Every Shattered Thing (Come Alive) (5 page)

Emma rolls her eyes and calls out at my retreating figure. “It’s not you seeing these things that bother me, Stephanie. It’s running into them time and time again without changing your scenery.

According to Einstein, that’s the sign of insanity.”

I laugh and shake my head, letting her know I hear every word she said. Bracing myself against the cold, I steel myself for whatever I find when I walk through the front door of my own home.

She doesn’t let me get past her driveway. Running outside with Benjamin already bundled in a blanket, she jangles her keys and motions for me to get in her Jeep.

“I’m driving, Steph. I don’t care what you do at night or how many times you’ve walked these streets. You’re not walking them with me knowing you’re out there when I could have taken you home.”

She smiles and places her son in his car seat, careful not to wake him. The air is getting colder. I can feel the dampness of the night sky descending on the neighborhood. I twitch from a sudden chill and wrap my jacket closer against my chest. Climbing into the passenger side, I put on my seatbelt and rub my legs for warmth. Emma opens her door and starts the ignition, heat blasting immediately from the vents.

I’m an independent person. I have to be. There aren’t very many people I can truly count on, even though that number is slowly increasing. Every once in awhile, though, it’s a great feeling to let myself be cared for and know someone is concerned. Watching Emma drive, I’m suddenly glad she decided to take me home.

Chapter Four

My brother is waiting for me when I walk in the door.

“Sissy, where have you been?!” he whispers as I pick him to give him a hug. He pulls my ear towards his mouth and says, “Dad is mad again. This time at mom. She can’t be friends with Tyler anymore. Dad went to the store and told mom Tyler better be gone when he gets back. Mom is in the kitchen crying.” Pacey looks around and rubs his eyes and reaches around my neck. Playing with my hair, he sighs and shakes his head, “Tyler’s still here...he scary. Made mom cry.”

My heart sinks. I close my eyes and ache for my brother. By the way he’s clinging to my arms, he’s just seen dad hit some
thing
or some
one
since he got home from work. I glance wearily around the living room and head towards my room when I hear her yelling.

“Tyler!
I. Can’t. Leave.
Don’t you get it?! I can’t leave him. He’d find us. He’d find you. I’m stuck here.”

“Like hell you are.” a deep voice answers back and I hear footsteps rushing down the hallway toward the living room. They’re heavy—I envision work boots stained with mud and grime leaving marks on mom’s precious carpet. I hear the ragged breath of someone behind us and I grow cold.

Shielding Pacey from whatever is coming, I turn around and gasp. Looking at Tyler’s bloodshot eyes, I’m filled with intense fear. And he has a gun. He’s waving it around and his eyes are twitching and nothing is right.
He
isn’t right.

I’m frozen to the floor. Pacey begins shrieking in my ear for momma and despite my attempts to protect him, I am no match to his young body writhing free from my grip. He sees Tyler. He sees the gun.

His eyes go wild and he screams.

“MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA! Where are you?! MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA! Why’d

you make her cry?! MOMMMMAAAAA!!!!!”

Like a broken record, Pacey’s repeated shouts grate against my soul.
This just isn’t right. This just
isn’t right and there’s nothing I can do about it
. Tyler is waving the gun around like a madman and I’m stuck between him and what he wants and Pacey is shouting and my world is spinning and this just isn’t right and my thoughts fly out of my reach but I don’t know what to do and where is my mom?
Where is
my mom
?

I snap into detachment and realize what’s going on - Pacey’s death grip on my neck makes me focus long enough to understand what I need to do. I slowly gather my thoughts and pull out my cell phone to call 911. I stare at Tyler’s eyes - punch drunk with heroine and whiskey, and pray the operator answers before someone is shot.

I can’t even hear the telephone ringing over Tyler hollering.

“Where’s your father?!” he cries, “I’m going to shoot that bastard. Don’t believe me? Just wait.

I’m through with him. Try and tell me I can’t see my woman anymore! Try and make me!” His hands are shaking and his eyes are wild.

I snort.
Your woman?
I think.
Pretty sure “your woman” is already married.

