Jaded, Page 37

  Bryce knew that Bailey hadn't died in the school. He knew before the police told us.

  He knew and he shouldn't have known.

  Jefferson left as I stood in the kitchen. As I stood there and my world had just cracked open, I was left alone and no one saw how I fell to the floor, blinded from my revelations that now screamed inside of me. I watched, suspended and paralyzed, as my hand must've caught and pulled the coffeepot to the ground. I saw it fall, crash into a million pieces, and I watched as the black content seeped across the floor.

  The broken glass was camouflaged underneath the dark liquid.

  My hand reached out to help myself stand up. I saw the shattered glass and I placed my hand there anyway. I felt none of the pain, but I stood and I gazed in horrified suspension as the blood quickly covered my hand.

  That didn't make sense. I didn't understand where the blood came from.

  And another hand was there, covering mine as they pushed against the blood, to stop the blood flow.

  I looked up, numb, and saw Bryce's ashen features.

  Chapter 31

  The streetlights whizzed past into a steady constant blur.

  I had wished, for a moment, to forget what I realized and to pretend. I wanted to curl up with Bryce, pull his blankets over us both, and sleep, protected in his pretense.

  I had almost chosen to forget and deny rather than fight and survive.

  I wasn't the innocent, sweet, and helpless princess.

  Bryce would be after me. I knew it. And I think he knew it as he stepped aside and let my excuse command our actions. I had pled a headache and time to be alone and he had heeded. He chose to play the game and I bit back the tears as I stepped from his front door. I had wanted him to not play the game and strip away everything.

  A big part of me wanted to turn the car, crawl back in his bed, and pretend I didn't know what I knew. But there was another part of me that wanted to survive, that wanted to live and birth fat babies. That was the part of me that kept me driving ahead, but if it had to come to percentages—it would've closed at 51% to live and 49% to die in bliss.

  How sick and twisted is that?

  I pulled into my garage and hurried inside. Immediately, I slid the locks in place, changed the alarm system's codes, and headed for the shower. And there I sat, naked, chilled from the cold stream, and teeth chattering in the corner. I hugged my knees to my chest.

  I stared at nothing and my hair plastered against my skull, but my eyes were flat. Dead.

  I never felt the frozen water slam against my vulnerable skin.

  I lost track of time and I don't know how long I sat there, but my limbs were trembling uncontrollably when I moved out of the shower and wrapped a robe around myself.

  I sat at the mirror and left my soaked hair alone.

  The distant chime of my doorbell finally penetrated the haze. I wondered, briefly and faintly, how long the doorbell had sounded, but I ceased wondering when I saw Marcus Donadeli on the other side. He looked nervous and awkward.

  I said nothing as I decoded the alarm system and stepped back with the door open.

  "Hi, Sheldon." He blushed as he smiled.

  I've never blushed before. I wondered what it felt like to blush, to have the capability to blush.

  "What are you doing here?"

  His eyes lingered on my robe, on the naked skin that showed near my neck. I didn't care. I didn't pull the robe tighter, but I did ask again, "What are you doing here?"

  "Oh. Um…the Party Packs." He gestured, haltingly, inside. "I came by last night, but the party was done, huh?"

  Yeah. The party was done.

  "Corrigan got busted by the cops," I remarked and walked inside with him following.

  "He did? Why?"

  I shrugged. "I think he accused one of the cops of being dirty. I don't think that goes over too well."

  "Yeah…cops can be pretty quick to defend themselves," Marcus muttered.

  The Party Packs sandwiches still covered the entire table, half eaten.

  I sighed and leaned against the counter as Marcus started cleaning off the food. "You like me, don't you?" I asked suddenly.

  His hands paused, clenched, and he looked up, pale, "Yeah."

  "Why?"

  He said swiftly without pause, "Because you're amazing." He added, "Why do you think everyone wants you?"

  "Everyone doesn't want me."

  "Chad Yerling. Bryce Scout. Corrigan Raimler. That movie star guy."

  "Yerling never wanted me. He just wanted to piss off Bryce and Corrigan."

  "What about the rest?"

  I gave no comment to the rest, but I did mutter, "Corrigan's my best friend."

