Keep Me Still (2 page)

I
t’s
the third week of school and I’m wearing the outfit Aunt Kate wanted, but I’m done sitting in the front of the class and raising my hand and all that crap just so everyone can keep pretending I don’t exist.

I sink down into a seat in the back near a window and stare out until I hear my name called for attendance. I raise my hand up and lower it quickly so I can go back to staring.

The window overlooks the courtyard below where we have lunch when it’s nice out. It’s sunny and the sky is a light shade of blue. Some kids are horsing around in the courtyard and I’m pretty sure they’re freshmen. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Pretty day, carefree people, sun shining. But it may as well be pouring rain in the middle of the night. Familiar black thoughts cloud my mind, and I wonder why I have to endure this torture. Why I survived. My mind wanders. Right back to the same place it always goes.

It’s cold out. My mom pulls my red pea coat around my shoulders and makes sure it’s buttoned. “I’m not a baby,” I tell her, jerking out of her grasp. At thirteen I can button my own coat for Pete’s sakes. I’m still a little pissy that my friend Tara couldn’t come. My dad walks around our silver SUV and glares at us for a second before smiling.

“Can’t even let me be a gentleman for one night,” he huffs. I roll my eyes because he knows my mom isn’t the type to sit around and wait for anyone to open her door.

“Sorry, hon,” my mom says. I don’t know if she’s speaking to me or to him. Snowflakes whirl a random dance around us, and my parents walk briskly down the deserted street, flanking me. When I was younger, we held hands and they would swing me. I used to think I was flying. The sidewalk is cracked and uneven, and a chain-link fence borders the side away from the street. For the first time I notice that downtown Atlanta is kind of ghetto.

“We should’ve parked in the garage,” my mom mumbles under her breath. Our heads are down to keep the wind from blowing in our faces so I don’t hear my dad’s response. Every year we go see The Nutcracker at the Atlanta Civic Center, and every year my dad refuses to pay the twelve dollar fee to park in the garage by the arena. This year it’s colder than usual, and my mom is annoyed but I think she’s just grumbling because she likes to get a rise out of my dad.

“Where’s the fun in that?” my dad asks, grabbing my hand and nodding at my mom over my head. She clasps my other hand.

“Oh no,” I say, attempting to pull my hands out of theirs. “I’m not a baby anymore.” I’m small for my age, but geez. I’m not a little kid. Why do I have to keep reminding them of this? They’ve been present for all thirteen of my birthdays.

They both squeeze tighter, and I give in and giggle as they pull me into the air.

Tires squeal to a stop on the road beside us and I’m put down roughly mid-swing. “Give me your wallet,” a stocky man coming towards us in a black hooded jacket sneers at my father. My mom pulls me in hard behind her so I can’t see his face. Her fingers dig deep into my arms, and I’m not sure if I’m the one trembling or she is. My heart pounds so hard it’s making me sick and my vision is blurring.

When a new student stands to introduce himself, I’m pulled from my thoughts. Because for some reason, the whole time he’s talking about how his dad is in the Army and they move a lot, blah, blah, blah, the tall dark-haired guy is focused completely on one person in the room. Me.

W
hen
I get home, I see that Aunt Kate has left a note. She had to go into the office and there’s lasagna in the fridge from last night’s dinner. I tried to eat my lunch at school under the magnolia tree where I usually sit but I was kind of creeped out by the strangest sense that someone was watching me, so I’m starving.

New Guy staring at me in class obviously got to me more than I realized.

I do my homework while I eat and try to ignore the shadow of loneliness looming over me. Aunt Kate has made so many sacrifices for me—working from home, which probably cost her becoming a partner at her firm, paying for private tutors so I didn’t have to go to school and risk having another public episode, and constantly taking off to attend all of my therapy sessions. Surely I can handle a few hours alone. I’m nearly eighteen years old for God’s sakes. Next year I’ll be at UGA or maybe Southern Cal if I’m lucky, and maybe then I can escape the memories that haunt me. Leave the broken, damaged girl I’ve become behind.

I’ll be fine
. Just like I’ve been fine these last few months.

Smiling proudly to myself as I finish my homework and push up off the couch, I think about how far I’ve come. I even smiled at New Guy today at school. And I noticed how cute he was. He had a slight dimple in his left cheek when he smiled back.