Shrugging my shoulders, I push down the words I want to say and plead with my eyes for him to shut up. He’s not coherent. He sounds more like a huge infant spitting out noise to get attention. The operator finally connects and I breathe easier, walking into a nearby hallway and hoping he doesn’t follow. There’s human contact on the other end of the line. In short, staccato phrases I request help with a disturbance, looking around the corner of the wall and watching Tyler’s unsteady hand struggle to keep the gun upright.

The operator seems to notice my voice cracking under the weight of the situation and pauses.

“Ma’am, has there been any violence?”

“I-I-I don’t know.” I see my mom peek around the corner from the kitchen. I glare at her and she retreats.
Why is she such a fucking pansy?!
I think to myself.
You’re my mother. Start acting like it.

“
No. No violence. Not yet. But there could be if someone doesn’t show up now.” I close my eyes and count to ten, hoping this is all a bad dream and I am about to wake up on Emma’s couch with Benjamin slobbering on my shoulder.

My bubble of hope is shattered by the voice on the other line asking if any weapons are involved.

Peeking around the corner again, I stare at the shiny object shaking with Tyler’s nervous fear and rage. Pacey is still screaming and fighting to get loose from my grip. I try and reposition him so I’m holding him against my hip but it only makes things worse with his struggle. I can’t let him down, though.

I can’t let him loose with Tyler. I can feel my sanity crashing around me.

“Yes,” I say. “Please hurry.”

I hang up the phone and begin pacing with my hand on my brother’s head, whispering soothing words and trying not to collapse and glancing at Tyler who is continuing to wave the gun around in a drunken rage. Every once in awhile, we lock eyes and he jolts awake for a split second, almost as if he’s forgotten I was there.

I take Pacey to my closet. Closing the door against Tyler’s screams, Pacey begins to slow his shaking.

I stand there, waiting. Arms around Pacey, eyes closed, waiting for the nightmare to be over.

***

The police arrive at the scene shortly after Pacey’s screams wake up the neighbors. Which of course makes everything perfect—one of my favorite things to provide is free entertainment for the neighborhood. Despite the crowd gathering, I turn my attention to my brother, struggling to stay awake even though he’s standing up and leaning against my knee. I glance at my phone to see what time it is and see that it’s already almost midnight. I rub my hand through his hair, reminding myself to wash it later.

“Hey bub. Why don’t you go inside and try to get some sleep? You look really tired and it’s already pretty late.”

He sniffles, ready to burst into tears again, so I pick him up and kiss his cheek. Knowing this is going to take more than just a hug, I search for something he’s familiar with; something we can both hold on to for strength.

“Who’s your partner?” I whisper in his ear.

“...
you
are,” he says, squeezing my neck.

I let the tears fall and squeeze back. “That’s right. I am. And I always will be. I will always be here, you know that, right?”

He nods his face hidden in my neck, his spiky hair brushing against my cheek.

“If it’ll make you feel better, you can go crash in my bed.”

He leans back in my arms and begins to smile—even if it’s just a little smirk, it’s a welcome change from the terror he showed earlier. He plays with stray hairs hanging from my ponytail and whispers, “Can I sleep with you tonight?” He glances toward Tyler being handcuffed in the driveway and mom crying on the porch. His eyes make their way back to mine and he says, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

I squeeze him tighter and put my forehead on his. “I know, Pace. I know.” I kiss his cheek and set him down. “I’ll be in there in a bit.” He smiles, rubs his eyes and turns toward the house.

I can hear my dad’s truck rumbling down the street, the exhaust popping every few seconds. He doesn’t even wait for the ignition to turn off before jumping out of his truck and let the police know just how he feels about Tyler being on his property. I watch him, a head above the crowd, waving his arms around in anger.

“Get this asshat off my property! What the hell are you just standing there for?!” He finds Tyler’s gaze and points his finger in his direction, “I ever see you here again your ass will be six feet under, do you get it?”

I stand there, arms akimbo, as the police just listen and quietly gaze at each other to avoid my dad’s gaze. For once, he didn’t cause the disturbance, but the police are all too familiar with my house and Sam Tiller’s lack of control. His empty threats mean nothing to them, they never have, which is why I’m still here—stuck. I watch the show for a little while longer before I turn away weary of those who have done nothing to protect me and everything to cause me pain.

