Scratch Page 19

  Instead, I saw empathy and caring. Genuine emotions. The surprise of it shocked me into silence.

  “Casey,” Megan started in a gentle voice. “Listening to you, you sound like you’re just waiting for your life to start. For everything to feel better inside your heart so you can finally be happy and feel whole. But honey, your life already has started. You’ve been living this whole time without actually owning it. Carving out a place for yourself in this world, taking risks. Finding those things that make you happy and chasing them down. No shame in any of that, girl. Life isn’t going to be perfect or safe or peaceful, so you have to grab hold of those things that give you pleasure when they’re here.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, to say that I couldn’t possibly be the person she described, then snapped it closed. She was right. I huffed out a surprised breath.

  All these years, I’d been mentally waiting for some magical moment when suddenly I wouldn’t feel “damaged” anymore and the world would make sense again. Telling myself I was simply treading water, playing it cautious, not rocking the boat so I could settle, telling myself I craved the safety net I’d created in my head.

  And yet, I’d jumped on the chance to deejay, even though there had been no guarantees it would work out. I’d entered into a relationship with Daniel, had fallen for him. I’d opened myself up to the chance of getting hurt and rejected with my music. With love.

  Those were not the actions of a person who craved safety and security.

  I was living, not just getting by. My life wasn’t safe, despite thoughts to the contrary, and it never really had been. I was fooling myself to long for something I’d never even had—a steady and boring life. And frankly, now that I was examining myself this closely, I didn’t think I’d want that anyway. What would my life be without the risk I’d taken with music? With finding love?

  The pressure in the middle of my chest faded away. I stared in awe at Megan. How was it that I hadn’t realized this stuff before now? There was something about her easy acceptance of me, the way she hadn’t pushed me, that made me able to open up and listen to her.

  Listen to myself.

  Fresh tears sprang to my eyes—but not of pain. These were of gratitude, relief. “Thank you,” I managed to whisper. “I really needed this. Thank you.”

  Her own eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for trusting me. I know that was hard for you. I promise, your secrets are safe with me.”

  And I knew she meant it. I reached over and hugged her. “You’ve helped me, but I feel like I haven’t helped you. Want me to slash Bobby’s tires or something?”

  She laughed, swiped at her tears. “Nah, it’s okay. I wasn’t in love with him or anything. Besides, the double penicillin shot he’ll probably need from that night will be payment enough.”

  A laugh barked out of me. “Good point.”

  Megan grimaced as she eyed her ice-cream container. “Damn. Half of it has melted.” She stood up, took both of our containers. “Good thing I bought plenty of backups. I can pop these in the freezer until they set again.”

  As she made her way into the kitchen, humming some song under her breath, I sank back into the couch. Something had shifted in my chest. Something had changed. Where there was darkness, I now felt an edge of hope. A breath of life filled my veins, bubbling within me. I wasn’t doomed to failure and misery, like I’d feared. I wanted happiness, could take it in my hands.

  I craved more of this good feeling. But if I was going to really make this work, if I was going to turn over a new leaf and take my life by both hands, there were a couple of things I needed to do first.

  Chapter 22

  Saturday morning, I slipped into my car, sat behind the wheel and fired it up but didn’t move. I dragged several deep breaths into lungs that had squeezed to the size of grapes and stared blindly ahead of me at the row of brick apartment buildings.

  I was scared shitless.

  To bolster my nerves, I kept Megan’s encouraging face in the forefront of my mind. I’d told her where I was going. She’d ordered me to call her if I needed anything, had even offered to come along, but I knew I needed to do this alone.

  After a full ten minutes of waffling—should I do this, or should I wait? Was it a bad idea to go alone, or should I have taken Megan up on her offer?—I finally cursed at myself to just drive and pulled the car out of the parking lot.

  I tried to keep my mind off where I was going and focused on my surroundings instead. Dark brown, crunchy leaves blew across the street. The soft morning glow of the sun slanted across trees, houses, grass. The highway was strangely open with little traffic as I buzzed along. It was too cold this morning to even think about having the windows down, so my heater was cranked up to drive away the chill in the air.

