The Darkest Part (27 page)

I look up at the ceiling, my jaw jutting out, twisting my mouth into a mocking smile. “Awesome,” I say and lower my head. “Look at you, all fucking perfect and judgmental. Never mind that you’re a complete ass.”

His hands drop to his sides and he grips them into fists. “Go ahead. Unleash all your venom on me. But when you’re done with your rant, will you just suck it up and take your fucking meds?”

“Unbelievable.” I stomp toward my pack and plunk it onto the bed, then dig out a tee and my jean skirt. Not caring what the hell I put on, just needing to get out. Away from him.

“You’re not leaving here like this,” he says, his tone a warning.

“Really? Are you going to call my mom or my shrink and tattle on me?” I step into my skirt and jerk it onto my hips, then pull my tee over my head. “Go ahead. And while you’re at it, get some meds for your issues, too. I’m sure they’ll hook you up.”

He stuffs his hands under his arms and leans against the wall, his stare hard on me. “I never said I was perfect. I do have issues, and I know I’ve made mistakes.”

I laugh for real this time. “Yeah, mistakes. You really botched up getting into my pants back in the day.”

In two quick strides, he’s beside me and turning me to face him. His face is drawn, his pale eyes pools of quicksilver. A muscle feathers his jaw as he grits his teeth. My stomach drops, freefall.

“You don’t know
any
thing about—” He cuts off with a clipped tone.

I raise my eyebrows. “Why don’t you enlighten me, then?”

His fingers dig into my arms as he pulls me closer, the heat from his body seeping through his wet tee and rolling over my skin. His cool eyes lock me in place. My breath hitches, and I’m frozen. Hovering in the moment as his face contorts into a lost expression.

With low growl, he pushes me away. “Fuck!” He turns and slams a fist into the wall. The hard
thunk
makes me jump.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice wobbly from adrenaline and nerves. “I’m the one who needs help.” I step into my shoes and grab my cross-body purse from my pack and then head toward the door.

Holden doesn’t try to stop me like I think, only says, “You were right about one thing.”

My steps halt. My hand hovers over the doorknob. Keeping my back to him, I don’t ask, just wait for him to either finish his sentence, or release me from his hold and let me walk out.

He blows out a forced breath. “There was a side to Tyler you never knew. Things about him, his life that would make that pool incident seem like swimming with guppies in a tank.” A beat. “And me? I’m shark infested waters.”

With a shaky hand, I latch on to the door and yank it open. “Don’t follow me, or I’ll mace your ass.” Then I’m in the hallway, my legs fighting against the tremble wracking my body as I pump them hard to get away.

I actually do carry mace in my bag. Would I use it on Holden? No. Despite his last words to me and him losing his temper, he doesn’t frighten me in that way. He used to, just under a week ago. But I’ve seen all Holden’s issues acted out since he was in middle school. I’ve been on the receiving end of his angry tirades now a few times, and they no longer scare me. I understand why he has them, what he must be battling because of his past. But he’s the one who needs to seek help. Not me.

And I’m well aware of Tyler’s life—that I knew nothing. He kept whatever issues he had hidden. From me. From everyone.

As I head down the sidewalk, the afternoon sun and warm, humid air drying my hair and shirt from my still-wet bikini, I replay the fight in my head. Over and over. My emotions on high.

I stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to signal
go
for the walkers, bikers, and joggers. The sidewalks are teeming with every type, from locals shopping to tourists sightseeing, as I head deeper into downtown.

This strip of the city kind of reminds me of Memphis, with its old brick buildings and run-down looking shops. But it’s not the drinking or partying district like Beale Street. Everything is more upscale. Retro yet chic. Artsy.

I love it.

I think if Tyler and I would have gone on this trip, I might’ve wanted to stay longer than a day. Like the other stops on the trip, it’s such a sharp contrast to the island, but there’s still a small-town feel to it—just without the pretentiousness.

