Twisted (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

T
he rain drums loudly on the hood of the car. A film of condensation covers my side window. With my finger I draw a happy face on the glass. Liam must think I'm crazy. We've been parked here in front of this house for more than a few minutes and I haven't made the slightest move to get out of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at him. He's listening to Arcade Fire on the radio and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, like he finds nothing at all weird about this situation. Maybe he's the crazy one.

I know I can't stay here forever. I erase my artwork with the palm of my hand. “Thanks again for the drive,” I say.

“No big whoop.” He sweeps his hair out of his eyes. “It's on my way home.”

I still make no move to get out of the car.

Liam turns in his seat. “I'm not trying to be nosy or anything, but you kind of remind me of myself when I had to go for a root canal last month.”

I let out a laugh, more of a grunt really, but I don't say anything.

He rolls down his window and looks at the house. “This guy's your brother, huh?”

“Step.”

“My Spidey senses are telling me you're kind of … I dunno … anxious about seeing him?”

“It's a long story.”

“It usually is,” he says.

I reach behind me, pull my duffle bag from the back seat, then fling the car door open. My stomach cramps up. I know it's nerves. I sit with my body half-in, half-out and breathe deeply. I don't care that the rain is soaking my legs all over again.

“Hey.” He touches my shoulder. “No matter what, he's family, right?”

My head turns. He makes it sound so simple. “Right.”

But he must see something in my face, and his eyes turn serious. “Do you want me to come to the door with you?”

“No,” I say quickly. “Not necessary.” I feel guilty about all the time he's wasted on me, a complete stranger. It's time to let him off the hook.

He stares back at the house for a second. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I try to sound convincing. “You've gone above and beyond.”

“Well … I
did
spend a few years in the Boy Scouts.”

“And it's obviously paid off.” I force myself to smile, to reassure him.

The car door is now dripping wet. I finish getting out, hook my bag over my shoulder, and walk around to the driver's side window.

“Thanks for everything, Liam,” I say.

“Like I said, no big whoop. And drop by the coffee shop sometime. I'm there most nights.”

“Okay. Maybe.” I step back from the curb and wave.

He sticks his head out. “I'm going to wait here until you're in.”

I nod and make my way up the walk. When I get to the front step I turn and look back. I realize the upset feeling in my stomach isn't completely about seeing Aidan again; a bit of it is about saying goodbye to Liam. Liam, who only knows me as Lyssa — anonymous Lyssa. In spite of all the crap that came earlier, this past hour has been my first taste of normal in a long time. And it was … nice. Then again, I guess it depends on your definition of normal.

The lights are on inside the house, but the porch is in complete darkness. I go to ring the bell, but the door swings open before my finger makes contact.

There he stands, the brightness from inside the house making him look like he's glowing around the edges, like he's not real, like he's an angel. Or a ghost. My breath catches, blocking my words. I didn't expect to feel this way.

I hear Liam toot his horn and drive off.

Aidan looks past me over my shoulder and frowns. “I could have picked you up, you know.”

My words are still blocked.

He glances up at the porch ceiling. “Sorry, the bulb's burnt out. Come in. Here, let me take that.” He holds a hand out for my bag.

Wordlessly, I pass it to him and step into the hall.

For a long moment we study each other. I take in every tiny detail. The changes are subtle. His dark eyes are the same, but set in a face that looks older. His brown hair is slightly shorter, not so long and “Shaggy from
Scooby-Doo
” anymore. He's still tall, but he looks even taller because he's lost weight. I wonder what he thinks about me. Do I look the same as I did two years ago? Then I remember … he was at the funeral. He would have seen me this morning.

Aidan moves first. He sets my duffle bag down, circles his arms around me, and envelops my body with his. All I want to do is hug him back, but I'm hurt. Hurt about this morning, hurt about the last two years. My body remains completely rigid. I'm a cardboard cut-out.

He gets the message and lets go. I back away from him. I don't know what to do with myself, where to look, what to say. Using my front tooth, I scrape at a dry flake of skin on my lip until I taste blood.

He nosily clears his throat. “I'm sorry about your mom, Lyssa.”

Finally I speak. “People said you were there this morning.”

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Why didn't you come and talk to me?”

He drops his eyes. “I didn't know if you'd want me to.”

A few seconds go by. “What about Vince? Did you talk to him?”

His head jerks up. He looks insulted. “No.”

“Then why did you come?”

He drops his eyes again. “She was always good to me, your mom. I know I didn't make it easy.”

