Gone From Me (16 page)

27

Maddie

Slice the Edge

When I get inside the room I spin in circles, trying to figure out what I want to do. Hide the letters? Read them?

“Read them now,” I
say aloud, and plop onto my bed. First I want to organize the letters by year. As I touch each envelope, my hands tremble. I’m terrified. If I open these there will be no going back. Kyle will know I’ve read them, even if I were to somehow sneak them back into his apartment. But if I come clean now, maybe he’d just give them to me. Let me read them anyway. I should’ve asked him instead of stealing them. He’ll probably me mad. I’ve invaded his privacy, broken his trust. Stolen from him.

I’m a
rotten, no good thief.

And I’m about to pack them all up when I notice one with a single heart drawn
in black pen on the front.

A heart.

My heart speeds, and beats against my chest. I have to read it.

Just this one.
Then I’ll take them back. With a pair of scissors I cut off one of the short sides of the envelope, blow inside, and carefully slide the three ring binder paper out. I unfold it and read:

Dear Maddie,

I turned fourteen today.
Didn’t do much. Hung out with Evan. We saw a movie. Ate. Listened to music.

I
kept thinking about you. I never stop.

When we went to the movies
, I ordered Junior Mints because those are your favorite. When we ate lunch, I ordered a chicken sandwich instead of a cheeseburger because I knew that’s what you would’ve ordered. Evan asked what my problem was, but I ignored him.

You were everywhere today. I swear I saw you six different times. Your
brown hair tucked behind your ears. But then the girl would turn around, and it wasn’t you.

I kept looking. I won’t stop.

I wished you could’ve spent today with me. We probably would’ve done the same thing me and Evan did, but it would’ve been a lot more fun, because it would’ve been with you.

Remember the cake you made for my eleventh birthday? It was chocolate with chocolate icing. You put sprinkles on it, and eleven candles. At the time I think I acted kind of embarrassed, like I di
dn’t really like it. But I want you to know, it meant a lot to me. It still does. Every birthday since I’ve thought about your cake. You. I’m sorry if I was mean.

And Maddie, whatever
I’ve done to make you mad, I’m sorry for that too. Really sorry. Like every day I wake up and for one moment I’m happy because I haven’t remembered that you’re gone yet. But when I do, it’s a struggle to get out of bed, do what I have to, because you aren’t here. My life was so much better when you were in it.

This
may sound weird, but I think I love you. And not like best friend love. Even though I feel that way about you too, but my heart hasn’t been the same since you left.

I miss you.

Please talk to me. Write me back.

Kyle

I read it once.
Then again. And a third time. Studying each word. Each sentence. He thought he loved me. At fourteen. I hadn’t seen him in three years. I press the paper to my nose and inhale. It may just be my imagination, but I swear I can smell him.

I refold the letter and tuck it back into the envelope
, then set it on top of the pile for 2009. I stare at the letters, written by the boy I’ve missed almost as much as my parents, and I realize I can’t give these back. Not yet. I have to read each and every letter. Each and every word, sentence, and paragraph.

I pick up the one with the most recent
date stamped on it. Slice the edge with a nail file and pull out the paper. It still looks new. And before I read, I smell it. Definitely Kyle.

Dear Maddie,

This will be my
final letter. I’ve known for a couple of years you wouldn’t respond. It used to drive my father crazy that I sent you letters in the first place. After a year he told me to stop, but I couldn’t. So my cousin Evan snuck me stamps from his mom’s purse.

Anyway, I think I finally get that you aren’t a part of my life anymore. I didn’t want to believe because it hurt
too much. Writing made it easier. I would think about you reading my letters. What you might do, the way your face would light up while you read.

But it’s not meant to be. Whatever it is you’re doing with your life, I hope you’re happy. I’ve tried to be happy. Piano has helped. Evan thinks I’m
girlie for playing, and I blow it off as just a hobby, but the truth is, it means the world to me. I sit on the bench and play, and play, and play.

The music allows me to forget the hurt at losing my mom, you, and my dad. Not that he was around much
. Not that I even liked him around. He wasn’t my favorite person, not even close, but he was my family. I see how important that is. And it makes me sad. For me, and for you.

Man, I miss you.

I think about what you must look like. If you’ve grown taller. Whether your hair is long or short. You had the most beautiful legs. I’m sure they’re even better now.

I get why you went to live with your aunt and uncle. They are all the family you have left. I’m living with Evan. Him and his mom and dad have been good to me. But it isn’t the same.

Shit. I hope you’re okay.

I’ve driven to
Sugar River lots of times. I’ve even gone past your aunt and uncle's house. Once I sat in my Jeep, across the street, for hours. Your aunt finally came out and told me what I already knew. You didn’t want to see me.