I’ve been walking for about ten minutes when the brick buildings begin to crowd closer together, and more people fill the walkways. I should be scared or intimidated to go off on my own. Especially after spending the past five months locked in my room, my only company my ghost boyfriend. But instead, I feel lighter than I have in months. Like I can do anything, go anywhere, and have no one to answer to.

That’s not true, though. And the heavy reminder that I have to return home to deal with a mom who’s a gossip, a dad who doesn’t want to be near me, and a shrink who wants me to forget Tyler weighs heavily on my conscience. Beating my reality back into place.

I wish Leah and I weren’t so distant. Not physically, but in every other way. Since I’ve blown her off during my grieving, we’ve grown apart. I don’t even know where she’d be right now. Don’t know what new things she’s into, or if she has a boyfriend. Or a new crowd of friends she’s hanging with.

If I still had her, I’d call and ask for advice. She doesn’t know the whole story, but maybe I’d suck it up and tell her. Just to get another perspective. Maybe I’m the one in the wrong, or maybe I’m not seeing anything clearly at all. I’d call my mother, but that thought sends lightning bolts to my head.

She’s a co-conspirator with the
ass
. Besides, I’m definitely not ready to fess up about what happened with Holden in high school. She might understand after she got past the fact that Holden was nearly four years older than me—considered an adult, and I was a minor. I’m pretty sure she’d be pissed at first, but then maybe she’d offer some clarity.

Slogging toward a bench, I find an empty seat away from the crowds to just sit and watch. Let my mind process. I
need
to process. And being around Holden? There’s no rational thought there. I just need someone . . . My chest tightens as I realize who I need.

My best friend.

Tyler was always there. Could fix anything.

What happened in the pool comes crashing back with a fury. I’ve been so angry with Holden, I haven’t even had time to process
that
yet. I didn’t lie to him—I truly believe that Tyler wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. But I can’t help the chill that skitters down my spine as I remember that growing blackness, its tendrils reaching out to me as Tyler vanished.

He’ll come back
.

I shudder, and with a warm breath sucked into my lungs, I try to center myself.

Was it real?

I feel my brow furrow. Of course it was real. I saw it. I felt those wispy claws grab me.

Weren’t you feeling guilty over your feelings for Holden, though?

What the hell? Is my own subconscious debating me?

Annoyed and insulted at my own damn self, I shake off my unease. Then like a prayer being answered, I remember a number I’ve never dialed. A person I didn’t think I’d ever call. But someone who’s not biased to either me or Holden. Biker Melody.

She programed her number into my phone at the bar, insisting I call her on the road. She was drunk at the time, and skeeted up, and possibly entered the wrong number. But what do I have to lose?

At this point, the fierce biker girl is the only friend I have. Which is sad. I’ve lived on the island my whole life, and in just under half a year, I’ve pushed everyone important to me away. Even Dr. Hartman is closer to a pal than any of the girls I grew up with.

Digging into my bag, I pull out my iPhone and scroll through the contacts. A picture of a girl with her mouth open in a mock tough expression pops up. I smile at the image and tap the number.

It rings a few times, and I think she’s not picking up, or it’s the wrong number, when her raspy voice answers. “Yeah?”

I can’t help but smile at her curt greeting. “Hey, it’s Sam. The girl at the . . . bar in Talladega?” I stop myself from saying “biker bar.” That’s probably somewhat offensive to actual bikers.

“I know,” she says. “I saw your pic on my phone. What’s up? You and lover boy made it to Wichita yet?”

A hazy memory of me drunkenly talking about the trip with her comes back to me. “No, not yet. Springfield, actually.”

She groans. “Oh, man. That place is so lame. You should totally hotfoot it to Wichita. There’s this show tomorrow. Oh!” The phone crackles with her high-pitched squeal. “Dude, you’d love this band. It’s an all-chick group and they rock. Like, none of that girly shit. Like hardcore, kick ass. If you make it up here tomorrow, we could hang.”

