The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (22 page)

I pull the wheel to the right, and five minutes later I’m pushing into the dance studio with two cups of coffee. It’s an eerie sense of déjà vu as I walk in; Jenny is here, and the only empty seat is next to Zeke. I walk over and plop myself down right next to him.

He looks up in total surprise, and I just calmly pass him a coffee. “Don’t worry. I remembered you only drink decaf.”

He gives a small spurt of laughter, but it doesn’t reach to his eyes. He accepts the coffee, and then we lapse once more into silence.

After a long moment of battling with myself, I finally let the question blurt out, though quietly. “Don’t you find it torturous? Coming back here?”

Zeke’s green eyes turn toward me, and for the first time in a long time, they’re cold and full of contempt. “Maybe I deserve to be tortured.

I understand what he means from the bottom of my heart, because it’s how I feel all the time. It’s why I cut myself, why I’m always listening to Tony’s message, and why I went to see him.

Before I can say this, however, Zeke snorts and turns away, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Actually, I do.” I’m unable to keep a waspish note from my voice.

“Oh yeah?” His own tone is still condescending. “That’s right. Poor Evie, left alone with her money, has to cut to deal with all-”

“I’ve been to visit Tony.”

There’s total silence after my declaration, and Zeke and I blink at each other in shock. I didn’t mean to blurt it out. I would have told him a different way,
when
I’d actually decided I was going to tell him. But he was back to his usual tricks, deflecting by attacking me and my life, and anger—
anger
, that wonderful new emotion that keeps rearing its head inside me—took over. I can’t take it back, though, so I just meet Zeke stare for stare.

“So which of us is more messed up?” I challenge.

He blinks several times and then color blooms along his dark cheeks and a new light enters his eyes. “You went to
visit
Tony?” he asks through gritted teeth. “What the hell is wrong with you, Evie?”

I don’t hesitate or blink as I deadpan, “Sometimes I like to torture myself.”

More staring and silence, until Zeke finally looks away, his jaw tight. “Tell me.”

“You first,” I say, because even though I’m the picture of nonchalance as I settle back in my chair, I’m feeling nervous and short of breath. All bad signs of what could come next. “This story comes with a price.” This story is too scarring, too damning to give up for free; I need some of Zeke’s secrets to hold for ransom in exchange for telling.

He still refuses to look at me, but after a few seconds, he starts to speak, so low I have to lean a little closer to hear him.

“I’m having… a rough time letting Cindy go. Not letting her go, exactly, but just… dealing with the fact that she’s gone. I already told you, I don’t like to feel for anything. My mom left. Maybe you knew that. But it seems anything you let yourself care about in life gets taken away somehow.”

His words strike a chord within me, because I understand the sentiment perfectly; my mom, my dad, Jenny, the only friend I cared to keep, even the old Tony I loved, all evaporated as quickly and effortlessly as smoke in the wind.

“So I used to paint to get it all out. My guilty pleasure, cause I swore to stop drawing when my mom left. But it helps, the adrenaline rush would help to distance me. But now I can’t do that and so when I’m… feeling too much, I have to try something else to deal with it. Something that kind of gives me an adrenaline rush, that helps distance me and distracts me.” He falls silent.

“Coming here gives you an adrenaline rush?” I ask, mystified. He doesn’t look hyped up, just pissed. And sad.

“No. Not exactly.” Zeke shakes his head. “I came here once for that reason, sort of. I was feeling, and I felt it was a betrayal to Cindy. It was some heavy shit, and I had to get rid of it. So I came to the studio to draw Cindy, to get it all out. And that was when I realized…”

He pauses, and this time I wait patiently for him to pick back up on his own.

“When I went to draw her, I realized I’m starting to forget her already.”

Zeke’s voice almost sounds small and my heart aches for him. I wish I could put my arms around him and hug away the awful feelings he’s going through. But I don’t. I know sympathy is the last thing he wants, comfort too. He’s only telling me because I bargained for it, not of his own accord, out of a wish to be fixed. So I make my hands into fists and force myself to keep to myself as he picks up again.

“To not be able to draw her like I might have before… it feels like I never actually loved her. Like I didn’t see her enough, pay enough attention to her when she was alive. Like all my time with her was meaningless. I’ve betrayed her, in that and in my role as her brother. I was the older one and I was supposed to keep her safe.”

“You did,” I whisper, because I can’t stay silent any longer. “You did love her and protect her, Zeke. I only saw you together the one time, but it was clear how much you cared for her. You paid for her dance and took her everywhere and-”

“And failed her when it really mattered,” Zeke interrupts angrily. “I was
there
, Evie. Right fucking there, a few feet away. I could have gotten her out of the way, told her to move.”

“You can’t change the past,” I remind him, just as hotly. “Remember? You can only learn to accept it and move on.”

“Yeah,” Zeke bites out bitterly. “I remember. Anyway. I had a nightmare about Cindy, and it was different, worse than usual. I wanted to feel closer to her, punish myself a little, so I came here. End of story. Your turn.”

Zeke slumps back in his chair with his arms crossed, looking at me expectantly. I know I won’t get anything else out of him for the rest of the day, but what I did get was far more than I had expected. So I fiddle with the sleeve around my cup for a moment as I search for the right way to explain without divulging all my secrets. Some are still too dark to see the light of day.

“It’s along the same lines,” I finally begin, and scratch my nose. “I… sometimes… Tony still has control over me.”

Again, Zeke’s head whips around to look at me. “
What
? He’s basically dead, Evie. How could he possibly have any control over you at all?”

I swallow hard, because the shortness of breath and nerves that had dissipated during Zeke’s explanation are back in full force. “I don’t expect you to fully understand and I don’t mean that as an… aloof thing to say. But I lived under Tony’s thumb for almost three years.” To my horror, tears are stinging my eyes and an icy-cold bolt of guilt strikes my middle like lightning. Guilt for talking about Tony behind his back.
Dammit. Damn him
.

