Savage Delight (21 page)

“Shame, really. Imagine how many more people you could annoy if you were a millionaire.”

“At least ten whole people. And their grandmas.”

“Ah yes, the time-honored Blake tradition of annoying grandmas.”

“All it takes is like, a dirty pan and a cat without a pink, furry sweater on it.”

“Say hi to your mother for me.”

“You too.
Um. If she still remembers me. Actually, don’t, it’s fine, I didn’t exactly make the best impression when I went over there –”

“She remembers,” Jack insists. “She thinks you’re sweet.”

“Hah. Must’ve met my doppleganger. The one who doesn’t exist anywhere ever.”

Jack smiles. It’s not a bright smile, like the one I’d seen him give Sophia in the hospital once. But it’s warm and without ice, and that’s all I can ask for, really.

“You have my number,” He says.

“Yup.
I’ll text if there’s issues. Tissues. Not tissues, tissues are disgusting and so are issues.”

He starts to walk away. I want to say a thousand dumb things at once – thank you, and I’m sorry you chose a shithead like me, and you deserve better, and drive safe, and be safe, and sleep well and eat well, but all the words and feelings come up in a jumbled mess and dissipate into the air as I open my mouth to say nothing at all and close it again.

***

“YOU WHAT?”

I hold the phone away from my ear to preserve my future hearing for eighty years to come.

“Slept.
In the uh, same bed,” I whisper.

“YOU HAD SEX WITH JACK HUNTER?”

“Jesus Kayla, no, stop shouting, it’s indecent.”

“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT’S INDECENT – SLEEPING WITH JACK HUNTER!”

“We didn’t sleep together, idiot! Do I look stupid enough to ever touch that bag of germs?”

Kayla finally takes a breath. “That’s true. You can’t even say ‘dick’ without vomiting in your mouth a little. And sometimes, on desks. And small children.”

“That was one time, and that kid totally walked
into
the flight path of
my
vomit. It’s not my fault if he had no grasp of liquid physics.”

“But you totally slept in the same bed and, like, hello, isn’t that at least second base? Second and a half base?”

“Uh, like a second moon base?”

“Ugh, no!
Nevermind, I’m not gonna explain really outdated sex terms to you.”

“For the last time!
There was no sect…ional things going on, okay? I would never do that with your ex. Ever.”

“I would. With your ex. If you had one. If he was smoking hot. If you gave me your sure-as-hell approval, obviously. Which I totally give you, by the way, because, duh – it’s Jack Hunter! Someone in this school has to bed him before he gets to Hollywood or modelland or whatever and contracts a bunch of icky diseases!”

“You are insane.”

“Omigod!
Did I tell you?”

“That you’re insane? Already figured it out, thanks.”

“No, dummy!
Wren asked me out to Senior Prom!”

I feel my mouth drop open. “The one with glasses?”

“Uh, duh, what other Wren do you know?”

“Was he…was he drooling or shuffling or moaning about brains?”

“Ew, no! He was in his right mind and I’m like, 99% sure he wasn’t a zombie, okay? Is it so weird that someone would want to take me to Senior Prom?”

“No, it’s just – Wren isn’t exactly, like, bold?”

“I know!” She squeals. “Which is like, the biggest compliment, if he got all gung-ho to ask me and stuff, right?”

“Yeah.
Are you gonna say yes?”

“I already did!”

“What happened to him being a nerd-king?”

“He’s a slightly….cooler nerd-king now? I mean, I just – we’ve had woodshop together and it’s been really fun, we made this birdhouse and it came out really cute, and I cut my finger on the bandsaw a little and he got really concerned and took me to the nurses and –”

“You like him.”

Kayla chokes on nothing. “I-I do not! Like him! I just happen to want to go to Senior Prom! And he’s cute enough! And he’s nice!”

“He doesn’t drive.”

“That’s fine! I do! And anyway I’m totally gonna ask Daddy for a limo and you and Jack are definitely invited.”

“Uh, thanks? But me and Jack aren’t a thing.”

“You slept in the same bed.”

“Yes?”

“You’re a thing,” she asserts. “I’ll see you on Monday!”

