This time there was no mistaking Jacob’s aggravation as he grabbed one of the pizza boxes and his soda. He nodded his head to gesture Kevin to follow him.
Kevin shot me an apologetic look, grabbing his own soda.
I sat at the table by myself, systematically picking apart the pepperonis I’d removed from my slice of pizza. Straining my ears, I could hear snippets of Mom’s conversation with Dad. He must have asked how I was adjusting. Mom’s answer was muffled, but I thought she told him I was fine. Adjusting well. I wondered why he didn’t come see me himself. Did he hate me? Was I the reason he’d left? I was like a wrecking ball, destroying everything in my path.
Suddenly, I was no longer hungry. My stomach felt a bit uneasy. I tossed my plate into the trash and climbed the stairs to my room. A strange sense of déjà vu followed me as I made my way up the steps. I could hear the guys talking and laughing as I passed Jacob’s room. They sounded so happy and carefree. I wished I felt comfortable enough to go in with them. Instead, I headed to my room and closed the door, shutting the world out.
29
THE NEXT day passed in much the same fashion with the exception that I was able to find my classes without any help. I kept my head down the majority of the time, wishing everyone would stop looking at me. The whispering had turned into outright taunts anytime a teacher wasn’t around. Lunch period with my new friends was the only time I felt I wasn’t on display.
I practically jumped from my seat after seventh period when the final bell rang. Racing from the building to get to Jacob’s car, I clutched my books against my chest as a weak attempt to shield myself from all the staring and finger-pointing. A bag over my head would have been more effective. I read a book once where the main character had to make it through hazing week to get into a fraternity. That’s what I felt like here, but times a hundred.
I could hardly catch my breath by the time I made it to Jacob’s car. In my haste to leave so quickly I hadn’t considered that at least inside the building I was slightly more protected. Without the watchful eyes of the teachers, the students were free to glare and jeer and downright cackle any way they wanted. Indecision filled my head, crawling down my spine with a chill. I could run, maybe wait for Jacob closer to the building, but that too was like running directly into the storm. Reaching up to massage my aching head, I felt beads of sweat forming, ready to trickle down my face.
“Hey, you ready?” Jacob asked, jingling his keys in his hand.
He didn’t ask how my day went. I was pretty sure my face said it all as we climbed into his car. Maybe he sensed it had been much the same as the day before, if not worse.
“How about some ice cream?” he asked, starting the car.
I nodded, smiling weakly as I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
He opened his mouth to comment, but reached over instead and turned on the radio.
That was fine with me. I peered out the window, grateful that he wasn’t pressing me for details about my day. Jacob seemed to get it. Maybe he had heard his fair share of snide whispering just like I had and already knew everything. Whatever havoc my arrival may have caused in his life, I felt terrible for it.
As Jacob pulled away, a group of girls standing against their car all shot me a look. They didn’t point or shout, but clearly I was the object of their fascination. I averted my eyes. I was on my time now. They could make their nasty comments during school hours.
If Jacob noticed them he didn’t let on as he turned out of the parking lot. He was strangely quiet, but I didn’t question it. I was lost in my own world. Just being away from school was a huge weight lifted from my shoulders.
It took a while to reach the ice cream parlor, but the moment Jacob pulled into the parking lot a fuzzy memory tugged at my subconscious. The building shaped like a giant ice cream cone.
“I know this place,” I said, taking in the faded sign and weathered parking lot with cracks and small potholes scattered about.
“We used to come here every Saturday before you were taken. It was Mom’s weekly treat when we were good.” Jacob’s voice was laced in a mild hint of sorrow.
“I remember,” I said in awe. “I always got chocolate and vanilla swirl, but you only liked the chocolate.” The memory wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I grasped it tightly, afraid it would leave before it could fully take root.
Jacob nodded. His eyes glistened brightly with moisture. “We stopped going after…”
My own eyes welled up. “Every moment in our lives is now categorized as either before or after. Is it wrong that I’m starting to hate the significance of both words?”
“Not at all. I know exactly what you mean. We’ll make this our now,” Jacob said.
I nodded, opening my car door.
Our now consisted of Jacob and me sitting on the bench in front of the small ice cream stand, licking our cones before they could melt down our wrists
. Jacob was back to his normal chatty self but avoided talking about school, which I was eternally grateful for. Instead, we talked about everything else, like the books I’d read and loved and television shows he had watched over the years that I missed. We stayed on the bench talking for nearly three hours. It was the perfect distraction.
The sun was beginning to lower on the horizon when we arrived home with a bag of greasy burgers and fries we’d picked up on the way. Jacob had called ahead to tell Mom so she wouldn’t start cooking. Dinner felt awkward and stiff from the moment we sat down. Jacob told Mom where we had gone after school and she became melancholy from the news. She excused herself to use the bathroom and when she returned her eyes and nose were red. My chest began to ache and I looked down at the burger I no longer wanted. Everything was so damn hard. Whatever I did seemed to have painful repercussions. Finally giving up the pretense of eating, I excused myself from the table, anxious to escape the gloom that seemed to have saturated every fiber of the house.
Mom and Jacob continued to talk as I raced upstairs. Their voices changed from a low murmur to nearly shouting. Jacob was clearly upset over something. Leaning against my bedroom door, I massaged the fissure that had opened up in my chest. It was as if a hook had been inserted with the sole purpose of tearing and ripping my heart to shreds. I should have thought about taking one of the pills Dr. Marshall prescribed, but it wasn’t medication I needed to feel better. I wanted something familiar, something I could relate to. Twisting the lock on the doorknob, I climbed on my bed and reached under my pillow, pulling out a small box of supplies that I had gathered the night before. I pushed up my sleeve, uncovering a hidden white bandage wrapped around my forearm. It had soaked through slightly with blood and puss. Unwrapping the bandage pulled away pieces of scab combined with the fine hairs on my arm. I sighed deeply, taking comfort in the stinging sensation that followed. What remained were the raw, oozing remnants of a burn that looked as agonizing as it felt. I closed my eyes, embracing the pain that felt like a warm blanket on a cold night. I reached into the box and pulled out a lighter I’d found stashed in Mom’s junk drawer in the kitchen. Flicking the dial, I moved the lighter back and forth, mesmerized by the way the small flame appeared to dance at my control. I lowered the lighter to a spot on my arm, just below the already damaged, oozing wound.
White-hot gratification coursed through my skin. My flesh seared as my arm began to shake, but I held firm until the pain eclipsed what I felt in my heart. I clicked off the lighter, admiring the burn that was severe, and yet soothing at the same time. My hand shook as I pulled out the tube of burn cream I had snagged from the medicine cabinet. The ointment burned nearly as much as the flame had, but I dabbed it on my sore gingerly, feeling content as I rewrapped my arm. I couldn’t imagine this would go over well with Mom or Dr. Marshall, which is why I kept the burns small and hidden.
I fell asleep with my head resting against the mound of pillows that felt too comfortable beneath my head. Too extravagant. I would never admit it to anyone but I sorely missed my small thin pillow that always smelled of bleach. It had always served its purpose. Not once in all the time I’d been away did I ever give any thought to the thinness of that pillow. Life was so much simpler. I didn’t want to return to my prison. I just missed certain aspects. Judy. I missed her, as morbid as that sounded. After everything she had done to me. The lies. The beatings. Beneath years of mental and physical torment she had been the only thing I’d ever known. I felt like Judas for even thinking about her. What would people think of me? Mom would be crushed if she knew.