Stupid Boy
Page 60
The drive home consumed me. My heart felt as if it’d been run over. My stomach felt knotty, like it had been punched. Some of my secrets were out at Winston. What was I going to do about that when I returned?
Worse, there was a hole, a void, something missing and I knew it was Kane and that I was the reason he was gone. Would things had been different had I come clean with him right away? The moment I realized I no longer wanted to participate in the Dare? And that he actually meant something to me?
It was a long, long drive to Belle House. I stopped at the little local market and picked up a few things to eat, some bottled water and bananas. Then I drove to the house. Darkness had blanketed the property, but just as I’d left it, every single light blazed from the windows. I parked, gathered my meager groceries and overnight bag, and trudged to the front door. Kicking up the mat, I grabbed the key, opened the door, and went inside.
I hadn’t turned on the heat, so a chill hung in the air as I sat my belongings down. I went straight to the hearth, busied myself making the fire, and once it was lit, I opened my blankets up and lay down. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t thirsty. I didn’t want to shower. I didn’t want to think.
I just stared into the flames, letting the heat wash over me, until my eye lids grew heavy and I fell asleep.
In my dreams, Kane was there, making love to me, touching me, kissing me with his mouth, his eyes, but then that dream had turned into a nightmare, and I was locked in the dark room upstairs, naked of clothes, and that dank smell of the kitchen cabinet clung to my nostrils. I saw my mother’s pale hair, streaked with blood, and her glassy eyes wide and staring at me as she lay on the floor in an unnatural way. She wouldn’t wake, no matter how hard I shook her. Her eyes wouldn’t close. Only stared. Then the voices. I ran. I hid. Crammed into the cabinet. Shanks found me, and I was in his arms again, but then it was at Winston and I screamed as the monster inside of me showed itself to Murphy, to everyone.
I woke in a panic, in a sweat, the cold air striking it and making me shiver. My breath came harsh. My heart pounded against my ribs like a hammer. Somehow, I drifted back to sleep. When I woke the next morning, the fire had gone out, and I was left cold on the outside and on the inside.
I trudged around for two more days. I chopped wood. Got more blisters. I finally did shower. And I read. I walked the property, noticing how run down the place had become, and felt a ping of guilt for letting it do so. Kane, though, always interrupted my thoughts. I even kept my phone on me, just in case. But he didn’t call. Or text. And I was too ashamed to call or text him.
Christmas Eve had arrived.
I was once again alone with my ghosts.
I sat in front of my fire at Belle House, eating a turkey sandwich I’d made. Christmas Eve. Alone in Belle House again. I’d gotten a grip on myself. Somewhat, anyway.
I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to end.
Sleep wouldn’t come; I’d napped earlier and I just wasn’t tired. The nightmares had made me sleepless and I felt off kilter. I’d brought a book to read, but I didn’t feeling like reading Emily Bronte. I didn’t feel like reading at all.
I wanted Kane. I wanted to tell him everything. To ease the burden I’d carried for so long. I wanted him so badly, it hurt to even think his name. To bring his face, his eyes, and that mouth that had made me writhe with pleasure, to mind? The gaping hole in my heart grew. I’d never felt more alone than I did on Christmas Eve.
Restless, I began to wander the halls, and I knew what sort of trouble that invited. Memories I had no business remembering. Fear I had no business surfacing.
But the pain? I deserved that, after all. Corinne Belle had said so.
I was sick of it. Sick to hell of it all.
A thought stole over me, and I ran outside in the cold. Grabbed the ax, and made my way to the dark room on the third floor. I recalled that day, my first day arriving at Belle House. Corinne Belle had made me strip in front of her, made me shower off the retched dirty little girl she loathed, and never once allowed me to mourn the loss of my parents. Never once hugged me, or soothed me. Never consoled me. She’d taken my belongings, burned the only picture I had. Left me alone. Locked me in that dark room, naked, for trying to get my stuff back. For trying to hold onto a piece of me. Of my life. She made me suffer consequences. Told me I was dead.
Down that long hall sat the dark door. I marched to it, my breath in my throat, my heart pounding. Tears fell down my cheeks. I screamed once.
I took that ax, and I swung it, embedding the blade into the door. I hacked it, over and over and over until the door was splintered, laying on the floor. Breathless, I sobbed, dragged the ax downstairs to my old room, every memory and nightmare assailing me. Kane. God, how I wished he were with me.
I felt that loneliness again, now. And it was my own fault.
As I pushed open my old room, fears cloaked me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wash of memories, yet almost felt as though I deserved them. So I stayed. Walked to my bed and sat down.
And cried.
Visions slammed into me now, of that night the police officers had found me, and so vivid were the visions that I gasped. Jumped up. Ran from the room as though demons chased me. They did. They were there. They were always there.
Down the stairs I dropped the ax and flew, skidding across the hall and flinging myself onto my makeshift bed in front of the fire. I pulled the thin blanket up, over my chin, my eyes, and only then did the tears crash, turning from sobs to wailing. I fell asleep crying; I didn’t even remember when they stopped. But by the time my eyes opened again, rays of light fell across my face. It was morning. Christmas morning. Cold. Hollow. Alone. I pushed my despair over my past, my lost childhood, and my newfound love in Kane McCarthy. It was time to face an old demon.
