My father hadn’t called me back. He had abandoned us.
I sobbed, my mouth opening with silent screams as I breathed out my pain. I’d become so accustomed to swallowing my voice if I ever cried in frustration with my parents. I’d always cried quietly so they wouldn’t hear me, wouldn’t come after me, wouldn’t punish me. Now, when I wanted to shout and could do so, my voice box refused that release. It had forgotten how to cry out loud.
I cried silently, painfully, against the pent up suppression in my chest, made heavier by a soggy, dirty shirt and the underlying itch of ghostly bits of dust in my throat.
The sorrow was what I needed and didn’t understand at the same time. I missed them. I wanted them. I wanted to tell North I was sorry. I was too wild in my feelings, though, and didn’t want any of them to see me like this. I’d fallen apart.
My mind flashed all the horrible things that had happened. My mother wasn’t my real mother. My father left us for a second family. My real mother was dead. My sister, half-sister, didn’t like me. All I had left were my friends, people who barely knew me, and I was messing up that relationship. I didn’t know what I was doing. I depended so much on them to tell me. I was scared to death one day they would disappear, that I would be truly alone.
When they first arrived, I thought they were everything I ever wanted. Now they were all I had left and needed. Their direction. Their attention. Their unyielding loyalty. Even when they didn’t have to, even when I resisted, they invaded every core bit of my life and gave me what I needed. They were always there, just like they promised.
Did I even deserve it? Who was I to them? I’d ignored their commands at times. I resisted trusting them. I didn’t mean to, but letting go of myself, when before I thought I took care of everything I needed. That was difficult to give up
I had tried, or thought I was trying, but I was only pretending. Why was I so afraid to let go like they wanted? How could they do that so easily?
But they didn’t trust me either. North didn’t. Did the others?
When my lungs were about to give in and wanted me to pass out from breath-screaming too heavily, I flopped over on my side. I tucked my knees into my chest, curled up on the floor. The cool air from the overhead vent swept over my cheek, chilling my tears to my face and to my eyes. I sniffled, breathing in deep. My breathing slowed. I stared off into oblivion against the wall.
I don’t know how long I was staring. I think I expected to be interrupted by someone so I was using up all the last bit of time left at regaining my energy. I’d been this mad before. I knew myself better. I’d said things I didn’t mean. A good cry and sweet despair to recover was what control I needed. I’d take a bath, slip into bed and drift into sleep if I could. If I could do that, I’d be better when I woke. It was how I worked. Cry, sleep, feel better in the morning. I’d face North again. I’d apologize. Just not right now.
I sat up on my knees and stared off at the wall again, as if it had taken everything I had inside me to get that far. My room looked different to me from the position. The bed was made, most likely by Kota that morning. The hand carved bookshelf, made by Silas and North, held a number of books the others had bought for me but now I never had time for. On top was the stereo, and the CD inside one Victor had put together from my favorite composers. There were sunglasses Gabriel had left behind, the arm band Silas had given me to wear to his football games. Nathan’s deodorant was on the shelf, too, along with a blue hair band that was Luke’s.
Out of habit, I felt at the cup of my bra, thinking of the phone, wanting to look at the photos I’d taken before.
I groaned, feeling stupid to assume it would still be there. My phone was gone forever in the sawdust pile, pink case and all.
I planted a foot on the carpet, rising slowly. My body wanted to flop back to the floor. I’d had my moment. I resisted. I’d fallen apart. I was done.
I fetched a clean tank top, underwear and shorts from the attic’s small wardrobe. I held them delicately between my fingers so sawdust wouldn’t get on them. I crossed my bedroom, opening the door.
I nearly tripped over Kota, sitting on the floor, with his back against the wall right outside my bedroom.
I gasped in surprise, stopping short. My clothes fell from my hand to the floor by his leg.
I should have known.
Kota scooped up my clothes from the floor, standing. “Are you okay?” he asked in a gentle voice.
I couldn’t look at his face. I focused on his chest instead, afraid to let him see the cold tears still in my eyes. I nodded, my mouth feeling glued to itself.
“Do you need anything?”
I shook in my head, noticing the green in his shirt, so much like his eyes.
He handed the clothes to me.
I swallowed. This hurt too much. I couldn’t be so cold to him. I needed to stop myself before it was too late and they left me.
