Unbeautiful
Page 12
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Instead of going up to my apartment, I rush past him and down the stairs. When I reach the bottom floor, I realize my mistake. But not wanting to go right back up and risk running into him, I kill time by searching the bushes and ground for stray papers he might have missed.
Knee deep in twigs and leaves, I make a vow to myself to get my act together. I’m not in Ralingford anymore. I’ll meet different people under different circumstances than I’m used to and need to learn how to be a normal person who can converse with strangers. And no more throwing my secrets out the window. I mean, what if my mother stuck around tonight to watch me like she has for eighteen years of my existence? What if she saw the whole thing?
I peer around at the parking lot for her black BMW. The car is nowhere in sight, but a black Cadillac with tinted windows and chrome rims is parked near the curb at the front of the apartment. It reminds me of a lot of cars back home that covered the streets at night. Patrol cars, they were called.
Could my mother have changed cars to watch me?
Moments later, the car drives away, so I never get to find out.
My paranoia has already set in, though.
I sprint back to my apartment. By the time I’m safely inside and the door is dead bolted, I’m veering toward hyperventilation.
I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to get oxygen into my lungs, but the method has never worked in the past, and it’s not working now. From a previous experience, I know if I don’t pull myself together soon, I’m going to black out. If I ever did lose consciousness when I was under my father’s roof, he’d wake me up by dunking my head into a bathtub full of ice water. As a form of punishment for showing the weakness of anxiety, he’d hold me under until I’d almost drowned.
“Fuck.” The room starts to spin as I sink to the ground, feeling lightheaded and woozy. “I’m going to fix this,” I gasp. “Somehow…” I trail off as my eyelids drift shut, sending me into a deep, panic-induced slumber.
Chapter 4
Secrets, Secrets Everywhere
Ryler
I’ve been living in a small, two bedroom apartment for a little over three months now. The only thing I own is the mattress on the floor, some clothes, and a box of old records my father gave me for my nineteenth birthday. That’s all I was allowed to take with me when I packed my shit up in my Challenger and drove to Laramie, Wyoming, per the instructions of Elderman.
I have a cousin who lives in Laramie so the move wasn’t completely terrible. He’s been letting me crash at his place for the last couple of months while I live a double life, playing the part of both informant and drug trafficker.
“Are you really serious about this whole summer semester thing?” my cousin Luke Price asks as he enters the living room and plops down on the recliner across from me.
I nod then sign, “Sorry, man.”
When I first moved from Vegas, the two of us could barely communicate, but he learned how to read sign language so we can now converse without pen and paper.
“Most people start school in the fall.” Luke yawns. “Plus, you’re starting that new job down at the writing center, on top of your night job at the bar. You’re starting to become a boring, sulky person. Can’t you find a way to chill the workload a little bit? You deserve it, man, after the shit your dad’s put you through.”
If he only knew how wrong he is and the truth about why I’m here. Why I’m suddenly getting a second job at the writing center. Why I’m out late at the “bar.” Why I lost my ability to speak four years ago.
School is the only real thing I have in my life, and the only reason I get to attend is because I insisted I wouldn’t do any more informant work unless Stale and Senford helped me get into the University of Wyoming. I’m so far in to Elderman’s world, they agreed.
I raise my hands to sign to Luke. “I have to get a head start on school, man. I’m almost twenty-one already, and I’m just starting college. I’m seriously going to be almost thirty before I graduate if I don’t bust my balls to get ahead. You’re one to talk. You take on football, school, and a job, which is equally as much of a workload, so chill with the lectures.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He kicks his boots up on the table. “At least tell me you’re only taking one or two classes. Keep shit light so we can at least do some of the fun stuff we’ve planned. Remember that vow you made with Violet? Live this summer like there’s no tomorrow by going to concerts, camping, and getting out of town.”
Violet is his girlfriend who lives with us. A lot of the time, I feel like a third wheel. I’d be okay with that if I had other friends, but it’s complicated when I can’t even strike up a conversation with almost every person I meet unless, by some rare miracle, they can read sign language. Plus, my appearance tends to scare a lot of people away, except for people like Elderman’s men. Right now, how they view me is what’s most important in my life.
I hold up a finger to Luke before signing, “I’m taking Creative Writing. That’s it.”
Luke cocks his head to the side, confused. “Is that major? Creative Writing?”
“It’s just a class I took for fun,” I sign. “As an elective. It was the only class I wanted to take that was open by the time I enrolled, and it seemed like it could be fun.”
“Well, you should major in it, considering how much you write.”
