Put Me Back Together(49)
All the rules were in place today. This was, after all, the day they were made for. I avoided my coffee shop, knowing it might have the radio playing, wore my biggest noise-cutting earphones just in case, and inside the school buildings I kept my eyes averted from every TV screen. I spoke to no one, took copious engrossing notes in class, and tried to emulate my morning self as much as possible: say nothing, feel nothing, be nothing. Before I knew it, my school day was over and I was on my way home.
My only mistake was stopping at the newsagent at the edge of campus to buy a Snickers bar—my reward for not staying home all day hiding under the covers. The daily papers were all stacked neatly on the counter, ready to be taken away to wherever unpurchased newspapers went at the end of the day, and as I struggled to fit my change into my wallet I happened to glance down at them. The headlines jumped out at me, all reporting the same thing, all in bold, block type. Because this was the biggest news story of the year. And it was right there in front of me.
Evil Gets Cut Loose
Killer Walks Free
Kid Killer Comes Home
The coins fell through my fingers and scattered on the pavement.
“Are you all right, miss?” the old man behind the counter asked, glancing down at the change that I hadn’t bothered to pick up.
My inner tremor threatened to take over my entire body as the awful memories pulled at me, trying to drag me back there—Brandon’s dirty fingernails as he gripped the knife. Tommy’s high-pitched scream ringing in my ears. My dirty running shoes pounding on the forest path as I ran and ran and ran—but I resisted with all my strength. I didn’t want to go back there ever again. I wouldn’t.
“I’m great!” I said with forced enthusiasm, jamming a bite of chocolate into my mouth and chewing as though my life depended on it. Then I turned away and left the headlines and the memories behind me, where they belonged.
As I pulled open the door to my building I noticed the sun was going down. I’d made it through the day in one piece. Nobody had attacked me. Nobody had found me out. I’d survived this day just as I’d survived every day leading up to it, and I was going to keep surviving. The day had just been one long boring bout of nothing.
In a sick way, it was kind of a letdown.
In the doorway I quickly checked my mail slot, spying a manila envelope waiting for me through the little holes in the metal door. My name was printed in small, neat writing on the front, and there was no stamp, which meant that whoever had left this for me had been inside the building. I set the envelope down on the table in the lobby, staring at my pale face in the mirror hanging above it.
Evil Gets Cut Loose.
Maybe Brandon hadn’t sent me a text today because he’d planned to leave this for me instead? I knew logically that this wasn’t possible. It would mean his travelling all the way from Vancouver to Kingston in just a few hours. He’d only been let out this afternoon, and I was pretty sure the terms of his release barred him from leaving the province. My nagging worry that he had an accomplice made my fingers shake as I picked up the envelope again. I knew I was being silly. What danger could an envelope possibly pose? It was light enough that I felt nearly certain it contained nothing other than paper. So no bomb to blow me to bits, then. Another empty threat, maybe, written out by hand this time? I’d never know unless I opened it, and yet I couldn’t seem to convince my fingers to tear the seal.
As I approached the stairs, dragging my feet now, all my earlier excitement doused in anxiety, I squinted down at my own name. The handwriting seemed familiar to me, which meant it couldn’t be Brandon’s. I’d never seen him write anything down. I puzzled over this for a moment until the photo of Turner I’d taken on my phone flashed through my mind and I suddenly knew whom the envelope was from. All that extra anxiety lifted from my shoulders and floated away. I knew his handwriting because I’d watched him writing out his name on the missing cat flyers we’d plastered all over town. The envelope was from Lucas.
It had been nearly two weeks since the moment Lucas and I had shared in the hall outside of class. Since then we hadn’t spoken once, and he hadn’t called or texted me, either. I was back to my old tricks, avoiding any places on campus where I thought he might be and keeping my head down in class so as to not catch his eye. But this time I noticed he was doing the same. He’d even skipped class last Friday. And earlier this week when we’d had our closest call, somehow managing to end up at the door to the art studio at the same moment—keeping your eyes down all the time did have its drawbacks—I’d stepped back, murmuring an apology, my eyes drifting up to his face, but he’d kept his averted. His demeanour had been one of annoyance, as though I’d been holding him up. His face has been stonily blank as I’d walked passed him through the door, just inches from his chest. The gravity that always pulled me toward him had screamed at me to throw myself into his arms, but I’d held back. Gut-wrenching as it had been to have Lucas look at me like I was a stranger, it would’ve been like an actual knife in the stomach to have had him peel me off his body, that same stony expression telling me he wasn’t interested, he never had been.
When his coldness came back to me, freezing my heart solid, I had to remind myself that I was the one who’d told Lucas to stay away from me. He was just doing as I asked. And when I was out grabbing a bite Sunday night with Em and her friends and spotted him across the room with that redheaded vixen Taylor plastered to his side, I had to remind myself again. And again and again and again. This was what I’d wanted. This was what I’d asked for. He was moving on. He was doing just what I’d told him to.