Twisted (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

A
idan has an exasperated look on his face. I've refused to let him drive me to the university. He's offered three times.

“I want to walk,” I say, pulling on my jacket. “I have to start finding my way around.”

“Well, do you at least want directions?”

“No. I think I got it.”

He's still jangling the car keys in his hand and muttering under his breath as I walk out the door.

It's sunny, and the fresh air feels good — cold and crisp. I pause and take a second to think about which direction Liam brought me from last night, and then head that way.

The rain has left scattered patches of ice. There are chunky bits of salt sprinkled on the sidewalk, and they crunch loudly beneath my feet.

Back home they use sand. It's dirty. Gets everywhere.

After a few blocks I come to a busy street. Two lanes each way, divided by a boulevard. I glance up at the sign. Robie Street. I store it in my memory.

I keep going. The next corner brings me to University Avenue. This has to be it.

The fact that almost everyone is carrying knapsacks or messenger bags tells me I'm in the right place. Rather than wasting a ton of time wandering around like a moron, I approach a bunch of kids waiting at a bus stop. “Could you tell me where the King's registrar's office is?”

“Sure,” one guy says. He's dressed all in black — black hair, black eyeliner, multiple facial piercings. He drops his cigarette on the ground
and grinds it to a pulp with the heel of his pointy black boot. “Keep going, first right, then next left. You'll see a sign, and a courtyard. It's in there.”

“Thanks.”

I find the office no problem. The lady I speak to, Ms. Watson, is really nice. I explain my situation, how I was all registered, supposed to start in September, but had to withdraw. Because of my mom. Because she got sick and died.

Giving me a sad look, she says, “I'm so sorry.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you.”

“Did you want to go ahead and see what we can find out?”

I nod.

She wiggles her computer mouse to wake it up. “What's your full name?”

“Alyssa Kathleen Thomson.”

“Okay …” She punches my name into the computer and leans in close to the screen. “What do we have here …”

She tells me that the circumstances surrounding my withdrawal are all in my file and that my student loan has been put on hold but the funds are still available.

The relief is so overwhelming, my knees feel weak.

“You'll have to fill out some forms,” she says, handing me some papers. “You'll find all the instructions online.”

I slide the papers into my bag.

“Once they get proof of enrolment, you'll get notification and you can submit your pre-study report.”

“Pre-study report?”

“It might end up getting you some more money.” She smiles. “It's all on the website.”

“Okay.”

“Just remember, the funds won't be deposited into your account until a week or so before the next term starts.”

My face falls. “Oh.” I'd kind of hoped to dip into a bit — if only to get a phone, maybe a laptop …

She hands me a course calendar. “You probably already had all your courses picked out.”

I nod.

“But take this. It's likely you'll have to make some changes. You can do this online too — see which January classes still have space.”

“Okay.”

“If you were interested in living in residence, I can put your name on a waiting list. We're full right now, but it's not unusual to have the odd student drop out or not return for semester two.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks.”

Outside the office I notice a giant bulletin board on the wall with pamphlets, homemade flyers, students selling books, looking for books. There are a bunch that say, “looking for roommate,” “looking for apartment,” but I can tell they're old, mostly covered by new stuff. I take down a piece of paper advertising a party in the Ward room on September 8 and flip it over. I write that I'm looking for accommodations to share for January. I add my name, have to stop and go back to the office to borrow a phone book, write in Aidan's phone number, and re-pin it right in the centre of the board.

As I leave the building, something new begins to stir inside me. Something unfamiliar. Hope.

Suddenly the idea of wandering around isn't so bad. I zigzag up and down the tree-lined streets, looking at the beautiful old homes. Every so often I go by one that has obviously been rented out to students. The signs are all there — bed sheets as curtains, beer cases piled on the porch, even the occasional sofa. The next thing I know, I'm standing on the exact same corner as I did last night, directly across from Liam's coffee shop. I stop,
smack
, as if there's an invis- ible wall blocking my path. If I'm here, that also means I can't be far from Kyle's — a couple of blocks at the most. That new feeling, the hope, it's gone before I even get a chance to enjoy it.

