The Resurrection of Aubrey Miller (4 page)

“OH! I love Poe! I saw her in concert recently with Teagan and Sara! She is AMAAAAAAAZING!” she squeals as she claps her hands together excitedly, her pony tail swinging back and forth as she resumes bouncing off the floor. After a few more small jumps, she gains actual air as she launches herself onto my bed and begins rummaging through the remainder of my wall art.

I just stand there, not really sure what to do with myself.

Segregating myself from the population has obviously left me ill-equipped to deal with some random person who has deemed it acceptable to lie on my bed and touch my possessions after only the mere exchange of our names. I watch her for a minute or so, listening to her
oohs
and
aahs
, waiting patiently for her to kindly get
off
my bed, but when thirty more seconds tick by I see that this really isn’t an option for her at the moment. She’s lost in my excellent taste of music.

It happens.

Bending at the waist, I unzip the front pocket on my backpack and pull out the heavy-duty double-sided tape, mentally selecting the locations for poster placement on the wall, when she finally decides to come up for air. She rolls onto her side and assesses me a moment before speaking.

“So Raven, what’s up with the kitty eyes?” she inquires.

Shifting my weight onto my other foot, I stall for a bit before answering. “Um, I guess you could say I’m different. Why? Does that bother you?” My tone is clipped, suddenly saddened that my initial perception of this girl may have been totally off-base.

She throws her head back in laughter and after a couple of completely unnecessary hiccups, she brings her green eyes back to meet mine. “No, it doesn’t bother me in the least. I think it’s kinda cool that you are who you are, with no worries about what people think.”

Her eyebrows draw together and her mouth curves toward the floor as she continues. “I learned a long time ago to never judge a book by its cover. It seems what people try to represent on the outside very rarely mirrors their inside. Beautiful people tend to be ugly, ugly people tend to be beautiful, storms tend to brew below a person’s cool, calm exterior, and tremendously happy people tend to be overcompensating for their own grief. Nothing is ever really what it seems.”

She raises her gaze, once again, taking in my appearance. “Except with you, I think your representation is probably pretty accurate. And I think that’s brave.”

I almost,
almost
, laugh in her face. Like, deep from within the pit of my stomach, very unattractive, heinous laughter because I know I’m anything but brave. The whole appearance that she’s so freaking fond of is the
result
of fear.

The irony is not lost on me.

I choose to keep my blank expression as I shrug my shoulders. “You seem pretty happy,” I remark.

Her eyes still locked onto mine, she simply responds, “Exactly.”

The seconds pass between us as I try to figure out the exact meaning of that statement, when there’s a sudden knock at the door. A wide grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up with unadulterated glee. “YAY! Our first official visitor!”

Quinn excitedly bounces herself off the bed to answer the door and I take the opportunity to once again regain control of my private realm as I step onto the bare mattress, dispensing a piece of tape while grabbing my favorite poster. A deep, masculine voice comes from the doorway, so I keep my attention solely on the task at hand, not wanting to intrude in case it’s her boyfriend. Using the adhesive, I tack a piece to the left top corner of the poster and adhere it to the wall at the head of my bed, making sure my back is turned to Quinn and her male visitor.

Just as I extend my arm to attach the poster, Quinn calls, “Raven! You
have
to meet my Boarding Buddy!”

Great.

Boarding Buddy
.

The whole reason I skipped Freshman Orientation. Who needs to be paired up with some random person just to find your way around campus?

I can do that shit alone, as I intend to.

I abort my mission of avoidance, casually turning my head just barely over my shoulder, but as soon as I see the person to whom she’s referring, I lose the hold on my poster. The scraping sound it makes as it swings back and forth along the wall hardly registers due to my dumbfounded state of shock. Without pause, the blood drains from my face and my legs feel as though they’ve been carted through a tub of cement before being reattached to my body.

I pray that these reactions comprise the typical response for when you see the
one
person in your life that you never, ever expected to see again. Because if that’s not the case, I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack and will be struck dead where I stand within approximately 2.5 seconds.

But with one more look into those familiar hazel-brown eyes, with a tinge of green so undeniably familiar, my possibly failing heart is suddenly revitalized as it spurs a jarring shock throughout my entire body, immediately transporting me to my past.

You see, when I was a little girl I spent a lot of time alone—Linda worked nights as a nurse, so I became a victim of a lot of television, and most of it wasn’t child friendly. One night, I was fully immersed in a crime show
marathon where they were explaining how some trauma victims store their memories by way of compartmentalization. It was then I created and defined my compartments, sealing away certain memories where no one, not even me, could access some of them. It’s a very intricate system. For example:

Level 1 memory bin:
Very easily accessible. Like an open door, memories flow in and out, allowing my day to day function. Items that would fall into this category would be things such as exam schedules, dental appointments, and the name of my new roommate Quinn.

Level 2 memory bin:
A little more difficult to gain entry than Level 1. More like a closed door, where it takes some actual effort to recall these memories. Examples include the time Linda fell down the stairs and broke her collarbone, when I accidentally washed her favorite cashmere sweater in hot water and dried it on high heat, the unfortunate occasion when she attempted to make chicken pot pie, and the death of all the animals Linda brought home. Not necessarily the most terrifying of my memories, but definitely not the best.

Level 3 memory bin:
These remain safely behind a locked door, for which only I have the key, and are mostly a lump sum of some pretty painful memories from my past. Some happy, some sad, but all memories that are guaranteed to bring heartbreak over and over again. So, they remain locked safely in Level 3.

