The Illusion of Annabella (18 page)

He ruffles his messy brown hair into place as he faces me. “You should put some of them back up when you’re ready. Your room’s kind of creepy without anything on the walls, like a tomb or something.”

“Tomb? That’s an interesting choice of word. Are you reading ghost stories again?

He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It was the first thing I could think of when I looked at your room.

“Did Loki send you up here to make me hurry up?” I ask, picking up a hairbrush from my dresser.

He shakes his head, staring out the window. “Nah, I came up here on my own. I wanted to talk to you about something . . . I want to ask you for a favor.”

I roughly comb the brush through my tangled locks. “You know I’m not good at favors.”

He meets my gaze. “You used to be.”

For a faltering moment, I see my younger brother standing in front of me, the one I used to get along with and talk with all the time. The one I pushed in the swing when we were kids, stole cookies from the cookie jar with, played hide-and-go seek with.

“We all used to be a lot of things,” I say quietly, dropping the brush into the dresser as I swallow hard.

“I know. And I know things have changed, and no one’s the same, but I really don’t want to end up living in some weirdo’s house, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d at least pretend for the day that you care about someone other than yourself and impress this judge dude.”

“No one’s going to take us away, Niki.” I feel so bad that he thinks that, and knowing Nik, he probably worries about it more than he lets on. “Loki just says that sometimes to get us to behave.”

“He used to, but I overheard him talking to someone on the phone the other day, and he was muttering all these things about not taking us away and that he could handle it.” He scuffs the tip of his sneaker against the carpet. “Please, just do this, okay? Do it for Mom and Dad because they wouldn’t want us living with someone else. And you owe them. They were good parents.”

I feel sorry for him for being in the dark about the truth, but at the same time, I envy him. It’d be so much easier to change my clothes and comb my hair—make myself presentable—if I could still hold onto those Fourth of July days filled with warm sunshine, showering fireworks, and the scent of apple pie. Now, every memory is tainted with thunder and lightning, and it’s hard to see clearly through the downpour.

“But anyway, that’s all I have to say. Thanks for listening.” He rolls his eyes and leaves my room, as if he’s already convinced I’m not going to give him what he asked for.

I don’t want to do it. I want to wear my tattered clothes and smudge on more eyeliner, cover myself up and sedate my body and mind by swallowing a couple pills. Walking into a courtroom as the shy, timid, fully aware of the consequences of her actions Anna will be a hell of a lot difficult. Not-gives-a-shit Annabella can deal with life so much better. Can deal with death. Getting into trouble. Knowing that she really doesn’t have a future anymore.

No, I need to be not-gives-a-shit Annabella. 

But as I reach for the eyeliner, a tsunami of guilt crashes over me, pierces my heart, strikes my darkened soul.

I attempt to ignore it as I slip on numerous leather bracelets, but as soon as I reach for the doorknob to leave, I hesitate. An invisible rope is tied to my waist, secured there by a guilt woven so thickly, I can’t break it.

Letting out a sequence of curses, I shuck off my jacket, kick my boots aside, and wipe off my eyeliner. I dab on some lip-gloss, braid my hair, and change into a clean purple, button down shirt. The fabric has been untouched for so long that a layer of dust covers it. I brush it off, change my holey jeans for a pair of black slacks, and slip on a pair of ballet flats.

Ignoring my reflection, I limp down the stairs to the kitchen.

Loki’s eyes widen at the sight of me. “Wow, you look—”

“If you say anything, I’ll go upstairs and change,” I tell him, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

He elevates his hands in front of him. “I didn’t say a word.”

I unscrew the lid off the bottle. “But you were thinking it.”

“I was thinking a lot of things.”

“I don’t care just as long as you keep them to yourself.” Otherwise I won’t be able to handle this. I move toward the door, but halt when he doesn’t follow. “Why are you just standing there? I thought we were on a time crunch or something.”

He lingers near the kitchen island. “We are, but it’s just . . .” He shakes his head, then brushes by me on his way to the front door. “Nothing. Never mind. Let’s go.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to permanently change,” I call out as he hurries out the door. By the time I get to his truck, I’m out of breath and all worked up. “This is only temporary. And I only did it because Nik said he overheard you talking to someone about us getting taken away.” I wait for him to unlock the door. “Is that true, Loki? Is someone going to take us away?”

“No.” He pats his pocket for the keys. “I mean, yeah, Family Services has been checking up on things, but no one’s going to take you away.”

I can’t tell if he’s lying or not, but the idea that it’s possible—that I might end up being the cause of the family breaking apart—scares me to death.

