Twisted (21 page)

I grind my teeth together and just stare at him.

“What?” he says. “You think I'm some kind of
psycho
?”

“Of course not!” I snap, a little too loudly.

He gives me a long, hard look. It makes me uncomfortable.

“You came into the bathroom when I was showering,” I blurt out. “You drew a happy face on the mirror.”

“So?” He shrugs. “I came back for my phone, saw the steam pouring out of the bathroom. It's obvious you don't pay the water bill, by the way. I thought it'd be funny.” He slams the stack of mail onto the table. “Apparently I was
wrong
.”

“It's not right,” I say. “It's not … appropriate.”

“Oh my God, Lyssa. Do you hear yourself?”

I take some breaths through my nose. I so want to kick him. How dare he. How dare he make it like I'm the unreasonable one.

“You need to take a chill pill,” he says, shaking his head.

“Funny you should say that, Aidan. I found some pills. I saw them on the bathroom floor.”

He looks up at the ceiling, as if he's thinking hard. “Pills?”

“They were by the toilet, like maybe you flushed them,
a whole bunch of them
,” I add pointedly, “and some spilled.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe it was Marla. Maybe they were hers.”

“Marla's?”

“She kept a lot of her stuff here.”

I've never seen anything, but hearing Marla's name makes me think about Jodi, which makes me think about something Jodi said. “You told me you had to do whatever it took to keep you out of that hospital. Weren't you in the hospital on a voluntary basis? Couldn't you leave if you wanted?”

I can tell it throws him off that I know the hospital rules. “Vince was pressing charges. Said I tried to burn down the shed with him in it. I had to stay to get them dropped, finish the so-called treatment.”

There's no way I'm stopping now. “Those pills I found were …” I try to remember the actual name, but I can't. “They were antipsychotics. Is that what you're taking?”

“And who told you that?” he asks quietly, almost ominously. “Coffee shop boy?”

“You don't take antipsychotics for mood swings, Aidan.”

“He just knows everything about everything, doesn't he?”

“It wasn't him,” I lie.

“Don't listen to that guy, Lyss. He's trying to turn you against me.”

I press my fingers to my temples. “Aidan, you're not keeping your appointments, not seeing your doctor. I don't think you're taking your pills. You wouldn't be acting like this if you were.”

A darkness falls over his face like a veil. “You nosy bitch!” he shouts. “I don't have to explain anything to you!” Then he immediately clasps his head with both hands. “Sorry. That was too loud. I — I didn't mean to yell at you.”

I feel a prickle of fear. I force myself to ignore it. He's my brother. “I'm only trying to help you, Aidan,” I whisper.

“I know, I know, I know …” He sighs. “But really, I don't need any help.”

Telling him I disagree isn't going to have any effect. I check my watch.
Shit!
Liam's closing shift starts in a half-hour. “I can't deal with this right now, Aidan.”

“If you're worried because we're fighting, it's no big deal. It's what brothers and sisters do,” he explains.

I'm out of things to say. I go over and put on my boots.

“You're going
out
?” he exclaims. “
Now
?”

“Yeah.” I scoop up my jacket. “I have to do something.”

“Have to do something?” He blocks my way. “Let me guess. It has to do with coffee shop boy.”

Frustrated tears fill my eyes. I'm so tired I want to scream. I swear I can hear the second hand on my watch ticking away.
I gotta go
. When he doesn't move, I push him hard into the closet door.

“You're coming back though, right?” he asks, rubbing his elbow.

He sees me hesitate and reaches for the note on the hall table. “I read your message. You said you wanted to talk. We'll talk all you want. We'll figure this out.”

I check my watch again. “I told you,” I almost yell. “I can't deal with this right now.”

“Please, Lyss.” He sets the note back down. “You're all I have left.”

For a moment I see the fourteen-year-old Aidan who crawled out of Vince's car the day they moved in. He stood by himself, hanging back behind the passenger door, looking shy and afraid.

My shoulders fall, my chest slightly caves. “I'll be home later.”

“Are you just saying that?”

“Where else am I going to go?”

IT'S RAINING. THE DROPS
freeze as soon as they hit the ground, making running pretty much impossible. I end up doing a mix of tiptoeing, jumping, and swerving — sort of like a never-ending game of hopscotch. The whole way, I keep my fingers on both hands crossed.

There's a patch of ice on the sidewalk right in front of the coffee shop. I almost wipe out but manage to save myself by slamming my entire body into the door. While pressed against the glass, I can see Liam putting some wood in the fireplace. He must have heard the noise. He looks up at me.

Even through the window, his face tells me that I'm too late.

CHAPTER 34

L
iam immediately lowers his head, goes back to building the fire as if he hasn't seen me.

I lick my lips, smooth my hair, and step inside. The place is empty except for a few students over at the chalkboard reading the menu. I stand there for a minute, unsure what to do next. Do I hide behind the coat rack or wrap my arms around Liam and beg for forgiveness?