But I want you to know I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped caring. And I hope with all of my heart that you are
living life to its fullest. That you are happy. That’s all I wish for you.

Always,

Kyle

Tears drip onto the page. My heart is soaked with sadness. For many reasons. Giving up on Kyle, harboring so much hate for his dad. But it’s more. I feel so badly that I wasn’t around for Kyle when his father died. And I’m not even sure how to feel about his dad being dead. I’m devastated. I guess because a part of me believed I would have my revenge. That justice would be served. The man is dead. But I still feel lost, hopeless. It doesn’t seem fair.

I wipe my eyes and steel myself. I should be happy, ecstatic.
But I’m empty. I feel nothing. I am nothing.

And I realize all my life
, everything I’ve done: piano, tattoos, college, it’s all been because of Kyle’s father. I need to know how Chief Hadley died. I need to see his grave, spit on his gravestone.

How? I can’t ask my aunt. I can almost hear her
: “Why would you want to be within a hundred feet of that evil man’s grave? Even in death he’s probably causing trouble. Just stay away. Far, far away.” What she doesn’t understand is that I can’t. I have to see for myself that he’s dead.

I wonder if she knows he’s dead. Even as I think it, I know. My aunt and uncle know he’s dead. I doubt they would’ve let me go to college otherwise. When did he die?

I’m sure I could ask Kyle, but I’d rather read his letters. They’re mine anyway, addressed to me. I bet in a court of law, the judge would declare me the owner. Never mind that I swiped them from Kyle’s apartment without his knowledge.

As I ponder my predicament, the door opens. Gina stumb
les in. Her eyes are glazed. A strange smile coats her lips. “Hey, Maddie. Maddelena. Maddie-mad-dog. How are you?” She falls onto her bed, and stares at the ceiling.

I do my best to hide the letters, but there’s a lot.
When I’m satisfied, I walk over. “Hey, Gina. How was your night with Collin?”

She rolls onto her side. “So good.
So, so good. He’s a rock star in bed. Sweet. Kind. Plus, he took me to dinner. We partied, just the two of us.” Her smile gets big.

She’s higher than a kite. It isn’t cocaine. I’ve seen what she’s like on that. Maybe pot? I’m not sure. “What are you on?” I ask, sitting next to her, taking her hand.

Gina looks at me. “Awww, Maddie. Don’t look so worried. They’re called recreational drugs for a reason. They’re fun.” She closes her eyes, inhales slowly. “I mean look at me. Do I look like I’m having a bad time?” Before I can say anything, she answers herself, “No. I feel great.” She lifts her hand and waves it slowly, mesmerized by the movement.

I try to calm down. Take deep breaths. She’s right. She doesn’t seem sad or in pain
, but mellow. “Okay.” I pat her on the arm. “I’m going to the library. I need a book for my research paper.” The truth is I want to read Kyle’s letters in peace, without interruptions.

I stand, but Gina grabs my arm, pulls me back down. “Wait. Don’t go. Tell me about Kyle.
How was he? From everything I’ve heard, you can’t still be the big V.” She makes her hands into the shape of a V in the air.

“Yeah. It almost happened, but
I…” I can’t tell her. “Soon. I just wasn’t ready.” And after I passed out and stole his letters, he may never speak to me again. It might never happen. Maybe I’ll join a convent, or a monastery. I can be known as the tattooed nun.

“Alright. I’m just going to lay here. Rest. I’m so tired.” She closes her eyes.

I grab the letters and my iPod.

28

Maddie

Return to Sender

And I run. And run. And run.

But I don’t end up at the library. My heart leads my feet to the Fine Arts building. The place I go to exercise my religion. The place where I’m happiest.

I
edge down the steps and enter the long hallway. Immediately I’m more relaxed, more me. Our piano room, Kyle’s and mine, is at the end, and I make my way toward it. But someone’s already there. Playing. It’s a song that breaks my heart. It’s melodious, chorded. I peer in and see Kyle. Tears on his cheeks. And I wonder what he’s thinking. Why is he hurting? Are his tears for his father? I want to go in and console him, but I’m afraid.

Of rejection.
Of his answers.

What if it is about his father? I can’t be
a comforter for the loss of that man. I’m glad he’s dead. I only wish it was me who took his life. At such a violent thought, I shudder. I wonder why my aunt and uncle never told me. I wonder when it happened, how it happened.

Kyle seems to sense my presence and looks my direction. He sees me and quickly stops, wiping his eyes
with the back of his hand. I’m torn. My heart telling me one thing: go in, talk to him, and my mind: his father is bad, therefore he is bad.

Kyle makes up my mind for me. Pulls open the door.

“Hey, Freckles. What are you doing here?” His features are tight, his voice not unfriendly, but not welcoming either.