Worse, there was a hole, a void, something missing and I knew it was Kane and that I was the reason he was gone. Would things had been different had I come clean with him right away? The moment I realized I no longer wanted to participate in the Dare? And that he actually meant something to me?
It was a long, long drive to Belle House. I stopped at the little local market and picked up a few things to eat, some bottled water and bananas. Then I drove to the house. Darkness had blanketed the property, but just as I’d left it, every single light blazed from the windows. I parked, gathered my meager groceries and overnight bag, and trudged to the front door. Kicking up the mat, I grabbed the key, opened the door, and went inside.
I hadn’t turned on the heat, so a chill hung in the air as I sat my belongings down. I went straight to the hearth, busied myself making the fire, and once it was lit, I opened my blankets up and lay down. I wasn’t hungry. I wasn’t thirsty. I didn’t want to shower. I didn’t want to think.
I just stared into the flames, letting the heat wash over me, until my eye lids grew heavy and I fell asleep.
In my dreams, Kane was there, making love to me, touching me, kissing me with his mouth, his eyes, but then that dream had turned into a nightmare, and I was locked in the dark room upstairs, naked of clothes, and that dank smell of the kitchen cabinet clung to my nostrils. I saw my mother’s pale hair, streaked with blood, and her glassy eyes wide and staring at me as she lay on the floor in an unnatural way. She wouldn’t wake, no matter how hard I shook her. Her eyes wouldn’t close. Only stared. Then the voices. I ran. I hid. Crammed into the cabinet. Shanks found me, and I was in his arms again, but then it was at Winston and I screamed as the monster inside of me showed itself to Murphy, to everyone.
I woke in a panic, in a sweat, the cold air striking it and making me shiver. My breath came harsh. My heart pounded against my ribs like a hammer. Somehow, I drifted back to sleep. When I woke the next morning, the fire had gone out, and I was left cold on the outside and on the inside.
I trudged around for two more days. I chopped wood. Got more blisters. I finally did shower. And I read. I walked the property, noticing how run down the place had become, and felt a ping of guilt for letting it do so. Kane, though, always interrupted my thoughts. I even kept my phone on me, just in case. But he didn’t call. Or text. And I was too ashamed to call or text him.
Christmas Eve had arrived.
I was once again alone with my ghosts.
I sat in front of my fire at Belle House, eating a turkey sandwich I’d made. Christmas Eve. Alone in Belle House again. I’d gotten a grip on myself. Somewhat, anyway.
I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to end.
Sleep wouldn’t come; I’d napped earlier and I just wasn’t tired. The nightmares had made me sleepless and I felt off kilter. I’d brought a book to read, but I didn’t feeling like reading Emily Bronte. I didn’t feel like reading at all.
I wanted Kane. I wanted to tell him everything. To ease the burden I’d carried for so long. I wanted him so badly, it hurt to even think his name. To bring his face, his eyes, and that mouth that had made me writhe with pleasure, to mind? The gaping hole in my heart grew. I’d never felt more alone than I did on Christmas Eve.
Restless, I began to wander the halls, and I knew what sort of trouble that invited. Memories I had no business remembering. Fear I had no business surfacing.
But the pain? I deserved that, after all. Corinne Belle had said so.
I was sick of it. Sick to hell of it all.
A thought stole over me, and I ran outside in the cold. Grabbed the ax, and made my way to the dark room on the third floor. I recalled that day, my first day arriving at Belle House. Corinne Belle had made me strip in front of her, made me shower off the retched dirty little girl she loathed, and never once allowed me to mourn the loss of my parents. Never once hugged me, or soothed me. Never consoled me. She’d taken my belongings, burned the only picture I had. Left me alone. Locked me in that dark room, naked, for trying to get my stuff back. For trying to hold onto a piece of me. Of my life. She made me suffer consequences. Told me I was dead.
Down that long hall sat the dark door. I marched to it, my breath in my throat, my heart pounding. Tears fell down my cheeks. I screamed once.
I took that ax, and I swung it, embedding the blade into the door. I hacked it, over and over and over until the door was splintered, laying on the floor. Breathless, I sobbed, dragged the ax downstairs to my old room, every memory and nightmare assailing me. Kane. God, how I wished he were with me.
I felt that loneliness again, now. And it was my own fault.
As I pushed open my old room, fears cloaked me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the wash of memories, yet almost felt as though I deserved them. So I stayed. Walked to my bed and sat down.
And cried.
Visions slammed into me now, of that night the police officers had found me, and so vivid were the visions that I gasped. Jumped up. Ran from the room as though demons chased me. They did. They were there. They were always there.
Down the stairs I dropped the ax and flew, skidding across the hall and flinging myself onto my makeshift bed in front of the fire. I pulled the thin blanket up, over my chin, my eyes, and only then did the tears crash, turning from sobs to wailing. I fell asleep crying; I didn’t even remember when they stopped. But by the time my eyes opened again, rays of light fell across my face. It was morning. Christmas morning. Cold. Hollow. Alone. I pushed my despair over my past, my lost childhood, and my newfound love in Kane McCarthy. It was time to face an old demon.
