Somewhere Between Water and Sky (Shattered Things #2) (13 page)

These past few months meant nothing. The ache of my new tattoo lifts me out of the fog only to suck me right back down again.

There
’
s no field of peonies to dance in right now. It
’
s all ashes and weeds and torn fragments of my past coming back to lay claim.

.::.

In my dreams, my father isn
’
t always a monster.

I
’
m little again
—
swinging in his arms as he walks around the house, whispering about the latest book he read. He talks to me of
East of Eden
and the secret of a good sentence.

“
Did you know there
’
s a one sentence chapter in
As I Lay Dying
? It
’
s true. Flip the page and you see it: my mother is a fish.
”
And then he laughs as if let in on some secret.

I reach my hand up and feel the stubble on his cheek, and he chomps down on my fingers playfully with his lips. He twists and carries me around his torso, plopping me down on the counter and looking me in the eyes.
“
Don
’
t ever forget this, Stephanie,
”
he says. His eyes are serious. My eyes flick toward the window where the light comes in and dances in shadow on the linoleum floor of our kitchen. My fingers play with the collar of his shirt.

“
Sometimes, the best stories are the ones where the characters seem realistically disappointing.
”
Stepping back he reaches for the stubble on his cheek just like I did seconds before. Instead of scratching or rubbing, he pulls the skin until taut like rubber.

My breath grows shallow.

Why is daddy pulling off his skin? Why does he look different now?

“
In the end, sweetheart, we
’
re all the villain.
”
He says with a glint in his eye and a bottle of whiskey suddenly in his hands. Kevin stands behind him, holding a journal and laughing. I look down and my legs are not the ones of a little girl but my own
—
and I
’
m wearing the thigh highs he always had me wear on my nights in the shed.

Just like that, my daddy is replaced with the monster I know. And Kevin? Kevin is
laughing.
I move my eyes slowly up toward where they stand and Kevin makes his way to me, his eyes dark and brooding.

This is not the adventure-seeking boyfriend I grew to love
—
he
’
s all together sinister. Menacing. His hands reach out to me and grab my hips with ferocity, pulling me off the counter.

I jolt awake, my hands clutching the sheets around me. When my hands only reach carpet and pieces of clothing, I realize I never made it to the bed. I bring my hands up to my throat, feeling the pulse race underneath my fingers. I breathe deep.

It was just a dream Stephanie.

I push the heel of my palms against my eyes, forcing the nightmare away.

It
’
s just a dream. Just a dream.

My heart pounds as the city comes to life outside my window. When my pulse slows down and the images from my dream fade away, reality sticks to my bones and I shudder.

In my dreams, my father isn
’
t always a monster, but he sure wears his dragon skin with ease
—
poisoning everything I
’
ve ever loved.

.::.

I
’
m not sure how many days I spend locked up in my hotel room.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Who knows what day it is anymore.

Thanks to the kitchenette, I have a small stash of food in the cabinets and fridge. But I
’
m not hungry. I can
’
t remember the last time I ate. I
’
ve called in to work twice
—
both times claiming the flu. I
’
m aimless
—
not even turning on the television. I just walk around my room, lose myself to my thoughts, and then fall asleep to escape them.

I know I need to leave at some point, but right now, what
’
s outside makes me cringe.

All of my thoughts are captured by the journal left in the Jeep.

Kevin is here.

I frown at the way my heart skips in tandem with my thoughts when it comes to him. There
’
s a knock on my door and I jump, pulling at my robe. With a quick look at the clock on my nightstand, I know it
’
s seven in the morning. I raise an eyebrow. I
’
ve lost all track of time. I had no idea it was that early.

I make no movement toward the door, knowing that housekeeping doesn
’
t come until closer to noon and if I am quiet, maybe the visitor will go away.

Another knock.

“
Stephanie. I know you
’
re in there. I heard you startle.
”

Jessa.

I drop my head back toward my shoulder and sigh. She won
’
t be leaving. I pinch my cheeks to make them look fevered, and open the door, sliding behind it to let her in the room.

She wrinkles her nose.

“
It smells in here.
”

“
You smell.
”
I walk past her and collapse on the bed, pulling the sheets over my head and hiding from her gaze.

“
Maturity becomes you.
”
She mutters under her breath.