I clench my jaw. Kyle … Rosalyn … I see the whole scene in my head all over again. I
hate
myself for being so stupid. I thought I was so smart, smarter than everyone else. Kyle said it was a vibe I gave off. It used to drive him crazy. Guess he showed me.

Minutes pass while my feet stay glued to the sidewalk. I want to go into the coffee shop, get warm, and read through my calendar. But I hesitate, rolling my calendar into a tighter and tighter tube. It's because of Liam. I don't want to see him. Only because he'd think it was weird, me showing up the next day like some kind of stalker. Yeah, he said come by, but everyone says stuff like that.

Wait. He said he worked most evenings. It isn't even noon. I'm safe.

When I pull open the door, it's just like last night — heat wraps around me like a thick blanket. I breathe in the aroma of fresh coffee and cinnamon, and let my eyes adjust to the low lighting.

A table of older ladies glance up as I walk to the front counter.

“What can I get you?” a girl about my age asks. She has fluorescent pink highlights in her pigtails. Her eyeshadow and lipstick are the same fluorescent pink.

“Umm …” The menu board with a zillion beverage combinations looms on the wall behind her. “Uh …”

She gives me that look — that “sometime today would be nice” look.

I decide to take a risk, think outside the box. “Small vanilla latte, please. No, wait … make it a medium.”

After paying, I survey the room while the cup begins to burn my hand. Two girls, student types, are getting up from the table by the fireplace where I sat with Liam. I hurry over to lay claim before they've even finished putting their coats on.

I sit, sip my latte, and stare into the flames, zoning out for a while.

The pink girl behind the counter shouts out an order and snaps me back. I open my calendar and start reading, folding down the corners of the pages that interest me. As I drain my latte, I feel a rush of cold air. Someone's come through the front door.

“Yo, Erin!”

Shit
. Liam. Whipping the calendar up in front of my face, I slink down real low in my seat. Maybe he won't see me. He walks right past my table and starts talking to the pink girl. I hear him laughing, hear him say, “You bet, see you at six.”

He's leaving.
I hold my breath and try not to move. That's when a finger appears on the top edge of my calendar. Liam slowly pushes it down, revealing my face. “Personally, I've never found course calendars to be that captivating.”

“Really?” I fight to keep my tone casual, but my voice cracks anyway. “The part
I'm
reading is absolutely spine-tingling.”

Smiling, he flicks his hair out of his eyes and sits down in the other chair. “I see you're at your usual table,” he points out.

“I hovered until I drove the other people away.”

He nods. “Impressive.”

“Thanks.”

“So you must be staying for a while.” He reaches for my calendar and fans through it.

“Yeah. I just came from the registrar's office … I didn't know it was so close by … thought I'd pop in and grab a coffee …” I feel the need to explain my presence.

“What are you thinking about taking?”

“I'm planning on —”

“Don't say a bachelor of arts.”

“A bachelor of arts.” That isn't what I'm planning to take at all, but I can't help myself.

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. “That'll get you a fine career in waitressing.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows and glance around the coffee shop. “Is that what you took?”

“Pre-med, missy.” He pokes at his chest. “Pre-med.”

“So you're a degree snob.”

He laughs. “I've been called worse. Just offering some friendly advice, that's all.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly. “I'm taking journalism. But only if that's okay with you, of course.”

Leaning back, he squints at me. “Aren't
you
a funny one?”

I shrug. “I have my moments.”

He laughs again, then stands and slides his chair back in. “Well. Got my paycheque. Time to head out.”

“K. See you around.”

“Yeah. Nice to run into you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

He's halfway to the door when without thinking, I call out, “And thanks again for last night.” A handful of people turn to look at me. I smile back weakly, feel my cheeks turn hot.

Liam's shoulders shake. “The pleasure was all mine,” he calls back.

After he leaves, I wait a few more minutes and then leave myself.

It's not as cold as it was this morning, but it's clouded over and looks like it's about to rain. A second later it does.
Damn it
. I stuff my calendar inside my jacket and pick up my pace.

A car honks its horn, slows, and pulls up to the curb a little ahead of where I'm walking. The rain is coming down so heavily, the car just looks like a giant dark blur.

It can only be one of three people. Aidan, Kyle, or Liam — I don't know anyone else here. Cautiously, I lean over sideways to see.