 I sigh and hang up. Having friends is great. Having friends determine your romantic status is not so great. Yeah, Jack and I slept in the same bed. And he touched my hair. And smiled a lot. And he was warm, and –

I run into the bathroom and grace my head with a cold shower. Mom’s surprised to see my wet hair when I drive up to her shrink’s.

“Did…did something happen?”

“Jesus blessed me with his holy water.”

“Oh?”

“Took a shower.
How was your session?”

She laughs. “It was…it was alright. We talked about you, mostly, and Stanford.”

“Oh yeah?”
My voice pitches up. “Cool.”

“It would be so wonderful for you, honey. And with your dad willing to help with the costs – you could really do it. You’d meet so many new people, and learn so many amazing things.”

“Yeah.
And they’ve got these awesome foreign exchange programs – ” I pull onto the highway. “I’ve been looking at this one in Belgium, it’s like, four months, so one semester, but you live with a host family right in the city and there’s all this cultural exchange stuff in your program, like going out to the countryside, and visiting France for a week, and it sounds so –”

I stop when I see Mom raise her hand to her face out of the corner of my eye.

“Mom?
Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, laughing. “I’m fine. Really, I’m okay.”

“Are you crying?”

“I’m fine, sweetie! I-I’m –”

Her crying gets louder. She’s shaking, her shoulders quivering and her hands quaking as she desperately tries to hide her face from me.

“Mom!”
I pull over onto the shoulder lane and put the car in park, lacing my arm around her. “Mom, are you okay? What’s wrong? Tell me, please.”

“N-No,” she whimpers. “I’m being selfish. I’m sorry. Please, just drive us home.”

“No! Not until you tell me what’s making you cry like this!”

She sobs into my shoulder, every echo of her pain tearing a hole in my heart. I shouldn’t have gotten so excited about Stanford. It probably hurts her just to hear me talk about going away so far.

“I don’t want you to go,” she cries. “Please, stay here. I need you here.”

I wince, and shut my eyes. I pull her closer to me, her trenchcoat enveloping the both of us.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say softly. “Mom, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“No! I want you to go,” She looks up, eyes panicked and red. “But I don’t want you to go. I know you have to. You have to grow and learn and fly on your own. But I don’t know what I’ll do without you. I’m sorry. Please, go. Please do whatever you want. Just…just promise me you’ll come back and visit sometimes, alright?”

“Mom, I’m not going –”

“You are!” Her expression suddenly turns furious. “You are, don’t listen to me! Don’t hold yourself back for me. I want you to go to Stanford.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“Yes you do, Isis. I know you do. And you’re giving it up for me, and I can’t have that. You need people as smart as you, sweetie. You need challenges, and you’ll get that at Stanford. God, my little girl, going to Stanford. I’m so proud. So, so proud.”

She composes herself, and I start driving again, and she smiles and talks about mundane stuff like grocery shopping and what the neighbors said about her yard and how work was, but I know she isn’t done with the sorrow, because when we get home, she locks herself in her room and turns her music on. And she only does that when she doesn’t want me to hear her crying. My chest burns as I look over the Stanford brochures again. They’re a wonderful, impossible dream. I can’t leave her. There’s no way I can leave Mom here with a good conscience. I’d be too far to help if anything happened again – and she’d be too lonely. She wouldn’t get better if I was gone, she’d only get worse. I have to be close. Very close. Community college close. I have to stay with her until she’s strong enough to stand on her own two feet again, and going to Stanford won’t make that happen. Shit, going to Ohio State won’t make that happen.

My path is clear.

My path has always been clear.

I put the brochures in my desk drawer and cover them with my old sketchbooks from elementary school. Things I don’t touch. Things I won’t touch, ever again.

My email beeps, shakes me out of my misery, and then piles more on. The email’s from the same address that sent me the picture. Nameless.  

‘Hi, Isis!

How’ve you been? You got my pic, right? That Jack guy seems really cool. Have you guys fucked yet? :)’

I fight the urge to puke and lose, fantastically.   

The darkness wells up in the bathroom. It bleeds out of my eyes and my mouth that cries with no sound. I lock the door and huddle on the floor, hugging my knees.

I’m not safe. I’ve never been safe.