I force myself to continue. “It’s hard to shake that. The fear and the control. Every move I made had to be planned ahead, dissected to see if it would please or anger him. What I wore, how I talked,
when
I talked, who I talked to or even looked at, even what color I painted my toenails.”

We both look at my feet as though we can’t help it, and shame splashes over me as I see the dark maroon color on them. I curl my toes under so I can’t see the color of the nails.

“They were pink once,” Zeke comments. “That first day in the studio. You brought Jenny Panera and Koby and I were here.”

“Yeah,” I say, and even as I speak, my ribs ache at the memory, though I’m all healed. “My ribs were bruised, I mean, what you saw that weekend… at the club… Tony punched me because of my toes. He hated bright colors on me; nails, clothes, make up.”

Zeke’s jaw has almost fallen open. “He did that to you because you painted your toes
pink
?”

“Yeah. I know, it seems crazy, but… Tony
was
crazy. And I should have known better.” My eyes sting again as I think of all the times I pushed Tony, the times he hit me because I’d brought it on myself.

Never an excuse
. It’s Zeke’s voice that echoes through my mind, and I try to listen. Mostly, I fail, and the guilt remains.

“Anyway, I can’t seem to free myself of all his dictates. I still find myself caring what he thinks, even though he has no way of knowing anything I’m doing. I try to defy his old rules, even have once or twice, but afterward I just… relapse. I fall apart and if I can, undo whatever it was that I did. I still feel this guilt for talking badly about him, and sometimes-” I choke back a sob, “sometimes I feel I’ll
never
be free of him. Not ever.”

He’s staring at me with an almost awed and pitying expression on his face. “That’s crazy, Evie.”

I feel a betraying tear trickle down my cheek and try frantically to pull myself together. “I know. I’m just as crazy as Tony was.”

“No.” Zeke’s voice is hard and firm and I look up at him as he touches my arm. “Evie, you’re not crazy. Not the way Tony was, at least. Not even close. You’re just… a little lost. And feeling like that is something you
can
change.”

I swallow hard, because even though I don’t believe him, I
want
to. I want to stop talking about me, about this, so I use one of Zeke’s own tricks on him. “And you can accept what happened to Cindy,” I whisper. “It’s just… time, Zeke. And making the decision that the time is finally here, right now.”

Zeke’s eyes on me are level. “So when are you going to decide that it’s time to stop living under Tony’s thumb?”

He’s flipped it neatly back to me, and I stand, because I don’t want to talk anymore and I’m feeling all prickly inside. Not really drifting away, but I know I don’t want to be here talking to Zeke anymore. Especially when I’m not telling him the whole truth; about Tony, about the message he left me, and about the fact that I’ve been to see Tony not once, but twice.

“I gotta go,” I mutter, and flee the dance studio.

Ezekiel

64

I think about skipping Evie’s house on Monday, but only for a moment. My dad would undoubtedly turn me in, bastard that he is, and Evie needs me. It’s strange to feel needed by anyone aside from Cindy, and I’m not sure I like it. Still, I fear what Evie will do if I don’t come, and so I roll out of bed, dress and I’m on my way.

They’re still installing the pond, so Evie and I had made plans to paint her new bedroom today. I wish we could be outside in the freedom of the open yard, but I tell myself to be a big boy and that I can handle it. I go ahead and let myself in the front door of her house when I find it unlocked, heading for the kitchen where I know I’ll probably find Evie.

I have to backtrack, though, when I pass one of the downstairs sitting rooms and catch a glimpse of the ice queen herself, Clarissa Parker. She’s slumped ungracefully in an easy chair, and I can’t help but stare, stunned. Her mascara is smeared underneath her eyes and her hair is ratty and disheveled, and there are two empty wine bottles and a glass tumbler on the table next to her.

She turns bleary eyes toward me, noticing after a full minute that I’m staring at her. “The hell are you looking at?” she slurs.

I flash a brilliant smile, my mood completely buoyed at the sight of her. “Little early in the day for drinking, isn’t it, Mrs. Parker?”

She sneers, but it’s sloppy and her lipstick is smeared. “Get out of here, you-” and Clarissa Parker calls me a name that hasn’t been socially acceptable since about Brown vs. Board.

Normally, I would lose it at being called the N-word, but as I take a look at her, I know I don’t want to do anything that might lower me to her level.

“Good day, Mrs. Parker,” I say articulately, and continue on to the kitchen.

As predicted, Evie is there waiting on me. She’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee at her elbow, reading something in a spiral bound notebook. She looks up when she hears me enter and snaps the notebook shut quickly, with nervous, jerky movements that tell me what’s inside is either about me, or about her and it’s not something good.

“Morning,” she says in a rush, as though trying to distract me. “How are you?”

I decide to ignore it for now, but if I have a chance to get my hands on the notebook later on, I’ll feel no remorse about reading it cover to cover. “Fine. Um, are you aware of what’s going on in the Blue Parlor back there?” I jerk my thumb back toward Clarissa, my eyebrows raised.

“The Blue Parlor?” Evie asks bemusedly, slipping down from her stool, carrying both her coffee and her notebook.

“You have enough rooms in this house, maybe it’s time you started naming them,” I say, glad she’s smiling and that my joke put her at ease. Our conversation yesterday didn’t end on the best note, but I want to start today fresh, normal, and without deep thoughts and talks. I need a day off.

“There aren’t
that
many,” Evie sniffs, and I follow her through the house to the stairs. “And yes, I’m aware. She’s, um, taken up that little habit since my dad died. This would be the worst day so far though. Ironic, considering how concerned she is about appearances. I don’t really know what to do about it.”