The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (40 page)

“And?” Zeke prods. I look up to find he’s stopped mulching and is staring at me expectantly, and I realize I haven’t answered his question.

I shrug. “I guess I don’t want… summer to end.”

“Join the club,” Zeke snorts. “Not that this summer has been one of the most relaxing, but I’m with you there. No one wants summer to end.”

“Not just that,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to stop coming over every day. And I don’t want to face…
them.
At school. All Tony’s old friends and the whispering and rumors. I feel like I’m not strong enough to face it alone. It makes me miss my dad, too. We always went on a special trip right before school started, and I guess facing that we’re never going to do that again, it just has me feeling a little down.”

“You’re not going to face it alone,” Zeke says matter of factly, going back to his mulching. “I’m going to be there too, and, in case you’ve forgotten, this isn’t all about you. A fair share of the rumors are about me as well, and how
we
had the raging affair behind Tony’s back, remember?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “But you have friends to stick up for you. To sit with at lunch. I feel like I’m starting all over at a new school where people already have a prejudice against me.”

“You have me,” Zeke says again, and I can detect a flash of irritation in his voice. It makes me feel small and bothersome and I don’t want to talk about this anymore because it’s just making me feel worse, not better. “And Koby and Dominic. They like you. You can sit with us at lunch, and just get to school fashionably late in the mornings, and you won’t have to worry about that part. Just rush inside and I’ll walk you to your first class, and any others that I can.”

I force myself to give a light reply, so that we can drop this talk and the goosebumps can leave my arms. “Like that won’t spark more rumors.” I give a snort of my own and the subject is dropped. Zeke clearly thinks that I’ve been reassured, but I don’t feel that way. If anything, I feel lonelier than ever, because peer pressure has a way of ruling people at our age, and this year, the pressure is going to be to turn Evangeline Parker into an outcast, turn her into a leper, and I know that eventually, Zeke might be turned to that way of thinking, completely forget about me and our single, magical summer, and then I will be left alone.

I’m so depressed after Zeke leaves for the weekend that when Clarissa comes and tells me we’re going to the club this evening for a mixer, I don’t even protest. Zeke might be there, though I feel awkward at the moment texting and asking if he’s working, but at least it will get me out of the house, even though it’s to a place I hate. I tell myself it’s good that I don’t want to stay bottled up in the house, because that is surely a sign that the depression is taking a too-strong hold on me.

Besides, Clarissa has been slightly improved in the past week, ever since the lock incident. Uncle Greg came over and strong armed his way inside, and sat down with Clarissa to have a private chat that lasted nearly two hours. I’m not sure what was said or what went on, but ever since then Clarissa has treated me with a modicum more respect and she’s been drinking less, too.

I watch carefully for signs of a relapse, but I wonder if Uncle Greg just allowed her to talk and grieve for a while, held her head on his lap as she cried, just as I did with Zeke. Maybe I should have tried to reach out to her following my dad’s death, but I was too wrapped up in my own pain. Still, she half-asks, half-orders me to go to the club with her tonight, and I decide it’s the least I can do, since I’m also going stir crazy sitting in the house all day.

I force myself into a simple little black dress and some hot pink shoes with a matching necklace and earrings. It’s something wildly out of the ordinary for the stuffy club members, but something that I privately very much enjoy. The pleasure comes partly because I like them and they look good on me, and partly because Tony would have hated them.

The stab of guilt that hits me in the stomach at that thought is so foreign and yet familiar that it steals my breath away for a moment. It’s been a while since I’ve felt it and I’d thought I’d recovered from all that. Even as I feel it, I clench my fists together and ruthlessly push away the feelings, determined not to ever sink into that again.

You look great,
I lecture myself in the mirror as I pull a straightener through my hair, looking at the long, silky locks in the style that feels foreign, because I almost never wear my hair straight. But tonight I feel I need a disguise, something different from my normal self, and straight hair seems to be a good answer.
You don’t answer to Tony anymore. You answer to yourself, and if you like it, then what he might have thought doesn’t matter a damn bit.