I tuck the bag of letters behind my back. “Just wanted to get in some practice. I’ll find another room.”
I need to apologize. Tell him I’m sorry for passing out, but I don’t know where to begin. If it was the other way around, and he fell asleep on me, I’d be upset. So I step back, trying to escape.

He reaches out, grabs my arm. “What are you hiding?”

I tighten my grasp on the bag full of letters. I can’t let him see them. “Nothing. It’s private.”

“Come on. Show me,” he says reaching around, grabbing for the bag.

My heart is raging like a river. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of. Him seeing the letters, or him taking them away.

He. Can’t. Have. Them. Taking them would be like stealing years of my life. That’s how it feels. I won’t let him.

“Let go, Kyle. It’s none of your business.” I twist, trying to get out of his grasp, but his hands tighten.

He gives me a strange look. One that makes me
curious about whether he knows. I shove my fist into his chest. “No, Kyle. Leave me alone.”

He reaches around and rips the bag. Letters spill to the floor.
His words to me in a scattered pile at our feet. My heart is among those letters, as is my pride.

He bends to pick up the envelopes.
Flips one over. He realizes what they are instantly. Tension rolls off him. His shoulders tense under his shirt. I think about running away, hiding the embarrassment flaming my cheeks. But I hold my ground. I want those letters. It means everything to me to read his words.

When he stands, his expression is one of surprise.

“I’m sorry, Kyle. I-I found them, and wanted to read what you had to say. I wanted to know you, know what you wrote me.”

He crum
ples the envelopes into a fist. Pain travels over his features. “Then why didn’t you read them when I wrote them? Why send them back?”

“I didn’
t know. I-I never knew.” Tears sting my lashes, but I force them away.

He kicks the bag. “So you go through my things? You steal them?”
He’s shouting. Shaking his head in disbelief. “Have you read any of them?”

My first thought is to lie, but he’ll know the truth soon enough. So I nod. “Yes, I’ve read two.”

He grinds his teeth, his jaws hardening into a line.

A girl with
frizzy red hair, a flower dress, and cowboy boots comes out of a practice room. She’s holding her clarinet. “Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to practice."

“
Yeah, sorry.” I bend down and start stacking the letters.

“You aren’t the person I knew. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting involved. You’ve changed. You’re different.” As he’s talking, he’s pulling th
e letters I’m stacking from my hands and placing them closer to him.

My hands start to shake. He thinks I’m different, that I’ve changed. Well no
f duh. I wonder how much he would’ve remained the same if he’d seen what I saw—bodies on the floor, lying in their own blood. Asleep forever.

I rip
the letter I’m holding in half. Throw it at him. The pieces smack him in the face, and he flinches. He stands, and I stand too. Shove him in the chest. He falls against the door to the piano room. I stand on my tiptoes, get up in his face.

“You think I’ve changed? Well, yeah. I have. And you want to know why?”

His lips are pressed together in a tight line. He’s staring at me, searching my face for what, I’m not sure. Finally, he nods.

And I’m going to tell him. The truth.
“It’s because I came home late on the night my parents died. I saw two men leave my house by the back door. One was holding a gun. He was talking to another guy. When they left I went into the house, and saw my parents dead.”

I’m so angry I’m seeing red. It’s dripping into my eye
s, blinding me. All I see is blood. Lots and lots of blood. Endless blood. And it’s his father’s fault.

And I’m so
furious I’m beating him with my fists, pushing him against the door. All I want is to hurt him the way I’ve been hurting. “You want to know who the guy with the gun was? The person who stole my family right out from under me?”

“Maddie,” I hear him whisper, but it doesn’t register.

“It. Was. Your. Father!” I’m shouting now. In a voice I don’t recognize. I think it’s the sound of anguish. “He killed my parents. Destroyed everything that meant anything.” I heave a deep breath. Lower my voice. “So, yeah. I’ve changed.”

I realize my hands are in fists in his shirt. I quickly release them, and turn to walk away.

The letters fall. I hear them.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk-thunk. Thunk
. As they hit the floor.

Kyle
pulls me against him, hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. “I’m sorry, Maddie.”

I can’t take his kindness. I can’t deal with him being nice to me. He’s evil, just like his father.
I push against him, the need to get away the most powerful thing on Earth. But he won’t let me go.

“Maddie, don’t. Stay. Talk to me.” He
spins me around and I see his face. The deep pain etched in his features. He leans down. I know he’s going to kiss me, and I let him.

A surge of intense desire
rushes into my lower belly. I wrap my hands around his neck, pressing him to me like he’s my air. He lifts me into his arms and I circle his hips with my legs. My hands move to his glorious hair, his hands cup my butt, roam under my shirt.

