The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (16 page)

“It wasn’t you,” Zeke says flatly. “He already had a screw loose, Evie. You did nothing to loosen it further. It takes more than a single person in a relationship to shape that kind of insanity. It’s something deeper, in his past, in his childhood that caused him to be that way. You may never find out what, but it wasn’t you. I’m sorry to crush your delicate ego but you weren’t a big enough part of his life to matter that much. You were a puppet and a punching bag, nothing more.”

We’re silent, absorbing his words. I stare up at the sky, wondering if he’s right. Did I matter so little to Tony that I didn’t impact his life much at all? Would he have gotten mad, furious, at other things if I hadn’t been there? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know. For the first time, I consider what it would be like to live without all this guilt, to be free of my burden, and that idea scares me too. I was scared to leave Tony because I didn’t know if I could stand up without him, and here I am, still clinging to the guilt and control he had over me, still not even trying to stand on my own. Can I ever really live without him with me in some shape or form? I’d feel so light without all of this that I might as well be naked, and the idea of being so weightless terrifies me. What will hold me down to earth so I don’t float away?

“Floating away,” I finally say, my hands trembling again. The sky above us is turning into a beautiful light purple, and it’s a matter of time before the darkness is gone and light shines over the world once again. I wish it were so easy to have light in my own life once again, effortless as a sunrise. “I’m scared I’ll never stop trying to float away, get lost in my head.”

“Can change. Although,” I can tell Zeke is picking his words carefully, “that might be something a little out of my league. Something more in line for a therapist. That’s the one thing that sounds kind of… serious, Evie. Did you ever tell your shrink about it?”

“No,” I whisper. “I… I never got around to it.”

Zeke has to know this is evasion, and a lame attempt at that, but he doesn’t comment on it and I’m grateful. “But you can change it,” he tells me, and there’s sincerity in his voice. “You can, Evie. If people can learn to control being bi-polar and shit, then I think you can learn to stay in your own head.”

Another long silence, and I keep my eyes trained on one star, the last one in the sky, until the sky is too light for it to be seen, and it twinkles and then disappears. Dawn is coming, practically here.

“Nightmares.”

Zeke’s voice is so low I almost miss the word. I don’t speak, let the silence press on him so he has to elaborate.

“Every single night, I see the same thing. Cindy’s accident. I see my sister die, and I pull her off the hood of Tony’s car, and I see her eyes and they’re blank. Nothing. I hold her in my arms, and tell her she’s going to dance again even though I know her legs can’t be saved. Just like I did that day. And I have to accept, remember what it felt like, to realize that she’s dead. Over and over and over again.”

I’ve started crying as he speaks, unable to hold back the tears any longer. I hear the echo of his voice in my head,
don’t worry about your fucking legs!
It’s horrible. I wasn’t there, didn’t see it, and I have only a small inkling of how terrible, how absolutely horrific it must have been to experience just once. But to see it repeatedly? I search for the proper words, wondering what I can say to not mess this up.

“I think,” I say slowly, my heart pounding in my chest even as it aches for Zeke. And for Cindy. “That’s something that will change once you make your peace with Cindy’s death, and the role you did and didn’t play in it. But it
is
something you can change.”

I can see the hints of beautiful pastels coming into the sky over the horizon as the sun prepares to rise. I know our time is limited, that once the sun is up and the world is bright and alive, this moment with Zeke will be over. There’s something so much more terrifying about revealing your secrets in the bright light of day than in the darkness of the night. One more question.

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel clean again,” I whisper. “Not after… what he did to me.”

Zeke sits up, blinking in the dim light as he looks over at me with a serious face. I turn my head in the grass and look back at him, my cheeks still wet. I don’t bother to wipe at them, just let it all be. If I want to cry, I guess I have a damn right to.

“Can change,” he says firmly. “Same answer. Once you start to make your peace with what Tony did to you, get rid of the guilt and let him go, you’ll be able to feel clean again.”

We both stay still as the sun comes over the horizon, and it’s a glorious sight, all the colors perfect, blending and whirling like the most beautiful of paints mixed together. I see Zeke’s fists clenching and unclenching, and wonder if he’s tempted to paint the sight. It doesn’t escape my notice that he said nothing about drawing again. Well, I’ll drag that story out of him sooner or later. I’m not going to let him escape the baring of the souls, I know that.

For now, though, I let it rest, watch the sun rise and clear my mind of anything but its beauty. It feels fitting, somehow, watching a new day break as we finish talking about all this for the first time. Symbolic. The start of a new beginning, a new day, a new time. Early as it is, I can’t help but wonder how it will end. I think of fairy tales, of stories of triumph, how they all end satisfactorily, happily. A happily ever after. I used to think Tony and I would get that, long ago when we first start dating. Now, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever end up being
happy
.

Zeke stands up first and turns to me, holding out his hands to pull me up off the ground, which is becoming wet and dewy and rather uncomfortable. I take his hands and the question is out before I can help myself.

“Do you believe in happy endings?”

He pulls me upward easily, and gives me a strange look. “What?”

“Happy endings,” I repeat. I want reassurance. I want to know that there’s a chance this could all end well, that I can be fixed and go on with life as I used to want it. That someday I won’t even remember this part of my life, it will be so distant in my mind, eclipsed by new happiness I have found. “Do you believe they can happen?”

“No,” Zeke says flatly, his eyes hard. “And that’s something you can’t change.” There’s a note of warning in his voice, as though this is something he’s thought about before and has solidly made his mind up about.

I give a single nod, and luckily am saved from having to reply by the sound of several car doors slamming up by the house. We both glance up the hill, at the driveway, and my stomach begins to hurt as my heart sinks and I sigh heavily.

