Finding Hope (19 page)

W
hen
I woke up, I didn't know where I was or what time it was. I rolled over and almost fell onto the ground, the gravel path inches from my face. Storm was sleeping in the grass beside me. She raised her head, cocking it, one floppy ear pricked.

Fuck
. I sat with my head in my hands, trying to piece the last hours together. I'd fallen asleep with the sun rising, and now it was setting. At the end of the bench, a brown lunch bag. G
OD BLESS
written in block letters. I picked it up. Inside, a sandwich wrapped in plastic, tightly so the bread bulged, a juice box, an apple, and a granola bar.

I ripped into the plastic, tearing it so the sandwich popped out, as if grateful for release.

Stuffing it into my mouth, I looked around. Fake lake, cookie-cutter houses covered in stucco, spindly trees. With a jolt, I remembered where I was.

Coach Williams. My bag of supplies. I jumped up, looking for it. There, under the bench. It was safe. I let out a relieved sigh.

I'd come all this way.

I'm not a fag, you know. What we do here, it doesn't make us homos. Here, let me show you how good it feels. You've never done this before, have you?

The sandwich rose in my throat. Undigested chunks made me gag.

I sat on the bench, my mind reeling, bouncing like a pinball. I couldn't let him get away with what he'd done to me.

But—sober—the plan was scary, crazy even.

He'd pushed me to this.
You get what you deserve.
I looked down at my dirty jeans, ripped and baggy, my shirt—washed once in weeks—rank with stink and sweat, and wondered if this was what I deserved.

I caught myself picking at the scab on my arm. Blood seeped out from under the crust of brown. It was never going to heal.

Just like me.

Storm nosed my leg and sat, waiting for a handout. Quietly quivering with anticipation.

I ripped off half the sandwich and gave it to her. Her sharp, white baby teeth dug into it. I kept my fingers close to her mouth on purpose. One of her teeth pierced my skin. I wanted the hurt to flow through me. I wanted to feel something different from hunger, exhaustion, and ache. But the sting was too small and stopped at my knuckle, like a paper cut. Nothing to leave a mark.

I bent down and rubbed her neck as she ate, gobbling it up. A piece of meat hung from the side of her mouth. I'd dragged her all over the city and now here: 314 Blossom Bay.

I slid down beside her, and she climbed onto my lap and licked my chin. I never should have brought her with me. A new feeling came on like a wave, rolling through me. Sadness. I clutched her to me, feeling her soft puppy fur, the silky underside of her ear, her rough, wet nose. I could hug her close, squish her against me, and feel her heart beating fast. She looked at me, so innocent, happy to follow. Too stupid to know not to.

The lake was in front of me, at the end of the paved path. I could take her down, hold her under, and wait until she stopped struggling. It was what the asshole who'd left her on the side of the road should have done in the first place. A kinder end than letting her starve in a box.

If I wasn't around to look after her, how long would she survive? She could get hit by a car or get picked up by the pound. Maybe it was kinder to end things for her now.

I held her against me, resting my head on her delicate skull. I unclipped the leash from her collar. It would be over quickly. I'd wade out and hold her under, let her body float out into the lake.

But then she squirmed in my arms and looked at me. Her eyes deep brown, like maple syrup.

Voices rang out across the lake. Kids playing, their heads bouncing above the fence on a trampoline. Flying. Weightless for a nanosecond. I had forgotten what that felt like. I stood up, holding Storm close, the warmth of her protecting me from the searing pain in my chest.
 

Devilish thoughts

Turn black

Decay

Charred remains

Of what was loved

Now lie dead.

I
'd
avoided his stupid list. Leaving it in my desk drawer so I wouldn't have to look at it, but too mad to throw it away. Why did I think I could count on him? All he did was let me down. I should call Mom, let her call the cops or come to the city. It would serve him right.

But all those thoughts got mixed up with the shame I felt about the pictures; how eager I was to believe “Devon” loved me. A blurry mess. I couldn't keep straight who I hated more: Lizzie and the Ravens for their cruelty, Eric for his addiction, or myself for falling victim to their tricks.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. Like a hunted animal, my eyes wide and anxious, shoulders hunched to my ears. After a few minutes, I took a deep breath.

Hiking up my skirt, I grabbed a marker. The skin on my inner thigh was pale. Innocent.

With a black heart

Hiding

One prick to pierce

Your lies.

You sizzle in your own flame.