I feel the mattress shift underneath me.

“
Go away, Jessa. I
’
m sick.
”

“
You
’
re not sick.
”

“
Bitch. Yes I am.
”
I cough and make a point to sniff from the base of my nose.

She places her hand on my foot and squeezes it.

“
No. You
’
re not.
”

My voice raises.

“
Why won
’
t you leave me alone?! Christ. You have to be the most inv
…”

She interrupted me.
“
Kevin stopped by the coffee shop. He
’
s the one who told me you probably weren
’
t sick.
”

I pause and collect myself.

Ohmigosh I
’
m going to kill him.

“
I don
’
t know what you
’
re talking about.
”

She sighs.
“
He didn
’
t tell me much
—
but he did say that he fucked up pretty badly and was trying to figure out how to talk to you.
”

I snort.

“
Did he say that he used me? Or that he lied? Or that I was a
job
for him like some horrible 90
’
s teen movie? Or that he followed me here like a deranged stalker and tailed us when we went to San Diego so he could drop that journal in the Jeep and be a complete freak about it? Did he say any of that?
”

Jessa
’
s quiet for a few minutes. She clears her throat and moves to stand.

“
He didn
’
t say any of that
—
but he did tell me he was concerned about you. Said you had every reason to run, but wouldn
’
t tell me why, and that he was worried you may try something.
”

I poke my arm out from underneath the covers.

“
Fresh and clean for 18 months.
”

I know I
’
m being a bitch
—
but I can
’
t help the poison oozing from my every pore. I wait for her to give up, to turn and walk away. I feel the mattress shift again and know she
’
s sat down.

“
Listen. Stephanie. I don
’
t know your story.
”
Her voice quickens.
“
And that
’
s okay. I don
’
t want you to feel pressured in any way to tell me your secrets when it
’
s obvious you have a shit-ton of skeletons in that closet of yours. But I told you before: I can spot the ones who need friends.
”

I pull the duvet down to look at her with one eye. She smiles.

“
And spoiler: I kind of need a friend right now too.
”

“
Oh my god. Are you giving me a check yes or no speech?
”
Jessa blushes.
“
What are we, in kindergarten? Do you have a friendship bracelet that you made for me in case I say yes?
”

“
Smart ass.
”

I move my hand in a mock salute.

“
I
’
m pretty fucked up, Jessa. And I don
’
t trust people. I
’
ll probably piss you off or overwhelm you at some point. I promise you. You don
’
t want to be my friend.
”

She looks me in the eyes.
“
I spent three months in an out patient facility when I was 18. Overdosed on ecstasy.
”
She stands up again and lifts the cuff of her shorts so I can see the markings on her thigh.
“
These are from high school. I was a straight-A student but overwhelmed with my father
’
s expectations. I had to be the best
—
had to get into the best school
—
had to show myself as presentable to everyone.
”

“
Wait-wait-wait.
”
I throw the covers down and under my arms, pointing at her legs.
“
You cut because your dad wanted you to get straight A
’
s?
”

She grimaces.
“
Not really. That
’
s not the only reason. My mom died when I was 14. It was sudden
—
a car accident. My dad tried really hard to take over for her, you know? And so he wanted me to be the best
—
to follow in his footsteps.
”
She shrugs.
“
It was the only thing he knew how to do, really
—
point me in the direction of following his life path.
”

I nod.

Jessa sighs.
“
The pressure got too much. I know it sounds stupid and trite
—
but it
’
s true. In school I was this wunderkind expected to go places and then
…
I just kind of snapped. I didn
’
t want anyone to know. My dad wanted me to be a leading psychologist, my teachers wanted me to be this famous artist
—
so I did nothing. I hid the parties and the cutting and the drugs until one day, it all came crashing down.
”

I push my hands against the mattress and scoot to rest my back on the headboard.

“
What happened?
”
I finger the rubber band on my wrist and scoop it off to twist my hair into a bun.

Jessa looks out the window.

“
Ren.
”

I pause with hands still in my hair.
“
Ren?
”

She laughs and falls on her back at my feet, facing the ceiling.
“
We were a hot mess back then.
”
She turns her head and looks at me.
“
I met Ren when I was fifteen. We both went to the same fine-arts school.
”