Keep Me Still (7 page)

S
he
woke up in the hospital and the first thing she did was kick me out. If she didn’t look so weak and exhausted, I would’ve put up more of a fight. But it was clear, for whatever reason, the only thing she wanted when she finally woke up was for me to get the hell away from her.

I storm out of the hospital in a blind rage. I need to find Brent Becker. Or pray the Colonel’s home and go there and piss him off good. I need to hit. To be hit. To kick and fight and hurt and be hurt. I need the kind of pain that makes sense. The kind the cuts and bruises and breaks bones. Not this fucking internal shit that twists and aches and makes me insane. And helpless. If this night has a theme, it’s ‘Landen O’Brien is a worthless, helpless piece of shit that ruins everything.’ Maybe that’s the theme of my life.

Somehow, through my rage-filled haze, I make it to the party at the Alexis chick’s house hoping Becker’s here. I barely paid attention when they gave me directions at the dance, but it’s not hard to find with the dozens of cars parked out front. Leaving my truck parked sideways on the lawn, I make my way inside. Some guys are arguing in the doorway. A few others are playing quarters at a poker table, and several couples are practically fucking on the couches. But I couldn’t give a shit about any of them.

A thrill runs through me at the thought of Becker hitting me as hard as he did those doors because I’m a twisted motherfucker like that. Maybe he’ll really mess me up and I can get put in the same room as Layla. She can’t kick me out if I’m in traction.

“Becker?” I roar when I can’t find the lardass son of a bitch. Jena steps out of the kitchen instead. Wrong Becker. I tell her so.

She kind of looks like she’s been crying but I couldn’t care less. “Where’s Brent?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“He didn’t do it on purpose, Landen. It’s not his fault.” She’s pleading but I don’t care.

“You need to go,” Alexis says as she comes closer. “Let me or DW or someone drive you home.” She presses against me, placing a hand on my chest.

“Get the fuck away from me, you stupid bitch,” I say and instantly I regret it. And not just because she recoils like I’ve slapped her. I don’t talk to women that way—any women. And I’d kick the shit out of any guy who did.

But before I have time to apologize, Brent Becker comes out of a bathroom with his hands up. But not in the way I want.

“Chill, O’Brien. My bad, okay? I didn’t know that would happen. I don’t even know that girl.”

“That girl,” I begin through gritted teeth, charging him like a bull with rabies, “is in the fucking hospital right now because you had to act like a fucking—“

“I punched a door, man. Usually people don’t fall out just because someone punches a door.”

“And you wanted to punch me. You should have. Here’s your chance.”

I watch as he contemplates this.
Do it already.

He doesn’t. He lowers his hands.
Fuck.

Guess I’ll have to try harder. “I’m sorry, Alexis. What I said was rude. The stupid part, I mean. The bitch part was well-deserved.” Surely he’ll hit me now. But apparently he doesn’t care as much about Alexis as his sister I guess. So I turn my focus back to him. “And I’m sorry I didn’t want to take you’re slutty sister to Homecoming.”

That does it. He hits me so hard I see spots. I swing once, grazing him as he dodges me, but on the second swing I connect. He shoves me backwards until I fall and hear the satisfying sound of glass breaking. I roll us away from the shards, hitting and kicking for all I’m worth. Which, truthfully, isn’t a whole hell of a lot.

All around us squeals and screams and shouts ring out as everyone realizes there’s an all out brawl taking place in the middle of the room. Becker lands a right to my jaw and it clicks. I clutch the collar of his polo and pull his head to mine. Hard. “Agh,” he moans in pain from the unexpected headbutt. I see stars but I’m thinking clearly for the first time.

Damn. This isn’t going to help Layla. This is only going to help me. But I’m too far-gone to stop now. Oh well. Hindsight and all that shit I guess.

I slug Becker twice more and try to get up but our legs are tangled so crashing back down I go.

He slams my head against the hardwood floor twice before someone pulls him off me.

I’m yanked swiftly to my feet and wrapped from behind by someone towing me toward the door.

“Dude, you okay? That’s a lot of fucking blood.” Cam releases me roughly once we reach my truck.

“I’m fine.” I spit the blood out of my mouth and wipe it with the back of my shirtsleeve.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, man, but remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re already on it,” I inform him.

