Beautifully Ruined (18 page)

I couldn’t tell him even if he asked.

But I shove it all aside. I can’t wallow. Not when he’s put so much effort into tonight.

We have dinner and dessert—more cake. Somehow, he got Avery to serve us. And wear the funniest outfit I’d ever seen.

“Now, on to the best part,” Zephyr says after Avery clears away the plates.

“What’s that?” I rest my head in my hands, staring across the table at a giddy Zephyr.

He pulls out a box from beneath the table. “Presents.”

I laugh as he thrusts the green-papered box in front of me. The paper matches my dress.

“What is it?” I ask tentatively taking the box from his hands.

“Open it to find out, Jo.”

I place the box on the table in front of me and tear into the pretty wrapping. It’s a decently sized box so I’m a little eager to see what’s hidden inside.

Inside the box, I discover after I rip away the paper… is another box. This one is smaller—very small—and black velvet. The one that usually holds a specific type of jewelry.

Please let it be earrings, please let it be earrings
, I beg repeatedly in my mind.

“Zephyr?” I whisper, a little worried and, strangely, a little excited. “What did you do?”

“You’ve got to open it to find out, Joey,” he encourages with an eager smile.

I pluck the box from the paper inside and flip the lid. Inside is what I thought was inside.

A ring.

A nice, shiny, pretty ring. It’s a platinum band with a heart. Inside the heart is a tiny purple gem. An amethyst, my birthstone.

I’m speechless and immobile as I stare at it in my hands.

Zephyr stands, moving toward me, a grin pulling his lips. He kneels down—
on one knee
—and looks up to me, his dark eyes twinkling in the dim lighting.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

I can’t let this happen. I can’t—I can’t. I love him, I truly do, but this is too fast. We’re too young, definitely too young to do anything like this.

“Zeph, we’re seventeen,” I blurt, speaking to the ring, avoiding the scene in front of me. If I don’t look, it’s not real. Yep, that’s how life works.

“I know we’re seventeen.” He reaches down to tie his shoes, chuckling quietly.
Asshat!
“What did you think I was going to do?”
A lot nicer things than what I’m planning to do to you, buddy.

My breathing returning to normal, I reach out and smack him in the arm.

“Oh, did you think I was going to…?”

“
NO!
” I blurt loudly. Not convincing at all but it sends him into hysterics.

After his gut-clutching laughter, he leans over, kissing me tenderly. “Read the inscription,” he says against my lips.

I pull away and tug the ring from the box to read what’s inscribed along the band.

Forever, my love, Zephyr and Joey
.

I take a deep breath, watching him take the ring from the box and slip it onto my finger, the ring finger on my
right
hand. “It’s a promise ring,” he tells me as he threads his fingers with mine. “I promise to love you forever, Joey.” I blush. “I promise to be there when you need me. To care for you, to be your best friend and all you need. And maybe someday, who knows?”

Who knows?
I like the sound of that.

I look up to him, unable to think of anything to say.

Have I actually rendered you speechless?” He pulls me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. “Color me shocked,” he says sarcastically.

Sarcasm aside, I lean into him, savoring the moment. “I love you, Zephyr.” I press my lips to his eagerly, feeling his body against his. My lips part, letting his tongue tentatively tangle with mine before he pulls away.

“I love you, too, Joey.”





Thunder crashes overhead, the sound rocking the car as we drive back home. The night was wonderful, and magical, a dream that nearly cleared my brain of unwanted thoughts. Almost…

After dinner, we sat and talked, we kissed, we danced to music he played from his iPod, we kissed a hell of a lot more, and we just had a good time. If it hadn’t hit ten o’clock, we’d still be lounging on the floor, legs entwined, talk about nothing and everything.

He pulls into my driveway and runs around to open my door for me.
Such a gentleman
. Zephyr tucks me beneath his jacket and we run toward my house, hoping not to get soaked. It’s mostly successful. Zephyr caught most of the rain. I still think he should’ve had an umbrella handy, but as we all say,
umbrellas are for tourists
.

“Thank you for the best birthday I think I’ve ever had.” I lean against my front door and reach my hand up to sift my fingers through his wet hair. He tied it back, something he rarely does, so I tug the band from his hair, letting it fall to his shoulders, the tendrils dripping on his shoulders.

“You’re welcome.” His hands find my hips, his eyes search mine, and a nervous blush heats my cheeks and travels down, heating parts of me that were, moments ago, freezing.

He’s my boyfriend, I love him, and he always makes me so nervous. My palms start to sweat, my knees begin to quake, and I start to blush—not only on my face. But all of this, every little thing he makes me feel, I don’t mind. I hope the feeling never leaves.

His hands move and every touch sends electricity through my body, shocking me to my core. Something flutters in my stomach, and I feel something heat between my legs. My breath hitches with every touch, every move he makes.

