Perfectly Flawed (40 page)

I’m slightly stunned, just staring at her
standing in my doorway. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect
any of this. She makes it seem like we were going at it like
rabbits on that air mattress when we really just slept through the
night, and boy, what a good sleep that was. Then she seems too
confused to understand what she’s looking at it.

It’s as if she doesn’t know me at all.

“She couldn’t sleep?” Zephyr blurts out.
Questioning it isn’t helping the situation and my hand itches to
smack him,
lightly
, in the back of the head. He sits up, his
hair a tangled mess, the noise from the bed enveloping the room.
It’s a nice distraction. He runs a hand through his unruly mop of
hair on the top of his head.

Hilary laughs quietly, a slight shake to her
head as she looks to us. “I assume you couldn’t sleep either, being
on that thing.” Her green eyes dart to me then back to Zephyr.

“I can’t complain,” Zephyr mutters, resting
his elbows on his knees.

“Do your parents know you’re over here?”

“The appropriate answer for that would be
yes
…” he drags out, the familiar smirk tugging at his lips.
He couldn’t feign innocence if he tried.

“And that would be a
no
,” she replies,
matter-of-fact. “There was, uh… no sex—”

I interrupt her loudly with a whine of, “God,
Aunt Hil!”

“—was there?”

I narrow my eyes, shooting imaginary daggers
at her, hoping they metaphorically pierce her heart and she feels
it. How more embarrassing could she be? God!

“That would also be
no
.” She nods
curtly. “I’m just going to go, you know, before I say something
worse.”

You do that!

Zephyr chuckles, watching Hilary walk down
the hall while trying to fix the mess on his head. He turns to me.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, resting his elbow on the edge of my
bed once he’s untangled his bed-head.

“For the most part,” I reply. I lightly touch
his elbow, feeling the warmth of his skin. What I said makes him
laugh. I place my hands on his arms. “How about you?” That mattress
must’ve been a literal pain in the ass. It was when I’d sleep on
it.

His eyes dart to the air mattress. “Uh…
sure,” he lies. It’s cute.

That makes me laugh.

I lie back down, snuggling back into the
warmth of my sheets. I hear the rubber crunch as Zephyr lies
back.

“Uh, Zephyr,” Hilary yells loudly, and
audibly nervous, from the living room.

“What now?” I ask quietly, flinging the sheet
from my legs while Zephyr rolls from the mattress onto the
floor.

“Your mother is here.”

Crap!

“This can’t be good,” he mutters. We walk
down the stairs.

Actually,
he
walks down the stairs, I
stay near the top in case Molly wants to yell at me for being a bad
influence on her son, even though we did
nothing
but sleep.
Zephyr walks into the living room, fully prepared for whatever is
about to happen, smiling to his mother like he didn’t just walk out
of my bedroom at, oh, eight in the morning.

“Zephyr,” she begins with a long, drawn out
sigh, her arms crossed tightly across her chest, mimicking exactly
how my aunt is standing next to her. “Can you explain to me what
you’re doing here?”

Oh, dear.

This is
not
going to be good.

Not good… not good at all.

“Isn’t that one of the big philosophical
questions, Mom?” Really, Zephyr? Now’s the time you want to say
something like that. I can see
smart-ass
run across Molly’s
mind. “Why
am
I here? Why are any of us here? Are we real or
possibly a dream?” He turns to me, winking. Oh, baby Jesus; she’s
going to slap him. “Is this all we’ll ever really know?”

“Zephyr Alexander Kalivas!” Ugh, the dreaded
middle name. “Before you go all
Allegory of the Cave
on me,
you know what I meant.” I bite my lip to stifle the nervous giggle
threatening to erupt. “I want an explanation, now.”

Oh, no, she’s pointing. She’s pointing very
aggressively.
Not good! Not good!

“Mom, we didn’t do anything.” His hand covers
his mouth as he yawns, it’s infectious and I try to bite back my
yawn.

“I walked in, Molly,” Hilary start. “He was
sleeping on that old air mattress, he was on the floor,” she
explains.