The window slides down. “Get in!” Liam hollers.

I yank the door open and jump inside.

He puts the blinker on and pulls back into traffic.

“Thanks for the lift.
Again
,” I say, tucking my wet, stringy hair behind my ears.

“Don't worry about it. Are you on your way back to your brother's? Stepbrother's?” He corrects himself before I can.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Then it's like I said last night, you're on my way.”

“I know. But it's starting to feel like all I ever do is thank you.”

“Didn't I tell you I was half superhero? I'm used to being con- stantly thanked.”

“You told me you were a Boy Scout. There was no mention of your being half superhero.”

“Well, I am. On my mom's side. You're just lucky I had to go to the bank machine or we might have missed each other.” He turns down Aidan's street. “It's all about the timing, you know.”

AIDAN IS STANDING IN
the living room window with his arms crossed, frowning, when I come through the front door. “That the same guy from last night?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You'll take a drive from him, but not from me?”

“I just ran into him at a coffee shop. It's
pouring
, in case you haven't noticed.”

His frown stays put. “Well, do you even know this guy? Anything about him?”

“
Hello
. What happened to, ‘You can come and go as you please. You don't even have to speak to me'? You said that, remember?”

“I'm your brother. I'm only trying to look out for you. It's sort of my job.”

I hold back the response that's formulating in my brain, the one about how he quit that job a long time ago. He really seems genuinely concerned. “Thanks, but you don't have to get all protective. He's a nice guy. I think you'd really like him.”

CHAPTER 7

W
hen I wake up, the first thing I notice is that the door is partly open. I'm sure I closed it before I finally crawled into bed last night. I slip on a pair of socks and thread my arms into my furry housecoat. Maybe it didn't catch.

Sticking my head out into the hall, I listen. It's all quiet. I wait a minute, then two. Nothing.

Yesterday after supper, I flaked out on my bed to read more about courses. I promptly fell asleep, but not before I heard Aidan leave and the car pull out of the driveway. Around 1:30 a.m., I got up for a glass of water. The car was still gone, and there was no sign of him. It could be he never came home.

Stretching and yawning my way to the kitchen, I put on some water to boil for tea and shuffle out to the living room. My footsteps slow down. An unknown head of hair is visible just over the back of the sofa. It's a girl. She's holding Bingley up to her face and talking … cat talk.

She must sense I'm there and twists around in her seat. “Lyssa. Yay! I've been waiting for you to wake up.”

“Uh …” My brain's not working yet.

“Aidan told me to stay away, give you a few days to settle in, but I totally couldn't wait to meet you.”

“Uh …”

“Sorry.” She stands and brushes cat hair off her skirt. “I'm Marla.”

At last it clicks. “Right. Owner of Bingley.”

“And Aidan's girlfriend,” she adds.

“Right, and Aidan's girlfriend,” I repeat, looking behind me down the hall. “Where
is
Aidan?”

“I popped by to throw in a wash.” She reaches out, grabs my hand, and gives it a squeeze. “I was hoping you'd be here. I just know we're going to be best friends.”

I glance at the clock on the mantle. Quarter to nine. “And Aidan is …?”

“Oh, he's probably off doing the cash.”

“The cash?”

She nods. “It usually doesn't take him more than a couple of hours.”

It dawns on me that I don't have a clue what Aidan does, where he works. “So he does the cash for …?”

“The bar, silly.” She scrunches up her eyebrows. “He's the manager now, you know.”

I stare back at her blankly.

“Good grief. Didn't he tell you about his promotion?” She shakes her head. “That's just like Aidan, never wants to talk himself up.”

While I continue my staring, something else dawns on me. Marla's under the impression we're normal. She doesn't seem to know about us, our family, our dysfunction, our … estrangements. What in the world has Aidan told her? More importantly, what hasn't he told her?

“You guys haven't had a chance to talk much yet, huh,” she says, coming up with her own theory.

“No, not really.” I leave it at that.

Marla curls back up on the couch, and Bingley immediately leaps into her lap. It's obvious she has no plans to leave anytime soon.

She looks at me, big green eyes, all full of smiles, waiting for me to speak.

