Stolen (13 page)

“No way,” he interrupts me before I finish my last
syllable. “I’m picking you up. I’ll be here at 9:30 tomorrow night, and don’t
even think about standing me up. I’ll find your bedroom window and haul you out
myself if I have to. I’m not kidding either; I used to be on the wrestling team
in high school, so I can do it. Besides, my backpack probably weighs more than
you, so even without my awesome lifting capabilities,” he adds, while wiggling
his eyebrows up and down at me, “I’d still be able to drag you out.”

Groaning, I roll my eyes at him and give a loud,
exaggerated, “Fine.”

Standing, he pulls me quickly to his chest, resting
his chin on my head. My body is stiff. I don’t know what to do. I hadn’t
expected him to want to hold me ever again, regardless of the fact that he
wants me to go to a party with him. I just assumed he was trying to be nice. I
know he keeps saying he likes me and wants to get to know me, but what kind of
person in their right mind would want to walk into this pile of unidentifiable
goo that is my existence?

He’s not letting me go. It’s long past the typical
length of a hug, but instead of his grip getting weaker, it’s only getting
stronger. I must look like a tube of sausage right now, standing stiff as a
board with my arms at my sides, so I let myself go. I let myself feel. I wrap
my arms around his torso, snuggling close to his chest, my ear listening keenly
to the thump, thump of his heart.

I breathe him in, a deep breath—a breath I don’t
regret taking—and while I still don’t know what he sees in me or how he’ll fit
into this life of mine, I make the decision not to care. I was happy once
without really appreciating it, now I have a second chance, a chance to change
that, and I’m happy. For this one moment in time, I’m happy being me.

All too soon, the moment is over. My eyes spring open
when I hear a throat clearing behind Kyle. I don’t have to see to know it’s
Bruce.

Kyle doesn’t react like a kid who was caught making
out with his girlfriend by her father, unlike I just did. I’ve pushed Kyle so
far away from me, if our positions were reversed he would be lying on the
ground after flying over the porch railing. Way to remain cool. Bruce isn’t
even my dad, yet I’m acting as if I did something I should be ashamed of. I was
caught hugging someone I’m interested in: lock me up. That has to be a federal
offense for sure!

Kyle turns us around so we’re both facing Bruce, who’s
standing in an open doorway, Kyle’s arm hanging off my shoulder the whole time.
Bruce isn’t looking at Kyle, just me. I wish he would look away.
Kyle
is
the one taking a stance against Bruce, not
me
. Why should I suffer the
consequences of this testosterone war?

As much as I want to look away, I can’t. This has been
a night of firsts between Bruce and me. I made him worry more than ever, I made
him madder than ever, I stepped away from his protective habits unlike ever
before, and now I’m clearly doing something I haven’t done before—I just wish I
knew what it was.

 Does he not like Kyle? Is there something about
him he knows that I don’t? Did I let him off the hook too soon over his
possibly being the stalker? Although, I don’t think I’m wrong to do that. I
made a mistake, overreacted in the heat of the moment; an overreaction that
cost me my dignity, but an overreaction nonetheless.

So what is it?

“Jess, I’m leaving,” he snaps coldly at me.

Why is he so mad?

As the door is slamming shut and Bruce is walking away
from me, I chase him. “Bruce! Bruce, wait!” I shout at his back, hoping he’ll
turn around and talk to me.

Smashing directly into his hard chest, I stumble
backwards, almost tripping on my own two feet. “God, did you have to stop like
that?” I say loudly while smacking his shoulder in anger.

“You wanted to talk to me. Did you think I would just
walk away from you? I would never do that, you should know that.”

 I do know that. Of course, I know that, but
still, he could have prepared me for his abrupt change of pace.

I straighten my hair and flatten my shirt, a nervous
habit I’ve never seemed to be able to shake, and ask him straight out what’s
the matter.

His eyes tell the answer. It’s as clear as day, but
it’s as if they’re speaking Chinese while I still only understand English. I
don’t seem to have the translation. This is beyond frustrating. What isn’t he
telling me?

“Jess, I’m happy that you seem to have found someone
nice, someone who seems willing to be there for you the way you deserve. I just
worry, you know that,” he huffs with a half-smile, placing a hand on each of my
shoulders. “If he tries anything with you that you don’t want, I’ll kill him
myself,” he states with absolute sincerity.