“You’re there already?” I knew her and her biker peeps were on their own road trip. Well, I guess it’s not the same as us, since they’re always on the road. Bikers and all. But I’m surprised to hear she’s there. I don’t remember her mentioning it. But then again, I was pretty wasted.

“Not yet,” she says. “We will be tomorrow, though. And you totally should be, too.” I can hear the hopeful smile in her voice. And suddenly, I want to go to whatever show she’s talking about.

“You know what? It’s on. We’ll be there. Can you send me directions to this place?”

“I can do better. I’ll send you the website with all the info. Hey, Dar!” The receiver picks up her shuffling movements. “Baby girl Sam is going to the show!” An excited cheer reaches my ear through the phone, and I smile. I really do like these girls.

“So,” she says, her tone going from fun to serious in a nanosecond. “I know you didn’t call to shoot the shit. What’s really up?”

Nodding to myself, I pull in a breath. “I need some advice, or an opinion . . . something from someone who might see a bit clearer—”
possibly saner
“—about Holden. And me.”

“Hmm.” A beat. “That boy loves you.”

Her words catch me off-guard, and my jaw falls open. I think I even stutter something.

“You know that, right?” she asks. “Like, loves you, loves you. He’s in deep. I think you could hock all his shit on EBay and he’d fall to his knees and give you head.”

A laugh escapes me. “I’m not sure about that.”

“Oh, I am. But anyway, what’s the deal?”

With another deep breath, I dive in. Tell her everything, as unbiasedly as I can (though I may call him a dickhead a couple of times). And I know I’m spilling my heart out all over the phone, and to someone who I only just met. But for whatever reason, I trust her. There’s an honesty about Melody, an easiness I envy, and I feel she might shed light where the darkness clouds my thoughts.

There’s a long pause after I finish. I wonder if I’ve lost connection, or after I admitted to seeing and talking to my dead boyfriend she hung up. Holding the phone away from me, I look at the screen. Still connected. “Mel?”

“I’m thinking,” she says. “All right. I’m going to lay this out pretty simply, so be prepared. I know you’ve had the worst kind of run lately, but I think you need to hear it. And by the way, I am sorry for your loss.”

A lump forms in my throat. I wasn’t expecting the sentiment from her. “Thanks.”

“Okay. No arguing. Just let me wax poetic.” She pauses, and I imagine her cracking her knuckles. Like she’s about to verbally dig into my ass. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t, “What?”

“Emily Dickenson. The girl was brilliant, and she once wrote that to someone. I think it actually went like, ‘the heart wants what it wants.’ But whatever. It’s pretty fitting for your dilemma.”

I feel my face scrunch together in confusion. “But . . . that’s it? I don’t understand. How does that—”

“Look,” she interrupts. “I’m not going to debate whether you’re really seeing your boyfriend or not. Hell, I’ve seen tons of crazy shit on the road. So I choose to believe anything’s possible.” She pauses. “And personally, I’m not really sure dickhead was really such a dickhead back in the day. I think he probably had his reasons for being a douche. Doesn’t excuse it, but still. That aside, he obviously still cares about you, or he wouldn’t be there now.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her that he’s doing all this for Tyler, but snap it shut. Somewhere in the back of my mind, her words ring true. Plus, she said I couldn’t argue.

She continues. “It doesn’t boil down to whether or not you should be taking your meds. Though I don’t think it would hurt in your case, just to see what happens. Shit, could be a lot of fun. I hear some of that antipsychotic junk packs a freakin’ awesome buzz.”

“Mel, please,” I say, and she laughs.

“All right. Anyway, so yeah. Take ‘em, don’t take ‘em. But figure out what your heart wants, because when you do, you’ll have your answer.” She pauses again, and I think she’s done, but she quickly continues. “If Tyler is your one and only, no matter how many pills you pop, he’ll be there for you. But if Holden owned your heart before, and you think he can again, then the shit will work itself out. Like I said, the boy loves you. It’s just up to you to ask your heart what it wants. And then listen.”