I make my way over to my mom still sitting on the porch steps. I sit next to her and lay my head on her shoulder, bony from starving herself in order to please my father. She’s heaving with hiccuped sobs and her head hangs almost below her shoulders in defeat. She looks so pitiful. If I didn’t know what she did to get here, I would almost feel sorry for her.

“You know, mom, everything’s going to be okay.” I ignore her sharp intake of breath and keep talking, “I know you don’t want to hear that right now, and I guess you didn’t really sign up for life coaching with your teenage daughter, but everything will work itself out. It always does.”

I place my hand on her knee and she glances down, tears falling of their own free will. She wipes at them and looks at me, her eyes desperate for some type of hope.

“Right before your dad left he gave me a choice: either move out or quit seeing Tyler. He didn’t even let me spend the night last night. I slept in a sleeping bag on the back porch like I was a dog or somethin’.” I look at her out of the corner of my eye, realizing I didn’t want to have this conversation with my own mother. She doesn’t notice the way I shift uncomfortably and continues, “I called Tyler to let him know what your dad did last night and what he said this afternoon. He freaked out. He just went crazy and promised to take care of it.” Her voice falls to where I can barely hear it, “I had no idea this is what he had in mind. It’s all gone to shit now. Just...all a big pile of wasted shit.” She drops her head into her shaking hands. I realize they’re shaking from withdrawal as much as from fatigue and worry of the past few hours.

I’m reaching out to grab her hand and she jerks it away, waving it around as she continues: “I just don’t know what’s scarier, living without Tyler or dealing with your father. My life is a mess,” she whispers, “and it all started with you. You were the mistake. We never meant to have kids and then we got pregnant with you.” Her eyes grow cold and she stands up to walk inside.

I close my eyes and silently wish this night would just end. The conversation with my mom doesn’t surprise me but something cold weaves itself through my veins. I have a sudden desire to escape to my haven, the corner of my closet already decorated with pillows and blankets and well-worn books. I spend many nights in this space, aching to get away from arguments or fists. It works well. The tiny room serves as a barrier between my sanity and the chaos around me, deadening the noise and helping me breathe. My own paradise in the middle of hell.

The gravity of tonight slowly starts to hit me. Tyler came over to shoot my dad. The scream came from my mom when she saw Tyler pull the gun out of his jeans and knew his plan. She wanted away from my father and our family, but not that bad. To be honest? I kinda wished my dad showed up hours ago while Tyler was still drunk and bent on taking what belonged to him for twenty years. As far as I was concerned, nobody deserved
that
more than my father. I tracked the gun as the police officers fingerprinted the weapon. What a different world I would be living in now had my father shown up only thirty minutes sooner....

Unable to entertain those thoughts, I leave the chaos of the front lawn and walk back to my room.

Pacey made himself a cocoon inside my comforter and fell asleep. I pick him up to carry him into his bed.

He jerks in protest and grabs my arms, holding them as tightly as he can.

“No, Sissy...,” he barely whispers. “No. Let me sleep with you...please.”

His voice fades as he falls back to sleep and I let him sink back into his protective shell of comforters and sheets and Ninja Turtle pillows he snuck in from his room. He can stay. I sigh and pull out my journal. I keep one ear tuned to the conversation right outside my window and the other plugged into the latest Swell Season album. I need comfort and I can always count on Glenn Hansard to provide a soothing melody late at night while writing. I sometimes gaze wearily at my door waiting as memories of the night before leave. My muse slowly creeps in to my thoughts. I pull my hair back into a pony tail and settle in for the night. It’s going to be a long one and I haven’t started my homework yet. But for now, I look at the empty page and feel the words come to life in my heart. Setting the pen to paper, I etch my feelings with ink, spilling out my insides in order to keep the chaos outside at bay. I feel my eyes start to close despite my best efforts and I place my pen inside the binding of my journal while I rest for just a second. But of course, writing is forgotten and homework is the least of my worries as I fall asleep, exhaustion finally overtaking me and allowing me a brief moment of reprieve.