So Much It Hurts (16 page)

Ms. Carducci laughed, sounding a little uptight. I guess the word
juvie
struck a nerve with her like it did with everyone else. “All right, Chris. The part is yours. Come in tomorrow prepared to sing Sky’s part from the song,
I’ll Know
.”

“Not a problem,” Chris boasted.

Ms. Carducci quickly prepared a video for us to watch for the rest of the class period.

Once the lights were turned off and the video had begun, Chris whispered, “You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess,” I responded softly.

He stared at me in the dark. I guess he was trying to decipher whether or not I was telling him the truth. A few seconds later he looked away and continued to watch the video.

Chris kept his promise. He barely acknowledged me at school. No one knew that we talked or how he’d helped me over the weekend. It was probably better that way.

We spent the rest of the class watching varying clips from several different productions of
Guys and Dolls
. I couldn’t help but think Chris would make the perfect Sky Masterson.

When I got home that afternoon, my mom greeted me at the door with a vase full of a dozen red roses. “These came for you today,” she said excitedly. “Somebody must really love you.” She winked.

“Thanks mom,” I replied emotionless. I took a moment to read the card:

Gag.

I tossed the roses into the trashcan on my way up to my room. I heard my mother gasp behind me. “Kaitlyn, that wasn’t very nice,” she declared sternly. “Trevor went to a lot of trouble to send you those roses.”

“Butt out, Mom,” I seethed.

She glared at me with frustration. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” I muttered and escaped to my room before she could say another word.

I couldn’t talk openly with her like I used to when I was younger. Ever since I had become a teenager, she would inevitably conjure up some reason to ground me each time I confided in her. I found myself telling her less and less until she barely knew me at all. My mom just didn’t understand me anymore.

I sent an instant message to Chris as soon as I flopped down at my desk. To hear from him would have been such a relief. With Chris, I could be myself. I was tired of wearing a mask. Everyone expected me to have it all together. My English teacher had written,
‘Well done, Kaitlyn! You have the world at your fingertips!,’
at the top of my poetry assignment that afternoon—a poem I had written out of desperation for my situation with Trevor, hoping she would understand my metaphor. She didn’t, and at the current state of my life, I felt like my world was crashing and burning around me.

Eventually, I talked myself into finishing my homework. I constantly checked for an IM response from Chris, to no avail. Around six that evening, I made my way downstairs for dinner. My mom and dad eyed me silently throughout the meal. I made no effort to explain my sullenness. I figured they would never understand anyway.

Later that night, my mom softly knocked at my door. “There’s a phone call for you,” she said.

Opening the door, I realized I must have left my cell phone sitting on the dinner table.

“Some guy named Chris.” She looked at me disapprovingly as she handed me the phone.

“Thanks.” I gave her a sheepish smile and shut my door again. “Hello?” I said as I brought the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Kaitlyn.”

“Hey, Chris.”

“I’m sorry. Did I call at a bad time? I just needed to hear your voice.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you called.” I wondered if he could hear me smile through the phone.

“I’m glad too.” His voice cracked; it was the proof I needed that, yes indeed, one can hear a person smile through a phone.

We chatted for several minutes about random, unimportant things before I finally got my nerve up to ask him deeper, more personal questions.

“So, tell me about your family,” I inquired.

“Well, for now, it’s just my mom, my brother, and me. We do okay. My dad is in prison. He went to prison three years ago for dealing drugs.” He supplied no more explanation, and I didn’t press the issue.

“I’m sorry,” I offered, meekly.

“Oh, it’s okay. He was a great dad though. He taught me how to play the guitar; I get my musical ability from him. He once told me in a letter he wrote that when I become a father I will understand why he did what he did. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes, he had to do things he wasn’t proud of just to put food on the table for his family. I have forgiven him for not being here the last three years, though. I know he was just trying to provide for us, but I want a different life. I screwed up with that stupid prank that sent me to jail, but I’m different now. My dad wrote me while I was in juvie and begged me not to make the same mistakes he did. He insisted that I had already started down that same path. I made a promise, from that moment on, to try to do the right thing. Make something of myself.
Man up.
Know what I mean?”

“Uh huh,” I said, hypnotized by the sexy, confident tone of his voice.

“Sorry, I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“Not at all. I think it’s great that you are trying to do the right thing. I know your dad will be proud of you.”

“Thanks. So, tell me about your family.”

“They’re nothing exciting. My dad travels a lot. He’s a top salesman at Nusco International. He travels to different states across the country and is hardly ever home. You’ll almost never see him at the games to watch me cheer. It’s sad, really. I barely know him.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Chris expressed sadly.