That's an understatement. Aidan was the poster boy for “troubled teen.” I knew he smoked drugs; I could always smell it on his clothes. I'm sure Mom could smell it too, but she ignored it, probably to keep the peace. I figure Vince was more an expert in “eau de alcohol.” Calls from the principal came on an almost daily basis — Aidan was always getting into fights, which I could never understand, because he was a complete loner. He barely passed high school. I think they pushed him through just to be rid of him.

“She loved you, Aidan.”

“I don't know how many times she stopped Vince from beating the shit out of me. She ran good defence.”

More seconds go by.

“I've missed you, Lyss,” he says. “I think about you, worry about you, all the time.”

I'm not sure I believe him. Everything he says is only making me more confused. “You're the one who left, remember?”

“I know. And I'm sorry.”

I stare back at him. Does he really not get it? What his leaving did to me? “I'm sorry? That's it?”

“You don't want to get into this whole thing right now, do you?” he sighs.

“I kind of do.”

“I promise. When the time is right, I'll explain it all,” he says.

“When the time is right, you'll explain it all?” I repeat. “What does that mean?”

“Trust me about this.”

“Aidan. You have to give me something,
anything
.”

Frustrated, he runs his hands through his hair. “Think about the day you've just had, Lyssa.” He checks his watch. “I can't imagine how exhausted you must be. I don't know how you're still standing.”

It's like Aidan saying it out loud suddenly makes it true. I hit a wall. I feel a little off balance, my vision blurs. I reach for the arm of the sofa and ease myself down onto the seat.

He starts to tug off my wet jacket. I let him. Then he unfolds a fleece blanket and drapes it over me. “Just lie down and shut your eyes.”

I try to keep them open. Just before I fall asleep, I hear him whisper, “Everything's going to be okay now.”

CHAPTER 5

M
y eyes are closed, but I can still tell it's morning. I burrow down deeper into the sofa, pull the blankets around me tighter. I feel a puff of warmth on my face, smell a bad smell. Still half-asleep, I drag my eyes open. A mass of ginger fur is all I can see. My heart stops. Before I can think, I swat at it with my arm. I hear a highpitched meow, the sound of nails scraping along the floor.

Aidan comes rushing in. “Beat it, Bingley!” He takes a menacing step toward the cat, stomping his foot loudly. “Sorry,” he says to me.

The cat arches its back, hisses, and runs out of the room.

“Hate that damn thing,” Aidan mutters.

I'm now fully awake and sitting up. I toss back the blankets and instantly feel cold. My clothes are still damp.

“Last night, I left for two seconds to put your stuff in the spare room,” Aidan says. “When I got back, you were dead to the world. Instead of moving you, I just piled on the blankets and hoped for the best. Were you warm enough?”

I nod.

The cat reappears, stretches lazily, and weaves itself, nose held high, in and around Aidan's feet like he owns the place and everything in it.

Aidan curls his lip and pushes it away with his foot.

“I never thought of you as a cat person,” I say.

“I'm not. It's Marla's. She can't have pets in her apartment.”

“Marla?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?”

He smiles. “You seem surprised.”

“I, uh, am.”

“Why?”

“In all the time I've known you, you never once had a girlfriend, never really showed any interest in … any girl.” I get up, attempt to fold one of the blankets. “After a while … I just …”

“What?” he demands. “Thought I was
gay
?”

I pause. “It crossed my mind.”

“What about Tammy Johnson? I really liked her, wanted to ask her out.
You
told me to stay away, told me that she was trailer trash.”

“Well, she was.
Is.
You know she's got two kids now, by two different guys.”

He shakes his head. “I can't believe it. I
can't
believe you thought I was gay.”

“I actually thought that might have been why you left.”

“Because Vince wouldn't take too kindly to having a gay son?” he says sarcastically.

I shrug.

“Yeah, well, I'm not. And that's not why I left.”

There's anger in his voice. I wait, but he doesn't offer any more of an explanation. He motions with his head toward the hall. “Your room's the second door. The bathroom's right next to it. I'll make you some breakfast.”

After I'm showered and dressed, I take a moment to check out the house. It's old. The furniture's worn and faded but looks comfortable. It doesn't feel like a guy lives here.

Aidan comes out into the hall to find me snooping around the dining room. “Do you still take milk and sugar in your tea?”

I quickly set down the porcelain figurine I'm holding. “Just black.”

“What do you think of the place?” he asks.

“Uh … nice?”

He laughs. “This all belongs to Mrs. Collins. She lives upstairs, owns the house. In return for cheap rent, I do all the odd jobs. You know, shovelling, mowing the lawn, any repairs. She's eighty-five.”

“Oh.”

