Fragments of gray, p.7
Fragments of Gray, page 7
Once again he runs a hand through his hair, only this time he’s tugging at the roots. “You didn’t answer the question.”
“No, he doesn’t hit me! Why on earth would you think that?”
“I’ve never seen someone so spooked by their dad coming home.” Gray’s gaze presses into mine. “You swear he doesn’t hurt you?”
“Look at me, Gray.” I step back, outstretching my arms. “Not a mark on my body.” I do a little twirl so he can see that there are no bruises or scrapes.
When my eyes land back on him, his eyes aren’t locked on mine but rather taking their time to memorize every inch of my skin. My nipples harden under my shirt, which is when I realize I’m not wearing a bra—and so does Gray.
He forces his attention back to my face, killing any lustful flames that flickered across his features.
“Why are you scared of him?” he asks in a soft voice.
“My dad’s just strict about me and the opposite sex. I swear, he’s not hurting me.”
He nods, then after a beat he says, “Sorry for bothering you.”
“You didn’t. I was just reading.” I gesture to my Kindle on my mattress.
“What were you reading?”
“A romance book.”
His attention goes from to my bed, then over to my candles, then back to my body. His eyes widen as if a lightbulb just went off. “Shit—sorry if I was interrupting—”
“What?” Then it clicks for me, too. “Oh god, no, that’s not—I wasn’t…” My cheeks heat up.
Gray lets out a small chuckle. “I’ll let you get back to your book.” He takes a step back. “I don’t want you to freak out about your dad hearing me.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about him now, that man can sleep through anything. I went through a phase where I purposefully left the door to the movie theater open as a test to see if he’d wake up. He didn’t.”
“You have a movie theater?”
“Just a small one,” I state. “And besides, my dad’s room is downstairs, all the way at the end of the hall.”
“What times does he usually go to sleep?”
“Around ten, sometimes earlier.”
“So, any time after ten would be a good time to come over?”
I chuckle. “Are you planning on making a habit out of sneaking in through my window?”
“I’m stuck in Golden Bay for the summer. Might as well make it interesting.”
My head spins, going from him barely talking, to him wanting to be friends, and now to him standing here being oddly protective over me.
“I’ll see you later. Enjoy your book,” he says, already placing a foot out of my window.
“Goodnight, Gray.”
“Night, Red.”
TWELVE
Grayson
The soles of my shoes crash down in the sand, and I start walking toward my car. Glancing around Emma’s house, I scan to see if any lights are on just to make sure her dad isn’t awake, and she’s not about to get in trouble. I shouldn’t have come here to check on her, but I couldn’t get the image of her fearful face out of my head. I’ve never seen someone that scared of their parents before; she was shaking, on the verge of tears, and kinda looked like she was about to puke.
There’s a nagging feeling inside me and telling me that there’s something off with her dad. He might not hit her, but something is definitely up.
I don’t know how or when Emma made it onto my short list of people I feel the need to protect, but I couldn’t make it through the night without knowing she’d be safe.
I head to my car, in the spot where Emma showed me to park earlier in the day, and give one last look at her house as I drive past.
I grew up pretty nice, thanks to my parents, but nothing like living in a mansion on the beach. That’s a different kind of money.
Forcing myself to stop thinking about her, I focus on the road.
Stupid of me to go to her house again.
Stupid of me to promise another night of me climbing through her window.
But despite those things—I refuse to get attached.
Tingles scatter throughout me, thinking about how sexy she looked in her skimpy pajamas. Blood starts to rush to my cock as I begin to imagine her in her bed, getting herself off to whatever she was reading.
I bite down on my lip, wishing I could watch her touch herself and hear her moans.
Shaking my head before getting too lost in my fantasy, I try to push the thought of Emma out of my mind. But no matter how much I think about other shit, I keep going back to how I felt standing in her room.
It was nice.
No. Better than nice.
It was exciting. The scent of flowers whirling all around me, learning more about her and her hobbies, the fluttering sensation in my stomach, taking the time to look at her, getting to talk to someone.
It was fucking amazing. And there’s a strong yearning building in my core, wanting to get that feeling any chance I can get.
Don’t go there, Grayson.
Increasing the volume of the radio, the guitars blare through my car speakers, and I flip my concentration onto the song in hopes the noise will drown out any thoughts of Emma.
My hands grip around the steering wheel as I drive around, not wanting to go back to Rae’s and have her ask me where I went.
So, avoiding my thoughts and my sister, I drive around and end up at a hole-in-the-wall bar called Captain Bill’s, several miles away from the boardwalk.
As I park, I check out my surroundings.
There are a few people outside bullshitting while they smoke, none of them paying any attention to me.
The moment I step inside, my nose wrinkles from the scent of stale beer, cigars and dirty fisherman. There are only a handful of people hanging out; some sit at the high-top tables, others play darts off to the side. Four people sit at the bar, getting drunk and chatting with the local bartender.
