Authors: Lauryn April
20
The Pieces You Didn’t Leave Behind
I
was still buzzing with excitement when I walked through my front door. My mind was tingling with anticipation as I thought over the possibilities for what would come next for Brant and me. I felt warm, my cheeks were flushed. The memory of him kissing me repeated itself over and over in my mind, like a looped tape that keeps replaying the best part of your favorite song. I could almost still feel his heated breath warming my face; almost still taste the sweetness of his lips and the smoky undertone of their flavor. Or smell his cologne, a combination of scorched wood and fresh rain. I didn’t think anything could bring me down from my passion induced high.
Then I saw her. Sitting on the sofa in the living room, her blonde hair pulled up into a messy bun, mascara running down her cheeks, and a white tissue clamped tightly in her hand. Mom was crying. The smile vanished from my face. The happiness that I had been floating on disappeared and I felt as if a chain had been wrapped around my heart dragging it down to the pit of my stomach. I knew in an instant that she had found out about my father. I didn’t need to read her mind, it was glaringly obvious. She turned to look at me and as her eyes locked on mine, I saw a look of horror overcome her features. Quickly she wiped her face trying to brush away the smeared makeup and falling tears. I was at her side in seconds pulling her into a hug.
She held me tight and sobbed into my shoulder without saying a word. It felt strange to comfort her. She was my mom; she was always the one who was there for me. She was the one who held me, not the other way around. But that was exactly what was happening, and it was a little disorienting to have the roles reversed.
I felt my own eyes begin to tear up and wetness started to roll down my face. This was what I’d feared since hearing my father’s thoughts at dinner that night. This is what I’d wished she wouldn’t have to go through. My father’s affair hurt me as his daughter, but it didn’t compare to the utter devastating heartbreak I knew my mom was experiencing.
After a short while, her sobbing began to ebb and she pulled away from me. I sat down next to her on the couch and this time she pulled me to her and kissed me on the forehead. She sighed as she pulled herself together then looked down at me with a sad expression.
“Ivy, honey, there’s something we need to talk about.”
I noticed the few boxes that were scatted throughout the living room. “He’s moving out?” I asked but I knew the answer.
She nodded then thought,
she probably knows a lot more than you think.
“Are you getting a divorce?”
Her lips thinned.
Yes,
“I’m not sure, sweetie. Right now we just need some time apart.”
I nodded.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said. It was a strange question and at the moment I wasn’t sure if I knew the answer. “Are you?”
For a second she looked like she was going to start crying again, then she nodded. “Yes, yeah, I’m going to be fine.”
“I love you, Mom,” I said and she smiled, pulling me into a hug again.
A
fter talking with my mom, I went up to bed. It was late and I’d had a long day. Sleep came easy. Waking the next morning, however, came with an abrupt shaking of my bed. I was jostled from my slumber by the feeling of small hands on my arm tugging at my skin. In the back of my mind there was the mumbled drone of raised voices. Slowly my eyes opened and I was met with the image of huge dark blue orbs staring at me with their watery depths. Blonde hair fell into Sadie’s face.
“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” she said, once she realized that I was awake.
I’m scared
, I heard her think and I scooted over in bed so she could crawl in beside me.
Glancing at my alarm clock, I saw that it was six a.m., far too early for a Sunday. Sadie snuggled into my form as the sound of breaking glass could be heard from downstairs and I tightened my grip around her. Their voices were angry and, while muffled by distance and thin walls, it was still possible to catch the pain and anger that lied within them.
“Ivy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do Mom and Dad hate each other now?” Her question was tragic for the simple fact that she had to ask it.
“No… they’re just having a fight.”
“Are they gonna make up?”
I decided to be honest. “I don’t know,” I said and she simply nodded. She may have only been eight but she was old enough to understand what was going on. “We’re gonna be fine though, no matter what, okay?”
I felt her nod and I did my best to try and fall back to sleep. Before I drifted off again, I realized that she would need me. Mom would need me. I had to be there for them, had to do whatever it took. I still loved my dad but Mom and Sadie were the ones that were hurt here, especially Sadie. She didn’t deserve any of this, certainly didn’t ask for any of it. After Dad left, Mom would need to work more, she’d be upset, depressed, and Sadie would suffer. I knew then that I needed to step up and be there for her. I needed to look after my little sister.