I put the cap back on the marker and stared at what I'd written. Shockingly dark, it would be a reminder. And a promise.

Some chickadees, small and round, flitted from branch to branch in the tree at my window, chirping in a high-pitched singsong. The blackbird hadn't been by in days. Maybe the little birds had kicked him out.

I took Eric's list out of my drawer and stared at it. Folded so many times, the creases were furry. His printing, in dull pencil, was loopy and unformed. Kind of like Eric.

*MATCHES*
(Leo has TIN in kitchen—take some!!!!)

Rags, dishtowels, sheets???? Ask Hope!

Gasoline (take old container from behind house and fill up at
gas
station
. Save MONEY. Make sure I have enough!!!!)

Bottles. EASY to get! Look in garbage,
recycling
bins! Get 5!!! Or more!

MAP—how to get there? How to get there? How to get there?
314 Blossom Bay!!!!

Has to be nighttime when he's sleeping! Must be HOME! Otherwise, no point.

I stared at his words. His hockey coach's address? None of it made sense. Matches and gasoline? What was he going to do, burn down a house? And what did it have to do with Coach Williams?

What was going on in his twisted, junkie brain? I turned the paper over. On the back,
You get what you deserve
, written over and over, like a mantra.

He'd put it on me, again. I had to sort out what he was going to do and save him from himself.

It was almost six o'clock. The sun was setting, burning the sky orange and red. He'd abandoned me yesterday, when I had been counting on him. Was it because he was high somewhere, too blitzed on meth to remember his promise?

I hate you, Eric.
A surge of anger rushed through me. He deserved to be locked up. His plan didn't make sense to me. Gasoline, bottles, Coach Williams: the ravings of a crazy person. But the fear of what he'd do, to himself, to someone else, was always in the back of my mind. What if he hurt an innocent person? I looked at the paper again. At the intensity of the words, written in capitals and underlined. Whatever his plan was, to his meth-addled mind, it made sense.

He'd need money to buy gasoline, I reasoned. And he hadn't asked for any. I thought back to the other night, plucking at strands of our conversation. Why hadn't he asked for any?

He'd been jumping around, frenetic, in a T-shirt, while I'd been shivering in the October air. His jacket. The one I'd left for him in Lumsville had been sold, pawned, probably, for half its value. Months of babysitting money wasted on a gift that wasn't as special as a few hits of meth. Or a misguided revenge plot.

My head throbbed, the ache starting at the base of my spine with the realization that I should have called Mom weeks ago, when Eric first showed up. I'd thought I could do it on my own, that some sibling magnetism would pull him to me. But I'd failed.

I stared at his coach's address. I'd given it to Eric, planted the seed in his head. Had the meth helped it bloom? Vines of ideas taking over his brain, strangling reason with their tendrils? His writing might be nothing, just the lunatic scribblings of a meth-head.

Or not. They could be real.

A hot rush of panic filled me and I picked up my phone. I couldn't fix Eric. But I couldn't let him hurt anyone else, either.

Please be home
,
I whispered. And then another thought:
Please don't let it be too late.

T
he
glass bottles clinked in the bag, heavy with gasoline. Vapours rose around me, giving me a headache. No back lanes in this neighborhood, so I huddled in the shadows between houses.

I had to do this. I had to send a message that he couldn't get away with what he'd done to me. No deed goes unpunished. You get what you deserve.

Would we be even after this? Would I magically be healed, give up the meth? I knew I wouldn't. I still wanted it. Even now, sitting crouched by a basement window well, I wanted some crystal so bad my body crawled with the need of it.

Would the fire fill me up? Watching it blaze, would it burn inside of me too, scorching me into cinders? I already felt like ash, ready to blow away, dust on the wind. Maybe I should walk into it. Burn with him. Maybe that's where I belonged: with my dad and Coach Williams.

Maybe we were all versions of the same shitty person, just waiting for hell to take us.

I
stared at the poem on my leg. My head buzzed with unshed words. I needed my journal, but it wasn't in my nightstand drawer, or under my pillow, or anywhere else I usually left it. Opening all the drawers of my desk, I floundered around trying to remember when I'd last had it. Had I brought it to study hall? Stuffed it into my binder? How could I have lost it? I went through my pile of textbooks, lifting up each one to see if it had gotten trapped underneath.

A picture of unearthly, peachy skin sat tucked between the books. It was another picture of me, one of the ones I'd sent to Devon. The pendant held up to my lips. My eyes, disgustingly wanting. So much flesh exposed.

