Haunted Things (6 page)

I think about it for a moment. "I don't believe that anyone is really a monster. I don't believe in just good or evil people. There are good and evil acts, but people are more complicated. I don't know his motives, or much about the case, what would drive someone to that..." I feel weird analyzing his brother, and I wonder why he asked the question. It's not like I ever knew him.

"If he wasn't evil, then why?"

I sigh and run my tongue across my dry lips, clasping my hands together. "He was obviously suffering, there are signs all over the place. What he did was unforgivable, no matter what. But I bet a lot of people could snap given enough pressure. I've felt like snapping sometimes, although not at my dad. The girls at school are a different story…"

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his chin down, like it wasn't the response he was expecting.

"Where do you think he went?" I ask.

"Somewhere where no one would ever find him." He picks at a piece of rotten wood on the sill and tosses it the long way to the grass. Then he smiles up at me, and even when I turn my head, I can tell he's still watching me out of the corner of my eye. Then the door squeaks open.

"Looks like somebody doesn't like me," he says. I follow his gaze.

Ichigo is standing frozen in the doorway, his fur raised and his eyes wide black moons.

"That's just Ichi. He's been a jerk lately, I don't know why. You would think this old house would have enough mice to keep him happy."

"Here, Kitty, Kitty," Aaron says clicking his tongue and reaching out in the cat's direction.

Ichigo hisses at Aaron, backs up, and bolts down the stairs. I can't help but giggle at his dramatics. "See? Jerk."

"Pets don't usually like me." Aaron shakes his head. "So, it's just you and your dad, huh? No brothers or sisters?"

I pause, knowing that moment has come. The one I usually avoid with careful phrasing. "My mom died, last year," I say bluntly instead. Relief and anxiety wash over me at the same time, a confusing mix. "We were in the car together, just a regular day, me hating her for some stupid reason." My eyes start to burn, but I push the feelings down. "We got hit by a semi. I've just felt so guilty this whole time, it's like a hole in my chest that I try to fill up, but there's nothing that fills it." I lean my head back against the windowsill. "Sometimes I have to push it into, like, this closet in my head, lock the thought of her being dead away. I didn't know that was possible to do, but it's the only thing that gets me through. Sometimes the lock doesn't work."

"Denial," he murmurs.

I'm feeling raw and vulnerable, surprised at myself for spilling so much. My eyes flicker to him and his face seems so full of emotion that it's too much to handle. "I don't mean to sound pathetic. I know what happened to us doesn't compare to what you went through…."

"Don't think like that. Just because I lost my family doesn't make what you lost any less important or real or painful." I get the sense that he wants to reach out and touch me, but his hand just hovers in the air. "Is that where you got this scar?" His fingers trace down the length of the white line on my arm.

"Yeah. From a piece of glass, as I was crawling out. I still had some stuck in my arm when I got to the hospital."

His fingers lower to my wrist, where the thin pink lines cross the skin. "What about those?'

I put my hair behind my ears. I feel anxious, but not in the same way I normally do when someone points out my scars. "Those are scratches. I used to do…that when I was anxious. I never cut myself, I just…" I can feel my face burning up. "I just felt so angry and frustrated, I didn't even think about it. I just did it. It broke my mom's heart. She tried to make me wear bracelets over them. She made me beautiful ones out of glass beads. I wouldn't do it."

He gnaws at his bottom lip for a while, like he wants to say something.

"I hate scars," I mutter finally. "There's no way to shut them up. They can't help but be loud. My grandma says it's emotional manipulation."

"Your grandma is wrong," he growls. I glance at him, and his jaw is strained. "I'm sorry, Ash, but it's true."

"I don't do it anymore, but sometimes I want to." My voice is barely a whisper. His expression remains careful, but his eyes are drowning with sympathy. I can't look at him anymore or this hole in my chest will tear me apart. "I just never realized we'd have so little time. That there would be no taking anything back."

"Death is a fucked up thing. You know it's coming from the day you're born, that it's going to end everything you see and everyone you know and love. But when it actually touches you…you can never be fully ready for that moment. It always happens too fast."