I wish I could cry; not because I want to cry or
because I feel like I should cry, but because I need something to take away the
dryness consuming my eyes. It hurts to blink. I feel like an advertisement for
those Visine commercials. There’s a benefit to not being able to blink, though;
my vision is unclouded as I stare at the man in front of me—the man who just
threatened death on Kyle for no reason but my own safety. I know my safety seems
like a valid enough reason, but honestly, I’ve never seen him like this, and
apprehension is settling uncomfortably in my gut. I think this is the first
time I’ve ever been afraid of Bruce. The look in his eye is murderous, and
there’s absolutely no reason for it.

What have I done to him? He’s like this because he
knows me. It took a while, but it still happened—I ruined him.

I close the small gap between us, wrapping my arms
around him like I had done that very first day. I don’t cry this time, but I hold
just as tight. I feel like I owe him this. “Bruce,” I mumble into his warm
chest. “I’m going to be fine, I promise. But thank you for caring. Thank you
for everything. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. You better not be
planning to bail on me. I still need you. I’ll always need you in my life.”
This feels like a goodbye, but I won’t let it be. I still need him in my life.
I can’t lose him, too.

“Shh.” He breathes into my hair, soothing me as he has
so many times before. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’ll always be a part of
your life. I just want you safe, that’s all. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

His body tenses suddenly, trapping me to him. I’m
beginning to feel like the rock in Bruce’s world and he the lichen in mine. I
don’t know how to handle this role reversal. I don’t know how to be a caretaker
to someone else. I would do anything for my family, but to be honest, I’ve
never had to. I’ve never had to protect anyone. I can only hope that if I
should have to take on that role, I’ll at least succeed better with others than
I’ve done with myself.

I beg the Cosmos to keep me from having to take on
that role. I don’t want to grow up yet. I like Bruce being here to take care of
me. I’m so pathetic; I can’t have it both ways. I’m either an adult or not.
Either I move away from the protective shield that is Bruce, or I cling to him
like static on fleece.

Whether it’s luck or an answer from the Cosmos, I get
a reprieve for today. Bruce frees me, turning me around by the shoulders,
nudging me toward Kyle, who’s now standing a few feet in front of me. Has he
been standing there this whole time? Was that why Bruce held so tightly to me?
I push that thought out of my mind. Why would Bruce do that? His words echo in
my head,
If he tries anything with you that you don’t want, I’ll kill him
myself.
Maybe he’s trying to keep me from Kyle? Or maybe trying to keep me
to himself?

I look between Kyle and Bruce, eyeing the two men who
are in my life now, pondering how I got to this position. Bruce, I understand,
but Kyle? How does he play into this?

I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s here now, looking at
me in that way that makes my stomach feel as if it’s the host for some lively
grasshoppers. I’m sure that sounds like an unnerving experience, or at least an
unnerving analogy, but I can’t think of any better way to put into words the
feeling that leads to that delicious burning that pulses, and, oh how it
pulses, throughout my body.

Convent be damned. I think I’ve unleashed the
metaphorical beast, and it’s starving.

Bruce clears his throat, making me look away from
Kyle. Bruce’s mouth is raised into a knowing smirk, making my face flush from
the heat. Whether it’s embarrassment over being caught by Bruce or desire from
Kyle’s presence is an unsolved mystery, but my skin feels flushed just the
same.

“I’m heading out now, okay?”

I don’t move from my spot, frozen like a Popsicle to
its wrapper, as I nod—the only response I’m currently capable of at the moment.
His seemingly unease at wanting to leave, the rumbles in my stomach at Kyle’s
near proximity, and the questions both of those feelings draw out of me are all
making me a prisoner inside my own thoughts.

I suddenly feel drained and mentally exhausted. This
has been quite the day, quite the night as well. I think I need some alone
time. I need
not
to think about Bruce making threats against Kyle. I
need
not
to think about how confusing my feelings are for Kyle when I
barely know him, and I need to sort out what I’m going to do about Alex and
Rachel.

My brain is like a lab rat, my mind the maze it’s
forced to find its way out of. I need sleep and space to work through all of
this, and I only have until tomorrow night to take advantage of either.