What if we get taken away? What if I never see them again? What if? What if? What if?

What if I would’ve just told Dad?

After we climb into the truck, Loki shuts the door and his gaze fastens on me. “Anna, I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to this family. I made a promise to Mom and Dad that I’d take care of you, and I’m going to do that, even if it kills me.”

I clench my hands into fists. “Not everything’s in your power.”

“I know, but some things are, like making this family what is was. That I can do. It’ll take some time, but I’m going to fucking make it happen.” He taps his foot on the gas, revving up engine.

“You’re wrong. Sometimes you can make all the smart choices and do everything right, but one rainstorm can come along and rip your entire life away, leaving you left with nothing. You can’t fix what we were. That life died with Mom and Dad, it doesn’t exist anymore, no matter how bad you want it.”

He turns in his seat, gaping at me. “You seriously don’t believe that you were left with nothing. Please tell me you don’t think that.”

“None of us were.  We’re all different and not for the better. No one’s happy anymore. Everyone just seems confused and . . . drifting.” I fix my attention on a hydrangea bush near the fence, my eyelashes fluttering as I fight back the tears.

When my mom planted the shrub, she said it was because she loved the purple flowers that grew and that it added life to the lawn. Now, the bush sits out in the yard, haunting the yard with memories of her.

“We’re not drifting,” he tries to reassure me. “Yeah, stuff’s changed and we’re all confused, but give it some time. Eventually, we’ll figure out how to walk in the world again.”

The engine grumbles for another minute before Loki gives up and backs onto the road. A few tears roll down my cheeks and I swiftly wipe them away, hoping he doesn’t see them.

The entire car ride to the courthouse is made in silence. Loki keeps messing with the stations then just turns off the stereo. Once the truck is parked, we hop out and make our way up to the rotating glass doors. We empty our pockets and get whisked through security. We’ve been through the process so many times we’re on a first name basis with the security guards.

We silently ride the elevator to the third floor, and when doors ding as they glide open, Loki pats my shoulder.

“Everything’s going to be okay. Amilia’s going to make this go away and then we can go home and finish what we were talking about. I’m not going to let you keep drifting. We’re going to fix this.”

I’m not sure if I believe him, if he really has that kind of power, but now’s not the time to argue.

My gaze flits to the twin oak doors at the end of the corridor where a thirty-something-year-old woman wearing a white pantsuit is waving at us. “Who’s Amilia?”

“Your lawyer.”

“What happened to Jane?”

“She moved. But don’t worry. I’ve heard good things about Amilia.”

We meet Amilia at the doors, and she gives us a brief summary of how she predicts the trial is going to go down.

“I really want to work the angle that Annabella is going through a tough time due to the recent loss of your parents,” she says, running her hands along the fabric of her jacket to smooth out the wrinkles.

“But won’t that make me look bad?” Loki asks, worry written all over his face.

“It should be fine. The real concern right now is to make sure Annabella gets the bare minimum sentence,” she explains, sorting through the papers she has with her. She drops a few of them and bends down to collect them. When she stands up, she offers us smile as she yanks open one of the oak doors. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Loki smiles with hope.

I frown with doubt.

Thirty minutes later, my doubt is justified.

The judge, a man who’s around my dad’s age and who used to come to the bookstore a lot, doesn’t take pity on me. “I had the pleasure of knowing your mother and father. They were good people in the community.” He shifts in his chair, overlapping his hands on his desk. “Having said that, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in trouble like this, and letting you off with probation doesn’t seem to be helping. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to hand out a more severe punishment. Hopefully, this time you’ll be able to learn from your mistakes.”

Loki squeezes my hand as reality piles down on my shoulders.

I may have been trying to run away from my life—from my past—but it not only caught up with me. It knocked me down hard.

Pinkie Promises, Butterflies, and Ankle Bracelets

The ankle bracelet I have to wear over Christmas, and all the way into the new year, itches like a bitch. It’s almost as bad as having a cast on. Plus, they put it on my injured leg, and it feels like another scar has been added to my limb. In a sick way, though, I guess the torturous punishment is fitting.

“You do realize how much trouble you’ll be in if you set it off,” Loki warns for the millionth time this morning. He’s headed to the store for a few hours and is hardcore nervous about leaving me home alone. “You can’t mess up anymore. You heard the judge. There won’t be another chance. Next time will be jail time.”

“Yeah, I got it.” I stir the barely touched bowl of cereal in front of me. 