I meet Clarissa downstairs and she gives my shoes a look of askance that only deepens the guilt that is still there in my stomach, but I just toss my hair over one shoulder and lead the way to the car, determined not to give in because this is ridiculous and I’ve already fought this battle and won, and I refuse to sink back into it.

We arrive at the club and I see Koby almost right away, though to my disappointment he says Zeke is off tonight when I ask him. Feeling bereft but lecturing myself that I can make it through the night without Zeke coming to rescue me, I accept a glass of sparkling water and fade into the background, where I always seem to end up during these occasions, partly out of a wish not to be seen or noticed, and partly out of a desire not to touch anyone.

I think Zeke is right and that part of healing will come only with time. Time, and learning to have trust in people again. I hugged Uncle Greg the other day when he came over without even thinking about it, so at least I know I’m improving, even if I still get leery when someone else initiates the touching. Progress is progress, nonetheless.

And yet… it seems tonight that almost nothing has changed. I still feel small and beneath notice, something I want and yet it makes me feel cowardly and stupid that I still want to feel that way. It all compounds when I see the old crowd is here, Grace, Chantal, Tiffany, a few boys, though luckily Hunter has already returned to college. I wish I could melt right into the wall, because I don’t want them to see me, don’t feel ready to face this just yet.

They circle the room, already well into their drinking, despite the club’s newly re-enforced policy on underage drinking. I know their tricks; the boys either have flasks they’re using to spike soda from the bar, or they know someone who knows someone on the staff who will pass them the real thing despite the new rules.

For a moment, I think I’ve escaped notice and that perhaps they’re looking for other amusement tonight, drunk and paired off as they are. But then I scan the room and end up locking eyes with Chantal, and she gives a wicked grin and turns to whisper to the others, and then together as a mini-mob, they approach my corner.

I put on my country club mask of boredom, but inside I’m quaking. This is one area where no time with Zeke will ever be able to help me; I’ve come to realize that I will always be hopeless at standing up to people, standing up for myself. I don’t know how to fix that, and so I just resolve to stand and endure, and if nothing else, let their words roll right off of me.

“Evangeline,” Chantal says, drawing my name out long and loud. “It’s been a while, how have you been?”

I give a tight smile and nod, and look away, over their heads and at the room at large, seeking someone to come and rescue me. But Zeke isn’t here, just as he won’t be around every second of my life to defend me, and with school starting, maybe this is a good thing, a good time for me to accept it and come to terms with it. To be reminded of what a coward I am.

“We heard some interesting rumors about you the other day,” Chantal continues, and it snares my attention because I wonder what anyone could say about me when I barely leave my own yard.

“Oh yeah?” I mean to sound disdainful. It just comes out flat but, thank goodness, not scared.

“Oh, yes,” Grace picks up where Chantal left off, flipping her perfectly curled hair over one slim, bronzed shoulder. “When did Zeke Quain move in with you? I heard from Hunter that he’s basically living there, and that you got drunk one night on campus, and were working your way through this whole frat house of boys while Zeke watched.”

Their eyes are all glinting and I know they’re grossly exaggerating everything, but it still makes me clench my fists and grit my teeth. “Shut up,” I growl. “You know that’s not true, and it’s stupid, too.”

“That’s the funny thing about rumors, isn’t it?” Chantal says, taking a step closer to me, grinning prettily, but I can see the cruelty behind it. “Here’s one that I’m sure isn’t exaggerated in the slightest. We heard you went to some hole in the wall and got yourself illegally tattooed up like a whore.”

“It’s not illegal with a guardian’s consent,” I snap, and immediately regret it because I’ve just confirmed that I
did
get one, and they step a little closer accordingly, and I start to feel claustrophobic, my breathing speeding up in a way that it hasn’t done for weeks.

