September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (28 page)

What if I kept pushing? What could
Deanna really do? What would be her next step? How would I react?
The base of the phone was plugged into an outlet in the kitchen.
Could she punch three numbers before I got to it? What was I
willing to do to keep her from making that call?

“I started hurting myself again.” I
announced, my voice cracking.

After a moment of quiet deliberation,
Deanna’s hard expression cracked, too. She softened, though there
was still significant frustration in her eyes. “Things can’t be
like this between us. You know that.”

I nodded, “I’m sorry.”

Quickly unbuttoning the topmost part
of my jeans, I yanked the material down to reveal the fresh red
lines. Deanna was a person that took in kids who needed help. So I
showed her, reminded her that I was also one of those kids. There
were four new lines: exactly alike, perfectly straight, and evenly
spaced. Each equally painful and therapeutic.

Deanna covered her cheek with her
hand. “I explained this to you. You are not able to stay in my
house if you’re doing these things to yourself. What happened? I
thought you were talking to that doctor and working things
out?”

She reached for me in the strangest
way. It was cautious, maybe gentle, too, but I took a step back.
Deanna tensed and stepped forward, coming around the side of the
end table.

“They look real red.” Her eyes strayed
up to mine and then went back down to my hip. “I’m going to check
for infection.”

She was no longer holding the phone
when she lowered herself into a squat beside me; the small
bird-like girl that bled herself to find relief.

“I don’t understand.” Deanna ran her
index finger along the skin near the outermost line. Her fingertip
was warm.

“Because I like how it
hurts.”

As Deanna looked up, I clearly saw the
shift from confusion to surprise in her face. One second she was in
control; doing what she always did. She was a savior at heart and
had followed that instinct, like I knew she would. At first, she
had no idea what was happening, but as the lamp I snatched from the
end table came down on her back, it was there: a clear flash of
understanding. And then fear, as I drew back and came down again,
smashing the base of the chrome table lamp on the back of her head.
When she tried to turn over, I got the side of her face.

As I stood over her, catching my
breath, feeling the freedom of rage and adrenaline, it was as if
everything suddenly stopped: the noise, the stagnant boil of my
temperament that kept me on a hair-trigger, the sharp chaos in my
head, the screaming voices I was constantly holding at bay; it all
stopped.

And there was this . . .
quiet . . . no, I could only describe it as
peace.
A deep sense of peace that
came over me and I could think clearly for the first time in my
life.

Part of me knew I should have been
disturbed by what provided me with this revelation, but a bigger,
more reasonable part of me knew that it didn’t really matter,
because what was done could not be taken back. And even if it
could, if I had to trade the light, the complete and silent peace,
the hope and euphoria it brought, there was no way I’d take it
back.

No fucking way. So what if it wasn’t
normal. It was the most real thing I’ve ever experienced in my
entire life.

Maybe an hour later, I was still
feeling wholly euphoric as the engine of my mother’s car turned
over. Never in my life had the corners of my mouth defied gravity
and pulled up on their own, but there was a constant grin affixed
to my face.

Angels head still rested against the
glass, a light snore escaped her mouth.

I had to let her sleep to properly
explore these new sensations, to think about what I had done to
receive them and how I was going to keep them.

My hands rested against the steering
wheel as we jetted from Sunny Vista Trailer Park for the last time.
I planned to explain everything to Angel once we were a safe
distance away. Everything that needed explaining, that
is.

+ + +

3
2

—Angel

My hands still grip the thin woolen
arms of the chair. If they weren’t cuffed, I might press one to my
mouth to keep it closed. Biting my lip doesn’t keep a keening cry
from escaping; just like being bound doesn’t stop keep my body from
shaking.

I remember the womans’
name. Quiet Man addressed her a minute ago. I need to focus on
something else until I calm down, so I focus on committing her name
to memory.
Tara. Tara. Tara. Tear-a.
Tear-a . . . nother piece of my heart out. Tara.

Tara with the tight hair bun—her lips
don’t move, but pucker. I can’t figure her out. She gives so little
in the way of emotion, it’s tough to decipher between surprise and
disgust. She could be thinking. Or maybe she’s bored.

“
Take your time.” Tara
says, surprising me.

It takes some effort, but I gather my
wits, managing to look Tara in the eye. “Have you ever been in
love?”

Quiet Man leans forward in his chair.
“I know we’ve maintained a level of informality, but you must
remember, this inquiry is about you. Your diagnoses and your
needs.”

“Darren, please. It’s fine.” Tara sets
a hand on his forearm. She looks first to my lawyer, who nods his
head, then back to me and says, “Yes.”

I take a modicum of
comfort. Though, no one could ever love another person as much as I
loved Jake, I think she might get it. The cries threaten my throat
again. “This is hard to say.” It’s irritating—that three-letter
word,
say
—it
cheapens what I am about to disclose.

“Do you need a break?” Darren
asks.

I shake my head. I have to focus, try
not to contract into a fetal position. Looking to the other coats
in the room, everyone is quietly staring, waiting with blank
faces.

The images roll through in my mind. A
reel of film, showcasing the memories of what I remember from the
morning we left.

“Just like I had lost myself in the
corridor at school, I don’t recall anything but waking up in the
car that morning. I had no idea how I got there, or how where
‘there’ was. We were just driving through the desert.”

+++

“Wake up, Princess
Bitch-Face.”

My eyes fluttered open and the first
thing I saw was the long road. There was static-filled music
playing. The wind coming in through the half-open windows was dry
and hot. Avery had the widest, dumbest grin on her face.

