the car and sashays around to the driver’s side, draping her slender yet perfectly curved figure across my door after I open it. Always the show stopper, she's wearing a short skirt with a new, body forming strapless top. All made of silk, no doubt.

“You know, I’m leaving in a week. I wish you’d come out tonight, just one last time. Please?” She looks at me with her big brown eyes, which usually make me laugh but there is no way. I’m not going to another party.

“Bree, I told you, I can’t.”

She huffs and waits for me to climb out of the car before slamming the door shut. I watch her open her mouth to say something else to me before her eyes dart to the side and her expression changes from frustration to one of pure happiness.

“Preston!” She squeals and rushes past me, into her boyfriend's open arms.

I nod at him and wait at the car for their impromptu make-out session to end. My arm itches again and I attempt to smooth my cotton sleeve over the bump where my cut is, cursing under my breath when I realize my shirt has gotten stuck to the bandage adhesive.

“You’re hot, aren’t you?” Bree asks at my shoulder.

“No, I’m fine.” I smile at her but her frown deepens.

“Why’d you wear that shirt for your graduation? It’s eighty degrees out here!”

“Bree, I’m fine, really.” I laugh and playfully tug at the collar of her shirt. “Are we going in, or what?” I ask as Preston sidles up beside her and wraps his arms around Bree’s tiny waist. I squirm and try not to look uncomfortable.

“You’re going to skate, right?” Preston asks.

“Um…” I hesitate just long enough for Bree to chastise me.

“Piper Willow, you said you would! You have to!”

“Uhg. Fine, let’s go, before I jump back into the car and escape.”

***

As I lean against the carpeted wall with my sandals on the wooden bench in front of me, I watch couple after couple skate around the room, and the few stragglers that weave in and out of the crowd, hoping for a partner. Once we got inside Bree forgot completely about my promise to skate and disappeared with Preston. I saw her twirl around the room a few times and smiled at each of her friendly waves, but I made no move to join them. This wasn’t my scene, not anymore.

"Wanna skate?" A boy from my English class interrupts my daydreaming as he slows to a stop and leans against the low wall that separates the seating area from the skating floor.

I shake my head a bit too fast and mumble, "No, thanks."

I don't bother to feel bad after his face falls and he shrugs before skating off into the mass of happy teenagers. Six months ago I would have jumped at the invitation. But now I almost hate boys. I have developed a 'cold shoulder' since what happened with Ryan. I doubt any guy will ever seem attractive to me again. Not now that I know what they are really capable of.

“Is this seat taken?”

Startled from my thoughts again, I jump at the sound of a familiar voice beside me and take a deep breath to calm myself before looking up into Ryan Burke’s smiling blue eyes.
Bastard.

“Yes.” I practically spit the word out.

“Really, I don’t see anyone around.”

He gestures around me before raising his eyebrow, as if challenging me to argue. I glare at him before looking back into the crowd of skating teenagers, hoping to see Bree. I can't help but cringe as Ryan lowers himself onto the bench next to me and puts his feet up, lounging comfortably at my side, like we're best friends. I ignore him for as long as I can before the silence eats away at me.

“What do you want?” I snap, without looking at him.
Where are you Bree?

“Oh, come on baby, why the hostility?”

He has the decency to look away briefly when I settle my icy gaze on his face. When he meets my eyes, he seems uncertain and for just a second - less threatening. Then he blinks and the old Ryan is back.

He stretches his long legs out before him and leans casually against the wall, looking me up and down. I snort with disgust as I remember how attractive I once thought he was. His hair is too thick, almost wiry, and his nose is crooked. I don't get what I ever saw in him. Now all I see is an ugly monster.

“You find something funny?” He lifts an eyebrow at me.

“Go away,” I say angrily.
Damn Bree…where are you!?
My inner voice is loud and clear,
Get away from him!

I stand up and turn to walk away, but Ryan hooks a finger into one of my back pockets, tugging on my shorts until I lose my balance and fall back into his lap. Waves of panic flood through my body as our skin makes contact and I scream, cutting off his laugh abruptly.

“Piper…
calm down
!” He says as he lifts me on his legs, his arms tightly around my waist.

People are watching now, but I don’t care. I lift my hand and slap Ryan so hard across the face that my palm stings. He stares at me in wide-eyed shock, but surprises me by gripping both my arms and tugging me toward his face.

“I said
NO
!” I scream at him, feeling the now daily and familiar buildup of tears as they threaten to spill out of my eyes. This boy has turned me into a sobbing mess of a girl. And I hate him for it.

“You never said no to me, baby,” he hisses.

His words are like a punch to the gut and I sit still for a moment, looking at him in a sort of stunned silence.

“Piper, are you okay?” Bree is behind us with Preston at her side and a handful of curious onlookers from the skating floor are staring at us.

Ryan releases my arms and I scramble off his lap in a flurry of ungraceful movements. My legs are shaking as I stomp away from him. I don’t look back. I don’t ever want to see Ryan’s ugly face again.

***

The knife feels cool against my hot skin as I drag it up my forearm, watching tiny beads of blood spill out of me. The pain is an instant distraction and I sink deeper into the tub, letting the bubbly water splash over my shoulders and around my throat. When the water line is just below my chin, I pull my arm out to look at the small, clean cut I just made. It’s still bleeding freely and I sigh, knowing I’ll have to bandage it up before Dad gets home from work.

The paisley curtain above the tub shifts slightly as the breeze from outside the open window struggles to get into the house. The cool summer air feels good in contrast to the hot bath. I breathe in the subtle smell of lavender soap as the water cools around my body. I don’t want to get out until my toes and fingers are pruned like raisins.

