The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller (7 page)

“There was no way I was letting you go.” He pauses briefly and his eyes tighten as they peer into mine. “Our bonds were secured.”

My eyebrows pinch together in confusion with the intensity of his statement, but then his face softens into a light grin as he holds the rope in front of my face and adds, “These ties can’t be broken.”

Kaeleb gives me a wink and then turns on his heel, away from me and heads toward the stairs along the side of the wall. Before he takes the first step, he twists his body back around and shouts, “Try to focus on keeping me
alive
and not the magnificence of
my
ass!”

I flip him the bird and another loud cackle fills the air before he makes his way to the top of the wall. Once he’s securely harnessed in, he flies backwards without abandon and rappels masterfully down the side, with absolutely no help from me.

And it’s a good thing.

Because Mr. McMadden does, in fact, have a magnificent derrière.

Not that I was looking.

Over the next month, Quinn and Kaeleb make it their personal mission to try and break through my painfully obvious attempts at obscurity. It’s been non-stop. Kaeleb’s questioning especially.

Sigh
.

Kaeleb.

Much to my relief, after several more inquiry-filled classes in trust education, he’s still very much alive, but honestly, some days I really want to kill him—metaphorically speaking, of course.

It’s usually when we perform the trust fall exercise, which we’re forced to do during every single class. Not once has he performed this exercise without making an asinine comment—normally referencing some random way he could die if I drop him—prior to falling backwards into my arms.

So recently, as a form of payback for the rappelling incident as well as any stupid comment he makes during class, it has become habit to catch him but then promptly let his body fall to the ground from the safe two foot height. This often results in very inappropriate laughter—his out loud and mine inwardly—from the both of us as well as an extremely disapproving glare from Dr. Palmer.

No matter how hard he lands, it doesn’t seem to deter his sarcastic remarks about death or his probing questions about my personal life. Quinn’s resolve never falters either and between the both of them, I’m losing my mind. Partly because their tenacity won’t let me just
be
. But mostly, it stems from the constant confusion warring in my mind when subjected to their repeated attempts. Because the fact of the matter is, I actually
want
to answer them, to let down my manufactured walls and allow them into my highly dysfunctional, warped mind.

And that scares me shitless.

So instead of offering actual answers, I give them only monosyllabic and/or elusive responses, often in the form of a returned question. For example, Successful Evasion Number One by Quinn Matthews, approximately one month ago. Here’s the conversation between Quinn and me:

Quinn (as we eat Ramen Noodles in our room):
“Do you guys know each other?”

Me:
“Who?”

Q:
“You and Kaeleb?”

Me:
(Full facial flush accompanied by throat clearing) “Who?”

Q:
“Kaeleb. You guys just seem really comfortable. Well, not comfortable, but familiar. With your banter and how you seem to just get under each other’s skin. It just seems like you know each other.”

Me:
“Huh. Weird. How was class?”

Successful Evasion Number Two, approximately three weeks ago. Brought to you by Kaeleb McMadden on our way to class:

Kaeleb: “
So,
Raven
, what’s your story?”

Me:
“Um, story?”

K:
“Yes,
Raven
. Please shed some light on the enigma that is you.”

Me:
(Sighs inwardly) “Why do you keep saying my name like that?”

K:
“What? Like,
Raven
?”

Me:
“Yes. Like,
Raven
.”

K:
(Shrugs shoulders) “I don’t know. I guess I just find it an interesting choice for a name. Obvious symbolism and all. It’s almost as though it was prophetic in nature.”

Me:
(Narrows glare and smirks) “Can you please stop saying it that way? It’s getting on my nerves.
You
are getting on my nerves.”

K:
(Chuckles lightly under breath) “As you wish…
Raven
.”

Me:
(Internal blood-curdling scream as I increase my pace and distance)

(Loud cackling from fifteen feet behind me)

Successful Evasion Number Three, about a week ago. Tag team, and quite possibly the worst, attempt by Quinn Matthews and Kaeleb McMadden in our dorm room:

Kaeleb:
“Seriously,
Raven
, I have to ask what’s up with the contacts?”

Quinn:
“Yeah, I mean, I like the purple today, but why do you always wear them?”

(Both stare expectantly)

Kaeleb:
(Clasps hands together and points at Quinn)“Dude! She should get some zombie ones. Those would be so fucking cool.” (Deposits quarter into the jar)

Quinn:
“O-M-G! YES! Or those ones that are completely black with no iris!”

Kaeleb:
“Like I said, zombie.”

Quinn:
“No, totally black ones would be like a demon or something. Zombie ones would be like, you know, grey and cloudy looking. Like my grandpa’s.” (Glances back at me) “He has cataracts.”

Kaeleb:
“Are you sure?” (Pulls out phone)

Quinn:
“Yes! It’s really creepy. It makes my eyes water when I look at him.”

Kaeleb:
(Laughs) Kinda like when I look at
Raven’s
cat-eyes.”

Me:
(Sighs and picks up backpack to head to the library) “You guys really need to get a life.”

And for the finale, a compilation of questions dodged over the last four weeks (I’ll let you guess who said what):

“What color is your hair naturally?”

“What are your parent’s names? What do they do?”

“Do you ever do anything but scowl?”

“Do you have any pets?” (Sigh…Walter.)

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“Are you a virgin?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“What are your hobbies?”