  The closer I got to the cemetery, the more that sickening ringing in my ears picked up.

  I finally reached the entrance, the iron gates flung open to allow visitors in. My heart was stuck in my throat, throbbing a pulse that made my hands jitter. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous. Dear God, I said in my head, I’m not much of a praying girl, but please let me get through this without crumbling apart.

  The car’s tires crunched over the long gravel drive. I studied the path markers and made my way to the appropriate area. There were rows upon rows of graves, straight little lines like jagged stone teeth thrusting from the ground. I parked the car and shut off the engine.

  My lips began to tingle. A wave of panic smashed me right in the gut. No. I bit down on my lower lip to startle me out of an attack, clenched my hands together, drew in more slow breaths. It was going to be fine. And I had to do this.

  After drawing the scarf a little more securely around my throat, I grabbed the small box in the passenger seat and made my way to the row that held the graves of my parents and sister.

  I stopped right between my sister and mother and dropped to the ground. Stared for a long minute at the smooth, clean etching of my sister’s name, LILA, dug into the stone. Wiped away a few errant leaves that were scattered on top of their short, grassy plots.

  The grounds were empty right now; I was alone with them. A few birds chirped in nearby trees, their voices loud in the echoing silence.

  “Hey, sis,” I said. My words were so awkward, but I made myself keep speaking. “I’ve missed you so much. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you and wonder what kind of person you would have been if you’d had the chance to live.” I ran my fingers over the carving of her name, like it would bring us closer together. A memory of her young, bright smile popped in my head, and my heart squeezed in agony.

  I dug into the box and brought out a tiny, porcelain princess doll I’d found while at the mall with Megan yesterday. The figurine reminded me of my sister, with huge brown eyes and a wide grin. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she wore a bold blue dress. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to buy it.

  Lila had loved princesses.

  With trembling hands I scooped a handful of dirt out near the headstone and popped the princess in the hole, burying it completely. “Got you a gift. I don’t want anyone taking this, so I’m hiding it. It’s our secret.” Then I took out a plastic baggie I’d labeled “Lila” and dropped a small handful of the cold graveyard dirt into it. That would be going home with me later.

  “I really miss you,” I continued, throat hoarse as I attempted to talk through a closed-off windpipe. Hot tears began to sting my eyes. I let them fall, made myself unlock the pain I’d kept hidden away for all these years. “And . . .” I paused, swallowed. “I’m so sorry I never came back here. It was wrong for me to stay away for so long. But I was afraid to face the truth. Afraid I’d fall apart and never put myself back again. Crazy, huh.” My whisper was rough, burned my throat.

  I swiped a hand over my damp eyes and glanced over at my mother’s grave. Silent as the rest of them. She wasn’t in there anymore—I knew that. Her spirit had left her body that night she’d been killed
. My sister’s too. But I should have been more respectful of them and visited, instead of running so hard from my past.

  Which meant running from them, as well.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. A sob ripped out of my chest. I clenched the sides of the frozen headstones and bowed my head. “I can’t seem to forgive myself for so many things. Surviving when everyone else died. Being a burden on Grandma and Granddad—they’ve been great to me, by the way. I’m not trying to make it sound like they weren’t.” I paused, trying to shake off my bone-deep sorrow. This visit wasn’t about wallowing in my own guilt. It was about letting all of that go.

  “Anyway.” I cleared my throat, dropped my hands to my lap. My fingers were freezing, so I rubbed them together. The chilly ground pressed on me from below, an assault of cold everywhere. I shivered a bit. “I’m in college, living in an apartment with a really nice girl. I’m going to graduate this year, actually. I think you guys would be proud of me. My grades aren’t perfect, but I’ve done a solid job so far. And . . . I’m a DJ too. I work in a dance club, and I’m good at it. I know, that’s crazy, right?” I sniffled and wiped at my nose, which felt like it was running nonstop now.