At first I don't bother to move when my cell starts buzzing in my shorts on the floor beside the tub. I let it go to voicemail as I check out the new cut on my arm again. It's still bleeding. When my phone rings for the second time, I sit up with a sigh and reach down to pull the phone out of the back pocket. It’s Bree.

“Bree, I’m taking a delicious hot bath. This better be good,” I say in a fake chipper voice.

I bristle as I hear Bree sniffing back tears. “Piper, can you come get me?”

“What? What’s wrong, where are you?” I am now standing in the soapy tub, reaching for a towel. Bits and pieces of the last party I went to flash through my memory.

“I’m at the party, remember? Preston’s been drinking and he’s being an ass, and…and, I don’t want to call my parents. Can you come get me?” Bree is pleading with me.

“I’ll be right there. Let me get dressed, okay?” I tuck the phone back into my shorts and slide my clothes on. My hair is still up in the messy bun I made for the bath and the lower half of my hair is wet, making the usual ash-blonde color a sort of chocolate brown.

I wave off my tired and makeup-less reflection in the bathroom mirror and pull my dark sweatshirt over my head, making a mental note to wrap my cut when I get back to the apartment.

I take the streets across town, speeding down the hills and rolling through stop-signs, hoping that Bree is okay. When I pull up in front of the party house, she is sitting near the curb, looking sad and tired, but her face lights up when she sees me.

“Piper! Thanks!” She says as she slides into the front passenger seat.

I lean over to hug her and give her a faint smile. She's wearing a new outfit…a skin-tight black dress with spaghetti straps and a pair of shiny red heels that look like they cost more than my car. Her parents must have updated her wardrobe for the summer.
How nice to be rich.

It was obvious she had been crying since dark streaks of mascara covered her cheeks.

“Jeez, Bree…you look like crap,” I say softly and she laughs.

“Let’s go, before Preston knows I’m gone, please?” She asks and I oblige…pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires. We’ve gone half a block before she talks.

“Are you okay, I mean, after seeing Ryan today?” She asks quietly.

I glance away from the dark road to look at her. Her eyes glint in the pale moonlight and I can see the sparkle of her new diamond earrings. They were a graduation present from her parents.

“I’m fine.” I force my voice to stay steady.

She nods in the darkness and reaches forward to turn on the radio. We listen to Civil Twilight as I push down on the accelerator. Bree is the only one I told about what happened with Ryan. She is the only one who knows why I've changed so much, so quickly. And she knows when I don’t want to talk about it. I love her for that.

“Your place, or mine?” I ask.

“Can you take me home? I told my parents Preston would drop me off later. I don’t want them to worry.” Her voice is tiny as she stares out the window.

“Sure.”

I thump my hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the music and ignore the rising number on the speedometer. I have every street in between Bree’s house and my apartment memorized. I floor the pedal as we head up a hill and let the car barrel down the other side at nearly fifty miles an hour. A sliver of moon is all that shows in the inky sky and it seems even the stars are hiding.

It’s Bree’s scream that abruptly yanks me out of my music reverie but I see the car backing out of the driveway too late and the front end of my Focus slams into the back of the Honda. The last thing I see as my body is pitched forward into the airbag is Bree’s beautiful brown hair billowing out around her before she crashes through the windshield.

It seems like hundreds of people show up for the funeral. But I doubt even half of them actually know who she really was. I feel like I have a scarlet letter sewn onto the front of my shirt. Not everyone knew Bree, but they all know I’m the girl that got her killed. Her mom wouldn't even look at me. Not that I wanted her too.

The breeze has settled around us, which makes the trees at the cemetery look like stocky and still security guards. I stare at them, wondering if they hate me too. Trying not to rub at the small cut above my eyebrow, I squirm in my scratchy black dress, tugging in aggravation at the too-high collar for some relief from the heat. For the first time that I can remember, I resent the warmth of the Southern California sun as it beats down on me from above, burning my nose and scalp where my hair is parted.

Dad ushers me around the somber faced and raven-dressed crowd after the funeral, doing his best to shield me from the angry and sad looks, I guess. It doesn’t matter really because nothing anyone says or does will make me feel any worse than I already do. Lovely Bree. My best friend, the only one who truly knew me, and she’s gone…all because of me.

***

“She’s cutting herself again!” Dad yells into the phone.

I cringe from behind my closed bedroom door, not wanting to hear the conversation he is having with my mother. Honestly, if she cared, she would have come home the first time he called her about my ‘problem’. His voice lowers and now all I can hear is the echo of his garbled tone from the other side of the house.
Whatever.

I flop down onto my bed and burry my head into the pillows. I want to fall asleep and never wake up. I miss Bree, and I have no other friends to talk to about her. I also have no desire to go to college in the fall, though Dad insists on it. The last thing I want is more school. From underneath one of the pillows I rub my hand along my arm, where the newest cut is starting to scab over. I have six scars now. Sometimes I think they are beautiful and other times they just remind me of the pain and that’s when I cut again. I can’t help it.

The therapist urges me to write when I feel like cutting myself, 'Journal' as she calls it. What a joke. Dad insisted I go after Bree died and we've spent weeks talking about nothing, and then what happened with Ryan just sort of slipped out. She has me almost convinced that not all boys are the same and encourages me to try dating when I'm ready. Dating. Yeah, right. Even if I wanted to go on a date, there's no one I like, no one I
trust
.