Tomorrow night? Am I really going to that party with
Kyle? I’m not going to lie; I’m scared to death to go: not because it’s a
party, a social situation I haven’t been in since high school, but because
Rachel will probably be there. What if she confronts me in front of a whole
house full of people, people that last week I wouldn’t have cared much what
they thought of me, but now I want to be liked, or at least not hated by my
peers? I need to talk to her before that happens. I hope she’ll talk to me. I
don’t deserve such luck, but I’m going to hope anyway.

Kyle hangs around for a little while after Bruce
leaves, long enough to say goodbye to mom and Cass and to remind me repeatedly
that he’ll be here at 9:30 tomorrow night. I have to give it to him, he’s the
most persistent person I’ve ever met . . . and stubborn.

I promise him I won’t make him haul me out any
windows, that I’ll be at the door waiting at 9:30, but if he’s even one minute
late I won’t go with him. He walks out the front door with a huge victorious
smile, calling over his shoulder that he’ll see me promptly at 9:30 tomorrow
night.

What has happened to me? What have I agreed to? I need
to talk to Rachel and settle the situation the best I can, if she’ll talk to
me, that is. I need to talk to mom. Maybe she can help me figure out what to
do.

Present
day . . .

Mom is in the kitchen cooking dinner, alone, thank
God. I don’t want Cass to hear any of this. I don’t need her hearing what a
mess her older sister has made of her life. “Hey, mom, do you have a second to
talk?” I start.

“Of course, honey. Could you hand me the cucumbers?”

She continues making a salad for dinner, waiting for
me to spill my guts. She’s always done that with me, keep herself busy, but
listen all the while. I’ve always found it easier to talk when I don’t feel
like I’m in the spotlight.

“Well, okay,” I begin, suddenly nervous about what her
reaction will be when she hears all that I’m going to tell her. Luckily, I’ve
always been able to talk openly to her about anything and everything without
judgment on her part. I’m stumped, though. Where do I begin?

I start talking, hoping it will come out in
understandable English. “So, I met Kyle this week. I really like him, but so
does my friend Rachel. I’ve tried to stay away, but whenever I’m around Rachel,
so is Kyle, so it’s been hard to do. Then yesterday, when Rachel and I were
getting ready to leave, I passed out. Kyle ended up helping Rachel out by
taking me to his apartment. That’s where I woke up. Neither of them knew where
I lived and I really did lose my phone.” I take a breath before continuing.

“Rachel was in class, so Kyle and I were by ourselves.
One thing led to another and we started making out on his couch, that’s when
Rachel walked in.”

“Oh, God,” she interjects.

“’Oh, God,’ indeed. She ran off before I could even
try to apologize. Then Kyle said something that freaked me out and I ran. I
thought maybe I left my phone at the coffee shop, so I took a chance and lucked
out that there was someone inside who let me in. He had my phone, but it was
dead. I thought about calling you, I swear I did, but I was so emotionally
drained I didn’t think to ask him if I could use his phone.

“I kind of knew the guy working. He’s made coffee for
me a bunch of times, but I never knew his name. We started talking and then,” I
have to spit this out, but I’m so nervous what she’s going to think about me
after she knows. I wipe my now sweaty hands on my lap and blurt it out. “We had
sex! I don’t know why I did it, but I did. It was a huge mistake for so many
reasons, but I can’t take it back now, believe me, I wish I could.

“After that, I was so messed up I just ran, ending up
at Rogan’s grave, and that’s where I woke up. That’s where I came from this
morning. I’m so sorry I put you through so much. I never meant to. The day was
actually going well, too, which is why this is even more horrible.

“I don’t know what to do now, with anyone. How do I
make this right? I’ve hurt Rachel. I’ve hurt Alex, and I’m afraid it’s only a
matter of time before I hurt Kyle, too,” I confess.

Mom is silent for a while. I’m not sure what she’s
going to say, but I’ll admit I’m nervous to hear it. I’ve never screwed up this
bad before.

Placing the knife she was using, and the towel that’s
on her shoulder, down on the island in front of where I’m sitting, she collects
her thoughts before beginning. “That’s quite the night you had, isn’t it?” she
asks in a comforting tone.

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“First things first. Did you use protection?”

I nod. I knew she would ask. I would be disappointed,
if she hadn’t.