Molly knits her brow. “Really?” That
surprises
her? She looks to me, walking in front of the
staircase to get a better look at me. I try to vanish, try to blend
into the banister as best I can but I’m not that small nor do I
match the dark brown of the wood. “An air mattress?” she asks
me.

I nod quickly.

“Yeah, Mom,” her son replies.

“I should lecture you about this,” Molly
begins, her index pointed out again. “No, I should let your father
handle this. But if there was an air mattress involved…” she
shrugs. “And you don’t
look
disheveled,” she adds quietly,
as if trying to convince herself of something she barely
understands, “Then I shouldn’t be
that
upset. I still am,
kid, don’t you dismiss that.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Zephyr states. “Jo needed
me.”

That seems to soften Molly’s hard
exterior.

“Just tell me next time you leave the house
in the middle of the night, would you?” she asks with a sigh,
reaching her hands out to hug her son. “I don’t want to spend
another twenty minutes talking to your bedroom door when you’re not
behind it
pretending
to listen to me.” Zephyr laughs,
wrapping his arms around his mother. It’s such a cute family
moment; I’m a little envious. She pulls away. “And you.” Her gaze
and index finger zero in on me as I cower on the top step hoping
they all forgot about me.

“Yes, Mrs. Kalivas,” I say instinctively,
still sitting, now cowering. My trembling legs would send my down
the stairs faster than I’d like—probably with a few broken
bones.

Her eyes narrow with confusion, briefly
darting to Zephyr. “Still, Molly, honey,” she tells me. “I’m not
upset, dear, just making sure you’re okay. That everything’s okay.”
She takes a few steps toward the stairs, toward me. “We love you,
Joey; remember that. We’re all one giant family here. There are
plenty of people that care about you.” She smiles. “I’ll see you
all later, when you’re
all
over for dinner, right
Hilary?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Molly,” my aunt tells our
neighbor, sending a look in my direction. I forgot about the dinner
but I wouldn’t miss Molly’s cooking for anything.

The adults walk to the door, talking quietly,
while Zephyr ascends the stairs, taking a seat on the step beneath
mine. He rests his hands on my legs, jutting out his bottom lip. I
roll my eyes before placing my hands atop his arms.

We look to each other, happy that all the
tension has left the room, and start laughing, loud, boisterous
laughter, the kind that cleanses you. It’s a gut clutching
laughter, one well deserved.

Hilary turns to us while we laugh, loudly,
clutching to each other to not fall down the stairs. She closes the
door, making sure to lock it behind our retreating guest. “I don’t
understand the two of you,” she mutters to herself. “Not one
bit.”

She walks up the stairs, passing us and
patting me on the head. Zephyr and I take the opportunity to walk
down the stairs and take over the couch.

“Want to watch a movie?” I ask, grabbing the
remote from the coffee table.

“As long as it isn’t another bloodbath
marathon,” Zephyr replies. “Sure.” He makes himself comfortable,
spreading out where he sits, even tugging down the afghan draped
along the back of the couch.

And we do. I choose a Nicholas Sparks film
just to piss him off. Specifically,
The Notebook
. He doesn’t
bat an eye, just pulls me to his side and watches the movie with me
while rubbing his hands up and down my arm. The next movie we watch
is his choice. He chooses
D2: The Mighty Ducks
and spend the
rest of the afternoon with the second and third movie, screaming at
the screen with every hit Team Iceland makes against the main team,
cheering loudly at the end of the movie when Team USA, or the
Ducks, win.

I’m a nerd for
The Mighty Ducks
.

That night, as promised, we enjoy dinner at
Zephyr’s house—macaroni and cheese, my favorite—and the rest of the
weekend is filled with homework, studying, and tutoring Zephyr
through AP Euro.

Eleven

After all the excitement, it finally came time for my
lovely monthly appointment with Dr. Jett. Two weeks later than
usual but I don’t really care. I have a few things to talk about
this session, a few questions brewing, and important things about
my past that I must know and I have a strong feeling that she has a
few answers.

“I haven’t seen you in a while, Joey,” Dr.
Jett says from her chair, her usual yellow legal pad sits on her
lap, her pen poised above the page ready to take down whatever I
say.