“Yeah? Well that sucks because I actually like you. Even though you are obviously majorly fucked up. Guess you and Freaky Flaherty deserve each other.”

Well, so much for going home.

When they finally pull me off of Cam, we’re both bloody and spent. And I’m under arrest.

“L
ayla,
sweetie?” I open my eyes to see my aunt standing over me. Her hair is a mess, which is so unlike her it’s startling.

I’m so grateful to be home in my own bed instead of in that hospital that I never want to get up. I was discharged early this morning and I’ve already slept through lunch. I should probably eat something but the thought of food sends a wave of nausea rolling hard and fast over me. “I’m getting up,” I tell her, using all my might to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The room tilts slightly and I take as many slow, deep breathes as I can manage.

“Um, you might want to stay put a sec,” she says, lowering herself on the mattress next to me.

“What’s going on?” I know they ran a ton of tests at the hospital like they always do, but surely I don’t have life-threatening results back this quickly.

“It’s Landen,” she answers quietly, stroking my hair.

“Oh God.” I can already hear the rest of her statement.
He’s been in an accident, he’s paralyzed, he’s dead. He was gunned down by muggers when he left the hospital.
I shrink into myself and try to steel my nerves for whatever’s coming.

“He’s been arrested.”

Well. That’s…unexpected.

“Arrested?” My mind conjures images of what I’ve seen on
Cops
. Him cuffed and being shoved into a police car. My sweet, hurt Landen whose heart I shattered into a million pieces last night. Because mine was.

“Apparently he had an…altercation with the boy from the dance. And then a different boy who was trying to break it up.”

“Where is he now?” I ask, picturing him alone in a filthy jail cell, trapped behind bars.

“His parents picked him up. But I have a friend who works as a bailiff and does some corrections stuff, and he said Landen’s dad was livid, almost to a point where he had to be restrained himself.”

Guilt washes over me, and a cold, hard lump constricts my airway. If I’d just sucked it up and let him stay at the hospital last night, none of this would’ve happened. I must look as awful as I feel because Aunt Kate scoots closer. Her next words don’t make any sense.

“Lay, does Landen ever talk much about his dad?”

“Um, no,” I answer, scanning my mind for anything Landen has said about his dad. “Just that he’s a Colonel in the Army and pretty much forces him to play football. He never comes to any of Landen’s soccer games, but that might be because he has to work.”

I’ve been to every one of Landen’s games. I’ve met his mom, a petite, attractive woman with dark hair like her son, but his dad is never there. I’ve only seen Colonel O’Brien at the few home football games I’ve been to. But Landen didn’t introduce us. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if that’s going to help me think. It kind of does.

“I don’t think they get along too well. Landen tenses up every time he’s mentioned.”

“Hmm.” Aunt Kate uses her gaze to put distance between us and my empty stomach twists tightly.

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Just curious about their situation.” She strokes my hair once more and stands, smoothing her pale blue oxford button-up. “Listen, I’ve made you some oatmeal and toast, and there’s juice in the fridge. Get some rest and we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow. I think school is out for this week.”

“No,” I say, forcing my weak body to stand. “I’m going to school tomorrow. If I start doing this, letting this keep me from school, you know what will happen. It’s happened before.”

“Layla, I know you’re upset. And I’m sorry, truly I am. But school really isn’t an option or even a priority right now. We have an appointment with a specialist tomorrow morning and some lab tests on Tuesday. And honestly…” Aunt Kate bites her lip. Whatever else she has to say, she’s not too excited about. That makes two of us.

She takes a deep breath and speaks in a rush. “I’d like you and Landen to take a breather. You’ve been hanging out a lot and you’re both going through some things you need to deal with before going any further with your relationship or friendship or whatever you kids are calling it these days.” Her smile is forced and I can’t even muster an attempt at one in return.

“I don’t think that’s an issue. Pretty sure whatever it was is over.” Not that being Landen O’Brien’s latest charity case didn’t have its perks.

“Well, then, I’m sorry about that too. He seems like a nice enough boy, though this violent streak that apparently runs in the family isn’t exactly something I find endearing.”