I
t was noon by the time I got up. When I woke, I found that Sadie had already left my room. As I made my way down the stairs, I took note that the yelling that had in part woken me that morning was over. There was a dent in the living room wall revealing the white plaster behind the beige paint, and I noticed that the ornate stained glass vase that, as of yesterday, had held flowers was now missing. I turned away from the living room and made my way into the kitchen. It was empty. On the fridge was a note. Mom would often leave me notes on the fridge although usually it would be after school when I would find them.
After reading it, I learned that Mom had gone to the grocery store with Sadie. She had a small list of chores for me to do and one line that read, ‘
your father won’t be home tonight, if you need him for anything you can call his cell
’.
I finished everything on her list and then some. I got all the laundry caught up that I knew she’d been falling behind on. I did the dishes and vacuumed the living room. My room was cleaned and Sadie’s toys picked up. By the time I was done, I was feeling exhausted. I took a break, sitting down in the living room. I was about to turn on the TV when I reached for the remote and noticed that the picture of Dad, Sadie and I that once sat on the end table was missing. Looking around the room, I saw that a number of frames which once stood on the mantle of the fireplace were gone. None of Dad’s jackets hung on the hook by the door; he didn’t have a pair of shoes resting under the coffee table.
When I had cleaned the bathroom earlier, I noticed that his shaving kit was missing from the countertop. When I did the laundry, I hadn’t washed any of his clothes. He didn’t have any papers scattered across the kitchen table. He didn’t have anything here. It was as if any trace that he had ever existed had been removed. I realized then that he really was gone. When that realization hit me, I felt my heart plummet into the depths of my stomach like a sinking ship. I slumped deeper into the cushions of the sofa. My limbs felt heavy, they felt weak, and I began to cry. I didn’t sob, I didn’t bawl or whimper. The tears simply rolled from my eyes as I sat there still as stone. Slow and steady, the wet orbs tumbled across my skin and fell from my chin splashing in my lap. He was really gone.
21
And the Dish Ran Away with the Spoon
A
few hours later, I was helping Mom make dinner. She thanked me for the work I’d done around the house and did her best to appear pulled together when I knew she was falling apart. Sadie seemed complacent to play in the living room while we worked and for that I was grateful. I was worried about her.
Our conversation was casual as we cooked. Mom took the time to focus on what she was doing, possibly in an attempt to keep her mind from wandering to things that she’d rather not think about. We were making meatloaf and she used the time to show me her tricks and shortcuts. I tried to follow her lead exactly, but there was no comparison between my sloppy imitation and the precise way she measured every ingredient with nothing but her senses as a guide. I helped peel carrots and mix the bread crumbs into the meat. I was a good student as she showed me how to make meatloaf just as her mother had showed her.
While dinner was cooking, I grabbed silverware as Mom grabbed plates and we went about setting the table. I followed her as she set the plates down, placing a fork and knife on either side of each one. She went back into the kitchen to grab glasses, and I placed a fork and knife on either side of the last plate at the table. Then I froze. There was a problem. I still had one set of silverware left in my hands. I’d grabbed four sets; she’d only grabbed three plates. I looked at the empty space at the table and suddenly the fork and knife that I held in my hand felt cold as ice. So cold that they burned and I nearly dropped them to clatter on the floor. Mom had always set a place for Dad, even when she knew he wouldn’t be home for dinner. The difference that night was that it wasn’t just dinner that he wouldn’t be coming home for; he simply wouldn’t be coming home.
A
fter sitting down at the table, I watched Sadie enter the room. Her sight closed in on the table like a focusing lens, and I saw her turn to look at Mom as she walked in from the kitchen. Mom’s steps halted, and Sadie didn’t move.
“Dad doesn’t have a plate.”
For a moment, Mom didn’t breathe. “He’s not coming to dinner tonight, honey.” Mom ushered Sadie over to her seat.
“But we always get him a plate.”
“Well… After dinner, I wash all the dishes that are on the table, and I figured, it’s kind of silly to be washing dishes that aren’t dirty, don’t you think?”
“I guess,” Sadie said in a tone that suggested she didn’t entirely believe our mother’s logic.
Once we all had food on our plates and Sadie had her meatloaf sufficiently smothered in ketchup, Mom looked to me. “Ivy, think you could be home by at least five every day this week?”
“I guess, why?”
“I’m going to be working late a few nights this week and I need someone to be home when Sadie gets off the bus.”
“Sure, yeah no problem.”