“I sort of inherited all this stuff from her,” he continues. “I used
to live upstairs, but then last year someone tried to break in. It scared her. She didn't want to be at street level anymore, so we switched. Even after she moved up everything she wanted, it was still full of furniture down here. It was easier to just live with it than put it in storage.”

I nod.

“Come on. Breakfast is ready.”

I follow him into the kitchen. He puts two plates of scrambled eggs on the table, two cups of tea. I can't help but smile when I see the processed cheese slice melting over the mound of eggs, taking on their lumpy shape. He nudges the bottle of ketchup toward me. We used to take turns making this exact breakfast every Saturday morning. Only this time we eat in silence.

He sighs and shoves back his plate. “I don't remember you being this quiet.”

I look at him over the rim of my cup. “Just tired.”

“You grew your hair,” he comments.

More silence.

“Okay. Is this how it's —”

“Can I walk to King's College from here?” It's like he expects me to act like nothing happened, like we can pick up where we left off two years ago. Part of me wishes I could. It would be so easy. But I'm all a jumble. I'm not sure how I should feel. Or act.

“Um, yeah. But I can drive you.”

“No thanks.”

“Is this where you're heading?” He holds up a crumpled piece of paper. “It fell out of your jacket last night.”

Kyle's address. It suddenly occurs to me that Aidan doesn't know about Kyle or what happened. In fact, now that I think about it, he never even asked me what I was doing here, why I needed a place to stay. Guess I should be grateful, grateful he feels so guilty.

“No. I just told you, I'm going to King's.” I reach for the paper, but he snatches it back.

“Who's Kyle?” he asks.

Damn. I wrote “Kyle new cell #” above his address.

Aidan glances back at the paper. “The Glengary … it's a Dalhousie residence … so, someone from home?”

I don't answer.

Then Aidan makes a face like he just ate something rotten. “Not Kyle Matthews. Please tell me you weren't going to see Kyle Matthews.”

I debate lying, but it would only create more questions. “Not anymore.”

“Good.” Aidan dumps sugar straight from a two-kilogram bag into his tea.

I'm kind of taken aback when he doesn't ask me anything else about Kyle. Maybe he figures I won't tell him.

“He was an arrogant little prick,” he adds.

Much to my surprise, I become a bit defensive. “You didn't even
know
him.”

He shrugs. “I knew
of
him.”

“Any right you had to offer an opinion, you gave up two years ago,” I add.

“Maybe. But it doesn't stop me from having one. A
right
one,” he says, all smug.

“Could you be any more of an asshole?” I try kicking him under the table, but he's too quick and shifts his legs.

He balls up his napkin and throws it at me. “Probably,” he jokes.

I narrow my eyes. Did he really think I'd find that funny?

“Okay, okay, time out,” he says. “I'll take you over to King's. Why do you want to go?”

“To do
stuff
.”

“Lyssa. It's just a question. I'm only trying to help.”

“Fine,” I say. “I want to go to the registrar's office, see about my student loan, see if I can start taking some classes in January, see if there's any student housing available.”

“Wow.” Aidan sits back in his chair. “That's quite a list. I kind of thought, with your mom and everything, you gave up on university.”

“Well, I didn't.”

“That's great. Good for you,” he says, but he doesn't sound like he means it.

“Thank God I have your approval.”

He smirks. “Nice to see you still have that sarcastic edge I so admire.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

Shaking his head, he says, “Hey, listen. Don't waste your loan money on a place to stay. Stay here.”

I push my eggs around on my plate.

“Come on, Lyss. The residences are all full by now. Classes started a couple of months ago.”

“I'll check at the student union building. Someone might be looking for a roommate.”

“Oh, right, and risk ending up with some crazy?”

“Well, when I meet them, I'll make sure to ask for their mental health records.”

“But I have an extra bedroom. You're fifteen minutes from the university. You'd be nuts not to stay here.”

“No … I dunno …”

He doesn't say anything for a minute, then: “I know it hurt you when I left like I did. So let me at least start to try and make it up to you — I owe you. Stay here. Come and go as you please. You don't even have to talk to me if you don't want. Please, Lyss.”

I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose. I feel like a checker piece blocked in on all sides. I'm out of moves — no money, no job, no place to stay, a student loan that might not even exist anymore.

“Come on, Lyss. It'll be fun. We used to have fun, didn't we?”

We did. We did used to have fun. My shoulders slump. “All right, I'll stay. For now.”

“Why just for now?”

“Because I need a change. I want to try living on campus, meet new people, do all the things you're supposed to do when you go to university.”

“You can do that all from here.”

It's like he really thinks living here would be the same as living on campus. “I said I'd stay. For now. Take it or leave it.”

“Guess I have to take it,” he says. “For now.”