The Illusion of Annabella (26 page)

“She’s been helping him make sure he has everything in order for Family Services,” he says quietly. “I guess they’ve been keeping an eye on you guys, and with all the . . .” he winces, “stuff going on, they’re questioning if he can handle the responsibility. Since my mom’s gone through some similar stuff with Rowan, she’s been helping him out. Although, your brother’s a hell of a lot more responsible than my sister.”

My scars blaze as guilt eats me from the inside out. “This is all my fault.” I move back, my hands falling to my sides. “God, everything’s so screwed up.” I slump against the side of the garage, staring at the tire tracks permanently stained on the pavement from the time I braked too hard when my father first taught me to drive. “I wish I could go back . . . and make different choices.”

“But you can’t.” Luca offers me a sad smile. “You can change what you do from now on, though.”

I shut my eyes as the cold breeze stings my cheeks. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It’s not, and some people are never able to do it, even when they try . . . like my sister.” He pauses, and when I open my eyes, he’s standing closer than I anticipated. “Some people do, though. And you don’t have to do it alone . . . you have a ton of people who can help you. Loki, Zhara, even my mom would be more than happy to help you.” He presses his lips together with a pucker at his brow as he as he cups my cheek, smoothing his thumb across my skin before pulling away. “And yeah, I kind of want to help, too.”

I swallow hard, pressing my hands to the garage as my legs turn into noodles. “It seems crazy, wanting to help someone when you don’t even know them . . . Your life would be easier if you didn’t.”

“My life’s never been easy, but do you know what’s really easy?” he asks, and I shake my head. With a hint of a smile on his face, he reaches out, and I think he’s going to grab me, but instead he taps the box of sparklers I’m holding. “Lighting sparklers.”

I frown warily at the box. “That’s actually harder than it seems.”

Suddenly the wind gusts dead leaves across grass, and the cloudy sky grumbles, warning us of an impending storm. Clasping the lighter in one hand, I open the box and wiggle two sparklers out.

Can I do this?

I give one to Luca then fumble to light the lighter.

Am I really going to do this?

Blame it on my nerves, but I can’t get the damn thing to work.

Maybe I shouldn’t do this?

 
Finally, Luca pries my fingers off it, flicks the top, and creates a steady flame. He lights his first then sticks it out in front of him as silvery sparks shoot out like a magic wand.

“Put yours up to mine,” he instructs, stuffing the lighter into his back pocket.

With a deep breath, I kiss the tip of his sparkler with mine.
Oh, my God, I’m really doing this.
They hiss as the flames aglow.

I move the sparkler in a circle in front of me. “Wow.” I forgot how magical a simple firework could be, and for a moment, I see the world through my old eyes, lit up like fireflies that I swear I could catch if I just stuck out my hand.

For the next few minutes, Luca and I play around in the driveway, going through sparkler after sparkler, giggling like a couple of kids as we clumsily skip around. When it comes down to the last one, he lights it up and hands it to me.

As the sparkler reaches the halfway point, Luca moves up behind me and circles his arms around my waist, covering my hand with his so we’re both holding onto it. His breath tickles my ear as he laughs and traces letters in the air. My hand moves with his, but I can barely focus on what he’s writing. I’m too distracted by his chest pressed against my back, his warm fingers covering mine, how very alive I feel in that moment, and how terrified I am.

“Luca, I think . . .” I trail off as he stretches our arms out to the side and fixes his finger under my chin. Turning my head toward him, his eyes search mine, then slowly, he leans in.

When our lips brush, the sparkler crackles, but I hardly hear it as the beat of my racing heart fills my ears. He tastes like frosting, and his lips feel so good against mine that it’s mind-blowing because I can feel it. Feel
everything
. The softness of his mouth. The little breaths he keeps taking. The warmth of his fingers against my cheek. This kiss is so different from kissing Miller. Less numbing, more devouring, consuming, more of a connection, more feel-and-breathe-the-moment.

I turn around, press my chest against his, and fall into the kiss. Still holding the burning sparkler out to the side of us, he slides his tongue into my mouth, backing us up. I grasp onto him, letting him slowly guide me backwards until my back brushes against the side of the house.

Pressing his chest and hips against mine, he deepens the kiss, his tongue softly tangling with mine. It’s everything I’ve always wanted in a kiss. Everything I thought I couldn’t have and still don’t know if I deserve. I don’t know what I’m doing. Don’t know what I’m going to do when it ends. But right now, I don’t care. That control I always felt with Miller doesn’t exist with Luca. There’s no control at all, over my emotions, over my mouth, over anything.

