Lifers (17 page)

“But…”

“It’s what I am. I nearly killed a man—in prison. I wanted to.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“Tell me,” she said, a determined expression on her face.

I turned my head to look at her.

“You mean the town gossips haven’t told you that story either?”

“No, but even if they had, I’d want to hear your version.”

I sighed and looked down.

“Well, what they say is mostly true anyway. I got into a fight—a guy got stabbed. I got the blame. The truth is, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” I looked at her sideways, watching her expressions as they flowed across her face. “They charged me with attempted murder. I mean, hell, the shank—the knife—it wasn’t even mine. It should have been pled down to aggravated assault, or assault with a deadly weapon at most, but … I don’t know … I mean, I’m not sure how it ended up being on me. Anyway, I got seven years.” I smirked, and Torrey’s lips turned down. “I got nine months off for good behavior … and overcrowding. Now, I’m serving the last six months on parole…”

My voice trailed off.

“What started the fight?”

I shrugged.

“Happened all the time. It’s hard not to get dragged into stuff, you know, stay neutral. There were two major gangs running juvie: the ABTs, the Aryan Brotherhood; and EPT, the El Paso Tangos. Being white, I was supposed to join the ABTs,” I continued, “but I just wanted to be left alone. But wantin’ and gettin’—those are different things. Two of them got me alone. I got this,” I raised my t-shirt and pointed to the white scar at the base of my ribs, “and I turned the knife on one of the gang members—nearly killed the bastard.”

I looked directly at her.

“I wanted to kill him. I would have if they hadn’t pulled me off of him.”

For the first time since I’d met her, she looked scared—scared of me. A sharp, stabbing pain threatened to split my chest open. She was scared of me. But maybe that was a good thing even though it killed me. She needed to know about the darkness inside.

I held her gaze as I carried on, my words and memories relentless.

“I’d gotten me a punctured lung, but I was almost 18 by then—my juvie record would have been sealed.” I gave a humorless laugh, “I wasn’t deemed fit to be let back among decent folk. They moved me straight from juvie to prison. But the gangs weren’t so bad there. It was almost a relief.”

I looked across at her again, but she was staring toward the city lights reflecting off the water in the distance.

“I guess you know the rest,” I said.

I was trying to read her thoughts from her face, but I couldn’t see her eyes, so I wasn’t sure what she was thinking or feeling.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said, quietly.

She didn’t look scared anymore and I didn’t know how to feel about that. Instead, I wanted to beg her not to leave me. I was afraid of what she’d say when she’d had time to think it all through. But Christ, I was so relieved that she was still here with me now.

I just wondered how long it would be for.

We didn’t talk much after that, and Torrey was quiet on the drive back. Every time I risked looking at her, she was staring out of the side window.

I silently begged her to speak, to say anything, even if it was to yell at me.
Just say something!

As the seconds ticked by and she still didn’t speak, I felt like I’d lost her already, and it hurt so bad. I didn’t think I could take losing someone else I cared about, that I loved.

I’d always known I’d have to tell her the truth at some point, I just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon. But I knew it was just a matter of time before somebody told her, maybe her own momma, so when she’d asked—again—I had to tell her.

I felt sick, reliving it all, and I realized that she was the first person I’d told about how Mikey died since that useless fucking shrink in the pen. It was a completely different experience telling Torrey, and all the old guilt and pain had flooded back.
Why
was I so stupid that night?
Why
had I gotten in the damn car?
Why
was I the one who’d survived?
Why
was it Mikey who had paid? And my parents, too. We’d paid and paid and paid, but the debt was
never
going to go away. I’d never be done paying. Never.

As I looked at the future I had, I just saw fifty empty years of trudging through each long, lonely, gray day. It seemed unbearable. And if Torrey didn’t want to be with me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to face that journey.

I thought telling her had been the right thing to do, but now I wondered if it only looked like she’d taken it well. Maybe she’d been in shock. Maybe she was afraid of me now. Maybe she was disgusted that she’d slept with me. Maybe she just wanted to get away from me…

When I pulled up outside the Rectory, she still hadn’t spoken. I felt like my skin would split from the tension burning inside me.

“Torrey, I…”

But I didn’t know what to say to make her stay.

She sighed heavily, and my heart shriveled.

“Jordan, tonight … thank you for telling me.”

I nodded and swallowed down the fear. “Has it … does it … change … things?”

Of course it does.

She didn’t answer immediately, and the sadness in her eyes all but killed me. I wished she would kill me. I wished she’d take a gun and shoot me in the fuckin’ head, rather than gut me slowly from the inside out.

“I guess I understand … things … a little more. I just need to … let it all sink in.”

Oh God…

She leaned forward and touched my cheek with the tips of her fingers, turned and wearily climbed out of the truck.

It felt like goodbye.

Words tried to force themselves out of my throat, but they turned to dust before they reached my lips.

“I’ll see you, Jordan,” she said, her voice distant and sad.

And then she was gone.

