“They saw everything,” I sobbed, my chest heaving from the heavy breaths. “Why did he do that to me?”
“I don’t know. For once, I don’t know what the hell’s going on. We need to talk to him.”
Talking. I was f**king done with the talking. Nothing I tried to do with Jared this year helped me. Nothing made my life better. In the end, his bullying had ended any hopes I had for happiness.
Somehow I’d been wrong when I thought he really cared. When I thought he really loved me. I believed every stupid lie he spewed. Maybe he was never abused. He probably didn’t even have a brother.
He’d finally pushed me so far down that I only wanted to escape now. Escape into something other than hope, love, and all that other bullshit.
My anger and pain were molding into something else, something harder.
Numbness.
Indifference.
Coldness.
Whatever it was, it felt better than what I felt a minute ago.
I took a deep breath and sniffled. “Let me go. I’m going home.” My voice was hoarse but steady when I pulled away from Madoc.
He released me, and I walked away slowly.
“I don’t think you should drive,” Madoc called out behind me.
I just wiped my eyes and kept walking. Down the stairs, through the empty hallways, and out the front doors.
I’d parked next to Jared that morning, and when I saw his car I let out a hard laugh. Not from amusement but from the look on his face when he came outside to see what I’d done.
I grabbed the crowbar out of the back of my truck and ran the sharp-cornered end along the side of his car as I walked to the front of the vehicle. The shrill screeching of metal on metal sent a warming high right to my veins, and I smiled.
And brought the crowbar down dead center on his windshield.
The impact splintered the glass into a hundred different cracks. It sounded like a fat roll of bubble wrap popping all at once.
After that, I went crazy. I pounded dents into his hood, doors, and trunk. My hands hummed from the vibrations of the blows, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. With each wallop, I got higher and higher. Hitting him where it hurt made me feel safe. No one could really hurt me if I could hurt them, right?
This is how bullies are made. A voice in my head whispered. I shook it off.
I wasn’t becoming a bully, I told myself. A bully has power. I didn’t wield any power here.
I slammed the crowbar across his driver’s side window, shattering it. Bits of glass rained all over his seat.
Before I could get the crowbar raised to bust one of his quarter panel windows, I was grabbed from behind and turned away from the car.
“Tate, stop it!”
Jared.
I twisted out of his grasp and whirled around to face him. He held up his hands as if to calm me, but I was already calm. Didn’t he see that? I was in control, and I didn’t care what any of these people thought.
Madoc stood behind Jared with his hands on his head, surveying the damage to Jared’s car. His eyes were so wide that I thought they would pop out of his head. The school’s windows were nearly spilling with bodies anxious to get a glimpse of the display.
Fuck them.
“Tate…” Jared said timidly, eyeing the weapon in my hand.
“Stay away from me, or it’ll be more than your car getting busted up the next time,” I warned.
I didn’t know if it was my words or my flat tone that surprised him, but he hesitated.
He stared at me like I was someone he didn’t know.
Chapter 36
I’d gotten out of there before anyone had a chance to torment me more. Once I jumped in my truck and sped off, my phone started lighting up with calls and texts. K.C. dialed every thirty seconds, and I got nothing from Jared.
Good. He knew that it was over. He’d gotten what he wanted. I was shamed and humiliated, and his job was done.
The texts, on the other hand, were from random people, most of whom I barely knew.
You look like a good fuck. Busy 2nite? One of the texts read, and I clenched the phone so hard that I heard it crack.
Do u do threesomes? This text came from Nate Dietrich, and I felt my stomach start to turn.
Everyone was laughing at me and hovering around that horrid video, no doubt launching it into cyberspace for anyone to see. Thinking of the dirty old men that would get off from seeing it, or all of the people at school who would look at me now and know exactly what I looked like without my clothes on made my skull ache and my eyes burn.
After two more disgusting messages, I steered the truck to the side of the road and opened the door to throw up. My gut wrenched, emptying everything I’d eaten today. Coughing, I hurled and spit up the last contents of my stomach and shut the door.
Snatching tissues out of the glove compartment, I wiped my face clean of tears and stared out the front windshield, not really wanting to go home.
Anyone who wanted to find me would start there. And I couldn’t see anyone right now. I really just wanted to jump on a goddamn plane and go to my dad.
My dad.
I exhaled and dropped my aching head to the steering wheel, forcing in deep breaths.
Son of a bitch.
There was no way my dad wasn’t going to find out about this. The video was probably all over the place by now. The school and other parents would find out, and someone would call my him.
How could I have been so stupid?! Forgetting for a moment that it was ludicrous of me to believe Jared and trust him, but I had sex with him at a party, in someone else’s house!
That damn phone of his. He’d placed it on the dresser to play music, but he’d really set it to record us hav**g s*x. He probably thought he’d have to coax me into putting out at the Beckman house when I’d actually coerced him. Or so I thought.