Another bolt of lightning lights the night sky and thunder immediately follows. The lightning is close.

I want Zephyr closer.

Grabbing him behind his neck, I tug him to my lips. The moment our lips touch, everything goes quiet. There’s no rain, there’s no thunder, there’s only me and him alone in this world. He presses me harder against the door, using it to keep us upright. I nip his bottom lip as his tongue slides into my mouth, meeting mine in a seductive tangle that steals my breath away.

Yep, definitely the best birthday ever
.

One more crash of thunder explodes overhead and I realize we’re making out, quite heatedly, on my front porch. We’re acting like normal teenagers—it’s so
normal
to do this. The feeling is so exhilarating that I don’t want to stop, so I pull him closer, feeling every inch of his body press against mine.

And I mean I can
feel
everything.

“We have to stop,” he says against my lips.

I don’t reply and I don’t release him. I hold him tighter hoping I didn’t hear him right.

“Joey, please,” he begs. Zephyr doesn’t beg.

I pull away, breaking the kiss, and see the desperation in his eyes.

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t leave.”

I run my hands down his chest, feeling the water against my skin. “I don’t want you to leave.” The truth leaks through my swollen lips. “I’m ready to drag you up to my room.” More truth. His body quakes with my revelation, a tremble that mirrors my own.

“Oh God, Jo.” He pulls away from my arms, turning away, and searching for distance. “That’s not what I want to hear when I’m about to leave. Do you know how hard it’s going to be to sleep
across that alley
? I’m not sure I can last.”

I walk over to him, snaking my arms around his waist. “I’m sure you can manage. After all, I have to do the same thing.” I lean up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

He turns around to face me, pulling me into a tight hug. “I love you, too. Happy birthday.”

One more kiss, one more taste, and I reluctantly leave him on the porch, wanting so much to dive back into his arms and drag him up to my room to make this birthday even better.

“
Happy birthday to you
…” The song floats daintily through the air, like a whisper on the wind. Where is it coming from? “
Happy birthday to you
…” I follow the song, the sound, walking down the unfamiliar carpeted stairs to the living room. “
Happy birthday, dear JoJo
…” Sitting at the kitchen table—it’s me. It’s me when I was a little girl. “
Happy birthday to you!
” The songs ends and applause erupts around the tiny girl sitting at the head of the table, a giant grin covering her chubby face.

It’s her—
my
—birthday.

I stop where I stand, somehow standing in an old living room I don’t remember, surrounded by furniture and knickknacks I don’t recall. I’m watching myself celebrate a birthday—I’m not sure which—but I look so happy.

I watch my mom set a cake in front of me, adorned with seven large lit candles.

I’m seven. I’m turning seven years old today
.

“Make a wish, JoJo.” Mom sounds excited, so enthusiastic. She doesn’t know that this is my last birthday with her

The little girl smiles. “’Kay, Mommy,” she says before taking a deep breath and blowing out all seven candles on the first try.

I remember that
…

“Yay!” Mom claps her hands together, joined together by Ivy and Noah. “Was it a good wish, honey?”

“I wished for—”

“Don’t tell us what you wished for, Freakazoid,” Ivy scolds from her seat. Little-me shoots her a glare. I walk closer, wanting to see everything, wanting to experience the scene first hand—but I don’t have that right. “Then it won’t come true.”

I don’t even remember what I wished for—I don’t remember anything about this day, it was so long ago, ten years ago, long before the moment my memory closed down.

“It won’t?” younger-me asks, her hazel eyes wide with wonder as she stares at her big sister. At
my
big sister.
This tense thing is going to get a little weird as I try to make sense of things
. I reach out my hand, inching it closer and closer to the older sister I don’t remember. Ivy looks nothing like me, she looks so much like Mom, it’s terrifying. She’s only ten but you can clearly see the resemblance. Especially when she smiles.

“Nope,” Noah chirps from his seat on the side of the table. “It’s bad luck, too.”

“No, it’s not,” Ivy snaps, ready to argue.

I can see the fight beginning to form as Mom has her back turn. She’s in the kitchen, cutting the pink cake into small pieces—something to keep the sugar high at bay.

“Right?” Ivy asks someone. She’s looking at me. The real me, or older me, whatever the correct terminology is.

But she can’t be looking
at
me; I’m not here. Or I wasn’t there when this happened.
Gah, this tense crap is getting confusing
. I have a headache.

“What?” I ask instinctively, holding up my hands.

Ivy tilts her head. “It’s not bad luck to reveal a secret,” she states.

Now all eyes are on me.

This is really weird
.

Staring back at the children staring at me, I stammer, dropping my hands against bare legs and contemplate an answer. I’ve got nothing. “I’m not sure,” I mumble nervously, folding my hands in front of me—as if that could hide me. “You can see me?” I blurt when their eyes don’t turn away.

