Sometimes Never (2 page)

             
“With extra Pickles,” I added and we both rolled with laughter. Not Dylan though. He just glared at us as he slammed the door.

             
“You guys are jerks.”

             
We laughed harder.

             
“Screw you! I’m telling Dad.”

             
Guy stopped laughing, which just made me start crying, I was laughing so hard. “Don’t be a nark, you little rat! If I get in trouble one more time, Jenny said I’d be grounded this weekend.”

             
Dylan shrugged and took off running. Guy jumped up so fast his chair fell over, thudding loudly on the hard wood floor. He lunged across the table and snatched the back of Dylan’s collar.

             
“Stop, you’re choking me!” Dylan screamed. “Dad! Jenny!”

             
Guy slid his hand over Dylan’s mouth. “Shut up. I’m not choking you, but I swear to God, if you don’t shut the hell up I will choke the life out of you. And I’ll tell Dad you said ‘screw.’”

             
I shook my head and hit enter on the computer again. Like I said, we’re the damn Brady Bunch.

             
ASL again. “Fucking horny losers!”

             
“Hope! Watch the language,” Jenny scolded me as she came into the kitchen. “What is going on? Why were you screaming?”

             
Guy nudged Dylan. “Nothing,” he grumbled.

“Hey, Annie’s home. She seemed upset,” I s
aid to get the attention off Guy. He grinned at me over Jenny’s shoulder.

“What do you mean? Upset how?” Jenny chewed her lip as she stared at me. Annie is Jenny’s oldest biological daughter from her first marriage. And her precious little angel.

I shrugged then. “She busted in and ran up to our room.”

“Hope, honey, will you go check on her? She’s more likely to talk to you than me.”

I closed my laptop and tucked it under my arm shooting Guy the “you owe me so big” look. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

Jenny tapped her fingers on her chin. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a life saver.”

“Mmm. What flavor?” Guy whispered as I pushed past him.

I flipped my pony tail in his face. “Cherry, of course.”

“Oh, uh-huh. You know that’s right, Cuz,” he called after me.

Up in our room, I sat outside the bathroom door. I
could hear the shower running and I could hear Annie crying. She had been out on a first date with Christian, the asshole. She was so excited about it. I have no idea why. He’s such a dick. So, I sat there in front of the door, listening to her cry, and I had such a strong feeling that this dumb jock did something to her. Probably forced her into something she wasn’t ready for. Possibly raped her. Part of me was so sad for her. I wanted to go into the shower and hug her, letting her know she wasn’t alone. Another part of me was so mad, I wanted to go get Guy, go to this dude’s house so I could cut off his favorite appendage, and shove it down his throat. But then there was this big other part of me—part of me that is truly scary—that just didn’t give a shit enough to do anything.

So I st
ood up. Looked at the pretty, flowery neatness on Annie’s side of the room, and then to the purple mess of my side. I decided,
Screw it
. She’s always judging me. Always looking down on me. She was the one who thought she was such hot shit for going out with this dude. So, she got exactly what she deserved. I turned and walked away, leaving her crying in the shower, alone.

What does that make me? I don’t know. I don’t
even know if I care. All I know is, I wanted to cut so badly my hands were shaking, but that wench was hogging our bathroom. I quietly made my way to Guy’s room and snuck into his bathroom. I locked the door and checked it three times to make sure nobody could walk in on me. I opened his medicine cabinet and took out his razor. I checked the door one more time then dropped my pants around my ankles and sat on the closed toilet seat. Spreading my legs wide, I looked for my old scars. I only cut over the old ones, no longer making new. It doesn’t really count that way.

After I readied
a wad of toilet paper in one hand, I ran the razor slowly across the raised pink skin. It didn’t hurt in the way I like, so I cut over it again, deeper. A thick line of red appeared on my inner thigh and it was the best feeling in the world. As it started to glide down my leg, I wiped it away quickly and moved to the next scar. I automatically went deeper, moaning with pain and pleasure. There were no band aids in Guy’s bathroom, so I pushed the toilet paper against my leg and pulled up my pants. I put the razor blade in my pocket and went back to my room to get the band aids I keep stashed in my underwear drawer.

I am seriously messed up.

Though I may have felt better, I could hear Annie still crying once I was back in my room, and it all rushed back. So I used my next coping skill. I acted like a bitch. I slammed my fist against the bathroom door and I yelled, “Hurry the hell up. You aren’t the only person in the world.”

“Shut up
, Hope. I hate you. I fucking hate you so much.”

“I
hate you too, you selfish slut.”

I know she isn’t a slut
. Not even close. I also know it is the last thing I should have said to her. But I did. I didn’t feel bad for her after she told me she hated me.

And now, all I can think is…
so much for not giving a shit
. As soon as I saw Christian today, my body went cold with anger. I wanted to hurt him for hurting Annie. When he touched me with the same disgusting hands that violated her, I just lost it. I kicked him and didn’t stop until some dude pulled me off.

             
I could speak up. I could tell Mr. Andrews right now that Christian, being the douche bag jock he is, in all probability, raped my foster cousin. But I don’t. One, it’s not my place to tell Annie’s secrets. Two, I don’t think he’d believe me. And three, I just don’t even care about a suspension. A week at home, alone, sounds great to me. So I continue to sit here, glaring at the coffee stain on my principal’s yellow tie. It’s an ugly yellow. The stain reminds me of those ink blots. It looks like a turtle. I wonder what that means about my mental state.

He hands me a pink sheet of paper.

              “Make sure your parents sign that before you return Monday,” he says sternly.

             
I rip the paper out of his hand and look him in the eyes. “My mom’s dead and I don’t have a dad.”