Everything was a lie. The way he kept me so close this past week, touching me and holding me. Every time his lips brushed my neck as he hugged me, and all the times he kissed my hair when he thought I was asleep.
All. A. Fucking. Lie.
I wipe my nose and pulled off the side of the road. There was only one person I could be around right now. The only person who loved me and couldn’t look at me with pity or shame.
My mom.
***
The narrow roads—almost like paths—of Concord Hill Cemetery were only wide enough for one lane. Thankfully, I was here on a Monday afternoon, so the whole place was empty and quiet. I breathed a tired sigh of relief when I picked out my mom’s grave from the road. There was no one around. I’d be alone, for at least a little while, to escape the world and what had happened this morning.
I climbed out of the car and pulled my fleece jacket over my head, shielding myself from the October chill. The cool breeze was pleasant on my face, though, which still burned from wiping tears. I didn’t have to see my face to know I was probably splotchy with puffy eyes.
Traipsing through the well-kept grass, I only had to pass a few graves before coming to my mom’s. The shiny, black marble headstone featured three three-dimensional, hand-carved roses hugging the side of the marker. My dad and I had picked it out together, thinking that the three roses represented our family. Even eight years ago I’d loved black, and the flowers also reminded us of her. She loved bringing nature into the house.
I read the headstone.
Lillian Jane Brandt
February 1, 1972 - April 14, 2005
“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow had not yet come.
We have only today. Let us begin.”
-Mother Theresa
Yesterday is gone. My mom’s favorite quote. She would tell me that mistakes would be made in life. It was unavoidable. But I needed to take a deep breath, put my shoulders back and move forward.
Yesterday lasts forever. Jared’s tattoo came to mind, and I quickly shoved it away like a hot plate.
I didn’t want to think of him now. Or maybe ever.
I knelt down on the damp ground and tried to remember everything I could about my mom. Little pieces of the times we spent together sprouted up in my mind, but over the years, my memories had dwindled. Less and less of her remained, and I wanted to cry again.
Her hair. I concentrated on an image of her hair. It was light red and wavy. Her eyes were blue, and she had a small scar on her eyebrow from when she’d fell ice-skating as a kid. She loved chocolate peanut butter ice cream and playing tennis. Her favorite movie was The Quiet Man, and she made the best Hershey Kiss cookies.
I choked on a sob, remembering those cookies. The smell of our kitchen during Christmas baking hit me like sledgehammer, and I was suddenly in pain. I hugged my stomach and leaned forward, putting my forehead to the ground.
“Mom,” I whispered, my throat tight with sadness. “I miss you.”
Crumbling to the ground, I lay on my side and let the miserable tears fall to the earth. I stayed there a long time, being quiet, and tried not to think about what had happened to me today.
But it was impossible. The impact was too great.
I meant nothing to Jared. Once again, he’d tossed me out like trash and everything he’d said and done to lure me in—to get me to love him—was a lie.
How would I survive the vicious taunts day-in and day-out? How could I walk down the hallway at school or look my father in the eye when everyone had seen that video?
“Do you see it, Tate?”
“What?”
“The balloon.” Jared took my hand and pulled me across the cemetery. I tried not to think of what was underneath my feet as we crossed the graveyard, but all I could envision were gruesome zombies popping out of the earth.
“Jared, I don’t want to be here,” I sniveled.
“It’ll be okay. You’re safe with me.” He smiled and looked out over the meadow of gravestones.
“But...” I looked around, scared out of my mind.
“I’m holding your hand. What do you want me to do? Change your diaper, too?” he said sarcastically, but I didn’t take it to heart.
“I’m not scared.” My voice sounded defensive. “It’s just…I don’t know.”
“Look at this place, Tate. It’s green and quiet.” Jared gazed around the grounds with a wistful look on his face, and I was jealous that he could see something here that I didn’t.
“There are flowers and statues of angels. Look at this marker.” He pointed. “‘Alfred McIntyre born in 1922 and died in 1942.’ He was only twenty. Remember Mrs. Sullivan said that World War II was between 1939 and 1945? Maybe he died in the war. All of these people had lives, Tate. They had families and dreams. They don’t want you to be afraid of them. They just want to be remembered.”
I shivered as he led me deeper into the cemetery. We came up on a shiny, black marker adorned with a pink balloon. I knew my dad came here to visit, but he always put flowers on the grave.
Who had left a balloon?
“I brought your mom the balloon yesterday,” Jared admitted as if reading my mind.
“Why?” My voice shook. It was nice of him to do something like that.
“Because chicks like pink stuff.” He shrugged his shoulders and made light of his gesture. He didn’t want attention. He never did.
“Jared,” I scolded, waiting for a real answer.
He smiled to himself. “Because she made you.” And he wrapped his skinny arm around my neck and yanked me into his side. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I wanted to tell her ‘thank you.’”