I kiss him back, biting his bottom lip, and he groans in response. His free hand cups the side of my neck, and he murmurs my name as his lips trace a path down my jawline to my neck. When he sucks on my skin, I tip my head back and stare up at the clouds right as a raindrop splatters across my forehead.

I shut my eyes.
I’m not going to let the rain ruin this.
Putting a sliver of space between us, I cup his face and move his lips back to mine. We kiss as the clouds rain down on us. Kiss until I can’t breathe. Kiss until the sparkler hisses, shooting it’s final spark, which ends up landing right on the back of my hand.

I jerk, gasping for air as my flesh burns.

“What’s wrong?” Luca asks, breathing raggedly, an arm on either side of me.

“It’s nothing. I just.” A blister is already forming on my hand. The storm kicks up. Rain drizzles over me—reality crashes over me. How perfect this kiss really was and how this is what I wanted my first kiss to be; how I wish my mom were here, so I could tell her about it. How much I really, really enjoyed the kiss. How much I’m really here, in this moment, feeling everything. All of it. The good. The bad.
Everything
. “I-I’m sorry,” I sputter, then hurry for the house, running away from what I’m feeling like I always do.

But like with my leg, I’ve done too much too fast, and now every part of me aches.

By the time I stumble into my bedroom, I’m sobbing so hard I can’t get any oxygen into my lungs. I collapse to the floor, crawling to my bed. But I have no energy left inside me and I end up curled up in a ball, crying on the floor.

“Anna,” Zhara says as she cracks open the door.

I roll toward my bed to hide the tears in my eyes.

“Is everything okay?” she asks tentatively.

I shake my head, tears streaming down my cheeks
.

“Oh, Anna.” She lies down on the floor and wraps her arms around me.

My shield ruptures and everything trapped inside me bleeds out.

“I miss Mom,” I whisper through my sobs. I miss the mom I grew up knowing. The one who took care of me. The kind, caring person I once wanted to be like. I miss the mom I wasn’t ever so angry with. The mom that would have held me, hugged me, told me she loved me. The mom I loved.

“Me too,” she says, hugging me tightly.

I sob uncontrollably again, my body trembling.

“It’s okay,” Zhara says. “Just let it all out.”

I do exactly what she says and let it all out because in the end, it’s either shut down and rot away more.

Or just let go.

Learning to Walk Again

I spend the next few days staying away from the guy next door. Not because I’m blowing off Luca. I just haven’t figured out what to say to him. Over the next few days, he texts me a few times and tries to call once, but on New Year’s Day I don’t hear a peep from him.

For most of the morning, I lounge around on the couch with Zhara, streaming movies, comedies per her request. Today, Easton gave me a break from physical therapy, and I’m glad just to spend time sitting on my ass because my leg hurts, maybe even more than it did pre-therapy. Then again, I’m completely, one-hundred percent sober, which means all of my senses, my mind, my body, feels and sees everything crystal clear. Too clear sometimes, especially when it comes to all of the horrible stuff I’ve done, like getting arrested, getting drunk, refusing to show any sympathy to my brothers and sisters who’ve been going through the same stuff I have.

“So . . . What’s up with you and Luca,” Zhara says unexpectedly as the credits roll across the screen.

“Nothing. Why are you askin’?” During my meltdown on my bedroom floor, I accidentally let it slip out that I was crying over kissing Luca. I learned that Overly Emotional Annabella sucks at keeping her lips zipped.

“No reason.” She sits up and tucks her feet under her butt. “I just haven’t really seen him since Christmas.”

“But it’s not like we hung out that much before Christmas,” I say, bending my knee underneath me.

“Oh, Anna.” She gives me a look as if I’m the younger sister who’s dense about guys. “Really?”

“Don’t ‘oh, Anna, really’ me,” I slip out the elastic in my hair and comb my fingers through the strands. “I think, at least for now, maybe Luca and I should just be friends.”

She flicks a popcorn kernel off her lap. “Have you told him that?”

I shake my head. “But I will.”

“Promise?” she asks, shoving the sleeves of her pink thermal shirt up. “Because he seems like a really nice guy who likes you a lot and cares about you. I know you’re not used to that.”

“I know.” I lightly rub my hand over my thigh where the elevated scars are hidden below my plain pajama bottoms. “And, Zhara, I’m not dating Miller anymore. I never really was.”