Violent streak? My mind can’t even reconcile the sweet boy who stood up for me and
saw
me when no one else did with a violent version. My vision swims from the strain of trying. “I’ll come down later,” I tell her, curling back into my covers. Maybe I can just sleep this whole mess away.

But as soon as I sink down into the depths of unconsciousness, he’s there. Bloody and bruised. Broken. And alone. Like me.

“L
ayla,
he’s here.
Again,
” my aunt Kate says through my bedroom door.

He’s been stopping by the house every day since Homecoming. I want to see him, want to ask if everything is okay with him and his dad. But he knew. The whole time. While I was convinced he just liked me for me—that he just noticed me all on his own and was interested—he was pretending. Because he knew about my seizures and wanted to rescue me from the big bad bullies of Hope Springs High School to make himself feel better or whatever. Well, I’m not interested in being rescued. I’ve survived more than Landen O’Brien could even imagine, and if he thinks being ignored at school because of my freakouts is more than I can handle then he—

“Layla, for God’s sakes. He’s just going to keep coming back.” Okay, now even Aunt Kate is annoyed with my knight in shining armor.

I crawl out of bed and open the door. My knight is actually wearing sweaty soccer practice clothes but he still looks pretty damn good.

It’s Thursday, and I haven’t been back to school since the dance, but he’s been coming by at the same time every day without fail. Aunt Kate has been diligently sending him away at my request, but I guess she’s tired of being my personal security.

I don’t even greet him. I just open the door and retreat back to the safety of my bed. But he follows. Lowering himself onto the mattress, he looks at me with these puppy-dog eyes, and I’m flustered. His face is still mildly bruised from his encounter with Becker, and I do kind of feel sorry for him. His wounded expression breaks my heart a little.

“What? Just say it, Landen.”

“Why wouldn’t you see me? Or answer my texts or phone calls at least?”

“Because,” I force out. “Because you knew, and you acted like you didn’t and…”
And I am a fricking idiot who thought maybe you were just genuinely interested in me.

“Okay,” he says slowly, angling his shoulders towards me. “So I knew. So I asked about you when I first moved here and Alexis Bledsoe spouted some shit about you having seizures. So?”

“So…wait, why did you ask about me?”

“What? What do you mean why?” Landen shakes his head, and I have the strangest urge to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair.

“Um, why as in why did you ask Alexis Bledsoe, or anyone for that matter, about me?”

He rubs his neck and glances around my room. “I already told you. I wanted to talk to you. You were always alone, like you didn’t want anyone bothering you and I didn’t want to be the new guy hassling the queen of the school.”

I snort and then I remember I’m still in my PJ pants and a tank top. Dear God, I’m not wearing a bra.

Pulling my covers up to my chin, I drink in the boy who saw me when no one else did. “But why?” I whisper forcefully. “Why me?”

“Jesus, Layla. What do you want from me?” He tenses, and I can tell he wants to get up and yell. He’s all hyped up from soccer practice and trapped in my pristine room with my Aunt Kate probably listening right outside the door. “You walked in that first day and I…fuck, I don’t know. You had this, like, glow about you and I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I expected to see you running the school, looking down your nose at the pieces of shit not worthy of breathing the same air as you, shaking your ass on the football field, and being followed around by an asshole boyfriend who regularly beat the hell out of any guy who so much as looked at you. None of which would have deterred me, by the way. I was prepared to deal with whatever. And then none of that turned out to be accurate. So I thought maybe we’d get to know each other and hook up until I moved again or graduation or whatever. But the more we hung out, the more I wanted…more than that.”

Neither of us says anything because, well, there doesn’t seem to be anything to say. I want to kiss this beautiful boy—man—Landen. But I’m not ready for that and I’m not sure what would happen if I tried. And I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Tears prick my eyes because I’m not a charity case. And he did just notice me and want to get to know me. And I’ve made a mess of everything. Because I’ve never done this before and I have no idea what I’m doing.

“Because I have seizures and you wanted to save me damsel-in-distress style?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Because you are beautiful and kind and I love…being with you.”

“Landen—” I start, but he’s not done.

“Friends tell each other stuff, Layla. And I was hoping, as we got closer, you’d fill me in on the details about your seizures. I didn’t rely on anything Alexis or anyone else said because honestly, I couldn’t give a shit what they think.”

