Duality: Vol 1, Melancholia (A New Adult Paranormal Romance) (18 page)

I walked around the front of the SUV and got in the passenger side, making sure to keep my gaze on the windshield once I was seated. 
Do not look at the bushes.  Do not make eye contact with Dad.  He’ll read your expression and know you’re lying
.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”  He put the car into Drive.  His window was still down.

“Can we go please?”  I buckled my seatbelt, even though there were moments like this when I wondered if I might be better off leaving it off and dying in a car accident.  The click of the locking mechanism reminded me that as tempting as it might be to end it all, I had a really strong will to live.  Even though the life I was living pretty much sucked most of the time, I still ignored every suicidal thought that tried to sneak into my brain.  At least today life had been a little different - until now, that is.

“We’ll go when I’m ready to go.  You
know
you can’t be out wandering around, Rae.  It’s not safe.  Did you walk all the way from school?”

“No.  I got a ride.”  I tapped my fingers on my leg, trying to control my nervous energy by pretending to be singing in my head.  I tried to whistle too, but gave up when it came out sounding like the wind blowing through a haunted forest.

“From whom?”

“Just a guy.”  I cringed inwardly. 
Dammit, that was the wrong thing to say. 
Guys were always trouble in my dad’s eyes.

“A guy?  Just a
guy?” 
His tone became angry.  “I want to know
who
this guy is and what business it is of his to be driving you home.”  His tone switched to one of disappointed scolding.  “Rae, you know better than to do that.  You can’t let boys drive you home.”

He was talking to me like I’m an idiot again, and I was sick and tired of it.  Usually I had more patience with my parents, but knowing Malcolm could still be there by those bushes listening in to my father’s ranting was making me sick to my stomach.

“Dad, just go, okay?!  I’m not going to talk about this anymore until we’re home.”

“Rae…”

I turned the full force of my glare on him, speaking in a low,  slightly menacing tone.  “I will lock myself in my room and refuse to come out the entire weekend.  Is that what you want?”  I did it; I played the isolation card with him.  I hated doing it, but he’d left me with no choice.

The shame I felt over using my power on him was almost overwhelming.  I tortured myself when this happened with the idea that there’s a special place in hell for kids who did that to their parents.  Even when their parents were a pain in the butt.  No one deserved to be manipulated, and I hated that I felt pushed into doing it.  Maybe I should have been more patient, just tuned it out more.  His response didn’t help me feel any better.

His face fell and all the power from his anger disappeared, leaving a scared and lonely Rainbow behind in the driver’s seat.  “No, please don’t.  You know your mother and I don’t like when you shut yourself away from us.”

Tears burned my eyes and my throat felt too full again, like I was choking.  My words came out sounding strangled.  “Then take me home and stop with the questions for just five minutes.  That’s all I’m asking.”  I turned away so I couldn’t see his pitiful expression anymore.

He reached out and put his hand on my arm.  I struggled not to flinch away from him.  A smile lit his voice.  “Sweetie, you know we just worry about you.”

My chest ached with the pain I kept inside me.  I stared out the side window.  “Yeah.  I know.”  My voice was rough with unexpressed emotion.  “You can’t help yourselves.”  To anyone listening it might have sounded like I was being a smart-ass teen, confident in her parents’ love for her.  But it was something much more sinister than that.  They really were addicted, and like most addicts, in complete denial.

We pulled away from the curb and got over on the right side of the road.  A block down the street my father did a u-turn to head back towards the Highlands.

The tears finally escaped and began to roll down my cheeks when I glanced out the side window and saw the solid dark green of Malcolm’s shirt through the lighter leaves of the bush.  He’d been there the whole time and had probably heard every word.

Chapter Seventeen: Malcolm

I STOOD THERE IN THE bushes, not moving a muscle, listening to bits and pieces of the conversation Rae was having with her father.  She’d said the guy was overprotective, but that was a serious exaggeration as far as I could tell.  The guy was a possessive freak.  I was tempted to step out of my hiding place and pull Rae away from him, just like I had with Mr. Holder.  But that was ridiculous.  I pushed the urge and thought of it away right after it came into my head.  This guy was her father, not some creepy teacher.  He obviously loves her a lot and just wants her to be careful about who she hangs out with.  Isn’t that what all dads do?  I wouldn’t know.  My dad left a long time ago, or that’s what I hear, anyway.  But if I were a dad, that’s what I’d do.