Sitting down at the bar, I twirl a flimsy coaster between my fingers. It takes several minutes before the bartender notices me, but I don’t care because I have nowhere to be and nothing to do.
“What can I get you?” he asks without bothering to check my ID.
“A beer. I’m not picky,” I state.
With that, he pops open the top of a glass bottle from a local brewery and hands me my drink. I take a pull, not enjoying the hoppy taste as it hits my tongue.
I’ve had beer here and there but don’t like it enough to consume it regularly.
As fucked up as it might be, I sometimes wish it would be shit like this that destroys me. But it won’t be. It’ll be my own mind, body, and soul that turns me into ashes.
A man from the other side of the bar comes and sits next to me. He’s got greasy, thinning hair with bloodshot eyes, nearing the age of fifty.
“How’s it goin’?” He slurs his words, then his lips stretch into an off-putting smile.
My spine stiffens as warning bells go off in my head. I give him a tip of my chin, then go back to drinking. I focus my attention on the wooden plank wall ahead of me, hoping he’ll get the hint that I’m not one for small talk.
“Hanging out by yourself tonight?” he keeps speaking.
“Trying to.”
He signals the bartender for another drink, and in a flash, a glass of beer appears for him, and the bartender goes back to his conversation at the other end.
After an obnoxious sip of his drink, annoyance constricts my muscles. I slam my half-empty bottle down, ending this night early, and take out my wallet to pay for my drink.
“Want me to hook you up with something?” the man asks.
Snapping my head to look at him, I notice his eyes are fixated on the dollar bills in my hand. “What?”
“What are you looking to buy?” His face lights up at the prospect of making money.
Every part of my body tenses.
My annoyance abruptly switches to anger.
There’s no fucking way he’s trying to sell me drugs right now.
“You didn’t say what you were looking for in your text,” he continues to blend his words together. He’s too far gone to realize that whoever texted him earlier isn’t me.
And he’s about to wish he never opened his goddamn mouth.
Even though my bones begin to clamor, I play it off cool. “What’d you have on you?” I ask.
“Got some roofies, if you feel like getting lucky tonight.” His grin contorts into something wicked.
Sheer hatred instantly blinds me.
Rage fills my bloodstream, white hot anger pumping through my heart.
That choice of drug never even crossed my fucking brain.
A whole new layer of revenge bursts through me as my mind begins to paint a horrible picture of what some people might’ve gone through. Bile immediately shoots up my esophagus, and it burns as I swallow it down.
I have to force myself to stop creating images in my head because it’s quickly turning into people I know, and if I find out anyone in my life has gone through anything like that, I swear I will slit a motherfucker’s throat.
Wrath wraps around every fiber in my muscles, tensing my entire body.
I didn’t come here with the intention of letting out some of my anger, but clearly fate had other plans.
I keep myself in check, giving the douchebag a smirk, I carefully scope out the room.
Bartender is talking with people at the far end.
Wasted idiots playing darts far away from me.
There are probably still people smoking out front, but I can run fast enough before they catch on.
“How many do you have?” I ask, a fake smile playing on my lips.
“Seven.”
“A whole week of fun.” I open my wallet once more, and he laughs at my comment, so I force out a chuckle. “How much?” I ask, flashing some of the bills I’ve stolen from other dealers. His eyes grow wide, taking the bait.
“For that much action, there’s gonna be an upcharge.” He keeps on rolling with laughter, and he digs into his pocket and takes out a small baggie.
Being the stupid shithead that he is, he places it on the bar top.
“Three hundred,” he states.
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
As I pretend to go in for the cash, his gaze drops along with my hand. In the split second I have him distracted, my fist punches upward, upper-cutting his chin and instantly breaking the skin of my knuckles. He flies backward, hitting the back of his head on a stool as he crashes down on the sticky floor.
“Hey!” The bartender yells.
Swiping the baggie, I dodge someone swinging at me as I dart out the door.
“Get him!” someone shouts to the smokers as I run past.
My heart races along with my feet as people start to chase after me.
Getting into my car as quickly as possible, I hightail it out of the lot, hearing screaming and cursing in the distance.
Anger continues to course through my veins even though I no longer can see the bar. My molars grind into each other, fucking fuming that humans like this have the privilege of existing when I’m one sister down and one sister almost dead.
It’s not fucking fair.
Nothing about this cruel, evil world is fair.
Adrenaline is still pumping through me when I pull up to SeaScape. In the dark of the night, I go toward a nearby trashcan placed outside the building. Holding onto the baggie, I press into it, letting my remaining energy crush all the pills into dust.
Dumping the powder into the garbage, I wiggle the can around so there’s not a lump sitting on the top. It’s now sprinkled between Sam’s Dinette to-go cups, candy wrappers, tissues and a Target bag.
Staring at the trash, I slowly inhale, forcing myself to calm down my breathing.
My hands are balled into fists, wrath still powering through me.
It’s not fair that people like him get to freely move about their lives all the while causing innocent people to suffer.