I sat staring at her house, willing her to change her mind, willing her to come talk to me—to notice me. But one by one, the lights went off until the house was dark and silent.

Feeling nauseated, I drove home slowly.

I dragged myself up the stairs to my room and dropped onto the bed. I could still smell her on me, although the scent was fading—wild flowers.

I rubbed the palms of my hands over my eyes, forcing them closed. But I was afraid to fall asleep, because then it would all seem like a dream, and when I woke up, I’d be alone again in a nightmare.

I sat up, staring into the dark.

One mistake.

That’s all it took.

One fuckin’ stupid, childish, dumb mistake. And it had torn my family apart, my brother dead. Killed. By me. I saw every day what I’d done, the grief that I’d caused. In prison, I’d been isolated, protected from the consequences of my actions. While I was the only one suffering—the only one I thought was suffering—it was fair, it was justice.
Christ, how selfish had I been even then?
But this? How was this fair?
Why am I alive?

I pressed the tips of my fingers against my eyelids, trying to press back the images that shattered my dreams every night.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. Seeing the grief and pain in Torrey’s eyes as she’d looked at me. I was wrecking her life, too. I was damaged, I knew it. My broken edges cut everyone who came near me.

I found myself standing in the kitchen, reaching into the drawer where the carving knives were kept.

My hand pulled out a small, long-bladed knife. Thin. Sharp. And I held it against my wrist, watching the moonlight glint against the blade.

A long, upward stroke, that’s all it needed. Not across the wrist, but following the blue lines that mapped their way across my skin.

And I stood there, poised, waiting. For something. A reason to live. A reason to die.

I stood there.

I gripped the knife so hard, my hand began to shake and sweat blurred my vision.

Do it. Do it right this time. Put yourself out of your misery. End it. Do it now.

I stood there.

And then I thought of the way Torrey had held me.

I sank to the floor, still holding the knife, still willing myself to finish it. But I couldn’t do it. I remembered the way Mikey had lived and laughed and loved, and I just couldn’t do it.

The knife slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.

I sat there, alone with my thoughts.

I’d had some long nights in my life, but that was one of the darkest and one of the longest. One of the loneliest.

An hour before dawn, I pulled myself up and replaced the knife in the drawer. It would be there when I needed it, waiting for me. But not this night.

I headed to the garage and lifted weights until my muscles burned as much as my brain. I didn’t care that I had a full day’s work ahead of me. I needed to feel something other than the horror.

The sky passed from black to velvet purple, to gray, as color leaked back into the world. This world. My world.

I could see her soon. Maybe.

And if I didn’t? If she refused to ever look at me again?

Jordan 

I didn’t even try to eat breakfast. I showered quickly and pulled on my work clothes. The whole time, I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking.

My parents ignored my presence. I was used to that, and I was beginning to prefer it

I arrived at the Rectory far too early. The Reverend’s car was already gone, but the Princess was parked in the driveway. I stared up at Torrey’s window. The curtains were still closed, the window dark in the early morning sun.

I pulled on my work-gloves and started hacking at the brambles, my thoughts chaotic but caged.

It was nearly an hour before I heard the screen door creak open, and a sleepy looking Torrey plopped herself down on the porch step.

She was carrying two cups of coffee.

“Why are you here so damn early?” she grumbled, waving me toward her.

I was so fucking grateful that she was still talking to me, that I just stared, my heart hammering painfully.

She blinked up at me, looking confused.

“Eager much?” she laughed.

“God, yes,” I admitted, unable to even pretend that the sight of her didn’t affect me deeply. I pulled myself free from the prison of despair and walked toward her like a sleepwalker.

She studied my face and ran her index finger across my stubbled cheek as I sat down next to her.

“You look like shit, Jordan. What’s up?”

I couldn’t look at her.

“Tell me,” she urged, her voice suddenly gentle.

“I … I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t turn my brain off. I … I wasn’t sure … after what I told you … I didn’t think you’d want…”

“Oh,” she said, softly. “You’ve been worrying all night that, what…? That I wouldn’t talk to you today?”

I nodded silently, and she gave an exasperated sigh.

“You’re an idiot, Jordan Kane. I told you I’d see you today. Come here.”

And she closed the small distance between us, leaning her head against my shoulder.

“I guess I should have said something more to you last night,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. It was a shock … and I was just thinking about everything you said, everything you’ve been through. But I never meant for you to think that I…” she hesitated. “I’m really glad you told me. It’s a lot for me to take in—for anyone to take in. That’s probably why people are so shitty to you—they don’t really know what to do, so they lash out.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but as long as Torrey was still talking to me, that was enough. I breathed out in utter relief, my desperation lanced by her words.

“You’ve got to tell me what you’re thinking,” she said, planting a kiss on my bare arm.

I nodded, but didn’t speak.

“We’re going to have to do something about your communication skills,” she said, a quiet chuckle sending soft ripples through her body and mine.

“I think,” I said, slowly, “that meeting you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You don’t know it, but you’ve saved me, Torrey Delaney.

She smiled. “I’m glad I met you, too.”