When the car was out of sight, I left the bushes and jogged the rest of the way home, realizing for the first time I didn’t have my backpack.  I’d been in such a panic before, all I’d been able to think about was getting Rae safe.  I must have left it in Brody’s car.  The only thing of value in it was my journal, which he’d probably read.  I sighed, thinking about the shit he’d be giving me on Monday.  Guys like him weren’t into poetry.  They mocked what they didn’t appreciate.

It took me twenty minutes to get home.  I lied before when I said I live by the Highlands.  My house is in a much more colorful part of town.  And when I say colorful, I mean shitty.

I kicked an empty paper-bag-covered can out of the way as I mounted the stairs inside the concrete block apartment building where I live.   There was trash along the edges of the stairway and in the hallways too, but I always left it where it was.  I’ve seen the people who put that stuff there, and I strongly suspect they have infectious diseases I could catch.  I shuddered at the thought of it as I passed by a used, twisted up condom just two doors down from my apartment at the end of the hall.

I pulled my key out of my shirt.  I kept it on a chain around my neck.  More than once I’ve had to abandon my backpack and then ended up locked out.  I’ve learned to keep certain things close, and access to shelter was tops on my list.

I pushed open the door and shut it behind me, making sure to draw the two bolts and hook up the chain.  Drug deals and angry domestic situations were normal around here, and I didn’t like unexpected visitors wandering in. They were hard to get rid of and always made me feel sick, the way they stared at me and looked so needy, craving my darkness, wanting to consume it in great quantities.  Just me being in this building was a problem for a lot of the tenants, but I had to live somewhere.  Until the State was off my ass and out of my life, it had to be with other people, including people who were paid to foster orphans like me, even though they had zero qualifications or desire to be parents.

I picked up the phone to check for voicemails, but the line was dead.  I slammed it back into the cradle. 
Typical. 
Bills only get paid when people were around to notice things aren’t working anymore.  I hadn’t seen my current foster mother in weeks.  It was better that way, though.  She was one of the lucky ones.  The foster parents who stuck around always ended up getting very messed up.  Even though most of them were jerks, I still felt bad about that.

I sat down on the ratty couch on the far edge of the family room and thought about my day.  Usually my days bled into weeks that bled into months; I hardly recognized one from the other.  My life was an endless stream of regular patterns, nothing varying beyond me walking around trying to be invisible and ducking into bathrooms, avoiding contact with people as much as possible.

I laughed a little as I remembered Kootch being all magnanimous about my supposed bladder problem.  I didn’t have the heart to tell the guy I’d been in there hiding from him, but apparently Jasmine was perfectly happy with not candy-coating bad news.  The look on Kootch’s face was classic.

And then the world just kind of stopped.  When Rae said she does the same thing.  She hides in bathrooms too.  I couldn’t believe it when she said it; it was like my brain was refusing to compute the words.

I pulled my phone out and stared at her number.

She hides in bathrooms too.

I said it out loud, testing the sound of it, wondering if it meant anything at all.  “She hides in bathrooms too.”

I shook my head, disgusted with myself for wandering down that path.  “Bullshit,” I said out into the room.  “She’s no agent of darkness.  No fucking way.”  I threw my phone down on the couch, watching it bounce off the opposite arm and land in a crack between the cushions.  I was such a sad, sorry, fuck - sitting there thinking some girl who was so shy she sometimes took an extra bathroom break was an agent of evil like me. 
Yeah.  Right.

I was still scowling when a knock came at the door, interrupting my next thought about where I was going to find some dinner.  The cupboards had long been bare in this house, and I had almost no cash left.

“Hello?  Malcolm?” came a lady’s voice, slightly accented as if Spanish were her first language.  “Malcolm McNamara?  Mrs.  Brown?  Is anyone home?”