  "And…" His jaw clenched as he asked, "Bryce?"

  I didn't comment. I didn't trust my voice.

  "What?" Marcus asked softly. "You guys have a fight or something?"

  "What?"

  "You look sad."

  I glanced to the floor and tightened my robe.

  "But you always look sad…," he added.

  I did?

  "You didn't eat yesterday when you were at the Eatery. You didn't eat…I noticed that…" He swallowed, jumpy. "Are you hungry? I have some food in my car. I could go and get it…if you'd like."

  "No, I'm okay. Thanks. I just…I don't eat that often."

  "You should, you know." He jerked his head up and down, a self-conscious nod. "You hardly ever eat. Is that…are you, like, anorexic, or something? I…I know someone with that eating disorder and she said she can't eat because she feels all panicky if she does, like she's going to fall apart or something."

  "No. I eat when I'm hungry. I'm just not hungry that often."

  "Oh." He fell silent and returned to cleaning the Party Packs.

  "Thanks for noticing, though," I remarked, kindly.

  He glanced back, blushed, and smiled, "Yeah."

  I had taken two steps towards the door when I heard him whisper, underneath his breath, "I notice everything."

  I turned back and asked, clearly, "Why?"

  He jumped and whirled to me. "What?" He looked alarmed.

  "Why do you notice everything?"

  "Because no one notices me."

  "Everyone notices me," I said flatly.

  "I know." Another flush and his hands jerked.

  "I wish no one noticed me."

  His hands stilled and the flush disappeared. "You do?"

  "I do. I could breathe a lot easier."

  "I…I feel like that sometimes," Marcus confessed.

  "Why can't you breathe?"

  Call me crazy. Call me out-of-sync or illogical, but for some reason—I was clinging to every word he said. I didn't have the lash inside to remind Marcus that he was a social defect, but then again—I was always nice to him. I just never understood why or thought about it.

  I thought about it now.

  "I don't know." He glanced towards his hands, which seemed steady and strong now. "Just…there's a lot of bullies, you know, and girls who are mean. They laugh in your face sometimes and they're not very nice."

  "I'm sorry."

  He looked up, "Why? You've always been nice."

  "I'm not nice to everyone."

  "Those people deserve it, though. You're nice to who deserves it."

  "No." I shook my head, numb. "I'm not."

  "You're not nice to fake people, but…you're nice to people who are real. You like that. I've watched you, I've seen you be nice to people who are real, who don't care about being…popular or laughed at."

  That was true, but I was more surprised that he knew that.

  "So, you've been watching me, huh?" I joked, but I knew I was waiting for Bryce to ring the doorbell.

  I was stalling, biding time. That 49% had reared its ugly head.

  It took a little bit, but I realized that Marcus never answered my joke. He froze in place, his eyes glued to mine, and he looked like he was about to jerk into action.

  "I was joking," I drawled. "
Relax."

  And that was when the doorbell rang.

  I think a part of me had sensed his approach, maybe I felt his footsteps on the front porch, or maybe I just knew how long he would've let me leave before he pursued. Even in madness, I still knew Bryce intimately.

  Marcus jumped at the sound.

  "You should go," I murmured as I was turning around.

  "Uh…"

  "There's a back door, through the garage. You can get out that way. You shouldn't go this way."

  I walked into the front hallway and I felt Marcus leave behind me. He ceased being a blip on my radar as I saw Bryce's shadow looming behind the glass door.

  My heart started to pound. I heard it and felt it and it sounded ominous.

  "Sheldon!" Bryce pounded on the door.

  This time, I was the one who jerked. I knew it was coming, the force just rattled me.

  "Come on. I see you, you're right there! Let me in!"

  Still nothing. My feet were glued to the floor. I didn't run, I didn't flee, but I didn't approach either.

  "Look—I know you're mad. We can figure it out later. This is about me going pro, right? I'm not leaving tomorrow, okay? Corrigan got let out. I figured—I should be here because he's going to show up pretty soon. His mom called me. He's furious."

  It was lies. All lies. And even the slight hitch of emotion in his voice was perfectly placed.

  The door was securely locked. I reached up, numb, and coded in the alarm. I called out, huskily, "You killed those girls."