“Good.” She beams happily, scooping up a handful of popcorn from the bowl that’s in between us. “I’m glad you two are over. I never liked him that much.”

“No one did.” But there are times when I miss the freedom Miller gave me.

It’s not really Miller himself that I miss, just the numbness, drinking, and drugs he provided for me. Those feelings of longing to self-medicate come in sporadic spouts when life gets really unbearable, like after a nightmare or an agonizing therapy session, where I work my ass off or when I think of my mom and dad and how they’re not here with us.

But there’s also another part of me that’s almost . . . relieved to be out of the world of drugs that leads you to nowhere but down, down, down, until you finally crash.

“And just so you know, I really like Luca.” Zhara points the remote at the TV and clicks off the screen. “He seems like he’d be a really good boyfriend, when you decide you want one.”

“Zhara, you saw me the other night,” I say. “I’m not sure I’m ready for a boyfriend.”

“And that’s okay, too.” She bounces in the cushion as she turns to face me. “Okay, I have an idea, and you can totally say no, but I want to ask just in case you’re feeling, I don’t know, like doing something different.” She pauses, and I motion for her to spit it out. “I’m going to FaceTime Jessamine this morning, and I want you to do it with me. She holds up her hand, silencing me before I can even get a word out. “I know what you’re going to say, but you’re wrong. Deep down, you want to talk to her. And just think, whatever you tell her stays all the way over in London with her. No one will know but Jessamine.”

“But what if I don’t really have anything to say?” I nibble on a few pieces of buttery popcorn, remembering what started my phase out with Jessamine.

Right after my parents’ funeral, she was getting into a taxi to go to the airport so she could fly ‘home.’ I hated that she called London her home, hated that she was leaving us, but most of all, I was jealous because she could leave her old life while I was stuck in it, even when I no longer felt like I belonged. Yes, I was selfish. Yes, I messed up. But I was confused about life and what I was supposed to do from there.

“Then you can just wave and sit with me while I talk.” Zhara seizes my hand and lifts me to my feet as she leaps up. “Come on. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I begrudgingly let her lead me up to her bedroom where I sit down in front of her laptop opened up on her bed and attempt to figure out what I’m going to say to Jessamine. It’s been months since we’ve spoken, and I have no excuse other than I was confused about myself, my family, life.

With a few clicks of the mouse and couple of taps on the keyboard, Zhara sets up the video chat. The computer makes a dinging nose, and then I’m staring at my older sister.

She looks the same as she did at the funeral, except her hair is shorter now and her mascara isn’t running. “Anna?” She squints at the screen, leaning in closer to get a better look. “Is that you?”

“Yep.” I muster up a smile. “Hey.”

“Oh, my God!” Her earsplitting squeal is so loud that the speaker shorts out. “I’m so happy you’re talking to me. It’s been way too long.”

“Yeah, I guess it has.” We stare at each other for a minute until I grow uncomfortable over who she’s seeing. The stoic Annabella, or the real, raw, doesn’t-have-a-clue Anna. “You cut your hair.”

“Yep. A couple of days ago, actually.” A devious grin spreads across her face. “But, dude, what’s with the purple hair?”

“Hey, don’t mock the hair. I like it.” I collect the laptop, balance it on my lap, and sit back against the mounds of pillows on Zhara’s bed.

“I actually do, too.” She taps her finger against her chin. “You do need to touch up those roots, though.”

“I’m waiting until I decide what color I want to dye it.” I lift a strand of my hair in front of my face. “I was thinking maybe a different color, but I can’t decide which one.”

Zhara reclines back beside me with a bottle of nude nail polish in her hand. She stretches out her legs and swipes the brush across her toenail. “I think you should do brown and leave a few streaks of purple.”

Old and new? Is it really that easy? I don’t know what to think, if I love the idea, hate it, want it.

“We’ll see.” I let my hair fall back to my shoulders. “I can’t dye it until after Christmas break’s over, though, since I can’t leave the house.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.” Jessamine folds her arms on her desk. “You want to talk about what’s been going on with you?”

“Life.” I shrug, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

“You seem like you’re struggling with it.”

“I am . . . was . . . confused.”

“Is it anything I can help with?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. I just need to figure out who I am, I guess.”

She gives me an understanding smile. ‘That’s probably one of the hardest things to do, especially at your age. I remember right after I graduated, I had no clue what I wanted to do, other than I didn’t want to stay in Honeyton.”

