The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (10 page)

It takes all I have not to speed directly over to Riverside Drive. Getting a ticket won't help Evie or me, and so I force myself to follow the speed limits, even though it feels like walking would have been faster, especially with the heavy rain that is falling. Finally, I'm pulling into Evie's driveway, dashing out of the car and leaving the driver’s side door open, keys still in the ignition.

I don't bother knocking this time; I just barge right in through the open front door and into the house. I hesitate for a flash of a second near the stairs, wondering which way to go. The office? But then I think back to where all the remaining knives would be, and I head for the kitchen on a hunch.

I find Evie in there, standing frozen on one side of the island, facing an open drawer half-full of knives. For a moment, I think,
Its fine, Zeke, you got here in plenty of time. She didn’t want to do it, so she called you. You made it.
But then Evie turns toward me and I see her left arm, no gauze, sleeve pulled back and rivulets running down the sides of her arm and down her wrist from a long cut, dripping into the big puddle of bright red blood on the floor.

My knees go weak for a moment and my vision blurs. I don’t know what it is, since I don’t normally blink twice at the sight of blood. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s Evie, or because her blood is just so bright against her pale skin or maybe it’s because of the eerie, creepy knowledge that she did this to herself.

“Shit, Evie,” I breath, momentarily panicked and at a loss for what to do. I see, too late, the single knife on the counter, glinting in the light and the sharp edge slick with blood.

I finally force myself to look up, into her eyes, and they are wide and vacant, as though she’s not really seeing me.

“I didn’t mean to,” she finally says, and her voice is like a little child’s, innocent and as though she doesn’t understand. “I didn’t mean to, Zeke. I really didn’t. I wasn’t going to!”

“Then you shouldn’t have done it!” I shout, hysteria stealing over me before I can stop it. I instantly and immediately wish I could take it back, because Evie jerks back as though I’ve hit her and she bursts into tears, which puts me even more off balance.

I take two deep breaths, and then another, reminding myself over and over that she’s unstable, that she’s slightly crazy, and that if someone stumbled in on me doing graffiti and tried to stop me, they wouldn’t understand my need for it. I take yet another deep breath, tearing my eyes away from all the blood, from the arm that Evie is now clutching against her chest as she sobs.

“I-I-I’m sorry!” she hiccups, and her whole body is trembling with the force of the tears. “I wasn’t going t-t-to call you b-but you s-said I should! I’m sorry, Zeke! You c-c-can go now!”

“No.” That one word is crisp and articulate, firm. Because even though something is rising in my chest, my heart is beating fast and I’m pretty sure it’s from concern and worry,
emotions.
I know I can’t leave her like this. I fight the feelings back.
Later. Later. Later.
I chant that to myself, to my furiously pounding heart, and focus just on Evie, on what she is feeling, not what’s going on inside of me.

“Just go!” Evie screams it at me. “Get out!”

“No.” My voice is still firm, unyielding, and I begin to stride toward her.

Evie backs away, her eyes wide and terrified as she watches me bear down on her. Finally she’s against a kitchen counter and has nowhere else to go, and I reach out, grab her unharmed wrist, and yank her away from the counter.

“Zeke!” There’s terror in her voice, probably because I have her around the wrist and even though I want to be sensitive to her fears and nerves, I don’t change my grip. I know I should try not to show just how easily I can overpower her, but
shit
. My shoe slides a little and I look down and see I’ve stepped into part of the puddle of blood and I don’t let go of her, just pull her along behind me, even though she tries to fight. It’s not much of a fight, really. She trails along behind me like a kite, bobbing and trying to brace her feet against the floor and failing completely.

“Let me
go
!” she screams, and now the fear is gone, replaced with the same anger and furious annoyance as that first day I dragged her out of the office. She’s struggling wildly, spitting and cursing as we go through the entrance hall, droplets of blood flying everywhere as she jerks around.

I didn’t let go before, and I’m not letting go now. I just drag her through the front door and down the steps, making her stumble actually, and not really feeling bad about it. I wish it were this easy, that forcing her to leave the house would force her to stop the habit. That it was as easy to yank her up out of the depression as it is to yank her back upright after she stumbles. But I know it’s much, much harder.

The Infiniti is right where I left it, ignition still dinging as the driver’s side door hangs open, and I have the distant thought that Alex is going to be pissed when he gets in it tonight and finds the wet seats. Right now, though, I just pull open the passenger door and unceremoniously stuff Evie inside.

I circle the car as quickly as I can, pulling off my half-apron as I go and throwing it at Evie once I get into the car, immediately locking the doors as well. “If you get blood on anything in this car, I’m fucking toast,” I say as I peel out of the driveway, anxious to be on the road where Evie can’t try to escape. “Wrap up your arm.”

Still sniffling and looking slightly drowned underneath her damp hair, Evie slowly does as she’s told, wrapping the apron around her arm several times. It’s a small thing, but it makes me feel a little bit relieved. At least she doesn’t sit there woodenly, and at least that weird, empty look is gone from her eyes.

We make the short drive in silence, neither of us speaking, the only sound Evie’s sniffles and her shifting occasionally to wipe her eyes or push her hair out of her face. Finally, we make it to the country club and I pull into Alex’s usual parking spot out back. I turn off the car and pull the keys from the ignition but make no move to leave the car, still trying to calm my erratically beating heart and slow my breathing.

“I’m sorry.”

I look over at the quiet words, startled. Evie is staring straight ahead out the windshield, her make-shift bandage clutched against her chest. Her voice is calm, and her eyes are steady.

“It’s fine,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else.

“No, it’s not,” she says, and gives a shiver, at her thoughts or because of an actual chill, I’m not sure. “I know that. But I’m okay now. You can take me back.”