Seeing myself like that, the shock of another photo waiting for me, made me stumble backwards. I held the paper in my hand and collapsed onto my bed. How had it gotten there? In study hall? Or had Lizzie been in my room?

Were there other photos? Hidden, lying in wait until I found them? Like a carnival funhouse, the ghouls would pop up. An uninvited reminder of what I'd done.

My journal forgotten, I got up and opened dresser drawers, rifling through my clothes, tossing them to the ground. Where would other pictures be? Under my mattress? In my desk? I tore through everywhere, dumping books off shelves and the contents of desk drawers on the floor.

When I was done, my room looked like a hurricane had come through. My mattress was tipped over; clothes, books, papers strewn across the floor. I'd stripped off my hoodie, too heavy for strenuous work, and my hair hung in a straggly mess around my face. A bottle of painkillers from my toiletries bag rolled on the floor at my feet.

Pills rattled inside when I picked it up, fingering the ridges on the cap. I unscrewed it. With a shaking hand, the pills tumbled into my hand. Nestled in my palm, I counted twenty-two dots of chalky white. Would that be enough?

There was laughter outside the door. Girls in the hallway, the common room; they were everywhere, pressing from all sides, unavoidable.

A strangled scream lodged itself in my throat. What would they do if they found me in here, amidst the chaos I'd created? I glanced at the lock on the door, the button pressed in; all that protected me from the Ravens outside. The empty bottle in one hand, the pills in the other. If I popped them into my mouth, what then? Float away, my head like helium, wispy and free? No more pictures, no more Ravens, no more humiliation. No more being alone. No more hurt. I could escape. Maybe taking these pills was the only way out.

I put all the pills in at once, forcing my dry mouth to swallow them, my throat to contract as I pushed them down. The pills lodged in my esophagus, saliva dissolving them, their molecules slipping into my blood.

I waited. Shut my eyes and thought of Mom. She'd arrive, and then what? Come to my room to get me. See this. My eyes flew open. I staggered back—not from the pills but from the weight of what I'd done.

Rushing to the garbage can, I put my finger down my throat. I gagged, and the pills came up in a mass of bubbly spit.

I crouched on the floor, breathing hard. What was I doing? I couldn't let the Ravens win, not like this. I needed air. Wrenching the window open, I was hit by a blast of October air. It lifted the suffocating weight of the room. I gulped the air in. A bird's squawk startled me. Sitting on the branch beside my window, the blackbird had returned. It opened its beak again and cawed at me. I took a step back and it flew to the sill. Large, with greasy feathers, the crow's yellow eyes stared at me.

Black beak

Quick tap

Flesh supple, like ripe fruit.

Talons dig into my skin,

Gripping and sinking.

Peck viciously, madly

Until my eye is an empty socket.

Eric's plan lay on the desk in front of me. His insistent scrawl a scream. The bird tilted its head at me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I gripped the edge of the desk and took deep breaths. The room spun and I sank down to the floor, holding my head in my hands. What if I didn't go to him? What if I just let things happen? What then?

From outside my door, I heard a squawk—only it wasn't a bird, it was a Raven.

The one on the windowsill answered. Lifted its head and opened its beak with a caw. I wished it would fly inside the room. I glared at it, imagining what I would do if I had it in my hands.

Skull between my fingers,

I mash.

Beak cracks, splinters

A mass of feathers

Falls to the floor.

I press it flat,

Raven dust

Trailing under the door

Like smoke.

It disappears.

I wasn't going to be another victim. I'd left Lumsville to find a place where I fit in, that made sense for me. To escape Eric. Going back meant giving up, resigning myself to the idea that this was all my life would be.

I'd seen what giving up had done to Eric. One taste of meth and he'd let go. Everything that mattered to him had slipped through his fingers: family, hockey, friends. That wasn't going to happen to me.

“Go!” I yelled at the bird. It flew off in a mess of flapping feathers. I slammed the window shut and looked around my room. My computer sat on my desk, beside Eric's plans, and under it, my journal. It had been there all along. I gave a sigh of relief.

I knew what I was going to do. My plan was concrete in my head. Solid.

Two could play at Lizzie's game. She'd used my innocence against me. I'd use hers. She thought a computer brought her anonymity, but it didn't. From the privacy of my dorm room, with my computer open in front of me, I'd make sure I didn't go down without a fight.