Molly's bussing a table near me. “Hope you didn't drop by for some friendly conversation.” She jerks her head in Liam's direction. “Mr. Personality is in a craptastic mood.”

“I can imagine,” I breathe, not taking my eyes off him.

I tentatively make my way over and tap him on the shoulder. “Hey,” I whisper.

“What are you doing here?” he says stiffly, keeping his back to me.

“I thought, um …” I let out a mouthful of air. “Maybe we should talk.”

“We don't have anything to say.” He drags a wooden match along one of the fireplace bricks. It breaks in half.

“Okay.” I nod. “Correction.
I
have something to say.” I watch him destroy three more matches before one finally ignites. He throws it onto the pile of wood.

“Don't want to hear it,” he says, staring at the flame as it catches on some crumpled newspaper. “Whatever you have to say, I don't want to hear it.”

I manoeuvre myself around so that I'm facing him. He refuses to meet my eyes. “Who told you?” I ask quietly.

“Lynnie, I mean, Rosalyn.
And
Kyle. Almost simultaneously.” He shakes his head. “It was quite the display. Rosalyn, clawing her way over Kyle to get her story out first. Guess
that
love affair is over,” he says flatly.

“I'm so, so sorry.”

Finally he looks at me. “Oh, that's good. That you're sorry. Now everything can go back to normal.”

He's mocking me. I hate it, but I deserve it. “I don't expect that,” I say. “I know that's not going to happen.”

“I really liked you, you know? Really
trusted
you,” he almost shouts.

My eyes fly to the students. Now they're at the counter. Molly's taking care of them. “I —”

But he cuts me off. “And you didn't think enough of me to tell me your douchebag boyfriend was screwing my girlfriend!”

His words are like a punch in my gut. He doesn't really believe that, does he? “That's not true. I think …
everything
of you. You're the best, nicest person I know.”

“Yeah, right.” He grabs a rag hanging from his belt and starts wiping down a table.

“Liam,” I plead. “You don't understand.”

He stands up straight and squints at me. “Oh? I don't understand? Enlighten me, then.”

“I — I wanted to tell you,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I almost did, the other day.”

“What a coincidence,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Too bad someone beat you to it.”

I press my lips together to stop them from wobbling. “I know I should have told you right away. But think about it. I hardly knew you back then. And God, Liam. I had,
have
so much of my own shit to deal with.” Hot tears pool behind my eyes. “And Rosalyn said it was a one-time-only thing. She said she loved you.”

“Well, if she said it, it must be true,” he says sarcastically.

He's so mad and hurt
. I sniff and blot my nose on the cuff of my jacket.

“And everyone deserves a second chance, right?” he adds.

“Um …” I'm not sure how to answer.
I
want a second chance … but it feels like a trap. “Maybe. Depends.”

“How about you give Kyle a second chance?”

It
was
a trap. I look away.

“That's what I thought,” he says, and returns to violently scrub- bing the table.

I whip my head back. “You guys broke up,” I defend desperately. “And then there didn't seem to be any point. Like, what would it have mattered?”

“Yeah, well, it sort of really
did
matter, didn't it?”

“Look! It's not my fault your girlfriend cheated on you!” I regret it as soon as I say it.

The conversation hits a wall, and we both stand like statues, staring at each other. Then Liam says, “I gotta get back to work.”

WHEN I COME DOWN
the street, the house is ablaze with lights. I was hoping Aidan wouldn't be home. I come to the realization I hope for that pretty much all the time now. My heart hurts, and all I want to do is crawl into bed. I touch my forehead. It feels hot, feverish, but it might just be from the good cry I had on the walk home.

I linger on the porch, sitting on the rail. Why am I crying over some guy I went on one and a half dates with? I went out with Kyle all through high school. Did I ever cry over him?

Not that I can remember.

I'm a mess.

The smell of beer greets me as soon as I open the door. Aidan is sitting on the couch attempting to build a pyramid with empty Moosehead bottles.

“Cans would work better,” I say.

He grunts something nonsensical as he tries to place a bottle in the last top spot. It all comes crashing down. One lands on the brick hearth and smashes to pieces.

“Jesus Christ, Aidan.”

He doesn't move.

I throw my coat and bag on the bench and go over to start gather- ing up the scattered bottles. It's when I pick up the first one that I notice a Post-it note stuck to the label. There's a happy face drawn on it. Crouching, I reach for the other bottles that rolled away. They all have identical Post-it notes.

“What the hell's this?” I hold one up.

He blinks like he's trying to focus, then he grins. “Face. Happy one.”

“You're trashed,” I say, and collect the rest of the empties and set them back on the coffee table. “I wasn't gone that long. How did you get so drunk?”

Shrugging, he says, “I drank a beer for every happy face I ever made you.”

His words are all slurred together, no break in between. It reminds me so much of Vince that I actually feel sick inside.

“I only got to eight and then I couldn't remember any more, or I got too drunk. I forget,” he rambles. “Do you want some spaghetti?”

“Aidan. Why?”

“Because I'm
starving
.”