I lean up against the window sill, and nod.

"You're different than I thought you would be when I first met you," he says. "You're not hiding or pretending to be tougher than you are."

I feel my cheeks warm up again and look out at the grass. "Thanks, I guess."

"I really like that you're here, Ash," he says, and the emotion lacing his words make me glance back at him. I lean forward slowly, moving toward him as he's magnetized toward me. He glances at my lips, parting his own, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. So close to kissing me…

From outside, we hear tires grind into the driveway.
Shit.

Aaron pulls away. "Your dad's home. I should get going." In one fluid movement, he twists around and his feet grip the trellis. My heart is still pounding, despite the moment being lost. He swiftly descends but midway down he tilts his head up.

"This was nice. I know that's not a good enough word, but…I'll see you later, okay?"

I'm surprised and I raise my eyebrow. "You're actually saying goodbye this time?"

"There's a first time for everything." His smile brightens his sullen face and the deep shadows beneath his eyes almost disappear. Warmth floods my stomach and I bite my lip, wishing he had kissed me. Wishing he would climb back up here and finish the job.

"Don't break your neck," I call as he resumes his decent.

"I'm not worried about it." He reaches the bottom and jumps off, glancing once back up at me before flipping his sweatshirt hood up and jogging back around the house.

Dad seems in a better mood than usual, and we watch a movie together as we're eating dinner. It feels like things are finally settling in. This house is starting to feel like it could be home.

CHAPTER 13

"You're nothing but a fucking pussy, Heywood," a guy shouts as I'm coming around the corner at lunch break the next day. It takes me two seconds to register Oliver in the middle of getting the shit beaten out of him by a dude I know to be one of Carla's boyfriends, Dominic. The huge guy lands another blow into Oliver's stomach, then cracks a punch to his slender jaw. He grabs both sides of Oliver's coat and head-butts him in the eye socket. He drops him on the ground, storming off with his huge fists swinging by his sides.

"Are you okay?" I ask, rushing to his side. It's a pointless thing to say, as already bruises are forming on his skin. He wipes blood off his face with the back of his hand and grimaces as he sits up against the wall.

"Aww, look, Oliver's got himself a little goth girlfriend," Carla says as she comes out of the bathroom, reeking of weed. "Ain't that cute?"

"I'm not his girlfriend," I say through gritted teeth, standing up. "But I am his friend. You can't—"

She's in my face before I can react, and she shoves me hard into the drinking fountain. The metal ridge jabs into my kidneys and I grit my teeth. I push her off of me, and she comes back with a hard slap on my cheek that rings through the hall.

I try to push her again, but she grabs my wrist and twists it. She notices my scars and tugs up my sleeve to my elbow. "Look at that, Miss Goth is into self injury. So pathetic."

"You don't know what you're talking about." I force my angry tears to stay inside.

"Like I said before…don't go fucking around with things you don't understand," she says cryptically, and stalks off.

Crimson blood is running from a split in Oliver's bottom lip. I grab paper towels out of the bathroom and return with them, helping him to his feet. He blots his lip, as a purple bruise develops on his forehead. The entire top of his hat is busted. He puts his hand through it and then shoves it into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Bet you're regretting the move now, huh, Ash?" he says humorlessly. He glances at me, his pale eyes softening. "I thought I scared you off. I'm sorry, I know I come on too strong."

I feel bad for him. We're both in this boat together. "It's okay. Weirdos have to stick together."

_________________

A long, rectangular bruise marks my back by the time I get home. I check it out in the mirror in the bathroom. I feel anxious and frazzled and ready to quit. I pop two aspirin for the aching muscle cramps and head up to my room, then collapse on my stomach on the bed. I mash my face into a pillow, unable to keep back my frustrated tears.

I want my mom. I want her back more than anything.

No matter how much we used to fight, whenever I would cry, she would always offer a hug or sit by me or stroke my hair. Thinking about it just makes the tears come harder, the pain in my heart enough to rip me apart.