I look at her, sitting there shivering, a stupid apron the only thing covering up her bleeding arm, and I know she’s the farthest thing from okay there is—unless we’re talking about me. I know that I can’t leave her, but I say something that’s equally as true.

“I can’t. I only get a half hour break, and I don’t have time to take you back.”

She finally looks over at me, and her violet eyes are steely, full of warning. “I’m not looking to be rescued, Zeke. None of this has anything to do with you, and you don’t owe me anything. I already told you once, just because I was raped or abused doesn’t mean I need your pity.”

The blunt words still make me flinch;
rape.
Abuse.
So ugly.

Evie is offering me a way out. I know she’s dangerous. I know she makes me feel more than anyone else ever has—maybe even Cindy. She’s giving me the opportunity to run and I should be seizing it as tightly as I can, using it to ease my conscience. But something inside of me rebels at the idea of leaving her right now, something so strong and potent and forceful that it almost overwhelms me and takes my breath away.

I try and force it back, shove it down so that I’m not feeling, accept the out that Evie is trying to give me, but when I hear my voice, it’s saying, “No. I’m not going to just leave you. Let’s go.”

I move to open my door, still incredulous but knowing it’s the right thing—that’s all it is. I try and rationalize to myself, just as I did when I went to visit Evie in the hospital. It’s just a good deed, the Christian thing to do. It’s not because Evie makes me feel, and I’m not sure why those feelings aren’t wholly repulsive to me. It’s not because it tears me in two to see her hurting herself, or because the thought of her dying gives me the same panic I feel every time I have to remember that Cindy is dead.

All of that would be too deep, too much emotion, and I will never admit it to myself. But keeping her from harming herself again? That much I can do. That much I might possibly owe her.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going in
there
,” Evie says, and though I can tell she’s trying to talk with bravado, I hear a tremor of fear in her voice and when I look at her, her lips are quivering and her eyes are wide with fear once again.

I didn’t even think about the connotations the club might have for her; I mean, she technically almost died there at Tony’s hand. Even though I have nowhere else to take her, I’m instantly sorry that I didn’t think about it.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I have to finish my shift, but I should have realized, I mean last time you and Tony…” I trail off and feel a flash of panic as Evie’s eyes well up with tears.

“It’s not that,” she says, and her voice is nasally and wet with tears. “It’s nothing to do with Tony, or his friends.”

“Then why…” I trail off, at a loss. I wish she would just stop crying, because it keeps skeeving me out and I keep feeling like it’s my fault, and I should be doing something to stop them.

“It reminds me of my dad,” Evie says, taking in a trembling breath, then releasing it and crying even harder. “That’s why… That’s why I did it.”

I stay silent and wait for her to continue, because it seems like the best choice.

“I… the rain…” she chokes out, clutching her arms across her chest. “It was raining… the day… the day that he… that he…” She’s crying too hard to keep talking, but she doesn’t need to continue, because I suddenly understand everything that she’s trying to say.

I remember that downpour, the day that Dr. Parker died. They called and told me not to come over because it was pointless with the rain. It had cleared in the late evening, just in time for me to go out with Cameron and his buddies. Just in time for Dr. Parker to get shot.

A trickle of unease goes down my spine for a reason that has nothing to do with Evie or her problems. I should tell her I saw her dad that night. About Cameron. But then again, Cameron didn’t do it, and I honestly have no information about what might have really happened. I didn’t see anything. So I stuff the worry away and just focus on the now. Besides, the last thing Evie needs right now is more information about her dad’s death, whatever shape or form it comes in.

So I push it all away and look from Evie, to the club, and then back again. She’s never responded well to cajoling, so maybe it’s time for a little more tough love. “Out of all the shit you have to deal with and be afraid of, you’re really going to let the stupid club be the one you can’t face down?” I ask, jerking my thumb toward the building.

Evie scowls and wipes her cheeks, and the display of emotion reassures me. “I’m not afraid of it,” she snaps. “I’m just… I just don’t like it.”

“Yeah,” I snort. I get out of the car and circle to her door, pulling it open. “You’re being a real girl about this.”

“I
am
a girl,” she grits out, eyes narrowed at me. “I just don’t want to go in and see all those people, either. They all look at me weird.”

“Do you really think I’m going to throw you to the wolves?” I ask incredulously. “You’ll hang out in the back with me. In the kitchen.”

Her face goes carefully blank. “The kitchen?”

“Duh. They won’t mind. Honestly. But like I said, the clock is ticking and I have to get back to work.” I hold my hand out toward her before I can think better of it. Still, I don’t retreat, daring her with my eyes.

Evie stares at the hand for a long moment, and then into my eyes. Ever so slowly, she puts her hand into mine and I give her a gentle tug out of the car and lead her into the club.

Evangeline

53

I sit on the counter and bang my feet lightly against the steel paneling below me, and just watch. As often as I have been at the country club, for all the events my dad helped with and donated to, I’ve never been behind the scenes before. My only experiences with the kitchens were glimpses when the double doors swung open wide, or when they sent Clarissa food she deemed inferior. Now, though, I am on the other side, and the feeling of safety I get, along with the calm acceptance of my presence, is a beautiful thing.

No stiff, uncomfortable clothes, no dodging people I don’t want to talk to, no torment from Hunter or Clarissa or my old crowd or Tony’s cronies, and best of all, no one
touching
me, on purpose or by accident. I just sit, and accept the Dr. Pepper that Zeke brings back to me, and allow myself to fade into the background and observe.

As a writer—or a one-time writer, perhaps that would be more accurate—this has always been my favorite thing. To just people watch, take note of habits and quirks, to not be noticed and only notice others. But it takes on a whole new meaning, a new obsession and level because now I get to watch Zeke and I don’t have to feel weird about it.