“Who is Linda to you?”

“Where did you go to high school?”

“Did you play sports?”

“Do you own anything other than baggy pants, concert shirts, and Docs?”

“So, no tight-ass mini-dresses?”

And this has been the hell I have had to endure since school started.

So, needless to say, when waking up this morning to
“Raven, seriously, what color is your hair? I’m dying to know!”
I have no choice but to finally cave under the pressure. I guess Quinn has decided to change tactics and hit me up before my brain has any chance to fire up any neurological activity, leaving me utterly defenseless against her line of questioning.

Slowly dragging my pillow from where it has been shielding my face from the dreaded light of morning, my eyes fall directly on Quinn as she exits the bathroom with my black hair dye in her hands, the golden flecks in her green eyes lit with curiosity, hope, and determination.

A small growl escapes my lips as I throw my pillow onto the floor. I can tell she’s trying to contain her excitement at the possibility of breaking me, but failing miserably. After placing my beloved hair products on my desk, she sits on the edge of my bed and I find myself shocked that for the first time since school started, I don’t have to fight the urge to scoot away from her. I do sit up though and stretch for a ridiculous amount of time, stalling.

My hands fall to my lap and I release a defeated sigh before answering. “Okay, here’s the deal. I will give you
five
questions that I promise to answer honestly. That being said, do you really want to waste the first one on the true color of my hair?”

Quinn considers my question for a while before bringing her legs onto my bed and curling them underneath her as though getting ready for a really enthralling story. All she’s missing is the popcorn.

Scrunching her mouth to the side, she deliberates for a lengthy amount of time before finally landing on the all-important first question. “Your parents. What are they like?”

A breath lodges in my throat and my heart stammers for a brief second before it begins thudding against my ribcage. I can feel the blood draining from my already color-challenged face as I speak. “They died when I was younger.” And for some reason, I dimwittedly throw in the answer to what could have possibly been another question. “Linda is my legal guardian. She has been since I was eight years old.”

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Quinn’s entire expression falls to the floor, dipping downward. She breathes in deeply with the information given and nods slightly before proceeding. “Siblings?”

“I had a sister once. She also died,” I respond with a forced lack of emotion. Tears threaten my eyes, but I swallow them back, along with the pain. Quinn’s tears, however, slide gracefully from her eyes and trail slowly down her cheeks. I mentally shake my head. This is exactly why I don’t talk about the past. I don’t even know why I offered to answer these God-awful questions. I blame the early morning assault, but unfortunately, my brain is fully functional now and there’s no escaping the crippling heartache that comes along with the answers.

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I quickly compose myself while Quinn continues to watch my reaction warily. After wiping the moisture from her face with her fingertips, she places her hand on top of my leg which is still enveloped within the warmth of my black and gray striped comforter. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine.”

“That’s life I guess,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders. “Unfortunately, for the people around me, life tends to come with an extraordinarily short expiration date. Like milk.”

Completely ignoring my attempt at deflection, Quinn dips her head in my direction. “So…the hair, the contacts, the piercings…they are to keep people away from you?”

I nod my answer. The corners of her mouth once again angle downward as she takes in my mind-blowing revelation.

“That’s three. Two more to go. Unless you’re done, which is completely fine by me.” She hesitantly shakes her head, curiosity clearly outweighing her sorrow for my sucky-ass life, right before leaning forward and snaking my student I.D. off my bedside table. After taking a glance at it, she flashes it in front of my face. I can literally see the light bulb click on as it rests in its imaginary space above her head.

“Is your name really Raven?” Lowering the laminated square a tad, her eyes tighten as she peers at me over the top of it.

My lower lip is sucked in-between my teeth as I nibble, debating my answer. Honesty in this case is completely subjective. As much as I want to disclose the true answer, I don’t. I can’t. The acknowledgment of my birth name would only serve to rip open a gaping hole in my fortress, linking my past with my present.
Raven
, for me, is a name that provides me with a comforting sense of autonomy, relinquished from the horror of actually having to face my past. To come to terms with it. Speaking about the death of my family, I’m still able to keep that connection severed. Even breathing the name, well, in my own twisted mind, would be an act of resurrecting the girl that I buried right along with them. And that’s never going to happen. I
am
Raven. The little girl no longer exists.

“Yes,” I state calmly. Quinn’s eyes narrow even further, forming crinkles around the sides, as she holds her stare on my vacant face. After a few seconds, she seems to accept my answer before releasing it. Drumming her fingers still on top of my leg, she glances up at the ceiling. “Last one. Better make it good, huh?”

I remain still, patiently awaiting her question while reinforcing my walls that have bowed and weakened slightly since the beginning of this inquisition. Just as I have them fortified, she drags her stare away from the fluorescent lights overhead to meet mine.

A slight smile crosses her lips as she removes her hand from my leg and stands, taking a small step back before speaking. “Wanna go get some breakfast?”

A relieved breath makes its way out of my mouth, and damn if a smile doesn’t break across my face too.

With that one stupid question, my defenses are pierced and unfamiliar warmth slowly begins to seep inside and spread throughout, her infiltration sparking to life the tiniest little “Quinn Matthews” section in my heart.

For a split second, I allow myself to enjoy the foreign feeling before nodding my head and hauling my ass out of bed to join my new friend for breakfast, selfishly blinded and oblivious to the danger I may have just put her in.