Level 4 memory bin:
Steel door, passcode, and retinal scan required for entry. Some of the most painful of my recollections. The death of my mother, the death of my sister, and the pain associated with both will forever stay hidden in this place.

Level 5 memory bin:
Top Secret military clearance required. Titanium encases a steel vault buried approximately thirty feet underground. It’s booby-trapped with C4 and other deadly explosives which will be detonated if anyone comes within ten feet. Only one memory resides here, never to be freed again.

Like I said, I had a lot of time on my hands.

But now, as I eye the person in front of me cautiously, it becomes painfully obvious that my Level 3 memory bin has been compromised.

Either that or somehow I unknowing relinquished a key to the one and only…

Kaeleb Kristopher McMadden.

The memory escapes slowly from its confinement, almost cautiously, before finally freeing itself, rushing my mind so quickly I physically wince in response. The pain it will yield is inevitable and I’m defenseless against it as it begins to replay in my mind:

“I don’t want to go, Kaeleb. I’m scared.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks as I search desperately for some sort of comfort from his shining eyes. But there’s nothing that can help me now. Cold darkness threatens to suffocate me as I’m pulled under and barely breathing. I’m dying. Just like my family.

“Bree,” he responds, quickly removing the moisture from his own face. “You have to go. You—”

“I know. I have no one here.” I sigh. “They’re all…gone.”

Kaeleb nods slightly before pulling me into his arms. Only eight years old, same age as me, yet his hold feels so strong, so secure. I know he doesn’t want to let me go, and as the pretty lady with the rose perfume comes to break us apart, the need for us to grasp onto each other becomes more desperate. She calls for help, and as they try to tear us apart, tears continue to roll down our cheeks with the knowledge that this will be our last moment together. We hold on to each other as tightly as we can, but are eventually broken apart, our fingers the last to let go as we reach for each other.

“I love you, Kaeleb,” I whisper to myself as they gently guide me into the back seat of an unknown car. Before they close me in, I scream as loudly as I can, “You’re my best friend!”

His eyes meet mine as they shut the door between us. Determination fills his eyes as he walks to the car and just when they start the engine, he places his palm flat on the window with his fingers spread as far as they will go. Slamming my hand against the cool glass, I do the same, knowing this will be the last time I will ever be in the presence of my friend. My
best
friend.

As we drive away, I watch out the back window as he runs down the street as long as his legs can carry him. They eventually lock underneath him and his knees hit the ground, unable to keep up any longer.

I throw my hand against the back window as the car turns the corner and continue to watch until I lose sight of him. Not until he’s gone do I allow myself to fall into the darkness. I no longer fight for the need to breathe as I let go. I just step out of myself and watch the pretty, blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl slowly dying as she sinks, spiraling lower and lower until finally disappearing into the bottomless pit that swallows her.

“Raven? Hell-ooooo!” Quinn’s voice filters slowly through the searing pain of my memory, bringing me back into the present where I’m still standing on my bed and the damn poster is still swinging from side-to-side behind me. But now, instead of the sound barely registering, it’s grating against my eardrums like nails on a chalkboard.

Quinn and Kaeleb have made their way to the corner of my bed during my brief mental vacation and now they’re so close, I fight the urge to step back in order to put some distance between us. The corners of Kaeleb’s mouth twitch slightly when my hand finally slams against the poster.

I can’t take it anymore.

His eyes break away from my stunned gaze to address Quinn. “So, this is your roommate?
Raven?
” he asks, before once again turning his attention back to me.

My eyes wander all over his face, the little boy I once knew no longer present in his features. His youthful, rounded face has molded itself into high-cheekbones that highlight a strong, well-defined jaw lined with a day’s worth of stubble. The same hazel, greenish-brown eyes are there, but instead of love and acceptance, I find them full of curiosity and apprehension. The reddish tint I used to love in his brown hair is no longer noticeable due to a
ridiculous
amount of hair gel coating it, expertly styled so that it all comes forward forming an off-center peak right in the front. And his body is
definitely
not that of the eight year old boy that I remember. His white undershirt pulls tight across an insanely sculpted chest, barely hidden underneath a grey lightweight hoodie.

As we stand eye-to-eye, I take comfort in the fact that at least we’re still the same height.

Except, I’m still standing on the bed, so actually, that’s not true.

After seconds of stupefied, open-mouthed gawking, I finally manage to take a step and jump off, thankful for Quinn and Kaeleb’s backwards movement out of my personal space. Once I hit the ground, I shyly glance back up at the boy-turned-man that now towers over me. His eyes narrow as he cocks his head, and for the first time since seeing him, I remember that his isn’t the only appearance that has changed. Although, mine is much more drastic. So drastic that as he stares, I realize he doesn’t even recognize me. And while my initial reaction is to feel saddened that he’ll never know it’s
me
, that
I’m
here standing here in front of him, relief floods me and drowns out the sorrow.

“As Quinn stated, I’m Raven,” I respond abruptly in the direction of Kaeleb, giving only my first name, worried that the mention of “Miller” will give me away. Kind of a moot point I guess, since my student I.D. is lying right by the swear jar on the table behind me.

Quinn gives me a look of appreciation. “Isn’t she cool?” she states, looking back up to Kaeleb for his approval. I watch as the left side of his mouth jerks up before he replies, “She’s definitely
something.
”