I peeled my lips apart. “I’m going to go take a bath,” I said, “and be mad for a little bit more.” I took a step back, giving him some space. “Do you want to wait in my room?” It was the best I had in me as a peace offering.
He released a breath that I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yes.”
I caught a glimpse of his back as he slipped into my room, followed by the mussed hair on top of his head. It was so out of place on the always so calm and collected Kota.
I turned from him, breathing in the waft of spice that lingered. I dashed to the bathroom, afraid that I’d submit to my desire to go fall apart in his lap. If I did that, I knew I’d cry again and be stupid. I felt I’d done enough to them for one day.
I closed the bathroom door. I started up the water to lukewarm. When I slipped into the bath water, I heard the helicopter I’d ignored for a while finally disappearing into the distance.
Or maybe it was a motorcycle.
KOTA’S FEAR
Kota wasn’t in the bedroom when I entered. His shoes were tucked into the corner, his socks on top. I would have suspected he was downstairs until I saw the attic door sitting half open. The light was on inside.
I knelt in front of the attic door, sliding it open further and peered in. Kota’s legs dangled from the edge of the bean bag chair at the other end.
I crawled forward, closing the attic door behind me. The carpet against my knees felt soothing, fresh and soft.
“Kota?” I called to him when I got close.
He leaned forward in the bean bag chair, propping his elbows on his knees. “You know, I haven’t been back here since they redid this space.” A half smile played at the corner of his mouth. “I thought when your parents left that you wouldn’t care to use it again. You don’t really have a reason to hide.”
“I like it,” I said quietly, unsure how to approach him. I’d been so angry before that now I felt out of place. I was embarrassed that he had seen me act so out of control with North.
He held out his hand to me, beckoning. I sighed softly with relief, eager to seek out the comfort I’d been denying myself but Kota had been waiting to give.
I crawled up. He tucked his arms around my waist. He positioned me next to him, pulling my legs over his so I was half in his lap. He kept an arm around my back. He dropped a palm on my knee. “I think I like it, too. I might just get Luke to redo my closet like this.”
I hid my threatening smile with a couple of fingers over my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said, unsure how to begin and not wanting to simply forget everything that just happened.
A soft brown eyebrow lifted. “For what?”
“For yelling at North. For flipping him over like that.”
His smile softened. “Shouldn’t you be telling him that?”
“I don’t know if I can.”
He sighed, picking his hand up off of my knee and wrapping it around my back. He pulled me in until he was hugging me close. My hands fell onto his chest. My face buried into his shirt. I inhaled the sweet spice. How I’d worried of never smelling that again.
r />
“Are you still mad?” he whispered.
“I don’t want to be.” In truth, I didn’t, but my heart was cold right now. Kota was a comfort, but I couldn’t get over how pained North had sounded.
Don’t you walk away from me.
I didn’t realize it at the time because I was so angry. Now when I replayed the line in my head, all I heard was him begging. He had needed me, and I walked off. I simply didn’t understand why he was trying to draw me back. Wasn’t yelling bad? I felt horrible doing it.
“Sang,” Kota said against my hair. He squeezed me once. “I can’t believe I almost lost you twice this week.”
“Twice?”
He sighed. “McCoy was dragging you off. I don’t know where or why. Then today, by the time I got there, you were already inside that hill. Victor found your hand, said you were hanging on to him, but when we pulled you out, you weren’t breathing.” The tip of his nose rubbed against my forehead, similar to how he rubbed his nose against mine. “Sometimes it feels like we’re rescuing you more than we actually spend time like this together.”
“Regret you met me yet?”
“Not in the least.”
I smiled against his chest.
He pulled his head back. “Sang?”
I pushed against his chest a little for leverage and sat up until I could meet his green eyes. “Yes?”
“Did you mean it?”
I blinked, unsure. “What?”
“You know I don’t think you’re stupid, right?”
I sighed. “Maybe you don’t, but there’s times when I wonder if you don’t trust me. A little. Sometimes.”
He pursed his lips. “Why?”
I sat back against the bean bag chair. “Like when I find out you wired me.”
“I thought Victor told you about the cameras?”
“You didn’t tell me about my phone.”
He frowned. “It’s not on all the time.”
“How often is ‘not all the time’, Kota?”
“We all have it, Sang. It isn’t just you.”
“That’s not the point.”