“I used to have it all figured out.” I stare down at my toes, pointing and flexing them. They use to curl so prettily, but now the left foot can hardly move. “But not so much anymore. And I think . . . I think maybe that’s why things have been so hard.”

“That’s okay . . . Stuff happens and sometimes we have to change our plans, right?” She stares at something to the side of the screen, and I wonder what she’s looking at.

“Are we talking about me or you now?”

Sighing, she directs her attention back to me. “I’m not sure.” She perks up, squaring her shoulders and overlapping her arms on her desk. “But if you ever feel like doing something really crazy, you can come hang out with me in London. It gets lonely sometimes.”

“I’ll think about it.” I glance at Zhara as she swipes the brush across my toenail, painting the nail a shimmering pink. “Really Zhara? Pink?”

She applies a stroke of nail polish to another toe. “What? It looks nice on you. And you used to wear pink all the time.”

Deciding to pick my battles, I concentrate on Jessamine. “Can we talk about something that doesn’t have anything to do with me, please? Tell me something cool or happy going on with you. Because I haven’t heard much happy or cool stuff in a while.”

“Hmmm . . . Well, I’m seeing a guy. He’s from the States, actually.”

“Tell me about him. Is he crazy and mysterious, like that one guy you dated, or is he more like Milo, all happy and positive all the time?”

“He’s nothing like Milo,” she says, getting a faraway look in her eyes before blinking back at me. “And besides, Milo and I were—are—just friends.”

“That’s what you guys always said, but there were a couple of times that I’m pretty sure I walked into your bedroom and caught you guys fooling around.”

She jabs a finger at the screen, biting back a grin. “I know what time you’re talking about, and I swear to God, we weren’t fooling around. Milo was just showing me his scars.”

A conniving grin spreads across my face. “Were his scars on his—”

Zhara’s hand covers my mouth, her cheeks flushed. “Anna, watch your mouth.” When she removes her hand, Jessamine and I laugh at her. “You guys are ridiculous and so gross.”

“Oh, my sweet, naïve Zhara.” Jessamine sighs. “One day, there’s going to be a guy you like enough that he’ll show you his,” she makes air quotes, “scars.”

Zhara huffs, working to get all riled up, but it doesn’t go very well for her, and she ends up simmering down and returning to toenail painting.

“What about you, Anna?” Jessamine says. “You dating anyone?”

Curious, Zhara watches my reaction.

“How much have you heard?” I ask Jessamine, resisting the urge to touch my lips as I remember the kiss.

He tasted so good, like cake and Skittles, and I swear to God, I can still taste it now.

“Zhara told me about some guy with blue hair getting you into a lot of trouble,” Jessamine’s tone carries caution, “but she wasn’t sure if you were really dating him.”

“That would be Miller. And he didn’t get me into trouble. Everything I did,” I pause as Zhara’s elbow bumps the bracelet around my ankle, “I chose to do.”

“That’s a very mature thing for you to say,” Jessamine tells me. “Now, if you could stop choosing to get into trouble, things would be great.”

“I’m working on it.” My tone wobbles, raw with the truth.

“Good.” Intrigue twinkles in her eyes. “Now, tell me about this Luca Zhara says you’ve been hanging out with.”

I glower at Zhara, but smile so she’ll know I’m partially joking.

I spend the next twenty minutes giving Jessamine a few details about Luca, how we met, his fascination with candy, and our kiss. Then the three of us talk about Zhara’s plans for college, even though she doesn’t graduate for over a year and a half, but she already has everything planned out.

By the time we say goodbye, it’s late afternoon. We decide to clean the house while Nikoli is at football practice and wherever Alexis wanders off to during the day. Loki is at the store until eight, so we start to make dinner, preparing to ring in the new year with chips and salsa and chicken quesadillas.

“Remember how Dad always made these every New Year’s?” Zhara asks, skipping around the kitchen island and toward the fridge.

I push the chicken around in the skillet with the spatula. “I remember how he burned them every year.”

Zhara giggles as she grabs a bag of shredded cheese. “I never really got why he was the one who cooked so much when he clearly sucked at it.”

The peppery smoke funneling from the sizzling pan makes my eyes water. “Because Mom didn’t like cooking.”

“She didn’t? I never knew that. I thought she loved cooking. That’s why she was always baking cakes and brownies and pies.” Her mood plunges. “How could I not know that about my own mom?”