“Well,
duh
,” Ivy replies before they all start giggling. “You’re kind of right there.”

Thunder crashes overhead and I look to the window, moving past Ivy to check the streets, seeing sheets of rain falling hard and fast, pounding against the dark cement, blurring the view of the road.

“Look at this rain, right?” I turn, pointing to the window, but no one is behind me.
Where did everyone go?

“I want you
out
of this
house
, Benjamin,” Mom yells. Somehow, everyone disappeared, even Mom from the kitchen. I turn, expecting to see her screaming at my father, but no one is behind me. I’m alone in the living room.

But not for long.

Pounding, stomping attracts my attention, leading my eyes to the stairs—
thump, thump, thump
, the sound crashes through the air, loud and shocking. I see legs on the stairs as they descend. Mom is in front of Dad, tugging a large suitcase that leaves her frame lopsided.

“You can’t kick me out of my own
HOUSE
, Keisha,” my father yells, following behind her.

“Want me to call the police, then?” she counters, dropping the suitcase by the front door.

It’s the night she made him leave. I don’t know what day this is, I don’t remember any of this. I’m surprised she packed him a bag. You’d think he’d find his clothes and possession littering the front lawn. Or worse.

“And tell them what, huh?” he baits, edging closer to her. “You have nothing.
NOTHING!
” he screams.

“I have what
my
daughter told me, Benjamin.” She steps, closing the distance, standing at her full height—that’s pretty close to the ground. I’m short for a reason, I can tell. Despite that, she’s not backing down, not from this.

Stepping reluctantly, I move closer, but not too close in case they can see me like the kids.

My father looks away—directly at me, but doesn’t see me. “
Our
daughter is a liar.” He’s not backing down, either. That was a metaphorical-punch to the metaphorical-gut. I know they’re talking about me.
I’m not a liar
.

“
My
daughter, Benjamin.” Mom moves again, tugging the suitcase behind her. She opens the front door and throws it outside, into the pouring rain.

“She is
ours
, Keisha.”

“Just be happy you’re leaving on your own, Benjamin,” Mom says to him. “I could’ve given you a chauffeur to the nearest police station.”

“Listen, bitch—”

“Mm-mm-mmm,” Mom interrupts. “Watch it. I can still make that phone call.”

He steps closer to her. “You know you don’t believe her, Keisha. Otherwise you would have made that call when she said something.”

“Get. Out.”

He grabs the suitcase. “I’ll be back, Keisha.”

Mom narrows her eyes, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, glares at him, until he shifts his stature. I followed him, my father, out the front door, watching him walk into the rain, blurred by thick sheets of water pounding down upon his head and the earth surrounding.

“This is
not
over, Keisha,” he seethes.

The hard wooden slam was enough to wake me. That and the rain pelting me in the face. Somehow, I made it outside. In my tank top and fuzzy sleep shorts that are now clinging to my body—I really need to rethink my sleepwear if I’m going to wind up outside a lot. I’m barefoot in my driveway, staring at a car that isn’t there.

“What are you doing out here?” Zephyr yells through the roar of the rain. He’s in a sweatshirt and pajama pants, both soaked through, as he grips my shoulders tightly.

“I-I-I don’t kn-know.” I look around. I’m standing in my own front yard. Thank God, I didn’t start wandering through the street.

He pushes against my shoulders, steering me toward my house.

Inside the warmth of my living room, I shiver in the foyer, rubbing fruitlessly against my arms, hoping for heat but I’m too chilled to feel any difference.

“Oh God, Joey.” Hilary runs down the stairs. “I just checked your room, you weren’t there—” she stops, looking at me. “You’re wet. Why are you wet?” She yanks the afghan from the back of the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders, before she grabs another blanket for Zephyr.

“She was standing in the driveway,” Zephyr explains.

“Why were you in the driveway?” Hilary asks, concern clouding her voice.

I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.” I shake my head, my hair dripping down my sides. I’m still shaking from the cold. “The last thing I remember is reading in bed. Then I’m standing in the rain.”
But that’s not it
… “I, uh…” I trail, staring at the floor and the puddle I’m creating in the carpet.
Come on, Joey—be brave
. Zephyr clasps my hand through the fuzzy fabric. “I was having a nightmare.”

Zephyr tugs my hand, trying to get my attention, but I don’t want to look at him. He’s seen the worse of my nightmares. Or I thought he had. Never before have I walked in my sleep.

What’s happening to me?

What’s going to happen next?

“Oh, honey,” Hilary whispers, wrapping her arms around me, tugging me closer. “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “Somehow, we’ll figure out what’s wrong.”

As much as I wish that to be true, I know, deep down, that it’s not possible. There’s too much jumbled within me to sort through.