  My gaze drifted across the graveyard. A brisk breeze whipped through, danced the edges of my scarf. Although I was by myself here, I didn’t feel alone, strangely enough. I knew they were here with me. Listening to me.

  A bittersweet pang made my stomach tighten in a knot. Talking to them wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d been afraid it would be. I should have done this before now.

  “I love music, Mom,” I admitted. “I’ve written a few pieces of my own. Never would have guessed that, would you?”

  No, that actually wasn’t true. How often had Lila and I danced around the house, singing at the top of our lungs to whatever song was on? We’d even tried to write a couple of our own, though she’d been terrible at rhyming.

  And if I remembered right, one night Mom had patiently sat as we’d put on a musical performance for her—Lila playing the recorder while I sang and smacked a plastic tambourine against my hip. She’d applauded us at the end like we were a Broadway performance.

  My father’s tombstone loomed over there to my right, but I didn’t want to look at it. Not yet. I wanted to bask in the warm memories of my mother and my sister just a few moments longer. I kept my attention on the rest of the cemetery. Let my gaze wander around the serene landscaping.

  “So, I met a guy,” I confessed. “His name is Daniel, and he goes to school with me. Mom, you’d love him. He’s pushy like you.” A sudden, watery laugh burst from me. “He tried to get me to come here before, but I got so pissed at him. I felt like he’d betrayed me, like he’d disrespected my wishes and brought me here.

  “But he was right. He forced me to face my guilt and shame. Made me realize how I was keeping everyone at arm’s length and shutting myself down because I was scared to let anyone into my heart. I wasn’t ready for him and his honesty. For him to bring me here and make me face the thing I’ve been running from for so long—my darkest, scariest feelings about your deaths.”

  God, I missed Daniel. A big part of me wished he was here right now, holding my hand. Telling me I was brave, that he was proud of me. I’d do anything to feel his strong arms around me.

  “I fell in love with him and I pushed him away and messed everything up.” A cry bubbled in my throat. I wrapped my arms around my chest. The cold seeped in through my jeans, but I barely felt it. “I’m so tired of hurting, Mom. I’m tired of being sad and lonely all the time. Daniel and I haven’t talked in weeks. And it’s killing me. I’d give anything if I could ask you what to do to fix it.”

  Big, ugly sobs ripped out of me, and I let myself weep. I didn’t try to fight it anymore or mask it. I embraced all the pain and finally wailed. “I miss you guys so much,” I repeated. My voice broke as I talked. “I wish you were here to go through life with me, because nothing has been the same without you.”

  The cemetery was silent for a long moment except for the gut-wrenching sounds of my misery. I drew in a sniffly breath and tried to get myself under control. I cast a tearful glance at Mom’s grave, at Lila’s, and then I stood and wiped off my jeans. Letting all of that hurt go was liberating. I wasn’t smothering down how I felt, trying to pretend I was normal and whole. I needed to stop pretending I ever would be. At least, not anytime soon.

  A tingling sensation of self-awareness trickled over my soul. I needed to accept myself for who I was. Flawed and scared, scarred, yet with the capacity to still love, despite the way my world had been shattered. I’d rebuilt myself one day at a time. I’d opened my heart to my grandparents, to Megan. To Daniel.

  I moved over to the front of my father’s grave and stared down at it. Tendrils of guilt warred with that familiar deep, searing anger. For so long I’d smothered those feelings too. I’d told myself if I was going to heal, I had to shut him out of my head and my heart.

  But my father was still in there, like it or not.

  Words struggled to free themselves from my mouth. “I . . . will never understand you,” I finally said. I clenched my fists and shivered against another cool breeze that whipped through the area. “And I don’t think I want to. Were you evil the whole time and we just didn’t know? Were you insane? Was it untreated severe mental illness?”

  I paused and gasped in a lungful of cold air. Something in my chest exploded, and I yelled to his grave, “What the hell was wrong with you? If your life was so miserable, if you were so damaged in the head that you could never be right again and you wouldn’t bother trying to help yourself, why not leave us? Why not walk out of our house and never look back? Or why not just kill yourself? I hate you for this!”