Gathering my dishes, I walk towards the kitchen. And that’s when it happens. A car on the street backfires and all my hard work is out the window.

The darkness comes first, and I am vaguely aware of the beautifully terrifying sound of glass shattering against the tile floor as I go down. I hope there won’t be a bloody mess when Aunt Kate finds me.

“Layla? Jesus,” I hear from somewhere far away. But I’m too far-gone to answer.

W
hen
I wake up, I’m in my bed feeling a little drained and whole lot out of it.

“Good morning, hon,” Aunt Kate says. She leans over and checks something on my forehead.

“Another one?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Yeah, scared me to death,” she says, lowering herself onto my bed. “You can stay home today.”

“No,” I answer, surprising us both as I throw the covers off. “I said I was going to get through this year and I meant it.” If I couldn’t make it through a year at Hope Springs High School, how the hell would I make it on my own in college?

I can see in her eyes that she wants to argue but she doesn’t. “Okay,” she says, standing to leave so I can get dressed. “Here.” She hands me two white pills and a glass of water. “Oh hey. I picked up a really cute dress at a boutique downtown yesterday. It’s hanging in your closet with the tags still on in case you don’t like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” I tell her as she steps out.

Just as I stand up and stretch, a pain shoots through my head and I feel the bandage with my hand. I should be used to this by now. Wincing, I make my way to the closet.

“Layla?” my aunt says, startling me as she pokes her head back in.

“Hm?” I find the maroon sweater dress and it is really cute.

“Your mom would be so sad to know that I’m letting you just ‘get through’ your life.”

“I know.” My head lowers at both the mention of my mother and the blatant, painful truth. “But it’s the best I can do right now.”

I
’ve
made it almost three full weeks into my senior year. Maybe I haven’t made any friends like Aunt Kate wanted, but I’m doing just fine on my own. I’m busy congratulating myself on my brazen independence and fortitude as I grab my Physics and English books out of my locker to take home. I’m the only senior that has to ride the bus, but that’s fine with me. I grab my iPod and earbuds for the ride, but just as I turn to leave, a large set of shoulders blocks my path.

“Excuse me,” I say, angling around the guy who obviously didn’t get the memo to avoid me.

“This is the weirdest school,” he mutters to himself, causing me to look up. And up, because he’s pretty freaking tall. Bright green eyes and a dimple smile down at me from under a mess of black hair. “Maybe you can tell me what’s going on, because I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.”

“What?” is all I can manage in reply.

“Look, I’m just going to say it because I’m new here and I have nothing to lose.” He smiles again and his perfect white teeth practically gleam. Ah, yes. New Guy from English and History class. Now I remember. Cocky, athletic, and moves around a lot.

“Please, unburden yourself,” I say, leaning against the locker and hugging my books to my chest, hoping he won’t cause me to miss the bus.

“What the hell is going on in this place?” He looks around at students brushing by us on their way out. His expression says he finds them lacking. Maybe New Guy isn’t so bad.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean exactly.”
Because I am the last person you should be asking. I have no idea what goes on around here, New Guy.

I step aside to get around him again, but he tilts his head in this way that makes me feel bad for him.

“I don’t really talk to many people, so I have no idea what’s going on around here.” There. Now that I’ve explained, I really need to get to my bus.

He lets me by but continues to follow. “School’s over. What’s the rush?”

“I have to catch the bus,” I say, knowing I probably won’t make it at this pace. He doesn’t say anything else but walks beside me until we get outside. Just in time to see the last bus pull out. Great.

Aunt Kate’s at the office today, and the last thing I want to do is call and make her leave work. I’m chewing on my lower lip and contemplating my options when New Guy speaks.

“Can I give you a ride?”

No.

“Yeah, um, that’d be great. It’s not far,” I tell him as I throw up a silent prayer that he’s not secretly a murderer or something.

“You really shouldn’t accept rides from strangers,” he informs me with a frown. My stomach tenses in fear that he’s mocking me. Retracting his offer. “Landen O’Brien,” he says offering me his hand and a mischievous grin.