  Bryce froze on the other side. He didn't say anything for a moment. And then, a choked, "No. What are you talking about?" He was desperate now. "Let me in, Sheldon! We can talk about this."

  "You killed Leisha and you killed Bailey. And…"

  He was going to kill me. I knew it in that moment, but I still stood there—frozen and paralyzed.

  "I didn't," Bryce cried out, hoarse. "I don't…where is this coming from? I didn't kill anyone."

  "You knew that Bailey hadn't died in the school. You knew that before Sheila told us. And you knew that Leisha hadn't been killed in the park. I knew that, but I never told you that. You were the only one who knew Bailey had talked to me. No one else was watching. It was only you!"

  He went utterly, perfectly, absolutely still.

  And then, a sigh of surrender left him and instead of hearing his maddening confession, I heard a different take, "I went to the cops yesterday. I knew that stuff because I talked to Officer Patterson. I talked to Sheila. She told me that stuff. And I saw your fourth note. It said on there that they were moved and he was going to move you too."

  "You went down there to frame Corrigan."

  That pissed me off.

  "I went…I went to Sheila and I told her about the party last night. I just…I wanted you to be safe and I'm smart enough to know that this should've been handled by the cops from the start. That's why I went down there. I told them about the videos, about the second alarm system, about…I told them everything because this is their job. This isn't what we do. I just…" He sighed again and leaned his head against the door. I heard his muffled honesty ring forth, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

  It was the right words, the right time, and the right person.

  I wanted to believe it, but… "How can I believe you?" I cried out, hoarse. "I can't believe anything anymore. Corrigan, you, who else? I don't know where to turn anymore."

  "You can believe me. I'm telling you the truth. God—would I…? I already have you, why would I need to—that's sick and wrong. I love you, Sheldon."

  "Yeah." An ugly laugh left me. "I'm sure he thinks so too."

  "Sheldon," Bryce breathed out. "Listen to me—go upstairs, to the office, and get the gun. I put it underneath the couch, remember? Go and get it and bring it down. You can point it at me, but please—let me in. Let me talk to you, not through this door."

  I turned, but stopped before my feet could move.

  I stood there and waited. For what—I couldn't say. It was a weird sensation. How do you turn your back on someone to whom you've professed your love?

  "Look—," Bryce cried out. "If you're not going to grab it, just listen to me. Please."

  I waited.

  "He…he wants you alone, Sheldon. He wants you to be vulnerable. This whole time—it's been me or Corrigan. We've been there, at your side, the entire time. Through everything, through all the crap—my mother, your mother, Denton Steele. Even—even the cops thinking that Corrigan is this dick. This whole time—I'm your best friend, Sheldon. I wouldn't—I couldn't do this!"

  "I don't know anything anymore," I cried out, shrill. I wanted to crumble. I felt it inside.

  "I know! That's what he wants!" His fist pounded the door, helpless. "Seven years, Sheldon. We've been together for seven years. You've been my best friend for that long, before all the drama and everything that happened in school."

  The popularity curse.

  Bryce added, "Sheldon…I know you inside and out. Of anyone in this world, I know you the best. I messed up. I'm sorry. I didn't…I was just afraid. I was scared that if I told you that I'd gone to see Officer Patterson that you'd be mad and…well—it wouldn't have been as bad as this. I'm sure, but still this sucks pretty bad."

  "Bryce…," I said weakly.

  "Sheldon…please…"

  I couldn't. I still couldn't.

  "Please—of all—god—talk about emotional, huh?" His laugh was weak, but genuine. "Remember when we had angry sex and you told me that you loved me? I remember that. Sheldon, you just run all the time. You've got such a heart, but you cover it with poison sometimes. People have to be immune to poison to be your friend, but—thank god—only Corrigan and I are stupid enough to come back for seconds."

  Of endearing speeches, his ranked the lowest.

  "You're not helping," I said flatly, but I stood a little straighter, a little firmer.

  "I know. I know. I'm sorry, but it's just…you're such a bitch, like, 90% of the time."

  "That's supposed to be better?" I cried out.

  "Well…I'm telling you the truth. I mean, that's my job, isn't it? To tell you the truth even when you think I'm a psycho madman?