Fragments of gray, p.4
Fragments of Gray, page 4
“I got it!” I say, reaching to pick it up. The moment I realize it’s sheet music, I wish I hadn’t been so willing to help. My stomach knots as I hand it over to Kane.
He’s ten years older than me with hair as black as night. All the single women in the church fawn over him. He’s a charmer, no doubt, but the look of amusement in his eyes sends a chill of unease down my spine.
“Thank you.” He smirks as if pleased I was the one to come to his aid.
I give a curt nod before swiftly walking around him, going to my place next to Dad. He’s still schmoozing with parishioners, and I idly stand by his side, saying goodbye as people leisurely exit.
“Wonderful sermon today,” Mr. Parson says to Dad. He then glances over at me. “And Emma, you look just as lovely as every week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Parson,” I say, adjusting the peach-colored straps of my dress so I’m not overexposed.
“She’s becoming quite the young lady with each passing day,” Dad chimes in.
“You’re doing a wonderful job with her.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Parson.”
My shoulders tense as I bite my tongue, forcing myself to smile through their conversation.
I’m not a child nor a pet, I’m a woman. A woman who had to fend for herself and navigate healing from my past on my own. If anyone is responsible for how lovely I turned out, it’s myself.
I keep fake grinning until my cheeks hurt, then Mr. Parson finally leaves. The group inside grows as if Dad is some type of celebrity that they have VIP passes to.
“Do you need me to do anything before I go?” I ask Dad.
“I don’t think so.” He waves to the group. “Looks like I have a lot of people to meet with. I’ll be back home later tonight, after dinner.” He turns his attention back to me, a glimpse of sternness crosses his features, reserved for only me and no one else in the congregation. “Be good.” Those two words hang in the air, not as a request but as a demand.
“I always am, Dad.” I give him a one-armed embrace, and he kisses the top of my head—an action that’s familiar to us but is done more for show than genuine affection. “I’ll see you later,” I say right before we part ways.
As I walk out of Kingdom Church and into the sun, I feel the same sensation of relief that I do every Sunday. My muscles loosen, there’s a pep in my step and fresh air in my lungs.
This is how it is every week morning service, then Dad hangs back to be with his groupies for the rest of the day. Since he gets so wrapped up with them, I’m free to leave.
Driving out of the gravel parking lot, I let the windows down and let the breeze fly through my hair. I travel between the trees, down the dirt paths until I finally hit a paved road. There’s no other building in sight, just my dad’s. We’re out in the countryside with nothing and no one nearby. Which is why I think people like coming to Kingdom Church so much. It gives them a sense of community when there isn’t really one in this area. I think the closest convenience store is thirty minutes away—which isn’t that convenient. All of the houses are scattered. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of one tucked way off the road, but other than that, there’s nowhere for people to come together other than church. People will spend their entire day there—and I’m thankful that they do because I get to do whatever I want in the meantime.
The road eventually leads to the highway, which eventually leads me toward home. Only today I have plans with Rae, so I’m headed to her place instead.
After the long drive, I’m finally back in my comforting beach town.
“It’s open,” Rae says from the other side of her door when I knock on it.
When I enter, Rae has an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips. Her balcony door is ajar, and she’s ready to step outside to smoke. I can hear the sound of chatter and laughter coming from the boardwalk.
“Hi!” I say, happiness beaming through me.
“You look fancier than normal,” she says before motioning her head for me to come outside with her.
“I just left Sunday service at my dad’s church.”
We each take a seat on her Adirondack chairs and admire the ocean in front of us. Rae lets out a plume of smoke but tries to aim it away from me. “Your dad has a church?”
“Yeah, I don’t really advertise that part of my life.” I laugh. “I would much rather talk about other things, such as—”
“My brother?” She playfully takes a jab, smirking.
“No.” My cheeks get hot. “Maybe.”
“Did he text you yet?”
I shake my head in response, and she lets out a frustrated sigh. “Sorry,” she says. “I have no idea what his track record is like with girls. He could be a total douchebag for all I know, so it might actually be a good thing he didn’t reach out.”
“You two never talk about that kind of stuff?”
Rae scoffs. “We don’t talk at all. Texting him for you to see if he was single was the most conversation we’ve had in years.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable spot.”
“You didn’t at all. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”
Another reason why I admire Rae. If only I could’ve been living my whole life only doing what I wanted and not what was expected of me.
“I’m surprised he even answered me,” she continues. “I’m pretty sure he hates me.”
“I doubt he hates you.”
“No. He does, and I don’t blame him. I was awful during my full-blown heroin days.”
My heart breaks for her and Grayson. Miles, too. I know their story. She and Miles are survivors of a school shooting, which is how she lost her twin sister, Cara. I don’t even want to imagine what their family might’ve gone through. I can understand why Rae turned to drugs to cope. And I can only assume the horribly traumatic event impacted Grayson as well.