I rock back and forth on my heels, run my tongue along my teeth trying to think of something to say. At the same time I give her a good once-over. I guess I never really pictured Aidan's type, but she's pretty in a natural sort of way — tall, model thin. Her hair is dark blonde with highlights, good ones, and cut into a sleek shoulder-length bob. I actually attempted that same style a while back but gave up after Caroline pointed out I spent half my life with a hair straightener in my hand.

Those big eyes are still on me, still waiting.

“So, uh, how did you guys meet?” I finally say. “At the bar?”

She frowns and tilts her head. “You mean he didn't tell you how we met
either
?”

I can tell she's hurt Aidan hasn't shared their story. “No … wait, he might've. It's like you said, we haven't had much time to talk. I think he mentioned …”

“The hospital?” she finishes.

“The hospital?”

“Okay, the psych ward to be more precise.”

“Um.
What
?”

Confusion flickers across her face, then her big eyes get even bigger and her hand flies to her chest. “You didn't know …”

I slowly shake my head.

“Uh …” She stands, puts the cat down, and begins tugging hard on the ends of her hair, over and over. “I kind of wondered why no one ever came to visit. Don't tell him I told you. I mean, how could I know you didn't know?” She whispers like she's afraid someone's listening. “I mean, I just assumed … God, I'm not supposed to even be here.”

All I hear are the words
psych ward
playing on repeat in my brain. I bury my shock deep inside, save it for later, mainly because Marla looks like she's about to cry. “It's okay, just sit down,” I soothe and guide her back to the couch. “I won't say a word. He's probably waiting for the right time to tell me, that's all.”

Her head is shaking back and forth in tiny, jerky movements.

I sit beside her, put my hand on her arm. “I promise. Really, I won't say a word. Everything will be fine.”

She looks down to where my hand is resting and rolls her arm over.

I follow her gaze and see that the tips of my fingers are touching a pinkish, slightly raised line stretching across the inside of her wrist. My breath catches in my throat when I realize what it is, and I pull my hand away. Extending her other arm, she holds them both out and presses them together. “Twins,” she says, attempting to smile.

“Uh …”

“I read somewhere that when you slit your wrists, if you're really serious, you're supposed to cut up and down, not across.”

My mouth falls open.

“Guess I'll have to remember that for next time.” She laughs and gives my shoulder a shove. “That was a joke.”

I try to laugh with her. It comes out more like a squeak. But she doesn't seem to notice and scoops up Bingley, who's crouching at her feet.

My thoughts run in circles inside my head. Aidan? Was in the psych ward? With Marla … and her wrists? I don't even know where to start. “Marla, when was Aidan in the psych ward?”

Her eyes get all dreamy looking. “I met him two years, one month, eighteen days ago.”

That's around when he left home …
“But why? Why was he there?”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I've spilled too much already. I — I don't think I should talk about it anymore. It's up to Aidan to tell you.”

I comb my fingers through my hair, let out a frustrated sigh. She's right. It's not fair of me to try and pump her.

“It was all over a stupid boy, by the way,” she says.

My mind is working overtime, trying to process everything, trying to keep everything straight. “Sorry, what?”

“Why I was in there. It was because my boyfriend dumped me.”

I resist the urge to say “I know how you feel” and instead say, “That can be rough.” My eyes automatically go back to Marla's wrists.

“I don't know what I'd do without Aidan,” Marla gushes. “He makes my life worth living.”

“Oh.” That's all I can think of to say.

Marla checks her watch. “Whoops. I'm going to be late.” She jumps up and grabs her coat off the bench in the hall. “I work at a bookstore, just off Spring Garden. Come visit me.”

“Sure,” I say, following her to the door.

She turns and puts both hands on my shoulders. “It was so great to meet you.” Then she hugs me. “And you won't say anything to Aidan?”

I nod.

“Talk soon?”

I nod again.

After she leaves I sink onto the bench where her coat used to lie. My head falls back against the wall. The day has only just started and already I'm completely exhausted. I shut my eyes and think about Aidan. What happened? What happened to him? Then I think of Marla and her whole suicide thing. What is it like to love someone so much that you'd want to end your own life at the thought of losing him? I lost Kyle, but not for one second did I ever consider killing myself. Him, maybe …

I get up, go to the window, and watch her walk down the street.