I tip my hand from side to side before I sign, “I don’t write that much.” It’s amazing, but even hands can lie. But my writing hobby is private, just like every word I pen.
Knee deep in twigs and leaves, I make a vow to myself to get my act together. I’m not in Ralingford anymore. I’ll meet different people under different circumstances than I’m used to and need to learn how to be a normal person who can converse with strangers. And no more throwing my secrets out the window. I mean, what if my mother stuck around tonight to watch me like she has for eighteen years of my existence? What if she saw the whole thing?
I peer around at the parking lot for her black BMW. The car is nowhere in sight, but a black Cadillac with tinted windows and chrome rims is parked near the curb at the front of the apartment. It reminds me of a lot of cars back home that covered the streets at night. Patrol cars, they were called.
Could my mother have changed cars to watch me?
Moments later, the car drives away, so I never get to find out.
My paranoia has already set in, though.
I sprint back to my apartment. By the time I’m safely inside and the door is dead bolted, I’m veering toward hyperventilation.
I inhale and exhale deeply, trying to get oxygen into my lungs, but the method has never worked in the past, and it’s not working now. From a previous experience, I know if I don’t pull myself together soon, I’m going to black out. If I ever did lose consciousness when I was under my father’s roof, he’d wake me up by dunking my head into a bathtub full of ice water. As a form of punishment for showing the weakness of anxiety, he’d hold me under until I’d almost drowned.
“Fuck.” The room starts to spin as I sink to the ground, feeling lightheaded and woozy. “I’m going to fix this,” I gasp. “Somehow…” I trail off as my eyelids drift shut, sending me into a deep, panic-induced slumber.
Chapter 4
Secrets, Secrets Everywhere
Ryler
I’ve been living in a small, two bedroom apartment for a little over three months now. The only thing I own is the mattress on the floor, some clothes, and a box of old records my father gave me for my nineteenth birthday. That’s all I was allowed to take with me when I packed my shit up in my Challenger and drove to Laramie, Wyoming, per the instructions of Elderman.
I have a cousin who lives in Laramie so the move wasn’t completely terrible. He’s been letting me crash at his place for the last couple of months while I live a double life, playing the part of both informant and drug trafficker.
“Are you really serious about this whole summer semester thing?” my cousin Luke Price asks as he enters the living room and plops down on the recliner across from me.
I nod then sign, “Sorry, man.”
When I first moved from Vegas, the two of us could barely communicate, but he learned how to read sign language so we can now converse without pen and paper.
“Most people start school in the fall.” Luke yawns. “Plus, you’re starting that new job down at the writing center, on top of your night job at the bar. You’re starting to become a boring, sulky person. Can’t you find a way to chill the workload a little bit? You deserve it, man, after the shit your dad’s put you through.”
If he only knew how wrong he is and the truth about why I’m here. Why I’m suddenly getting a second job at the writing center. Why I’m out late at the “bar.” Why I lost my ability to speak four years ago.
School is the only real thing I have in my life, and the only reason I get to attend is because I insisted I wouldn’t do any more informant work unless Stale and Senford helped me get into the University of Wyoming. I’m so far in to Elderman’s world, they agreed.
I raise my hands to sign to Luke. “I have to get a head start on school, man. I’m almost twenty-one already, and I’m just starting college. I’m seriously going to be almost thirty before I graduate if I don’t bust my balls to get ahead. You’re one to talk. You take on football, school, and a job, which is equally as much of a workload, so chill with the lectures.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He kicks his boots up on the table. “At least tell me you’re only taking one or two classes. Keep shit light so we can at least do some of the fun stuff we’ve planned. Remember that vow you made with Violet? Live this summer like there’s no tomorrow by going to concerts, camping, and getting out of town.”
Violet is his girlfriend who lives with us. A lot of the time, I feel like a third wheel. I’d be okay with that if I had other friends, but it’s complicated when I can’t even strike up a conversation with almost every person I meet unless, by some rare miracle, they can read sign language. Plus, my appearance tends to scare a lot of people away, except for people like Elderman’s men. Right now, how they view me is what’s most important in my life.
I hold up a finger to Luke before signing, “I’m taking Creative Writing. That’s it.”
Luke cocks his head to the side, confused. “Is that major? Creative Writing?”
“It’s just a class I took for fun,” I sign. “As an elective. It was the only class I wanted to take that was open by the time I enrolled, and it seemed like it could be fun.”
“Well, you should major in it, considering how much you write.”
I tip my hand from side to side before I sign, “I don’t write that much.” It’s amazing, but even hands can lie. But my writing hobby is private, just like every word I pen.