“So what did you get?” One of the boys asks. “Something girly? A heart? Chinese symbol?”

“Chinese for slut, maybe,” Tiffany says, and there’s ripple of laughter. Our eyes lock and she grins, just as nasty and evil as Chantal. “Where’d you get it, Evie? On the ass? On your tit, like a piece of trash?”

Guilt and shame immediately fills me, making me flush and stare at the floor. I hate myself for it. Hate every single part of me that lets them make me feel this way about myself. I love my tattoo, loved it from the moment I saw it and I even love the sting and burn of it, because every time I feel it, I think of my mom and dad. Even if they’re not with me, at least they’re with each other, and I love thinking that.

And yet with just a few words, cruelly meant but disguised under a sweet voice, I’m wishing I could get rid of the tattoo. I feel ashamed of it, and I don’t want that. I hate how they make me feel, and the fact that I’ve been in a rut lately is only making it worse. This is what school will be like, every single day I’ll have to face this; the judging, the gross exaggeration of rumors, of innocent happenings, and knowing that every move I make will be analyzed and connected back to Tony. Even though I’m trying my damned hardest to tear away from him and never look back.

“Next thing you know, she’ll be shaving her head and riding on a motorcycle,” Josh says, and with a final laugh and a few leers and sarcastic waves, they move away, on to the next victim.

I remember how I told Zeke I’d thought about cutting my hair. I’d never wanted to
shave
it, of course. But still. Hacking off over a foot of hair would have been seen as drastic, and the remark still hits home. I can’t stand being here for another second, because it’s making me breathe raggedly and my head spin, and I haven’t felt this close to floating away since Zeke and I started talking. It worries me and I know I have to leave before it gets worse or, heaven forbid, someone tries to touch me.

I walk unevenly out of the big event room and into the hallway, but that doesn’t make me feel any calmer. All I can think about here is how Tony stalked me down this hallway, chased me down like a mouse when I tried to get away from him, and that makes me tremble and all my hair stand on end. I stumble through the hallway and out of the glass doors, sighing in relief as the warm, humid summer air hits my chilled skin.

I rub my hand up and down my arms, trying to warm myself as I take in deep breaths of the heavy air. It only makes me feel marginally better, warms me and takes away a bit of the creepy feeling from the hallway, but the guilt and shame are still there, the misery and depression that has been lurking in the background for the past week. I lean my back against a stone pillar, closing my eyes and willing my breathing to calm down and then slow.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic. You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
I repeat it over and over, set the slower rhythm I want my lungs to follow, and finally, after at least ten minutes, I’m feeling a little calmer, enough to open my eyes at least. I don’t want to go back in, though. I stall for another ten minutes and finally acknowledge that by now, it’s possible Clarissa has finally noticed I’m missing. Maybe.

I straighten up to walk to the doors but before I take a step, they fly open suddenly and all my hard work to regulate my breathing goes to waste. I jump back, my hand flying to my throat, and then see it’s only Koby, his white dress shirt untucked and his car keys in hand.

“Hey,” he says, noticing me almost instantly. “Sorry. Did I hit you? I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m fine,” I say, and my voice is a squeak. I want to smack myself, but I try to retain at least a smidgen of dignity and just rub my hands up and down my arms again since the chills are back. “You just startled me.”

“Sorry.” He studies me for a long moment, and then eyes the entrance all around, and then his dark eyes are back on me again. “What are you doing out here?” he asks curiously.

I shrug, feeling lost, feeling stupid and aimless. I want nothing more than to be home in bed, hiding from the rest of the world if not my own thoughts. “Just… standing,” I say lamely. “I needed… a second.” It’s strange, having someone aside from Zeke stumble upon me. He would have known instantly how to treat me, what to say. He probably would have lit up one of those cigarettes that he doesn’t even want and kicked a foot up against the wall, and known either exactly what question to ask me, or what kind of silence to maintain so I still felt comfortable. Koby just looks lost as he swirls his keys around on his finger.