I need this, the feeling.
His touch burns away all of my grief. My body hums with need, pushing away the pain. His lips on mine, his hands on my body, every inch of me pressed against him; it’s better than playing the piano, stronger than the forgetful pain of a tattoo or the numbing warmth of alcohol. It’s all consuming, all encompassing.

“Kyle
.” I breathe out and he breathes in, like we are one. The perfect melody.

The girl in the cowboy boots, the one holding the clarinet, says, “
Intense much? Damn.”

I don’t look at her. Neither does Kyle.

Kyle pushes open the practice room door. Closes it behind us. He sets me down, but keeps my hand in his. His eyes say everything. The way he’s feeling. My hands on him, my lips on his, they push away his pain as well. That he’s hurting, that he in some way understands what I’m feeling, increases my craving for him.

“I need you
,” I say, and his lips crash into mine. His tongue explores my mouth, and I meet him all the way. No holding back. No nervousness. Only heat.

He releases me to pull my shirt off. Once it’s over my head, he looks at it. “Same one you wore yesterday?”

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, too thrilled by what’s happening to be ashamed. I tug off his gray shirt. It musses his hair, and I run my fingers through it. He kisses me lightly on the mouth and skims his hands down my body, to my jeans. I feel him tug, but I grab his hands.

I know what he wants, and I want it too.
But not here. Not now. Though my body wants to punch me in the face, I can’t have sex with him. I can’t. His eyes search mine, questioning.

“I’m not… Can we
just make out again?” I look down, embarrassed.

“
Freckles, I would love to make out with you. In fact I think you and I should make out every day for the rest of our lives.” He smiles and kisses my cheek. “I’m sorry.” He bends over and picks up my shirt, helps me put it back on. “You’re just so damn hot.” He caresses my cheek with the palm of his hand, and I lean into him. “Most girls—” He shakes his head. “No, more like
every girl
I’ve kissed before seemed to want to keep going.” He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry.”

I take his face in my hands and lean up to kiss his mouth. “Thank you,” I say, trying not to focus on his comment about every girl he’s been with. I worry I won’t be enough. But he did ask me to make out with him every day. “Every day, huh?” I ask, brushing his bottom lip with my thumb.

He growls and lifts me into his arms. “Damn right. Starting now.”

We kiss until we’re breathless. My tongue explores every part of his mouth. My hands explore every part of his body. I feel like I know him by
heart, that I could pick him out of a dark, crowded room.

“Can I play you a song?” he asks after a while.

“Yes,” I respond, giddy.

I follow him over to a piano bench. He sits. Adjusts it. I’m leaning against the edge of the piano.

“Don’t laugh. It’s a work in progress.”

I balk. “I’ll do my best,” I say, and wink.

He bursts out laughing. “Man, I-I like hanging out with you.” His words fall flat, and I wonder what he actually meant to say.

My heart beats rapidly.
“I like hanging out with you, too.”

He smiles and closes his eyes. He plays a D and an E with his right hand. Then his left hand comes in. I close my eyes, and listen. It’s a haunting, beautiful melody, and I’m quickly lost in it.

My heart melts when he starts to sing.

Love is like a warrior.

Builds and protects those who let it in.

Like a raging breeze, it rages and tightens.

Ferocious to the end.
 

When love and death combine.

It
’s a desperate battle.

Be
cause sometimes when you win, you lose.

And sometimes when you lose, you win.

Death is a part of life.

It steals, a creeping dream.

Rips at the hearts of those left behind.

A slithering snake, a striking fiend.

When love and death combine.

It’s a desperate battle.

Because sometimes when you win, you lose.

And sometimes when you lose, you win.

He stops, and I realize I’m breathing heavily.

“It’s not finished.”

I open my eyes. “It’s beautiful.” I swallow. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you,” he replies, pulling me onto the bench with him, kissing me softly. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“For what?” I smile into his lips.

“Letting me be myself.”

I search his face, and realize he was worried I wouldn’t like it. He was embarrassed.
I touch his face. “Always.”

He stands suddenly. “I’m famished. You really know how to wear a guy out.”

I laugh and pull open the door. The letters are still scattered on the floor, and my heart lurches in my throat.

Will he regret kissing me
after my thievery? I realize I hope he doesn’t regret it, because it was wonderful. He’s wonderful.

I get on my knees and begin picking them up. Kyle is beside me.

“I’m sorry I took them. I know I shouldn’t have. It’s just when I saw they were from you… I wanted to know. You. Read the words you wrote to me.” It’s the only way I know how to explain. Like the way a body thirsts for water, my heart craves his words.

He puts a hand over mine. “I get it. You can have them. When I found out you were here, I hoped I’d get an opportunity to give them to you. I just hadn’t found a way to do it yet. You saved me the trouble.” There’s a light smile on his face. His eyes tell me he wants to say more. I wonder if he’s thinking about my allegations.
About his dad.