Without any pills, alcohol, or Miller to distract me, the last few days have been difficult. I’ve spent a lot of time confused and way too emotional, on the verge of bursting into tears at any given moment. I feel out of place in my own shoes, like I’m walking in someone else’s life, only it’s my own life, the life I have now, and I have no clue how to deal with living that kind of life. During the day, I feel sluggish, like I’m sinking into a sinkhole. At night, I sleep restlessly, dreaming of dancing on stage, of my mom backstage encouraging me. My leg moves elegantly, my toe curved at the perfect angle. But then I wake up, and all I feel is the pain.

“Are you sure you get it?” Loki asks as he rinses off a pan. “Because sometimes I have the feeling that you seem like you hear things, but you really don’t.”

I poke a piece of soggy cereal, watching it bob up and down in the milk. “I said I was sorry yesterday and that I get what’s going to happen to me if I don’t behave. I’m not sure what else you want me to say.”

He closes the dishwasher and presses the start button. “How about the truth for once? That’s all I really ever want from you.”

“You say it like it’s so easy,” I grumble.

“It used to be easy for you.” He gathers his car keys, wallet, and a manila folder from the counter. “In fact, you were sometimes too honest for your own good. Like that one time when I asked you if I looked good enough for my date with Izzy Waltersen, and you told me I looked like a boy band wannabe.”

The corners of my mouth twitch. “You did look like a boy band wannabe.”

“And you know what? Even though I was pretty pissed off at you for making me feel like a douche bag, I was glad you pointed it out before I made an ass of myself in front of Izzy.”

I prop my elbow on the smudged counter and rest my chin on my fist.  “I don’t think I care enough to tell the truth anymore.”  But I know that I’m lying to him and myself.

Yesterday, as I stood in the courtroom, listening to the judge reprimand me for my actions, I wanted to tell Loki everything. Explain to him why I’ve made so many mistakes. That I’ll work on changing. But with all the stress he already has, how could I put that on him? How could I choose to make him feel the same way I do about our mom? So angry all the time. So bitter. And so guilty for feeling so angry and bitter.

“I know you don’t mean that, and that somewhere deep down inside you, you still care about your family and your life, even if you don’t want to admit it.” He digs through a drawer full of paper clips, pencils, and markers until he finds a pen. “The physical therapist will be here in about an hour.” He holds up his hand when I start to protest. “I know you don’t want to get better, but this is the first step in helping you stop drifting. And you’re going to be super grateful for it. Not everyone gets the luxury of having a therapist do home visits. You’re lucky Easton’s an old friend of mine and is doing us a huge favor. Zhara is going to keep an eye on you and has been instructed to call me if you so much as even step toward the edge of the property. I’ve also asked Tammy to phone me if she sees you trying to run. She might stop by and bring lunch to you guys, too.”

I drop the spoon into the bowl and sit up straight. “Why are you bringing Tammy into our mess?”

“I didn’t bring her into our mess. She offered to help after Miss Monelyson told her about our little predicament, which she heard from Mabel down the street.” He shakes his head, annoyed. “God, I forget how fast gossip spreads around here. It makes me miss college . . .” he trails off, releasing a deafening breath. Every time he so much as mentions college he gets a really heartbroken look on his face. I can tell he misses his old life, but he refuses to ever say it aloud. “But, yeah, I’ll be back around two. Stay out of trouble until then.”  He fans through a stack of papers in the folder, pulling out a letter-size envelope.

“What are all those papers for?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re not important, except for this.” With uncertainty, he places the envelope in front of me.

On the front of it, my name is written in my mother’s handwriting.

“What is that?” I ask in a strangled whisper.

“It’s from Mom and Dad . . . There was one for each of us with the will . . .” He clears his throat before continuing, “I was supposed to give it to you when you turned eighteen, but considering how things have been going lately, I thought it might be time for you to read it. Maybe it could help you deal with whatever you’re going through.”

I panic and flick the envelope away from me like it’s made of poison. “I don’t want to read it.”

“That’s your choice,” he says with a disheartened shrug. “I’m just giving you the option.”

“What else is in that folder you’re carrying?” My gaze bounces between him and the envelope.

They wrote me a letter? When? Why?

“Just stuff I need to take care of.” He winds around the counter, striding toward the back door. “I’ll be back around two. Stay out of trouble.
Please
.” He waits for me to agree, and with reluctance, I nod. “Okay.” He seems thrown off by my willingness. “Thanks, Anna, for not putting up a fight this time.”

 “It’s not a big deal.  I can’t go anywhere or the police will show up, track me down, and take me to jail.” I lift my leg and jiggle my ankle the bracelet is locked around. “I’m officially a prisoner in my own home.”