             
His cheeks turn a satisfying shade of pink before he tries to backpedal. “Right, excuse me. I’m sorry. Have your foster parents sign that please.” We stare at each other for several seconds. He looks away first, dropping his eyes to his desk. “You can go home now,” he says as he tries to appear busy.

             
I slam the door on my way out.

             
“What happened?” Annie asks. She hands me my backpack and hurries to keep up with me. “Hey, slow down and talk to me.”

             
“You have long legs, keep up,” I say annoyed. “I got suspended for a week.”

             
She grabs my arm, stopping me in the middle of the hall. “I’m sorry, Hope.”

             
I shrug weakly. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not your fault.”

             
“You were standing up for me. It is my fault. I’ll take your punishment at home.”

I sigh and look up at her. “I think you’ve been punished enough,” I say quietly. She flinches and I look away. “You don’t need to tell me what happened. Just tell me this, was I right to do what I did?”

              She’s quiet for so long, I don’t think she’s going to answer. I finally look back at her and there are tears in her eyes. She nods her head once.

             
I nod back. “I’ll, um, see you at home.”

“
Okay.” I can feel her watching me as I start to walk away. “Hey, Hope?” I stop, but don’t bother to turn around. I can’t stand to see the look on her face again. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her feet squeak on the linoleum as she walks away and I let out a long breath.

There is something you should know about me. I am not a sociable person. I like to spend most of my time alone or with Guy and the
band. I absolutely, positively live and breathe music. I do not believe in falling in love. Except when it comes to a song, or a band, or an instrument. I write lyrics every day on everything. Mostly in notebooks or on myself, but I like to leave a line or two in strange places. Carved into a tree, scribbled on a bathroom stall, on the side of a building… Maybe it will mean something to someone. You never know.

I’m addicted to my blog. I ship whoever the hell I want. Gay, stra
ight, animal, inanimate object—I don’t care. My one true pair is chalk and eraser. I also like any variation of the two. Pencil and eraser, ink pen and white-out, enter and back space keys. Something that can amend the mistakes of the other. I don’t know—I just like it.

I have a tattoo that I got from some guy at a party last year. At the time, I didn’t think anything of it. I mean, he was giving them to everyone and his work was nice, so I got a black bird on my shoulder. It didn’t occur to me until weeks later how unsafe it was. Sometimes I won
der if I may have caught something from the unsanitary needle. It scares me too much to think about, so I try to ignore it.

Cigarettes are gross, so I have never, and will never smoke them. I do, however, smoke pot occasionally. My biggest vice is alcohol. I’m not an alcoholic or anything. I just like to drink when I’m out with friends or before a show. It helps me open up and not be the cra
zy, shy girl. Oh, and I’m cheap too, so I have never bought my own stash. I just mooch off my friends.

My mom is dead,
and I hate her. I mean, I loved her, but even as a kid, I knew it was only because I was supposed to. She was a bi-polar, alcoholic, drug addicted, whore. Half the time, I didn’t know where she was or when she’d be back. Sometimes, I spent days alone, living off Ramen noodles and dry cereal. I never knew my dad and the losers that came in and out of Mom’s life did not even come close to counting. The ones that stuck around long enough to know I existed were only there because I did. Fucking creeps. Well, except Jenny’s brother, Donnie. He was pretty cool. When he told my mom he’d marry her if she cleaned up, she actually started going to meetings. Donnie even said he wanted to adopt me. I probably would have believed him if it wasn’t for the fact that he was dating my mom. I mean, there had to be something wrong with anyone that wanted to be with her for any length of time, sober or not.  Anyway, it obviously didn’t work out. Mom and Donnie were killed in a car accident two years ago. There was alcohol in both of their systems. The irony is not lost on me.

I
hate attention. Most people think the exact opposite is true because of the band, and the fact that I have gages in my ears, and my hair is dyed a multitude of colors. Honestly, I just wanted to change my appearance. I can’t really explain it. It’s like, when you have men looking at you like they’ve looked at your mom most of your life, you just don’t want to look like that same person anymore. At least, that’s the best way I can explain it. Jenny is always trying to play dress up with me, like she wants an Annie duplicate. I can’t stand it. But Guy makes it a little easier. He gets it. He gets me.

I was fifteen when my mom died and had just lost the only life I ha
d ever known. And there was Guy in his too small, black suit. He stuck out from everyone else in the sea of black at the funeral. It wasn’t his shaggy blond hair that stuck up in every wrong direction or his super cute baby face. It was the bright pink tie he wore. When I saw him, I laughed. I laughed at my mom’s funeral. While everyone else stared at me like I was a sick, twisted, freak, Guy looked at me and smiled while he straightened his ridiculous tie. He looked at me like he knew what was inside of me. Like he saw the tears I didn’t cry. Like he saw the scars hidden on my legs. He understood.

During the wake, I stayed outside hiding in the tree house Alec had built for the other kids. Guy brought out a bunch of food and we ate and talked until everyone left. That night, he snuck downstairs to the couch where I slept before I had a room. We talked half the night. Like, really talked. He asked me questions that I had never been asked befo
re. Guy wanted to know me. When I admitted I had never kissed anyone, he leaned over me. With the tips of warm fingers, he brushed my hair off my shoulder. Then he put his hands on each side of my face, positioning my head up toward his. He kissed me. Softly at first, then he slipped his tongue in between my lips and found mine. He tasted like cinnamon toothpaste and it burnt my mouth. He slid his fingers down my neck, across my shoulders, and as he made his way down my arms, I pulled away.

“Interesting,” he sighed as his eyes appraised me.

“You’re my cousin,” I said to him and wiped my mouth.

He smiled and shook his head. “No I’m not. Jenny is my ste
p mom, not my real mom. You aren’t even related to her, technically. Besides, foster parents aren’t real parents anyway.”