I sighed heavily. 
Hello, Shitty Day?  Meet Shittier Day. 
I stood up from the couch, knowing that ignoring this problem would only make it worse.  Walking to the door, I took those few seconds to smooth down my hair and shirt, trying to look less like a sweaty mess that had just escaped a weirded out teacher and jail keeper father and more like a studious teenager staying out of trouble, keeping his nose clean.

I opened the door and smiled as best I could.  “Hello, Mrs. Gonzalez.  What are you doing here?”

The rotund Hispanic woman in the brown and black polyester shirt and skirt outfit pursed her lips at me and nodded a few times before she answered.  “Like you don’t know.  Is Mrs. Brown in?”  She stood on her tiptoes to try and see over my shoulder.  She needed another few inches to accomplish that goal.  She wasn’t much over five feet.

“No, she’s not home.  But if you come back tomorrow early, maybe you can catch her before work.”

“No, that’s okay.  I’m here for you, too.  Open up.”

“Aren’t you supposed to call and tell us you’re coming first?”  It was worth a shot.  It only worked on the newbies, and Mrs. Gonzalez had been at the social worker thing for more years than I’ve been alive.

She pushed on the door and moved me back with the threat of a belly bump.  “I would be happy to do that if you had a working phone.  Did you get a cell phone yet?”

My face burned at the memory of my phone sitting on the couch.  “Nope.  Not yet.  Soon, though.  Soon.”  I walked backwards until I was near the couch.  I sat down right on top of my phone, wiggling my butt a little to try and push it deeper into the crack between the cushions.  “Have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the rickety chair to the right of me. 

She followed me over and sat down, the sound of panty hose and polyester swishing together reminding me strongly of every social worker who’d ever entered my life.  There had been many.  Why they were so attached to wearing those uncomfortable materials was a mystery to me.  I had a polyester shirt once, a hand-me-down gift from a drunk foster father with seriously bad taste in clothes, and I’d sweated so bad in it I had to throw it in the garbage the next day.  There isn’t anything much more heinous in my book than a polyester sweat stink.

“So, you have no phone, Mrs. Brown is missing…”

“She’s not missing.  She’s just at work.” 
That’s right.  Play stupid.  Maybe she’ll fall for it.

“Sorry, but that game’s already done played out.  She’s missing.”  She opened up a folder she’d brought with her and pulled out a form, dangling it between us.  “See this?  Missing person’s report.  Filed by her sister yesterday.”  She swung it back and forth a few times for emphasis.

“How’d you get a copy?”  In my experience that part of the police department and social services didn’t always work so well together.  I’d had months of uninterrupted and unsupervised living as a result, which made me sad to see Mrs. Gonzalez was so damn on top of things. 
Friggin computers.

She frowned at me and put the paper away.  “I know all.  I see all.  You’re alone in this place, and you don’t have a phone or probably any food either.  Try and tell me I’m wrong.”  She challenged me with a raised eyebrow and a little bob-n-weave of her head.

I knew what was coming, so I tried to head it off.  “I have plenty of food.  I eat breakfast and lunch at school and dinner down the street.  I’m fat.”  I pushed my stomach out and patted it, praying she’d buy it.

“Nice try, but you’re not fat.  You’re puffing out your belly to look fat, but you are most definitely
not
fat.  You’re hungry.  I can see it in your face.”  She leaned in, getting closer, studying me with her muddy brown eyes.  The folder was in danger of being suffocated by her massive boobs.

I shrank back, putting as much distance between us as I could.  I had to get her out of here ASAP.  This woman was surrounded by misery on a daily basis.  All she needed was a shot of darkness from me to push her over the edge and she’d be a goner.  No retirement for her.

“I’m fine, I really am,” I assured her.  “I run all the time, so I have almost no body fat.  I’m trying out for the track team.  Really, I’m fine.  And Mrs. Brown’s sister checks in on me when she’s gone, so it’s no big deal.”

She sighed, leaning back.  “It’s not good enough, Malcolm, and you know that.  We have minimum standards.”

I snorted.  I couldn’t help it.  I tried to cover my expression with the back of my hand and faked a cough.  She had to have seen the used condom in the hallway. 
Minimum standards my butt.

She frowned at me and then opened up her file again.  “I’m putting you in emergency placement.”