I’ll never be safe. Jack’s wrong. He can’t do anything. He can’t help. Nameless lives inside me, and always will. The darkness will always be here.

There is a nest inside of me, and all it takes is a few words from the boy who raped me to bring the monsters roaring out of it.  

 -10-

3 Years

30 Weeks

5 Days

Naomi isn’t pleased with the fact I’m leaving town. She’s never been pleased when I leave, ever, because Sophia gets sad, and that probably makes her job harder. She escorts me to Sophia’s room grumpily.

“Something the matter, Naomi?”
I inquire. Naomi grunts eloquently.

“Don’t try to schmooze me.”

“I’m just wondering why your face is more lovely than usual. New eye cream?”

“Are you really going to Harvard?” She snaps. “Do you know how far away that is?”

“In another state, I believe.”

“What about Sophia, hm?
What is she going to do when you’re gone?”

Naomi’s words dig a needle straight through my heart. She seems to see that, and sighs and rubs her forehead.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I – she’s been here so long, I care about her so much, and with the surgery coming up I’m just so worried. Dr. Fenwall says her likelihood of pulling through -”

“She’ll be fine,” I say. “She’s tough, even though she doesn’t look it. She’ll live. She’ll be able to live her own life when it’s over.”

Naomi nods. She pushes open the door to Sophia’s room, and gasps. It’s empty. I walk over to the windowsill, where every single one of the vases I’d bought her are smashed. The floor’s littered with pottery, sharp and gleaming and just begging for someone to step in and shed blood. 

“Where is she?” Naomi moans. “I told her you were coming, and to stay in her room so I could bring you here. Oh no, oh, no no no -”

 “We’ll split up. Check her usual spots,” I say. “I’ll take the top floors, you check the bottom. And ask Dr. Fenwall if he’s seen her.”

Naomi nods, and we run out of the door. I take the steps two at a time and weave around wheelchairs and interns. She’s not in the cafeteria, and the servers say they haven’t seen her all day. The recreation room is nearly empty, and when I ask a kindly old woman if she’s seen her, she shakes her head. Nurses who work with Naomi say they haven’t seen her either. The bathrooms are fruitless. Finally, I get to the kid’s ward, where Mina and James are playing videogames. They look up, and Mina smiles.

“Hey, Jack! Sophia was just here.”

“Where did she go?”

“Upstairs. To the roof, I think. Even though we’re not supposed to be up there.”

I kiss the top of Mina’s head and ruffle’s James’ hair, and take off through the door. Four flights of stairs leave me breathless and sick to my stomach – why the roof? She only goes there when she’s irrevocably sad, or depressed. And with all the smashed vases? She loves those vases. She’d never –

I climb faster, and burst through the emergency door and into the weak sunlight.

Sophia’s standing at the edge. Not on it, like I’d found her so many times, like I was afraid she’d be. She peers over it, watching the world spread out below. Her hands are clasped behind her back, her platinum hair billowing in the wind like moonlit threads of gold.

She looks over her shoulder, and smiles at me.

“Hey.”

“Sophia –” I run towards her, turning her to face me and inspecting her for wounds. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just wanted some air. You don’t look so good, though.”

I exhale all the worry out. “I was – I came to visit, and your room, all the vases were broken. Did you do that?”

She nods. “On accident. I was dancing to dubstep and got a little crazy. I didn’t want to deal with it, so I just left it there for the janitor to clean and came up here. Mean of me, I know.”

“No, no it’s fine – you just worried Naomi and I.”

She cocks her head and hugs me. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, really.”

I put my arms around her and inhale the smell of her hair, making sure she’s still here. She’s real. She has a scent and a feel and she’s realer than anything in my life. She always has been.

Half of me wants to tell her about Isis. The other half knows she’d take it badly either way, and with such an important surgery coming up, her mental stability has to be rock-solid. I’ll tell her after, when she’s healthy and whole again. 

“I love you,” I say. She giggles and pets my hair.

“I know. I love you too. Thank you for being so strong for me all this time. Thank you for trying so hard, for so long. It’ll all be over soon.”

“You’ll be able to do whatever you want. Go wherever you want. You’ll be free.”

She laughs, and hugs me tighter.