“Good, that’s good. Well, I don’t know what I can do
for you, to help you, but I will say this, you have three people now who have
been affected by your presence in one way or another, and you’re going to have
to figure out how to handle them as individuals. From what you’ve told me about
Rachel, she seems like a sweet girl, but this is one of those things that you
two may never be able to get over. It cuts deep when a girlfriend does
something like this.

“As for, Alex? I’m guessing that’s the boy from the
café. I can’t say what to do about him. Maybe he’ll look at it for what it is
and move on. But, maybe not. That will be something you’ll have to deal with
if/when it happens. It’s possible you’ve hurt him, but you can’t change the
past; just try not to hurt him in the present.

“Kyle is different. I can tell he really likes you,
just with the way he seemed yesterday when he showed up with your bag. He was
asking how you were and if you were okay, things like that. He seems like a
good kid.

“You’re in quite the jam here, sweetie, and while some
of it you may be able to fix on your own, some of it will just have to work out
on its own over time. There’s no magical cure for fixing people’s emotions or
their reactions to what happens to them. Life is messy. It always has been and
always will be unless a day comes where emotions don’t exist anymore.

“Kyle mentioned that there was going to be a party
tomorrow night and that he planned on asking you to go with him. I suggest you
go. Get out. Get away from all of this for a while. Be nineteen for a night.
You deserve it. I know you well enough to know that you think you don’t, but
you do. You’ve been through more than most people go through their whole lives
and you’ve come through it all like a champion. You’re an amazing person,
honey, and you deserve to be happy. Don’t deny yourself that. Just remember,
whatever is meant to be will be. You can’t change that, so in the meantime
don’t bother trying. Let it be and see where the pieces fall.”

I feel tears threatening to spill, but I hold them back,
or maybe I don’t. My hands are getting wet from the water falling onto them.
I’m crying and I can’t seem to stop. She’s never acknowledged that she thought
I was coping well with everything going on in my life. She so rarely
acknowledges any of it at all, period, and maybe she’s right. Maybe it would be
okay if I take a night off from the seriousness and just have fun.

Argh! I forget that Rachel will probably be at the
party. That was the main reason I wanted to avoid going.

“Mom, Rachel is going to be at the party tomorrow;
well, probably will be. What if she sees Kyle and me and does something in
front of all the people there? That would be mortifying.” My head falls into my
open palms, a groan rising up my throat, coming out sounding more like a growl.

Why did this have to happen? My life had been so
simple two days ago. Well, besides being stalked for years, living in fear
because said stalker was never caught and my boyfriend dying.

Mom pulls me, head still in my hands, into her chest.
She’s warm and familiar. She’s like a living, breathing solid form of love. She
strokes my hair and softly whispers that everything is okay, that this may be
sloppy for a bit, but it will turn out how it’s meant to and there’s no
influence I can provide that will change that fact.

“Jess, I still think you should go tomorrow. Who
knows, maybe this will work out okay. But even if it doesn’t, that’s finality,
too. Any end is a good end because it offers closure one way or another.”

I’ve never thought about it like that. An end is an
end no matter the end. It’s so simple. Why did I never think that before? It’s
a false hope, I’m aware, but this thought makes me think maybe this will be
okay after all, or . . . more likely, I’ll come home with a black and blue face
having come repeatedly in contact with Rachel’s fist.

Did I mention that my life had been simple? I should
have just stayed to myself like I’ve been doing since I lost all my friends
because of the virus my life became infected with, aka, unknown bastard who came
in like the parasite he is, sucking the life out of all those around me.

I don’t think my friends in high school would have
abandoned me if it hadn’t been for their parents. After Rogan died, the obvious
questions were—who killed him and why? Investigating into the lives of his
family, friends, and girlfriend led the detectives, and subsequently the
reporters, to a juicy nugget they sank their teeth into and ran with
endlessly—a stalker in my life who very well may have had something to do with
Rogan’s death.  

Everyone was cautious to be around me after that. I
can’t blame them, but it did suck. All I had left was mom, Cass, and Bruce.
Nothing against them or anything, but it would have been nice to have others to
confide in, others to be there when the days were so exhausting and the nights
so terrifying. The nights aren’t so fun still, but at least I sleep through
most of them now.