"I've never seen you cry before," comes a familiar male voice from behind me. I twist around and see Aaron crouched in the window. He steps down and looks me over, his eyes questioning.

"There's a first time for everything," I parrot, wiping my nose.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." I don't want him to see me like this. "Why did you come up here?"

"I called for you but you didn't come out."

"There's a reason for that." My voice is muffled by the pillow. "Get out."

"Don't tell me to go. What happened, Ash?" he repeats so gently that I glance at him again. He carefully perches on the end of the bed and his eyes flick down to the bruises on my lower back. I yank my shirt down and sit up, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.

"This girl at school, I stepped on her toes when I shouldn't have." I draw my knees up under my chin. "I just feel so alone here. I wish we'd never moved from Indiana."

His brows knit together and I see pain in his expression. "You're not alone. You have me."

I stare down at a spot on the mattress, clutching my knees. I don't know what to say.

"I am really sorry that you lost your mother," he murmurs.

"I'm sorry about your family, too." I must look like a mess, my nose is swollen and my eyes sting from the salt of my tears, but he's smiling gently at me. Sadly. "And that your house has become a tourist attraction."

I can't resist this overwhelming urge to touch him. I watch his throat work as he swallows, his eyes narrowing and focusing on my lips. He bites his bottom lip and I know he wants to kiss me. I lean forward slowly and shut my eyes. I wait for the release of his lips against mine, but it doesn't happen. I open my eyes and he's still sitting in the same spot. Embarrassment makes me fumble as I stand up, and I tilt my face away so he won't see my horror.

"I-I'm sorry," I mumble, tugging locks of hair to cover my face. "I can't believe I thought that—"

"No, Ash. I'm the one who's sorry. It's not what you think."

When I look back at him, his expression is tortured. He paces the floor and scrubs his hands through his hair.

"I want to kiss you, you have no idea how much I want to kiss you…I just can't."

My heart flutters with lust and confusion. "What do you mean?"

His forehead creases and he pinches his lips together. "I don't know how to explain it to you."

I stare at the floor silently. I'm ready to give up on this shitty day.

"Who hurt you?" he demands. "Was it that bitch who broke in here with her friends? The one with the fake bullet hole and the god complex?"

"Yeah, Carla."

"What are you going to do about her?"

"I can't do anything to her," I say, my tone raised in exasperation. I nearly trip on my laptop cord and have to restrain myself from kicking it as I sit back down. "She'll get her groupies to come after me. She thinks she's untouchable."

The corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked grin. "Then show her that she's wrong."

"How am I going to do that?"

His eyes glitter in the dim light. "There's always a way."

CHAPTER 14

"Is this true, Carla?" Our Calculus teacher asks the next day. She's pulled Carla up to her desk, but we can hear her despite her attempts to keep her voice low. "They said you've been taking photos of the test answers and distributing them, and copying files off of my computer. I wondered why the curve suddenly evened out."

Oliver and I exchange a glance. The teacher leads Carla to her desk, where her coat hangs off the back. All the blood has drained out of her face.

"Let me see your phone," the teacher says sternly, holding out her palm. "Hand it over." Carla clutches her phone in its purple case to her chest.

"You can't do this. Not without my permission or my parents'," Carla protests, but hands the phone over anyway with shaking hands. The teacher unlocks it and starts scrolling through it, her brow creased in a hard frown. The other students are stone-faced, watching their connection to drugs and easy grades dry up.

There's a knock at the door, and it's the principal. The teacher goes to answer it. Carla leans forward and slams both hands onto my desk, getting in my face. "I know this was you. You're gonna regret this."

"We need to inspect your locker, Miss Lasko," the principal calls.

Carla looks trapped, but she marches out with the teacher at her heels and into the hallway. The room bursts into gossip as soon as they're out in the hall.

"What was that about?" Oliver asks, scooting his desk toward me. A fading black bruise circles his eye.

I lean closer so no one else can hear. "I gave an anonymous tip to the principal about what Carla's been doing with the tests. Apparently they weren't surprised, I didn't say anything about her locker."