“No.” I close my eyes for a second. “Why were you trying to remember all the happy faces? More importantly, why did you feel the need to drink a beer for each one?”

“Because you're so
pissed
.”

“Um … okay …”

“I wanted to remind you of all the times happy faces made you — you know — happy. That's their job.” He shakes his head sadly. “Last time they
sucked
at their job.”

I sigh. “What?” My patience is non-existent.

“The mirror? Remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I just want you to be happy so you won't leave.”

“Who says I'm leaving?”

“Jackie says.”

Jackie?
“Who's Jackie?”

“Said their roommate isn't leaving until February, but whatever, you can call if you want.”

It takes me a minute to figure out what he's talking about. The bulletin board at King's. “Aidan. Did someone named Jackie call? When? When did she call?”

“I dunno. Last week. But you can't leave, you just can't.”

“Last week? Was there a message? You never gave me any message.”

“Didn't take one.”

“Goddamnit, Aidan! You knew I was planning to move onto campus eventually!”

“My bad.” His head rolls around like his neck can't support it.

“You little shit,” I say through my teeth. I can't even look at him. “I think maybe you should just go to bed for now.” I hook my arm under one of his and try to ease him up. Guess I should be thankful he's drunk or I might never have found out about Jackie.

“No.” He pulls away. “We're supposed to talk. That's what your note —”

“I can't talk to you right now.”

“I don't want you to be pissed at me, Lyss.” He sticks out his bottom lip like a sulky toddler. “I
hate
when you're pissed at me.”

At this moment I'll say anything to get him to go to bed. “I'm not pissed at you, Aidan.”

He tilts his head back. “Good. Now some spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti tomorrow.” I sigh.

This time he lets me help him up and lead him down the hall to his room. He does a face plant onto his bed. I turn out the light and close his door.

My first inclination is to go back and clean up the mess in the living room. Halfway there I stop, backtrack to my room, and do my own face plant onto my bed. With my nose mashed against the bedding, I admit defeat. Liam was right. I'm in over my head — I can't do this myself. But what
do
I do? I can't knock him out and drag him to a doctor, I can't pour the pills down his throat. Though if I just give up and walk out on him, what does that say about me? I must be able to go somewhere for advice. A hospital, or a clinic. Yeah, tomorrow I'll look into that.

I pull myself up and go slide the lock into place.

I DREAM ONE BAD
dream after another. I force myself to wake up, if only to make them stop.

As I lie there waiting for the rest of my body to come to life, something tugs at my brain. Is today the twelfth? I fling my arm over, grab the clock, and slide it toward me.
Shit!
I'm supposed to meet Mary. With everything that's been going on, I totally forgot. I wonder if it's too late to cancel. I check the clock again. No, she's probably already left.

I roll out of bed and get dressed. When I come into the kitchen Aidan's there. Any other time, there's no sign of him for days, now I can't get rid of him.

He's pouring a glass of Coke. A bottle of Advil sits on the counter.

“Hungover?” I ask loudly.

He winces at the sound of my voice. “No.”

I smirk with satisfaction.

“Look, about last night,” he says. “I was drunk. I'm not even sure what I said. I'm really sorry —”

“That's okay.” I cut him off. I don't want to get into anything. I open and close the cupboard doors, making as much noise as I can. He cringes each time I move. I fill a Ziploc with Frosted Mini-Wheats and throw it in my bag. “I'm outta here.”

“You've been working a lot,” he comments.

“Yeah.” But not today.

“If you wait until I jump in the shower, I can drive you. I'm going to the unemployment office.”

“Unemployment? I thought you had a job at that wine place.”

“Nah. The guy is a total asswipe. Thinks he knows everything. I can't work for someone like that.”

I squeeze my eyes shut as the beginnings of a headache ping against
my skull. I can't worry about this right now. “Oh. Uh, no thanks. I need the fresh air.”

I'm about to leave the kitchen when he says, “Wait. You know, I meant to ask you something last night.”

“What?”

“Well, I noticed on the call display that Mary called.”

“Oh yeah?” I say casually.

“Yeah. A few days ago.”

“You make a habit of going through the call display?”

He smiles, but it's not real. And he doesn't answer either.

“I don't know what to tell you, Aidan.” And I start digging around in my bag to hide my face.

“Did you take the call? Talk to her?”

“No,” I lie.

“And she didn't leave a message?”

“I guess not.”

He frowns. “That's weird. Do you think it was about the autopsy or something?”

“I've no idea.” I pocket two Advil from the bottle and fling my bag over my shoulder. “I'm sure she'll call back if it's important.”

I pass by the phone, then I stop, stare at it for a second, and pick up the receiver. I press the CID button until I find what I'm looking for,
“Jackie Nelson.” I tear off a corner of the cable bill and jot down the phone number. I leave without saying goodbye.

THE WIND IS RUTHLESS
. It whips up the fresh snow that fell over- night, causing mini whiteouts. It feels like I'm walking through a blizzard even though it's not even snowing.