I have enough rage in me to find several more people to kick the shit out of, but instead of seeking someone out, I decide to channel my anger toward something else.
Tonight, I’ll write.
THIRTEEN
Grayson
The scent of acrylic paint fills my nose, waking me up. That, plus the throbbing pain across my knuckles.
“What happened?” Rae’s unamused voice floats from somewhere in the living room, but I ignore her. Keeping my eyelids screwed shut, I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and yank the blankets that are wrapped around my ankles up to my chest, trying to go back to sleep.
“I know you’re awake,” she states.
Hopefully not for much longer.
I flip over, my face pressed up against the back of the couch as I curl my knees.
There’s several minutes of silence, except for every so often when Rae taps her paintbrush against something.
I slowly drift back to sleep, enjoying the nothingness that encompasses me.
No feelings, no thoughts.
Just… nothing.
“Hello?” Rae obnoxiously calls out.
My eyes pop open. “What?” I bite out, the same time I turn to look at her. She’s planted on the floor, painting something on a canvas.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Something fell on it.”
“Another person’s face?”
“Maybe.”
Rae tosses her brush to the side. “Grayson, you can’t go around fighting people. I’m responsible for you while you’re here.”
I scoff in disbelief. Now she wants to pull some big sister rank, when our entire childhood she couldn’t have cared less about me? I sit upright, ready to have it out with her. “You’re not responsible for me. I’m a fucking adult,” I snap.
“What are Mom and Dad going to say?”
“I don’t know—probably something along the lines of ‘thank God he only got into a fight and didn’t turn out to be a junkie.’”
Rae stares me down, the ice in her eyes piercing through me. “That was low.”
“Still probably not as low as you went to score some dope.”
Regret.
Instant fucking regret repeatedly stabs my chest for uttering those words.
She rises to her feet, leaving her canvas on the floor. “You barely speak to me for years, and those are the words you choose?”
No. Those aren’t the words I really wanted to say. But I don’t know how to be vulnerable, and neither does she, so that’s what flew out of my mouth.
My head hangs in shame. Swallowing down my pride, I try to muster up an apology. I don’t have it in me to look at her when I lowly say, “Rae, I’m—”
“Don’t.” There’s a sound of keys jangling. “I deserved it.”
No, you didn’t.
Say the goddamn words, Grayson.
Be a good fucking person, and let the words move from your brain to your mouth.
For the love of God—say something.
But nothing comes out. The words freeze in my head.
I hate this feeling. I have so much to say but turn mute.
And before I can let out a sound, Rae’s out the door.
I slam the heel of my palm against my head, over and over again, wanting to hurt myself into making this stupid thing in my skull work properly.
My eyes prick with a deep pain that I keep hidden, buried underneath the years of rage.
Going into my duffel bag, next to the couch, I dig out my notebook and begin writing. Because if I’m gonna sit here like a bitch and be upset, it might as well amount to something.
The mind is a terrible thing to waste,
but it’s also a terrible place to reside if you’ve got mine.
Self-loathing unravels through the trenches of body,
each release intensifying the war within me.
Hating my brain.
Hating living like this.
Hating the war I never asked to fight in.
A sharp pain throbs between my temples. Life would be a lot easier if I was void of all emotions. God, I wish I didn’t feel so heavily. It’s my greatest curse.
Just once, I’d like to know what life would be like with a little lightness.
Would the dark cruxes of my soul be capable of finding a way out, guided by the flicker of a flame?
What would that light feel like,
taste like,
be like.
If only I could steal it.
Capture it in my hands, letting it burn my skin raw.
If only for a moment of light.
Looking at the page in front of me, I scoff. I probably wouldn’t even know how to enjoy the light, no matter how hard I would try to seize it. Add it to the list of shit I suck at—talking, vulnerability, enjoying life even if happiness were to smack me across the face.
Do other people live like this? Do they live a life of loneliness and pain because they don’t know how to open up to others? Or am I the only messed-up one?
My mind flashes to the last time I tried opening up.
I’m thirteen, sitting at my kitchen table, mouthing words, trying to practice what they taught me in speech therapy.
Rae comes into the room, getting a glass of water. I notice as she takes pills out of her pocket, swallowing them.
A pit in my stomach grows until I feel sick. A sour taste coating my tongue.
I’ve been watching my sister slip away. She hasn’t been herself in years, but every time I catch her taking those pills I know it’s getting worse.
Fear expands in my heart, pumping into my veins as she drifts into her bedroom.
I can’t lose my sister. I can’t lose anyone ever again.
Hysteria begins to grow.
My hands tremble as I build up the courage to talk to her. It feels like an eternity passes before I finally stand. The sound of my pulse thudding in my ears with each step I take. My eyes burn, tears welling behind them.
Opening up Rae’s bedroom door, I find her on Cara’s ghostly side of the room, laying on her mattress. Our parents have been begging Rae to change the room around but Rae refuses, wanting to keep Cara’s side a memorial.