  A swell of guilt-ridden release spiraled out of my torso as I spoke. It was horrible, the things I was saying, yet I couldn’t take the words back. I wouldn’t. I’d bitten them back for eight years. That was long enough.

  “Why did you have to hurt me and Lila and Mom?” I continued. I wrapped my arms around my trembling torso. “What did we ever do to you? We just tried to make you happy. Everyone around you tried to help you, but you shut us all out.” My knees grew weak, and I dropped down. A bite of pain surged through my legs at the impact with the ground. I didn’t care.

  “Why couldn’t you love us the way we loved you? You messed me up, Dad,” I said. My damn voice broke again, and a sob ripped out of my throat. “You messed me up, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for it. You stole away the people I loved the most, in the most selfish way possible.”

  I stayed there in front of my father’s grave for several minutes, soul aching, heart splintering into pieces as I faced my demons. I shook and I shuddered, but I stared hard at his headstone through puffy, aching eyes. My father couldn’t hurt me anymore, I told myself again and again.

  Nor could he hurt Mom or Lila.

  No, I couldn’t forgive him—at least, not right now. But that was okay.

  The brisk breezes stopped, and a warm strip of sunlight peeked through a nearby tree and slid across me. My shivers subsided as my emotions started to level out. I turned my face to the sun, closed my eyes. The sunshine seeped into my skin, warming my flesh, warming my heart.

  This moment felt like a gift to me from my mom and sister. Their way of telling me they were with me no matter what, that it was all going to work out. My breaths slowed, leveled out.

  I stood, knees aching from contact with the cold ground, and opened my eyes. My tears had dried, leaving stiff, salty streaks down my cheeks, but that didn’t matter. Those dark recesses in my heart were dissolving right here in the light, and I felt a sense of slow acceptance.

  Mom would want me to live and be happy. Lila would want me to have fun and follow my dreams.

  I would do so for both of them. And for myself.

  No, the shadows weren’t all gone inside of me—not yet. Even as I dug out a small chunk of ground at my mom’s gravesite to put in a bag I’d labeled �
��Mom,” I could still sense the dregs of anger lingering in my gut. But somehow, that was okay. I was allowed to feel angry.

  And when I did in the future, I’d find someone and talk through it. No more bottling things up. No more hiding myself.

  “Good-bye,” I whispered to my family as I headed back to my car, box in hand bearing the two small bags of dirt.

  I’d entered the graveyard one person and exited someone different. No, maybe not different. Someone . . . lighter. Like I’d left a hundred pounds of personal agony behind me. My shoulders weren’t so slumped in self-protection anymore. My chest wasn’t so tight.

  No matter what happened from here on out, I could be proud of what I’d done today. I started the car and headed back to my apartment. An old song came on, and I turned it up as I let music wash over me. My limbs were cold, and my jeans were damp from the ground. My back ached, and my eyes were throbbing.

  But I felt better. Tired, a little drained, but ready to move forward for real. My father couldn’t hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t let him have power over my emotions, over my head space. This was what it felt like to let go.

  To reclaim myself.

  I wasn’t going to turn into my father—keeping people at a distance, never dropping my walls and telling anyone I needed them. Festering in the darkness alone, despite others begging me to let them in. My fears hadn’t protected me from getting hurt; they’d hindered me from connecting with others. But I understood it now, and I was ready to stop living like this.

  Now I had to convince the guy who had my heart to give me another chance.

  Chapter 23

  Monday morning before philosophy class, Amanda turned to me, a strong pleading in her eyes. “Please tell me you have Friday’s notes,” she whispered. “I didn’t make it to class because I caught a horrible stomach bug. I’m already behind as it is and starting to panic.”

  I dug through my notebook and flipped to the appropriate pages. I ripped them out and handed them to her. “Here ya go—you can get them to me before our next class. And if you have questions about anything, just let me know.” I went to turn my attention back to my notebook, but a sudden memory from last Friday’s class flashed in my head. “Oh, and we have a quiz this Friday, by the way. We’re covering the whole chapter on Immanuel Kant.”