Friends. Seven letters. I’m beautiful and he wants to get to know me better. But we’re just friends. Seven letters have never been more confusing. And he’s not done.

“But that was the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced, and if there’s something I could’ve done to prevent it, like rip Brent Becker’s arms from his body so he couldn’t hit that door, then I want to know.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” I tell him. My voice is so low I’m not sure he hears me, but he scoots closer on the bed so I’m pretty sure he does. The raw hurt in his eyes compels me to keep talking. To tell him everything. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch his face while I reveal my painful secrets.

“I was thirteen. We were on our way to see The Nutcracker—we went every Christmas.” Swallowing hard, I gather all the strength I have to tell him what I’ve only discussed with licensed professionals. Relaxing my grip on my comforter, I let it drop because I might as well be naked. I open my eyes and find him staring intently at me. As much as I want to squeeze mine shut, I hold his gaze.

“My parents were teasing me, trying to swing me in the air like they did when I was little, and I was irritated. Because I was a
teenager
.” I roll my eyes at the innocent girl whose biggest problem in life was parents who babied her.

“We were walking to the Atlanta Civic Center Complex from a parking lot a few blocks away because my dad refused to pay to park closer. My mom was annoyed about having to walk so far in heels in the cold. Everything was so…
normal
. And then there were tires screeching, and a guy jumped out of a huge black truck. It was dark so I couldn’t see him clearly. My mom shoved me behind her, to shield me I guess, though I had no clue what was going on at the time.”

The throat choking sobs are coming and it’s getting harder to breathe. Landen waits patiently as I pull myself together so I can finish. He wants to reach out and touch me. I can tell by the way his hands twitch in his lap, but he doesn’t and I’m kind of glad. A hug or even an arm around would shatter me right now.

“The guy yelled at my dad to give him his wallet. From behind them I could see my dad scrambling to empty his pockets but his wallet was in his jacket pocket and when he went to get it…I guess the guy thought he had a gun or something because he shot at us. Four times.” I flinch because I can still hear it.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
I can still smell it. Burning.

“And then he jumped back in the truck and left. He didn’t even take my dad’s wallet.”

My eyes unglaze as I finish and I’m back in my room with Landen instead of on the side of the road in Atlanta. He’s dropped his head into his hands and is attempting to pull his hair out from the looks of it.

“But you weren’t hurt at all?” he asks, finally raising his head so his bloodshot eyes can meet mine. “Physically, I mean.”

“There’s a scar under my hair, just above my left ear where a bullet grazed me.” Without thinking, I reach up and touch it gingerly, not that it still hurts or anything. It’s just a reminder. Everything can change. Everyone can leave.

“Jesus,” Landen hisses through his teeth. “And the seizures?”

I shrug, because I’ve gotten through the worst of it. “Started soon after. My mom…fell back on me and I hit my head pretty hard. I was practically unconscious when they found us. I had a severe concussion and was later diagnosed with seizure-inducing PTSD.”

“Are they random or is it loud noises that cause them?”

“Um, both I guess. I’ve had a few that came on for no reason at all, but most of them have been triggered by loud banging noises. Freshman year I was new here and someone’s chemistry project randomly exploded. I seized out in the lab in front of everyone. I was humiliated and just really messed up over the whole thing. Aunt Kate let me be home-schooled for a long time. I came back this year hoping to start over. But no one has forgotten. They’ve all pretty much avoided me ever since.”

“Brent Becker is a dead man,” he says evenly.

“It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault, Landen. This is just…my life.” I watch as he takes a deep breath. He’s aged ten years from this conversation alone.

“Did they catch the guy at least?”

I shake my head. “No. The cops said it might’ve been some type of gang initiation or something. But no one was ever arrested.”

“I’m sorry, Layla. God. I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know what to say so I just shrug.

“But the seizures, is there nothing they can do? Medicine, or surgery, or something?”

“I’ve tried several medicines. Some worked okay but they made me feel dead inside, which for a while was a nice change. But Aunt Kate didn’t like the zombified version of me so I mostly just take a migraine medicine that doubles as a seizure suppressant. I’m usually okay unless I get anxious or a loud noise catches me off guard. I get regular EKGs to make sure my brain activity is normal and all that.”

“Thank you,” Landen says softly and I’m confused.