“Where are we?” I sat up, rubbing my
watery eyes. The sun was too bright.

“We’ve been on the road an hour or
so.” Her eyes swept over the clock on the dashboard. “You were
totally out of it, I thought I’d let you sleep.”

I was suddenly confused,
staring at the old Plymouth we were riding in. It was Avery’s moms’
car; white with blue-gray seats. It looked an awful lot like those
unmarked cop cars we used to see outside the courthouse downtown.
Avery called it the
Narc
.

“Back
to sleep? What do you mean? I don’t remember getting in. What
did Deanna say?” My chest tightened as the questions kept coming.
“Did you talk to her?”

Avery turned her eyes from the road to
look me over. “You really don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“You were right there at the dining
table. You and Deanna talked for a long time. Well, I did most of
the talking. I told her how much you need this, Angel. You talked
about Rosa and how hard things have been for you at school. Then,
you started crying about Jake leaving . . . and, well, she totally
bought it.” She clapped her hands together, grinning. “Dude, we had
her feeling so sorry for you.” Avery shrugged. “What’s a few lies
among thieves?”

“She said I could go?”

Avery’s eyes widened as she shook her
head. “Well, first, she said it was a terrible idea, and she smoked
a few cigarettes—I can’t believe she started again—and I reminded
her you’re a free bird soon, either way. This is your chance at
building a future where you don’t become a fucking statistic like
every other foster kid that’s homeless when they
age-out.”

My heart was pounding like
the bass drums in the breakdown of
One
. I imagined Lars Ulrich, if he
heard, would’ve been proud my heart could keep time with his double
kicks.

“By the end of her third cigarette,
she agreed that she had to let you go. You really don’t remember
any of this?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe you blocked it out. She was
kind of screaming when she finally gave in. Hey, have you been
taking your Clozapine on time?”

I nodded, “Yeah. I take it every night
before bed because it makes me so dizzy.”

The static radio signal completely cut
out and the car grew quiet. After a moment, Avery chuckled, “Well,
shit. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. So be happy
knowing that she was pissed, but being cool about all of this. Oh!
And I haven’t even told you the best part, yet.” Her eyes were
glowing as she described the reason we had gotten on the road as
soon as humanly possible.

“Your Jake and his Analog Controller
will be in Tempe, at their hotel, as you know. But I talked to Max
and he told me they’re doing an interview with a newspaper there. I
heard they might be on the radio, too.”

My mouth fell open. The dry desert air
immediately zapped the moisture from it while the depth of what
Avery said sank in, bone deep. My whole body was simultaneously
seized by sadness and extreme joy. “I can’t go back. I can’t thank
her.”

“You did. And, hello? McFly?” Avery
knocked on my head. “Focus on what’s important. We’re starting a
whole new life, Angel! We are masters of our own destiny. We get to
watch both auditions! We get to soak up the California
sunshine.”

Avery wanted to keep the conversation
to the positive side. So I let her. It was easier to let myself
concentrate on the fun we were about to have: meeting up with the
tour, watching the shows, lying out on hot, sunny beaches and
spending the rest of my life on one with Jake.

I never felt so high in my life. My
spirit lifted from the bitter earth and into wild euphoria. I never
wanted to come back down. I wanted to stay up, up in the air with
Avery, with Jake and his music. Forever. And for the first time in
my life, that seemed like a possibility.

We were in an area between radio
stations—between worlds—leaving one to begin another. And I don’t
remember if I spoke the thought out loud or not, some somehow we
ended up in a deep conversation about the power of music, which got
me talking about Jake. Naturally.

“It’s like, he creates words that have
a power to bring me to life.”

Avery eyed me, switching her gaze
between me and the road. “That’s so profound.”

I couldn’t tell if she was being
sarcastic, but I hoped not, because I meant it. Avery had a way of
looking in and seeing everything and her deep green eyes made me
think she was being serious. I distinctly remember smiling back,
feeling thankful that Avery chose to use her powers of persuasion
for good instead of evil.

Jakes eyes were like two hazel windows
that led into an old soul. In them, I saw purity. Even when they
were glossed with alcohol, there was wisdom looking back from
inside. Jake had the kind of eyes that drilled a deep, pointed
sense of focus into you. The kind that changed your biology. He was
mysterious. There was a spark in his stare. When he looked at me
there was no one else. It was a mystery and a miracle that Jake
could carry such surety and purity and release it so freely in his
music.

My insides twisted with anticipation
every time I thought about the show. Because I knew better than
anybody how Analog Controller could move a room. There would be a
sick mosh pit going, I just knew it. Jake liked to jump in with the
crowd when the music allowed. But sometimes, he would just play and
watch.

I imagined how the bodies
would be packed shoulder to shoulder. The crowd moving as one when
they played
Killing Season.

Underneath the night
sky,

Underneath the
moon,

A dream comes crashing
down, littering the tombs.

But I stay alive, drinking
from your veins,

Hooking up while I’m going
down,

Down into my
grave.

+++

The motel was a single story, two-tone
brown affair with a kidney-shaped pool behind a painted iron fence
at the back of the building. Commercials were blaring from the
local radio station as the Narc pulled into the lot. When Avery
parked, we both went for our seatbelts. She set her hand over
mine.

“Wait here. I’m gonna see what the
rates are.”

We hadn’t discussed gas money or room
rates. “I have like two-hundred dollars.” More than I had ever had,
but still, not much considering there was no payday in sight. I
would have to get a job the second I got to Los Angeles.