Something about the gesture and his expression has a smile lifting the corners of my mouth as I look up into his light green eyes. They’re nearly crystal clear in the center but darker around the edges. “Layla Flaherty,” I say, taking his huge warm hand in mine. I’ve only shaken hands with doctors so I’m unprepared for the tingling sensation that hits me.

Despite the overwhelming surge of electricity flowing through me from his touch, I’m oddly relaxed as we walk to his truck. I feel like I can breathe. He’s new here. He doesn’t know what happened to my parents or that everyone in school treats me like a pariah. Or why.

H
er
southern drawl is so damn sexy it shoots straight from my ears to my dick. She needs help getting into the truck, and I am a gentleman,
of course
. But placing my hands on her waist to boost her in makes me realize how delicate she is. Fragile almost. And how much I don’t want to let go. I’m never going to be able to figure this girl out. Her eyes gave me a firm no when I asked if she needed a ride but her mouth said yes. Mmm, her mouth is amazing. Watching her bite her lip in frustration nearly killed me.

The whole ride I’m tripping over my tongue, trying to find something clever to say. The normal Landen O’Brien act probably won’t cut it with this girl since she obviously doesn’t give two shits what anyone else thinks. By the time she points me to her street, I’ve relaxed a little but I’m getting lightheaded from trying to inhale her warm peach and honey scent. Rich and sweet and enticing as all hell. To make matters worse, she’s wearing a dress that bares smooth, tan legs begging to be wrapped around me.

I shake my head to remove the inappropriate images assaulting my mind and clear my throat. “So you like classic rock?” I ask, hoping she does. She’s barely said a word and I’m struggling to fill the silence. There’s a bandage marring her forehead. I want to ask about it but it looks like she worked pretty hard on arranging her hair to cover it so I keep my mouth shut.

“I do,” is all she says. But I sense she’s smirking at me. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh, no reason.” But there is a reason, kind of a lame one, and I think she knows what it is.

“You have it, don’t you?” Her smile makes my heart speed up, and I’m nervous around a girl for the first time in my life.

“Have what?” I ask, still content to play dumb in case this is a sore subject. I’m probably like the millionth person to make the connection. I watch helplessly as she snatches my iPod off the dock in the dash. Shaking my head, I give her an apologetic grin when
Layla
, the rock version, comes through the speakers.

“Ah, and you have the ballad as well. Good for you.” She’s still smiling and it’s doing something to me. Either it’s because of me, or because of my iPod, whichever. I could seriously watch this girl smile forever. The thought kind of freaks me out but I shrug it off. When I pull into the driveway she says is hers, I want to think of a reason to keep her talking. And smiling. Like, maybe for the rest of her life. Because apparently this girl makes me lose my mind.

I’m tempted to walk her to her door and ask if I can drive her to and from school every day. But the coach told me I made the soccer team today so I know I won’t always be able to drive her home.

“So, um, thanks for the ride,” she tells me, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“No problem.” For a second our eyes meet and it looks like she’s about to say something else.

Again, I scramble to fill the quiet. “Um, hey, what happened?” Gently, my hand brushes her hair to the side, and I’m off balance just from the realization that she’s letting me touch her.

“Oh, nothing. I’m clumsy,” she says with a shrug, but her hands are shaking. I know I need to go, to back off. I can sense it. But there’s something about her ocean-colored eyes that keeps me from looking away. Something’s up. I know. I’ve had bandages and casts and injuries I couldn’t tell anyone about either. But the tension is literally rolling off her so hard she’s nearly vibrating. Subject change needed.

“You don’t ever drive to school?” I ask, noticing there’s no car in the carport.

“Don’t have a car,” she answers shortly, and then she looks away and pushes her door open before I can ask any more questions. As much as I want to beg her to stay in the truck a little longer, tell me more about her name, her favorite music, the bandage on her head, I can tell she’s overwhelmed. So I let her leave.

She doesn’t look back once. My eyes are glued to the image of her walking away from me. It doesn’t make sense, but it bothers the hell out of me the whole way home.

As I turn onto my own street, I remember I was supposed to stay after school today for team workouts. I promised my dad I’d stop by the football field to try out for the open kicker position. Shit.

Mentally I make up an excuse about feeling sick and leaving school early to tell the coaches when I see them tomorrow. But when I pull up and the Colonel’s truck is in the driveway, I know I’m fucked.