“What?” Zeke asks, looking around. “Who’s that?”

“Clarissa is back,” I reply, and my voice is filled with loathing.

“Great,” Zeke mutters, and curses. “She’ll really like me sneaking out at dawn and everything. This looks shitty.”

“I don’t care,” I say brazenly, because I realize that I don’t. The least of all my worries is my stepmother, and that means it could be a good place to start. “It’s my house and I can do what I want. Let me go get my keys and I’ll drive you home. You don’t have to walk.”

Zeke looks uncertain for a moment, but finally he shrugs. He must be as tired as I am right now, because I suddenly realize I’m absolutely exhausted and have been up for over half the night.

“Wait here,” I tell him, and then I climb the hill and head into the house to do battle with my stepmother.

Evangeline

59

I ascend the steps of the deck to the house while Zeke waits for me near the side of the house, clearly eager to avoid being a part of this confrontation. I don’t blame him. Clarissa and Hunter left on a bad note, and it would be miraculous for them not to return on one, especially when they find out that Zeke has been here most of the night. Thank goodness they have no way of knowing where I was before we came here.

They’re in the kitchen when I open the sliding glass door, both huddled in front of the Nespresso machine and I have to admit the smell of the coffee sends a jolt of life through me and causes my stomach to growl so loudly that they both turn to look at me.

“Oh, there you are,” Clarissa says, ever full of casual nonchalance. “I was beginning to think you took Greg up on his offer. We shouted for you.”

“I was outside,” I say, though this is obvious, and try to skirt around them. “I was just heading out.”

“Out?” Hunter echoes blankly. Both of them have deep shadows under their eyes, as though they’ve been traveling all night. “It’s the crack of dawn, where are you going?”

I think about lying, but decide there’s little point in it. Clarissa will probably find out eventually, as I plan on spending a lot of time with Zeke in the future, and besides, I don’t really have anything to hide. We did nothing wrong.

“I’m driving Zeke home.”

“Zeke?” They both echo the name, and Hunter’s eyes are the first to widen.

“You mean he’s
here
?” he asks, looking around the kitchen wildly, as though Zeke will pop out of the fridge or oven or something. “He’s been here all night? What the hell were you doing with him?”

“Did the neighbors see?” Clarissa hisses, moving to look out the kitchen window. “Evie! I told you before we left, I-”

I tune her out as the beginnings of a headache form right between my eyes, and I rub my forehead. Her obsession with our ‘image’ is beginning to feel like something out of a cheesy Stepford-type movie, and I’m sick of it. An elderly couple lives to one side of us, and some wealthy research doctor that keeps odd hours and always has strange people coming and going, and never speaks to us is on the other side. The only place our image might truly be disrupted is at the club, and I couldn’t care less what those kind of people think about me.

“I’ll be back later,” I say, cutting her off, and head toward the garage door, picking my keys off the rack.

“He can walk,” Clarissa snaps. “You don’t need to be driving around town with him in your car.”

“He doesn’t have to walk when I can drive him home,” I say crisply, staring at Clarissa with hate in my eyes.

“You-” she begins, her eyes widening in disbelief as I continue to defy her, to actually talk back to her the way I used to, and it feels so good that I interrupt her again.

“You don’t own me!” I shout the words into the empty kitchen, and then I turn and leave the house, meeting Zeke out by my car.

I drive him home in silence, though it’s a fairly comfortable one. Zeke lives just off Grandview Avenue, near the church I’ve gone to all my life, and as I drop him off on the corner of Haines and Grandview, he doesn’t meet my eyes. I get the feeling he might be embarrassed of the small quad-plex he lives in, but in reality, I’m jealous of it. There are probably no demons, no ghosts haunting his small home. I bet it’s squashed and there’s barely room to turn around and it’s cozy and welcoming and feels like
home
. Not an empty house full of memories, and bad ones at that.

We say a quick goodbye and then he is gone, walking up to the front door of his house, unlocking it and disappearing inside. Once again, we’ve had a day with no real unpleasantness or argument, and I’m sad to see him go.

Ezekiel

60

I manage to catch four hours of sleep before I have to be back at the club, and I go in with bleary eyes and my whole exhausted body feeling like dead weight. Alex eyes me over the bar with suspicion, and I can sense a lecture coming.

“Where were you last night? You weren’t with Evie Parker, were you? I’m telling you, Zeke-”

“I was,” I say, closing my eyes and leaning against the bar, wishing I could fall asleep right there. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

He looks at me even more suspiciously. “In what way, then? Please, enlighten me.”

I wave a vague hand. “We were just… talking.”

“Talking.” He repeats it flatly, with doubt in his voice.

I begin to feel annoyed. “Yeah, talking. It might surprise you to learn, Alex, but I can carry on an intelligent conversation. And as it so happens, Evie and I have a bit in common. There’s the part where my sister died and her dad died, and where we both knew this fucking crazy guy who beat her and then killed my sister. Pretty sure her mom is gone too. So yeah, Evie and I were
talking
last night.” It’s a massive word vomit and a lot more than I ever wanted to reveal, and it gives me a tight feeling in my chest after I realize what I said.

The feeling only gets stronger when Alex regards me with slight pity in his eyes, and I snatch my half-filled tray off the bar and turn to stalk off. “Don’t start,” I mutter warningly, and avoid him for the rest of the day.

Even though I try to keep my cool and to remain detached, the day drags on and I know it’s because I want it to be tomorrow so I can see Evie. I tell myself it’s just because I want to check on her, because if anything could drive me to self-harm, it would be living under the same roof as Clarissa Parker and Hunter Grey. I also reflect that I’ll need several rounds of confession, probably from the pope himself, before I’ll ever be absolved of the amount of lying I’ve been doing to myself lately.