Sadie was in an afterschool program as Dad was never home by the time her school let out, and even though Mom didn’t work every day, when she did she often wasn’t home until just before five. Now neither of them would be home by then. Again I was reminded that Dad just wasn’t coming home. I wondered where else I would need to step up and for how long. Would Mom be working every day now? Would she always have long hours? My brain was infested with the possibilities as if they were flies swarming on the inside of my cranium. What if Mom didn’t make it home until seven or eight? Would I need to take over making dinner? Would I not see my dad as much? Would I see him more? How long would this last?
I felt like I was statue made of sandstone that was slowly crumbling, my surface being worn away by the weathering effects of my life. I worried that I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I worried that I’d disintegrate into sand and be swept away by the wind, until I was nothing more than desolate particles drifting further and further apart, completely incapable of being put back together again.
M
y anxiety continued to grow throughout dinner. By seven, I was a knotted mess of worried thoughts, fearing the future and trying to forget the past. After we ate, as I was sitting on my sofa between my mom and Sadie, my phone rang. It startled me at first and I practically jumped at the sound of it. I pulled it from my pocket and saw that I had a text message from Brant.
‘Got an idea bout our bomber, u should come over,’ it read.
The idea of getting away from home for a little while was more than appealing.
“Hey, Mom…”
“Yeah?”
“Do you mind if I go over to a friend’s house for a little while?”
It is a school night, but she probably needs some time with friends, this has got to be hard on her
. “I guess. Are you planning on being out late?”
“No, I just… I need to get out for a bit.”
“Alright then, just give me a call later so I know you’re alright.”
“No problem, thanks Mom.” I hugged her then quickly texted Brant that I was on my way.
A
s I drove, I found myself fussing with the radio, twisting through channels, listening to the fuzz between stations. My body was humming in anticipation, thinking about Brant and wondering what we would do that night.
The memory of our kiss still lingered in my mind but my intentions that night were innocent. I thought maybe we’d play cards again, or watch a movie. I needed someone to chill with, to relax with. I was feeling stressed out and needed something to get my mind off things. At home, everything was collapsing, like a skyscraper imploding to make space for something new, whereas things with Brant and I were building. There was a sense of hope with us, a new beginning.
Again I let myself in through the sliding glass door, feeling oddly comfortable in his home as I’d only been there a few times. I made my way down the basement steps, calling his name as I went. When I rounded the corner, I saw him there flipping through channels on the TV. He smiled at me and turned the TV off.
“Hey,” he said.
I smiled. “How’s it going?” I asked taking a seat next to him.
“Great, actually. I’ve had some ideas about how to find this guy and I was thinking we could talk about our game plan.”
My smile faded a little. He had said in his text that he wanted to talk about the bomber, but I was kind of hoping that he was just using that as an excuse to get me to come over. I needed a break from the bomber, a break from my family, a break from my life if I could help it.
“Actually, I was kind of hoping that we could just hit pause for a little while on the whole school exploding thing. Can we just forget about it for a few days?”
Forget about it?
“Ivy, we’ve only got like two weeks left.”
“Yeah, I know. I just don’t want to deal with it right now.”
Brant’s left eyebrow lifted in confusion, bending the tiny heart-shaped birthmark above it out of shape.
You don’t want to deal with knowing that someone wants to kill us all?
“No I don’t,” I snapped, “Can’t you just be on my side right now and forget about the bomber?” I found myself agitated with him, and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I knew I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on him, he didn’t know, but I couldn’t help it.
“Whoa, hey I didn’t even say it out loud, sorry… I know you’ve had some hard stuff going on…”
I just don’t know how you could forget about something like this.
I bit my lip, but it didn’t help. The words kept spilling out. “You know? What do you know? You don’t know what it’s like to hear them… I know you’ve been through some hard stuff too, Brant, but you don’t know what it’s like to be able to listen in on what people are thinking. To have their voices push their way into your mind. I know things that I’m not supposed to know.”
He sighed. “Yeah, but you know how to turn it off, how to keep them out… And, you’re right, we’ve been relying on your ability a lot lately to figure this stuff out, but we’re the only ones who can do something about this.” He was trying to be reassuring, but nothing could reassure me then.
I shook my head. “You mean
I’m
the only one who can do something about this. I’m not a hero, Brant, I’m just me… I’m seventeen, this shouldn’t be all on me.”
“It’s not… I know you think you can’t do this Ivy, that
we
can’t, but we can. Trust me, and once we find this guy then that’s it. It’s over.”
