Unbeautiful
Page 28

He’s lying.
I force a tight smile. “Wow, I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“How about we don’t say anything about Haven ever again?” he suggests as he stands up and moves toward me. “How about we pretend that, when we left my place, all that happened was I walked you home.” He dips his head toward my face, his gaze flicking to my lips. His tongue slides out and draws his lip ring back between his teeth. “And that I kissed you goodnight before I left.”
He sucks in a breath and presses his lips to mine.
I almost immediately sink into his kiss. My lips willingly part, allowing his tongue to fully enter my mouth. The kiss is quick—a sweep of his tongue, a graze of his tongue ring, a nip of my lip. But I still feel breathless when he pulls away.
“I’ll pick you up for class around two, if that’s okay?” He pauses, staring down at me as he fiddles with a stud on his belt. “That is, if you still want to ride with me.”
A beat of silence goes by. Liar or not, I’ve had more fun with him tonight than I’ve ever had. That has to mean something.
Besides, who am I to judge?
I’m as big a liar as they come.
I nod and he smiles at me before cracking open the door. He peers out into the stairway. Once he’s satisfied that Haven’s gone, he ducks out into the night.
The moment the door shuts, whispers start flowing all around me.
You’re in trouble, Emery.
What you did was wrong.
You need to take your pill and undo your wrongdoings.
Like my first night in my apartment, my lungs constrict, limiting oxygen flow. I hurry across the room to the kitchen, rip the pieces of paper into unreadable-sized pieces, and discard them into the trash, hoping to get some relief. But the voices grow louder.
Take the pill. You need to take the pill. You need to clear your head.
Two bottles of pills sit near the sink, pills I haven’t touched in months.
“My head is clearer than it has ever been,” I say aloud as I pick up the bottle with the pink pill, twist the lid off, and glance inside.
Take the pills, Emery. Take them now.
“Don’t take them, Emery,” Ellis’s voice circles around me.
I nearly drop the bottle at the sound of his voice. I frantically scan the apartment for him, but like in the carport, he’s nowhere.
“Ellis?” I whisper, my eyes darting from the ceiling to the floor to the living room.
Silence.
Guilt. I have to be hearing his voice because of guilt.
I reach into the bottle and pluck out one of the small pills.
Take it, Emery. Take the pill!
I tuck the pill into my pocket and tip the bottle sideways, watching the pills rain into the sink and down the drain.
The voices die.
All I’m left with is the quiet and the faint echo of Ellis’s voice inside my head.
I tiptoe back into my room, retrieve the single pill from my pocket, and place it on the nightstand. Then I collect my notebook and begin to write like I do every night.
My brother, Ellis.
I miss him,
even though I never really got to know him.
Not really.
Growing up, he was always in his room.
Or in the basement.
Or sneaking outside.
The nights he escaped,
I envied him.
Wished to be him.
But I was always too subdued to try myself.
Except for that night months ago,
when I dared to sneak out.
I followed him out of the Gold
and into the Shadows and moonlight.
I asked him earlier that day how he didn’t worry.
He told me it was simple.
That unlike me, he didn’t think.
He didn’t fear.
He didn’t care.
He just did.
And that he needed to breathe.
To find the air my father stole from him,
in the late hours of our cold basement.
He told me I’d understand one day.
That eventually my head would clear.
One day, I’d see the wrong.
And I’d also see the right.
One day I would see again.
God, did I want to see,
more than I wanted anything.
And maybe I finally am.
For the first time in my life,
I feel less blind.
For the first time in my life,
I can see my parents for what they are.
They’re sinners.
Killers.
And they made me one, too.
That night I snuck out,
blood stained my hands
and left a scar on my back.
The pen falls from my hand at the sound of glass shattering from inside my apartment. A beat skips by where I don’t breathe. Then I hear a loud thump, and I spring into action.
My heart lurches into my throat as I toss the notebook and pen aside and roll off my bed. Reaching my hand under, I scramble for the metal box, but pause.
Do I really want to go there yet?
I stand up with the box hugged to my chest and edge toward the hallway. I left all the lights on in the apartment, so I can easily see as I creep toward the living room. When I reach the end of the hallway, I halt to listen. The air is quiet, but the temperature has grown colder.
Sucking in a breath, I peek around into the living room and kitchen. No one is there, but shards of glass are all over the carpet. The sliding door to the porch has a hole in the top of it, and amongst the broken glass lies a brick.
“That explains the thud,” I mutter as I step into the room.
I set the box down on the floor and walk over to the sliding glass door, making sure not to step on any glass.