The Healing (The Things We Can't Change Book 3) (28 page)

Ezekiel

68

When I go to my shift that Friday night at the club, I’m surprised to feel disappointment when I see Clarissa is here but not Evie. And then I tell myself that is absolutely ridiculous, because I’ve just spent all week with her. A lot more time than usual, actually, with all the extra trips and I should be annoyed with her by now, irritated with all her problems and how slow she is to fix them. I should be less obsessed with her hair, and have control over the urge to draw her eyes.

But I don’t. I don’t, and at times like these when I’m actually aware and thinking about it, it drives me crazy because I know that if I fully allow myself to feel, it would go much deeper than just friendship with Evie, and further than simple empathy for another person. And that’s the absolute last thing I need.

Swamped by my own thoughts, I ask to take my break and breathe a huge sigh of relief when I push outside and the fresh, though humid, air hits me. I reach into my pocket and pull out my pack of cigarettes, which is crumpled and battered from being in my pocket for so long. Probably time for a new pack, though when I flip the top open, I see that only two are missing. I stare at it, and realize I can’t even remember the last time I bought a new pack. I don’t even know when I got this one.

In fact, aside from during Evie’s fit this past week, I don’t remember the last time I smoked. I’ve been too busy worrying about Evie. I haven’t felt the pressing need for nicotine, for the need to separate myself from other people and throw up a shield by being that big scary guy in the corner, with the tattoos and baggy clothes who’s smoking. In fact, I realize that at one point this past week, I even dug out an old pair of khaki shorts and wore them with a black v-neck or something to Evie’s house, the kind of outfit I haven’t worn in years because it didn’t fit the image and message I wanted to project.

Frustrated and pissed now, I jam a cigarette between my teeth, thinking that Evie can bite me. It’s like having a girlfriend that wants you to change into someone respectable, and yet the worst part is that Evie isn’t even
trying
to change me. It’s just happening from being in close proximity from her, sensing that she doesn’t really like me smoking and not doing it for her sake. Knowing she thinks my clothes are stupid, and not wearing them for her sake, without her even asking or telling me so. It’s because I
care
about her, about what she wants and thinks.

I hate that. I hate it because it makes me start to remember what it’s like to feel. And thinking about feeling irrevocably leads to thoughts about Cindy, which causes the old feelings to implode, and then my hands start shaking and I want to paint to get it all out; it’s a dangerous train of thought to jump on, and I can’t allow it.

In fact, even as I lift the cigarette to my lips to take another drag, I realize I’m trembling and my heart is beating faster than normal, and anger floods through me at Evie getting me onto this track of thought. I want nothing more than to recklessly jump off of it. I throw the half-finished cigarette to the ground and grind my shoe over it and head back inside, but I know that walking away from my problems isn’t nearly so easy, and the ghosts continue to haunt me for the rest of my shift and follow me all the way home.

The nightmares that night are even worse than usual, and when I wake up panting the next morning, I know what I’m going to do, even before I’ve consciously made the decision. I go to the club and do a four-hour shift and get off in the early afternoon. I turn down a ride from Koby and head deeper into Dublin, instead of further away back into Grandview, heading for the one place that still seems to calm me, and the one place that will always keep my sister close to me.

The dance studio is full and loud, right between classes, but Madame Bella still sees me and waves, and I wave back before taking a seat. Just… sitting. Feeling. Feeling things that I don’t want, and things that I resolve to viciously shove away. The buried, slight attraction to Evie that is always hovering in the background, because it knows the time will never be right, or returned. The grief that is always there too, hand in hand with the anger and regret. Shit, but it hurts and I cross my arms over my chest to put pressure over the pain that has just exploded from my heart.

I sit huddled there for a long time, so long that I lose track, but when I finally look up, feeling marginally under control once again—or at least, having defeated the urge to cry—the first thing that I see is Jenny Hunt. She’s hovering near the dance floor and staring at me as though she can’t look away. A new emotion floods me, now that all the others are under control; rage.

I remember Evie, all the times she’s cried in my arms, how she’s told me how alone she is. I remember how everyone in her life has failed her, especially Jenny, her best friend, the person who should have been there to help her no matter what happened, no matter what other people were saying. I can fill a void in Evie’s life; I can help her heal, I can be her friend, I could be more than a friend if either of us could handle that, which we can’t. But there are some voids that I can’t fill, some things she’ll never be comfortable telling me. A void that can only be filled by a female friend, and yet she has none because Jenny is a pathetic excuse for a human being.

I stand up, suddenly very glad that I’m so tall and intimidating because I’m feeling vengeful and wrathful and want to tear something apart with my bare hands; I can’t do that, so I’ll have to settle for doing it with words. I stalk over to Jenny and feel a sick sense of satisfaction when I see her shrink slightly away from me as I approach.

We just stare at each other for a long moment as I take in the fear and trepidation in her eyes, indignation and fury for Evie’s sake filling me, wanting to get
some
sense of justice back for her for all that she’s been through; I may not be able to get at Tony, kill him the way he deserves for what he’s done, but I can at least start with her so-called friends and what they did to her, and to me, turning us into pariahs.

Finally, I speak. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

Jenny blinks at me several times, her mouth slightly open as she stares at me, clearly shocked by my choice of words. “Wh-what?”

“You,” I say clearly and articulately, “are the shittiest friend I’ve ever seen. I really don’t know how you live with yourself. Don’t you have any idea what happened to Evie? Any
real
idea? Surely you can guess.”

“I-I-I-” Jenny stutters, unable to make an articulate response.