“I know that, but I still need to make sure that you know you have to behave. The police can’t show up here for any reason, understand?”

“I got it the tenth time you said it.” My gaze zeroes in on the folder in his arms. “Are those papers from Family Services?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.” His jaw ticks, a habit when he’s lying. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. Call me if you need anything.” He waves at me then bolts out the door.

Silence sets in as I stare at the envelope on the counter. Finally, I get brave enough to pick it up and lift the edge with my fingernail, but chicken out and wrench my hand away.

I should just rip it up, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. So, folding it up, I tuck it into my back pocket and pad across the kitchen. The hardwood floor feels cool on the sole of one of my feet but the other is numb. I camp out on the lumpy sectional in the living room and channel surf for something to watch. Since Christmas is in less than a week, all the shows and commercials center on the holidays.

Last year, our living room had been decked out with an oversized tree covered in tinsel and ornaments, and presents tucked underneath it. A wreath and stockings had hung over the fireplace, and twinkly lights had been wound around the banister. The entire place had sparkled. Now, it looks dull and lifeless with the
Charlie Brown
tree Loki brought home yesterday and a handful of presents Zhara stuck under it.

My head achingly throbs as my chest overflows with longing to have what used to be. I crave to get out of the house, run away, drink, swallow pills, anything other than feel this way. I glare at the ankle bracelet, hating my imprisonment, hating the judge who gave me the punishment, but worst off all, hating myself.

This is all your fault, so deal with it.

I watch TV, but don’t really pay attention, getting lost in my thoughts. Things are so screwed up, and I realize all I can do is deal with it now, spend my time locked up in a home I’ve been running away from.
 

There’s no place left to run.

Trapped Annabella.

My phone buzzes, and I distractedly fish it out of my pocket. I come too close to smiling when I read the name on the screen.

Luca: So, I’m staring at a picture of you right now.

I drop the remote onto the coffee table to text back.

Me: What r u talking about?

Luca: U look really cute in a tutu.

Me: Why r u at the dance studio?

Luca: Now why would I tell u that? It’s more fun if u guess.

Me: No way. U clearly texted me to tell me you were there, so now u have to fess up.

Luca: No way. I texted u because I saw a picture of u hanging on the wall . . . U look cute when u smile. U should do it more often.

Me: No thanks. I prefer frownie faces.

Luca: Why? Does smiling not go with your emo rebellion thing?

I roll my eyes as I type.

Me: Yep. How’d u guess?

Luca: Like I said, I’m super perceptive ;)

After the candy thing, I think I believe him.

Me: R u really not going to tell me why ur hanging out a ballet studio?

Luca: Not over the phone. This gives me an excuse to come over and tell u in person :)

Me: I can’t hang out. I’m grounded, remember?

Luca: I’m coming over when my mom brings lunch, so technically it’s not hanging out.

Me: Trust me, u don’t want to come over. It’s super boring here.

Luca: It’s better than spending another day in my bedroom, watching re-runs.

Me: If u say so.

Luca: I do say so. I find u interesting . . . I’d say make sure to be there when I come over, but I don’t think that’s really necessary since u can’t leave ur house.

I’m not sure if he’s joking, and I have no clue what to text back. Clueless Annabella, an old trait of mine.

When I don’t reply, another text pings through.

Luca: Ok, so I just reread my text and realized I might’ve sounded like an asshole. I swear I was kidding. I told you I have a twisted sense of humor.

I decide to mess around with him, blast him with a dose of his own medicine.

Me: I’m glad u find my messed up life so funny.

Luca: I’m so sorry, Anna. Seriously. I didn’t mean it. Let me make it up to u.

Me: I’m not sure u can. That was really a low blow.

Luca: I know. I’m such an ass. C, this is why my mom says I have issues with saying too much.

Me: She’s right. U kinda do.

Luca: I know. I’m working on it . . . So, do u forgive me?

Me: Only if u do me a favor?

Luca: U name it and it’s yours.

Me: Take down that picture of me and bring it to me.

Luca: Isn’t that stealing?

Me: Nah, not technically since it’s a picture of me. But u might not want to let anyone c u.

Luca: R u sure it’s okay? I feel like I’m being watched.

I bite back a giggle and slap my hand over my mouth in shock.

Me: Yeah. Just grab it and put it in your pocket. No one will notice.

Luca: Wow. Instructions from an expert thief. I feel so lucky.

Luca: Dammit, I did it again, didn’t I? I’m such an ass.

Me: Yeah, but I’m used to it by now.