“You’re going to have to forgive yourself for that eventually.”
Another cloud of smoke escapes her. “Is that what you learned in church today?” she teases.
“No. Forgiving myself is something I learned on my own.”
“And what type of sin have you committed that you need to forgive yourself for?”
“The usual. Beating up people in a dark alley and stealing their money,” I joke.
She snorts. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
FIVE
Grayson
I swore to myself I’d stop fighting.
I was on a decent streak until tonight.
Mom suggested I get out of the house, so I went to the gym—the only place I’ve been venturing out to recently. My workout was over. Everything was fine until I overheard a conversation in the locker room. A guy with sweatbands was bragging about how he had laced someone’s joint.
If someone were to ask me what he laced it with or when this happened, I wouldn’t be able to answer them because the second I heard the word laced followed by his obnoxious cackle, immense rage took over.
I waited to strike. Tried real fucking hard not to do anything. I even considered writing my anger out instead of using my fists. But my notebook is at home, and this piece of shit is right in front of me.
He left the gym alone, so I followed him to his car and snuck up on him.
With one swing, sweatband guy’s nose snaps against my knuckles. He’s down on the ground, trying to hit back, but I’ve got the upper hand. With a kick to the ribs, he whimpers in pain.
My pulse whirls in my ears, more adrenaline pumping through me. I’ve got a lifetime of wrath to unleash, but only a few seconds to do my final task.
Taking advantage now that he’s down for the count, I quickly reach for his gym bag, scouring through his belongings.
“Don’t touch my shit!” the guy grits out but ends up wheezing. Holding on to his abdomen, he tries to kick me, but I jump back.
Sweat pours down my body.
My fingers finally connect with what I knew I’d find. Little baggies and a wad of cash.
With that, I silently left sweatband guy to fend for himself, dropping his gym bag on top of him before speed walking to my car.
I drive off, my pockets stuffed with cash and bags filled with God knows what. There are drop boxes at pharmacies where people can anonymously dispose of prescription drugs, which is where I’m headed to now. Of course, the ones in my pockets aren’t prescription, but either way, they’re off the streets.
I did this last time with the drugs I had found on Rae’s dealer. It wasn’t my plan to do this a second time, and I don’t intend on making it a habit, but it’s slightly more satisfying knowing I’m fighting a dealer rather than just a random asshole.
Pulling up to a twenty-four-hour pharmacy, I make sure to park my car out of the view of the overhead cameras and then toss on my hoodie.
I’m quick to get rid of everything on me—minus the cash, then head back to my car for my drive home.
My heart rate begins to steady as I come down from my adrenaline high.
When I finally pull into my driveway, all the lights are off in my house. Quietly I enter, heading to the fridge to ice my throbbing hand. I’m already annoyed, knowing the conversation I’m bound to have with Mom and Dad once they spot my knuckles. It’s not like I’m going around fighting every person I come across, but I’m sure they don’t see it that way.
Carefully pulling out the kitchen chair so it doesn’t squeak, I sit down and rest my hand on the table with a wad of paper towels and ice plopped on top of it.
With my free hand, I take my phone out, mindlessly scrolling. But before I get too carried away, my attention is pulled to the text thread from Rae. She messaged me the other day, out of the blue, and when I found out why, my heart nearly flung out of my chest.
Emma wants to know if I’m single.
She likes me.
Rae gave me her number, the ball is in my court. But I can’t bring myself to go through with it for two reasons—one of them being fear. Not scared to message Emma but scared of how else she’ll make me feel. If I nearly had a heart attack just from locking eyes with her, what else could possibly happen when we say more than hello to each other?
The other reason I decided not to message Emma is because of Rae’s last text to me.
My thumb moves to click open the thread.
Rae
Don’t get with Emma unless you’re going to treat her right. I swear she’s the purest fucking human on the planet. She deserves someone good
My stomach drops at the same time I let my phone fall on the table. I glance over to my sore hand, splattered with dried blood.
She deserves someone good.
That’s definitely not me.
SIX
Grayson
SUMMER
Weeks have gone by with the same nothingness that has become my life.
As I’m about to devour a bowl full of Froot Loops, Mom and Dad both take a seat at the kitchen table with a hardened look of determination in their eyes. My spoon hovers in the air, milk dripping as I freeze in place, awaiting a conversation.
“Grayson,” Mom’s tone is serious.
I blink.
“We need to talk.”
I blink once more, but this time it’s followed by me shoving sugary cereal into my mouth. As I crunch down, I hope to tune out whatever is going to come out of my parents’ mouths, but no such luck.
“We know you got into another fight a few nights ago,” Dad states.
Yeah, I did, so sue me. I hadn’t gotten into any fights after the guy at the gym, until this past one. And truthfully, I couldn’t even pinpoint what started it. I think I just wanted to hit something that resembled a face.
I remain silent, knowing my plan of secluding in my room and trying to hide my hand wouldn’t fully work.