“I sort of had detention,” I tell her, even
though she already knew. “For two weeks.” Her eyes widen, her brows
raise, and I can see the questions forming.

I really should start lying to her more
often. What could it hurt, really?

“Why did you have detention?” she asks, her
pen already moving across the page. Her brown eyes connect with
mine, waiting for my answer.

But I don’t wanna.

I sigh, my fingers start tugging on a loose
thread in the chair. It’s black, not matching the brown of the
upholstery. “That’s not what I want to talk about,” I say.

“It seems important,” she tells me with a
nod. “I mean, there had to be some—”

“I remembered something,” I say so quietly, I
don’t think she heard me, but she stops talking, her pen stops
moving, and I can feel her staring at me. I think I’ve stunned this
woman.

That’s a first.

I tuck my hair behind my ear before lacing my
hands together in my lap.

“Something?” the poised doctor asks, as if
she didn’t hear me correctly. “Like what?”

I need to clarify? I need to explain? She
earned
that degree hanging on the wall, right?

“About that night,” I tell her. “
The
night.”

Dr. Jett nods slowly. “What?” she asks,
tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “What did you
remember, Joey?”

“I was…” The memory overtakes me, taking me
back to the tiny dark space, filling me with that familiar fear,
tugging me darker and deeper. “I was hiding in a closet,” I finish,
averting my eyes to the window. I watch a bird land on a branch,
looking content to be there, away from the rain. “That’s why my
father couldn’t find me at first; I was hiding, or sleeping, in my
bedroom closet.”

She makes a quick note before flipping the
first sheet of her notepad over and setting it on her desk, placing
her hands in her lap.

“Do you know why?” she asks, professionalism
restored. “Why you were in the closet?”

That’s a good question. One, I too, wondered.
I just don’t have an answer. Not one that makes sense, anyway. Many
things keep floating through my mind but none makes any sense.

I still have an answer, though.

“I remember when I first moved in with my
aunt,” I begin, briefly remembering the persistent fear of my
childhood. “I’d spend hours sitting in the closet because I thought
it was safe.” I’d make a little cocoon of blankets and pillows,
shoving the shoes and various knickknacks that covered the floor
over to the side. “She wouldn’t be able to find me. Then, when
she’d start freaking out, I’d pop out of the closet.” It got to the
point where Hilary knew to check the closet before she decided she
needed to call the police.

“So…” she starts slowly, trying to add things
in her mind. “You were in the closet that night?”

“And he was screaming
Josie, Josie
over and over.” I can still hear the man’s voice calling for the
girl that wouldn’t answer. “I think that’s what he called me,” I
tell her. “Do you know anything about that?”

“It was mentioned in your file,” she tells
me, her face looking like it was carved from stone.

That’s news.

“And you didn’t tell me when I asked about it
last session?” I blurt out, feeling anger swell within me. That’s
vital information that I’d loved to learn weeks ago. I lurch
forward in my seat, unable to let my fists land where I want
them.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you, you were
supposed to come up with that on your own, Joey.” I scoff and cross
my arms over my chest. Yes, I know that’s the teen equivalent to a
temper tantrum, I’m still throwing one. “You did. Now, do you want
to talk about your reason for detention? Two weeks’ worth of
detention, I might add.”

At the end of the session, by the time I step
from the room, I’m fuming. I swear you can see steam blowing
through my ears. It’s taking every part of me to prevent myself
from punching the
beloved
doctor in the face.

We did talk about my
reason for
detention
. Not in so much detail, and I didn’t dare mention
what
this reason
did to me at that party, but I told her
after she swept what’s really on my mind under the rug.

I walk into the waiting room, where Zephyr’s
sitting on the decayed two-seater, reading a
People
magazine
from two years ago. It has Miley Cyrus on the cover, you know, back
when she had hair.

“Are you ready?” I snap. I don’t wait for him
to respond; I turn on my heel and bolt through the glass front
doors.

“Hey! Wait up!” Zephyr yells, running to
catch up with me as I stomp through the empty parking lot like a
toddler pissed about being denied a cookie. I guess I’m still
having my little temper tantrum. He catches up, his body struggling
to take in breath—and he’s the athletic one of the two of us.