 After it became just the four of us, I’ll admit
I hid inside my head for a long time. It wasn’t until I graduated high school
and could get away from the looks, the whispers, the not so subtle comments on
how it must have been because of me that Rogan died, from everyone around me
that I attempted coming out into the world of the living; even then I was only
marginally better. I became more a zombie than the corpse I had been while
suffering my last year of high school.

Maybe that’s not the correct analogy; after all, I did
get up in the morning, go to school in the day, and suffer miserably in the
night. That sounds like a zombie’s life already. I’ll think of a better one and
get back to you.

So, anyway, here I am; no friends, yet again; a love
interest who just
had
to be the love interest of the girl I had a
short-lived friendship with; a stalker who’s still out there somewhere; and a
night of what I’m sure will be filled with disaster of monumental proportion.

I love my life oh so much! Insert sarcasm here.

“Thanks mom. You’re pretty awesome, you know that?”

“Of course I know that,” she jokes, whipping the towel
off the counter and at my face.

I catch it in my hand before it hits me. “Hey!” I yell
as I throw it back into her face. She misses, and it lands in the sink filled
with dirty dishwater. “Ha! You deserved that. That was child abuse!” I scold
her with absolutely no sincerity.

“Oh, yuck, Jess. I should make you get that, but
you’ve had a bad day so you get a reprieve. I’ll remember this for another
time; be aware. Now go get cleaned up. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I run up the stairs two at a time feeling slightly better
after talking to mom, grab some pj’s out of my room, and take a welcomed, hot,
shower, washing the day and some hours away. How many hours has this day been?
More than twenty-four. Maybe thirty-six?

 I start ticking the hours off on my fingers, a
habit I started almost three years ago when counting hours was a self-imposed
punishment, a way to remind me of the endless amount of them that lay ahead of
me. Now, it’s a nervous tick I haven’t been able to stop. 

There were some days that doing this was the only
thing that got me through the day. Hours were all that mattered, and soon days
were meant only as place holders for events in the week. Asking me what hour of
the week it is would be more efficient than asking me what day of the week it
is. I’m aware it’s an insane habit, but it keeps me sane; an ironic fact I’m
also aware of, but nonetheless.

Back to counting.

It was around five last night when I woke up at
Kyle’s, no wait, it wasn’t. It was seven. Okay, seven last night, it’s around
six now. Oh, my God! It’s only been twenty-three hours since my life became the
caboose in a wreck of a train ride—only twenty-three hours. It only took hours
for me to ruin everything, only hours to see things fall apart before my eyes.
Days go by for most people, but not for me; for me I get hours, lots and lots
of hours, that makes this hour 108 for the week, if you’re curious.

Exhaustion hits fast.

I wrap myself in the towel hanging by the shower,
needing something to hold on to, as I sink to the bathtub floor, the water
still on, the towel soon drenched. Between the water beating against my skin,
the soaked towel wrapped around me, and the tears pouring out of my eyes, I
feel worse than tired; I feel like my heart is exploding, or imploding as it
were, since there’s no messy cleanup to worry about. I feel weighted down with
the realities of my life. I feel cold; not just on my skin from having used up
all the hot water, but inside as well.

My body is shaking badly, but I can’t find the
strength to do anything about it. I can’t lift my arm to turn off the water. I
can’t move my legs to stand. I can’t even move the soaked towel that’s keeping
the freezing water trapped to my body off me, and I don’t care about any of
that.

What has happened to me?

I rest my head against the shower wall, closing my
eyes to the torrent of water and the torment of my thoughts, only to be
interrupted by banging on the bathroom door. Can’t I ever get away from it all
without someone trying to bring me back, trying to fix something that will
never be fixed?

More banging.

Oh, for the love of God. “Shut up, I’m coming,” I
shout to no one in particular as I whip my arm out from under the towel,
instantly regretting it.

Holy shit, my arm feels like a large, soaked, wet dog.
Upon further review, it’s wrinkly, like a pug’s face, from being under the
water so long, pale white, probably from freezing, and uncomfortably numb.

I manage to turn the faucet handle, my arm slumping
down onto my leg afterwards. I’m terrified to move now. How are my legs going
to feel considering they’ve been bent in two, my knees pulled into my chest,
for I don’t know how long now?