“This is becoming an issue.”
Rolling my eyes, I drop my spoon. “It’s only happened a handful of times.”
“And that’s more than enough,” Mom says, her features pulled in tight. “You’ve taken a major step backward since Rae’s overdose.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
My focus immediately goes from Mom and to the colorful circles in my bowl, drowning in milk and turning to mush.
“Do you want to start going back to Dr. Reed?” Mom asks, referring to my old psychiatrist.
“No.”
“I think it’d be good if you start talking to someone. You’ve been isolating again.”
My heart rate picks up as the room begins to shrink.
I wouldn’t call what I’ve been doing isolating. I drifted away from people because people only cause pain—why the fuck would I want to subject myself to that? I’ve been going to the gym, and now that my twenty-first has come and gone, I occasionally hang out at bars. Sure, I’m always alone, but I’m not living in a cave in my room every second of every day.
Mom continues, “Are you writing at least? We know that always helps you.”
“Not like I used to,” I mumble. That creative part of me has malformed into a wilting flower. I water it from time to time, trying to bring it back to life, but in the end, it’s useless.
Everything I’ve ever done or tried to do in life has been useless.
“We’re worried about you, Grayson,” Mom’s voice softens, and my gaze shoots up to look at her.
My stomach sinks when I notice her chin quivering.
Shit. Pile on the extra guilt while I watch Mom force back tears.
“If you don’t want to see Dr. Reed, maybe a trip to Golden Bay might change things for you,” she suggests.
My forehead crinkles. “Why?”
“To spend some time with Rae and mend your relationship.”
I shake my head in protest. Rae wants nothing to do with me—she’s made that very clear. And besides, I don’t know how spending forced time with my sister is going to fix this “major step backward.”
“You need to do something, Grayson,” Dad interjects, his tone stern. “You could go to Golden Bay and spend some time with your sister while learning skills for trade school. It’s the middle of June. You’ll need to start enrolling in a program by the end of the summer.”
I stare at him, unresponsive, my face not giving away any emotion.
Is right now the opportune time to bring up this trade school bullshit? I said yes to this to get my parents off my back, but they haven’t brought it up in over a month. I thought we were all past this.
Dad starts up again, “We spoke to Rae yesterday—”
“What!”
“Not about how you’re struggling, but about you possibly spending the summer there to shadow Miles.”
“Is this what this conversation is really about? Me getting a career?”
“No. It’s about you making changes and working on different aspects of yourself—including a career. Your mother and I have talked, and we both agree that you need to start taking your future more seriously.”
Future? I don’t even want a future.
I’m just passing the time until my end comes.
“I don’t even know if I want to go to trade school for the same shit he does—why did you even ask her?” the words tumble out of my mouth quickly.
“Well, this can be a great way for you to narrow down what you want to do. If you don’t like the type of work Miles does, then you can try something else out.”
“No.”
“Grayson, we think you need a change of pace,” Mom says.
“No,” I repeat.
My leg bounces up and down, powerful enough to make the table tremble along with it.
“This could be a great chance for you and Rae to reconnect. She seems to be doing wonderfully. She told me she even went bowling with some people from NA.” Mom chuckles to herself. “I can’t picture her bowling.”
“I’m not going.”
“Grayson—”
“I’m not hanging out with Rae and her boyfriend for the entire summer.”
Dad’s jaw sets as he levels with me. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
“You’re not giving me a choice?”
“Grayson, please.” Mom reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. “We want to see you flourish, and that’s not happening for you here. We’re just asking you to try something new for a little while, see which new doors open up for you. It’ll only be for the summer, and then you’ll come back home.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, frustration building inside of me, but the words I wish to get out evaporate. Not that they’d understand even if I spoke to them. They want their kids to have a normal life, I get it. But nothing about the past several years has been normal, so all hope for a regular life has been lost. But the two of them held our family together the best they could. They’ve suffered enough. I don’t want to add to their pain.
Which is why, when I look across the table at them, my muscles get heavy, and my shoulders drop.
“You never know, it could be the start of something great. Will you at least try it out?” Mom half-asks, half-begs.
I nod.
Guess I’m headed to Golden Bay.
SEVEN
Emma
A sudden wave of heat washes over my body, my legs tangling between my bed sheets, as I read the latest romance novel on my Kindle.
“Don’t stop,” Yvonne whispers against my lips.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” I loosen my grip on her hair and slowly slide my hand to her throat. Her pulse beats against my fingertips, and the moment my other hand slides up her dress, the rhythm gets faster.
I can sense my cheeks becoming flushed. Before I read any further, I highlight the excerpt, knowing that I’ll want to go back and reread it, pretending to live out the moment.
I annotate everything I read, but the books that live on my Kindle are marked up the most. From the tender acts that make my heart swell to the downright dirty scenes that are brought to life on the pages—it all gets highlighted.