I just shake my head at her. “Evie needs you. Grow some balls or learn to live with the fact that you failed someone when they needed you most.”

I turn on my heel and stalk out of the ballet studio. As I begin the long walk home, disgust rises up inside me, but this time it’s not for Jenny. It’s for myself, for the bleeding heart that I’ve become. I have a weakness, a sickness inside of me where Evie is concerned. I can’t tear myself away from her. I can’t make myself stay away, I can’t keep my distance no matter how hard I try, and it’s beginning to make my walls crack. My defenses aren’t as hard and high as they should be. I feel like I’m relapsing more often now, wanting to cave and draw,
really
draw, too often.

I want to cut myself open, take out the parts of me that are attracted to Evie, and throw them out to blow away with the wind. To get them out of me and to never feel them again, because I can’t have them in my life, can’t deal with it any longer. I know I need to get my shit together, because just the day after tomorrow I’ll see her again, and I can’t focus on myself; I have to focus on her, on getting her better so she can stand on her own and someday I can walk the fuck away because there is nothing between us that could ever actually work out.

I walk and walk, and it’s dark outside by the time I finally go up the front porch steps to my apartment and unlock the door. My dad is sitting on a couch in the living room, but he stands up and tosses his newspaper aside when I step in, and I know immediately that a confrontation is coming, and I inwardly sigh, because I’m already on a tight leash as it is.

“Where have you been?” he demands. “I called you three times. You were supposed to come right home after work so we could mow lawns for the complex.”

Shit. I hadn’t even thought about that, and I’m pretty sure my phone is still in my locker at work or something, because when I pat my pockets, they’re empty except for my cigarettes. Fuck.

“I was out,” I say, and in hopes of staving off a huge argument, I give ground and say something that I haven’t said to my dad for a really long time. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I’ll help you tomorrow.”

“Too late,” he bites out, and I realize that it’s too late for apologies or appeasement. “I already did it all today myself. Next time, I’ll let it go and you can pay the difference in the rent since it didn’t get done. When will you get your shit together, Zeke? Can’t you think about someone aside from yourself for just ten seconds?”

I’m already too close to the surface with my emotions, and it takes just that little bit to make me snap. “I was at the dance studio!” I scream at him. “Thinking of Cindy! I was
always
thinking about Cindy, because you never did! I
never
thought of myself! I haven’t thought of myself since I was fourteen and Mom left and you stopped caring!”

I see from the way my dad’s eyes widen that this remark has hit home, and he advances a few steps toward me, and I want to back away but the door is still at my back and I have no place left to go, and if I leave now, it would be cowardice and I can’t allow that. So I just brace my shoulders and stare at him without blinking, waiting for him to retaliate.

“I stopped caring?” he echoes, his voice dangerously quiet and calm. “Stopped
caring
? I put a
roof
over your head, boy! Food in your mouth, and I put clothes on your ungrateful back!”

He comes closer still and then I find the finger pointing at me, just inches away from my face, and it takes every single fiber of will inside of me to keep myself from biting it off, or running at him and tackling him to the floor. I
hate
being pointed at. I hate it more than anything else in the world. No words can get to me the way that gesture can, and it makes me quiver with anger.

“Don’t you
dare
say I didn’t care! I broke my back taking care of you and your sister, and if you want to see not caring, then I can stop and you can leave!”

“Maybe that’s for the best!” I snap, and fumble a few times before I finally get a hold of the doorknob at my back and turn it, the door flying open behind me. “I won’t fucking bother you anymore, don’t worry!”

I turn and storm out, slamming the door behind me as hard as I can, though it doesn’t really help much, because the last thing I see is still my dad, his hand still pointed in my direction. I stumble and almost fall down the porch steps, and before I know it I’ve begun to run, run as hard and fast as I can, much too fast for a comfortable pace, but I don’t stop. I know I can’t paint, know I can’t do anything illegal to take the rage out of me, and so instead I use my newest, if least effective, mechanism; exhaustion.

I run all the way to Koby’s house and he opens the door to my knock and lets me in without a word, his dark eyes calmly taking in my flushed face and my hands that are still trembling with anger. He doesn’t ask questions; he just leads the way to the basement, gives me a beer from his dad’s stash behind their bar, and we play Xbox until the sun comes up.

I have a shift at the club the next evening and Koby takes me to my house right before so I can shower and get clothes, but only after we make sure that my dad is gone. I’m not sure where he might have gone, to Uncle Alex’s or maybe he, too, spends time someplace that reminds him of Cindy, but I’m grateful. I’m not stupid enough to actually move out, to try and live someplace else, but I know that if there’s one thing that my dad and I need right now, it’s space, and I resolve to give it to both of us, and be more careful about my comings and goings and restrict them to when he’s not around whenever possible.

I make it through my shift but wake up on Monday with a sense of foreboding, because I will see Evie today and I know she’ll sense instantly that something is wrong. And she won’t be one to back off either. My fists clench even now at the thought of talking about it, of displaying any emotion at all, and my body and mind rebel at the idea. I can’t allow it.

I get up and dress and walk the distance to Evie’s and head straight to the backyard, wanting to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. After almost half an hour, I hear a noise behind me and turn around to see Evie there, her expressive eyes wide and confused as she looks at me.

“Hey,” she says, sounding a little breathless. “You didn’t tell me you were here.”

Every other day, I’ve come up to the front door, pretty much let myself in anymore, and we’d sometimes even had coffee or breakfast together before starting work, but I couldn’t do that today. I just couldn’t and I still can’t. I don’t want to deal with anything, don’t want to talk, just want to work and go… somewhere other than here or home.