I continued, “My mom is lonely and depressed. She takes her frustrations out at the gym. Sometimes I feel like she wishes she were married to her Yoga instructor instead. Most nights she’s drowning herself in her box wine and losing herself in her racy romance novels. It’s pathetic. I mean, we have a good relationship, but sometimes, I feel like she is so out of touch with reality.” Wow. It was the first time I had ever spoken so candidly about my parents. Chris just had a way of making me feel safe enough to speak openly. By doing so, I let him burrow himself a little deeper into my personal life.

“I know what you mean,” Chris responded. “My mom mostly seems more angry than she is happy. She walks around in her robe all day and insists she can’t get a job because of her back pain. She spends most every day catching up on her soaps and watching reruns of Jeopardy. Since dad went to prison, we’ve been living off of government assistance and disability. There are weeks our meals consist of nothing but instant oriental noodles, but we survive. That’s why I want to make it big with my music. I’m tired of struggling with money. I want to get out of this town.”

“Me too. That’s why I plan to go to college. I don’t want to be like my mom, stuck at home, relying on my dad’s income. I want to have my own money—my own life. My parents have pressured me relentlessly to apply to college. They know it’s my ticket out of here, and I’m ready.”

“Me too. Let’s go. We got this!”

His fierce passion was contagious. With my tenacious drive and his effervescent enthusiasm, I felt like together we could conquer the world.

“Kaitlyn, I don’t know what it is, but there’s something about you…some kind of magnetism that draws me to you. It’s crazy, but true. Logically, I think we both know we live in two different worlds, running in two different circles. But, somehow, some way, we collided. I don’t get it, but it’s amazing.
You’re
amazing. You have no idea how beautiful you are, and sweet, and…amazing.”

“I don’t get it either, but I like it. I don’t want it to end. Thank you for being there for me. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you Saturday night.”
“Speaking of Saturday night,” he blurted. “The next time that prick lays a finger on you, I’m obliterating him. That douche bag needs someone to cut him down to size.”

“It’s okay. I’m done with Trevor.”

“Good. Like I told you before, he doesn’t deserve you.” The sound of his voice felt so refreshing, so reassuring. I could have stayed on the phone all night. What I would have given just to be sitting in his kitchen with him right at that moment. I imagined his brown eyes locked on mine, his comforting arms holding me close against his warm chest, and his strong, capable hands gently running his fingers through my hair. I took a deep breath and could almost smell the scent of his cologne through the phone. I hated to have to say goodbye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kaitlyn,” he promised me. “Go get some rest. Remember, I’m here for you if you need me. G’night. Sweet dreams, beautiful.”

Sweet dreams indeed.
“Thanks, Chris,” I whispered. “See you tomorrow.” I hung up the phone and sighed, flopping my head back onto my pillow. I just had the most amazing phone call of my life.

It wasn’t long before my mom was knocking softly at my door again. “Kaitlyn, can I come in?”

“Sure, mom,” I sighed, still delirious from my exhilarating phone call.

She opened the door and tiptoed inside, the floors squeaking beneath her feet. Sitting down at the edge of my bed, she smoothed invisible wrinkles and picked nonexistent lint from my comforter as if she were giving herself time to debate how to begin the conversation. Finally, she clasped her hands in her lap and looked up at me as she spoke. “That Chris…who is that guy? Is he the one all the parents have been talking about? The kid whose dad got busted for selling dope? The kid who just got out of prison himself?”

“Mom,” I said, exasperated. “He’s not like that, okay. Chris is a good guy. Just misunderstood.”

“Kaitlyn,” my mom spoke resolutely, “I forbid you to have anything to do with that boy.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust, unable to even call him by his name.

“No, mom!” I cried.

“Is that understood, young lady?” She glared at me.

“You don’t even know him! That’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not having my daughter associating herself with some ex-convict, drug dealer’s son. I completely forbid it, Kaitlyn!” My mom stood up, turned on her heel and stomped out the door.

Blinded by my rage and frustration, I lunged at the door and slammed it behind her. Surrendering to my tears, I fell onto my bed. Why did everyone have to be so judgmental? Why couldn’t they see Chris for how wonderful he was, rather than for his stupid criminal history? Why did they turn a blind eye to Trevor and the monster he had become? Why couldn’t I just tell my mom the truth about Trevor? I already knew the answer to the last question. I would have to admit what a doormat—a weakling—I had let myself become. Besides that, Trevor had everyone completely snowed. I cried myself to sleep yet again that week. I needed those eight hours to escape from reality.