I felt the frustration boiling in my veins and I shook my head. “No,” I practically shouted. I felt my throat start to constrict and the tears start to pool into my eyes. “It’s not
over
then,” I sighed and stood up feeling the need to pace. My voice started to grow in volume, and my tone shook with emotion. “It’s not over, it’s
never
over. I won’t ever stop hearing voices. They’re always going to be there. I’m always going to hear things that no one ever meant for me to hear… hear their secrets, their private thoughts, hear the things that were never meant for my ears. Do you think I want to be like this? That I’m having
fun
searching for this psycho…”
Of course not
, Brant thought but I didn’t slow down to give him time to speak.
“That I want to know about my Dad cheating on my Mom, that I saw their divorce coming miles away? That
her
name is Liz and that he’s been sneaking around for weeks?”
Brant stood up, suddenly understanding what had me so worked up.
My voice was starting to crack. “I didn’t ask to be like this. I didn’t want this.”
He moved to stand inches before me, waiting for me to give him the chance to comfort me. Tears were threatening to spill, but I wasn’t ready to stop and cry yet.
“It’s never gonna stop, Brant.”
His hands were on my arms, offering a warm solid embrace.
“I’m always going to be like this, it’s always…”
His lips were on mine, smothering my words. Suddenly all my thoughts disappeared and I fell into him. He pulled me tight against him, and as his hands moved to slide up my back, mine were tangling in his hair. His lips were soft but his kiss was firm and passionate. The way our lips danced together was hungry and felt wild with longing, as if we could never be close enough. His hands rubbed at my back, fingers kneading my flesh, while mine gently pulled at his hair. Brant wasn’t cautious or nervous. He was confident and kissed me deeper than anyone ever had before.
Finally our lips parted but he still held me close, held me tight. My breath was heavy and labored, my nerves were buzzing and my skin was alive with electricity. My fingers were still twisted in his hair unwilling to let go, but he seemed to have the same urge to hold me as his hands were slowly sliding back and forth across my back. I felt the wetness of my tears on my cheeks and they tingled under the hotness of his breath. I wasn’t crying though. The overwhelming urge to sob had ceased. It was replaced by the insistent need to feel him.
I brought my lips back up to his, soft at first then I dove back into the way he was making me feel. His hands traveled down to the hem of my shirt and slowly one hand trailed up under the back of my top. The other hung there loosely with his thumb looped in the waistband of my jeans. I felt his rough, calloused palm on my fevered skin; his touch, the feeling of his skin on mine, sent shivers through me. He backed me up then, stepping slowly and moving me with him until he had me firmly pushed up against the wall. His hand twisted around, sliding across my back and moved to linger on the waist line of my jeans. The tips of his fingers lightly grazed the skin of my belly.
God, do I want you.
That moment with my back against the wall and his body pressed up against mine, all I could think was that I wanted more of him, and it was then that he pulled away. Our lips parted, causing my eyes to snap open. His forehead was pressed against mine but the rest of my body was left absent of his touch. His hands left my waist and his body pulled away from me. He pressed his palms flat against the wall on either side of my head and his blue eyes shone down at me appearing dark as the midnight sky. His expression reminded me of when I first started hearing the voices and he sat down beside me in Psych, appearing to be fighting the cravings of nicotine withdrawal.
He was breathing heavy. “Maybe we should slow down a bit here,” he said.
My brain was too muddled to comprehend his words at first. It wasn’t until he pushed back from the wall and stepped away from me that I understood them. My legs felt too weak to work and I stood there leaning against the wall as I watched him stalk toward the bed. I felt frazzled. It was like I’d been making my way up the high dive ladder, heart pounding with fear and excitement in every step that brought me closer to the top. It felt like I had walked out all the way to the edge of the diving board to look out to the pool below only to be stopped there. He backed away from me, leaving me standing ten feet in the air lightly bouncing on the edge of the board with anticipation steaming in my veins. I wanted to jump, wanted to dive in, but it was like I suddenly realized that the pool below had no water in it.
I took a deep breath and finally found my legs to be solid as I took a step toward him. Staring at his back, I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath then he ran a hand through his hair. Slowly he turned around to face me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, feeling self-conscious and unsure of myself.
His eyes went wide, “No, no nothing’s wrong I just… I don’t want to get… carried away.”
I sighed, “Getting carried away doesn’t sound so bad right now.”
He smiled that self-assured grin of his.
Don’t tempt me.
His grin slowly vanished. “Your parents are getting a divorce?”
My eyes fluttered to the ground and I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Brant noticed my unease and went over to sit on the edge of the bed. He gestured for me to sit beside him and I did.
“Yeah,” I said as I sat down, “Mom told me last night that he was moving out.”
“Sorry, that can’t be easy.”
“You know, I didn’t think it would be as hard as it is… I was fine, really… then today, I just… wasn’t.”
He brought a hand up to my back then and rubbed in slow circles to comfort me. I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder, and it felt like the most natural position in the world to be in.
“I feel better now though,” I confessed. “It all seems a little easier when I’m around you.”
Slowly I raised my head off his shoulder and looked up at him. His eyes rocked back and forth as if he were trying to read my mind. There were thoughts passing through his head, all of them like mist floating in and out and mixing together. He was wondering what I thought of him, what I wanted from him. He thought that I was beautiful, that he wanted to kiss me, to touch me. They were these vaporous, intangible things that, as I heard them, I wondered if they were really thoughts at all, wondered if maybe I was imagining them. His eyelashes fluttered and that magnetic feeling returned. I felt inescapably drawn to him.
My eyes moved up and down, bouncing between his eyes and his lips. I felt myself leaning into him as if I were teetering on a sharp point, letting gravity push me over the edge. Then before I knew it, I was kissing him again. Our movements didn’t start out as frantic and fevered as they were before. They were slow, almost cautious. He kissed me lightly. His fingers grazed a feather-soft touch across my arm. My fingers twisted the hem of his t-shirt and I waited in anticipation for what he would do next. Slowly he brought a hand up my side. His fingers slid over my ribs one by one, gently moving higher.
Our kiss deepened and I felt him gently pushing me back onto the mattress. As my own brain raced, I caught snippets of his thoughts. He seemed to be trying to convince himself that kissing me would be as far as this would go. He seemed to be worried that what we had would be ruined if we moved too fast. I was lying on his bed with the blue comforter beneath me. We shifted and squirmed to find a more comfortable position and then he was directly above me and my knee was bent as my leg curled over one of his.
He pulled away for a short moment to take a breath. That was when I heard him, in his thoughts, as he stared down at me he resigned to his feelings. Rationality lost out over a mix of hormones and desire. He already knew that he wouldn’t stop this, it would go as far as I’d let him take it. Then the question was, how far was I going to let it go? Being unable to focus on anything other than the feel of his lips, the feel of his fingers slowly sliding up beneath my shirt, his hard body flush with mine, this was not an ideal time to weigh the options sensibly.
My hands were currently running up his back, underneath his shirt, finding the fabric inhibiting my intentions. I grabbed the offending material, tugging it upward until I reached his arms and could go no further. Brant pulled away from me and pulled his shirt off, casting it aside. It was then that I made my decision. A decision that was truly made on desire and lust and nothing of substance, but it was what it was. I didn’t take the time to think about it with a level head because it had snuck up on me and I was left to make that decision in a vulnerable place while we lay half-naked in his bed.
We fumbled and twisted as we tried to move without breaking the contact between our lips. He was pulling at the hem of my shirt as my nails lightly scraped along his back. He lifted my top up and I raised my arms above my head and arched my back off the mattress to give him better access. I felt the chill of the air on my skin as my shirt went flying across the room. For a moment, my breath hitched in my throat, I felt nervous and exposed. Then Brant chased my nerves away with a fiery kiss. His fingers roamed across my skin, tentatively moving from the spans of flesh that he knew well to more unfamiliar territories. Somewhere in our frenzied movements, I found myself fumbling with the buckle of his belt, felt his hands tugging at the button of my jeans. There was a collage of items being unfastened, unclasped, tugged and pulled. Skin met skin and I shivered in excitement.
His lips left mine for longer than I would have liked. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as my mind finally had a moment to catch up with all the thoughts that our passionate moment had chased away. Thoughts raced through my mind, thoughts of what I was about to do, that this was really going to happen. In the back of my mind, I heard Brant moving around, there was a ruffling of sounds, ripping of paper. There was shifting and sliding and the feeling of chilly air across my entire body. When I opened my eyes Brant, was looking down at me again. Our eyes met and for a short moment, neither of us moved. He stared deep into my eyes, a loving and caring bottomless gaze. Then he kissed me again.