The Scars Keeper Page 2

  My waves are fuzzy and everywhere, and there is mud all over the side of my face from where it rested on the ground. My green eyes are puffy and red. I can’t believe this is happening. It’s like a bad dream.

  Once I step inside the shower, I think less of him and my embarrassing appearance and more about how close I came to death.

  The tears want to come, but I push them back. I don’t want him to hear my cries. That’s all I need is for him to bust into my bathroom while I’m naked.

  I wash my hair and body as fast as I can. I dress with even more urgency and yank a comb through my hair.

  While sliding some gel through it, I think about applying makeup, but that seems ridiculous after what happened. I wouldn’t want him to think I’m trying to impress him.

  Gradually, I crack open the door and see he’s still in the chair. His eyes open, and he stares straight at me. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

  I pad over to my unmade bed and sit on it with my legs crossed. He pulls out his earbuds but stays sitting comfortably in my chair.

  “Wanna smoke a joint?” he asks.

  I smile from how he said the words so nonchalantly like he does it every day.

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure the scent would linger. I don’t need my parents pissed at me any more than they already are.”

  He shrugs. “You smiled. Does that mean it’s OK for me to leave?”

  I don’t know him at all, yet for some reason it bothers me he wants to leave. He’s a total loner at school and doesn’t fit in with my circle of friends, but none of that means anything after what he did for me.

  “Yeah, I’m OK. It was a stupid rash decision.”

  “Promise me you won’t kill yourself.”

  “I promise.”

  He stands and heads for the hallway, so I follow him down the stairs and to the door. He doesn’t look back as he opens it and steps out onto the deck.

  “Hayden …” Stopping, he remains still as if he’s considering whether or not to look at me again. After a few seconds he turns. “Thank you for saving my life. I think I would’ve gone through with it if you hadn’t shown up.”

  “Nothing’s worth it, Avery.”

  He said my name. There was no emotion to it, but it still sounded amazing flowing through his raspy voice.

  I get no time to say anything else before he’s off the deck and striding back toward the woods … in the rain. Is he going there to smoke a joint? Where did he come from, anyway?

  Chapter Two

  Avery

  The familiar guitar music floats through the cracked-open window of my bathroom. I stop untangling the cords of my blow dryer and hair straightener and listen to the relaxing sounds.

  They’re too faint, so I drop the wad of cords and vain contraptions onto my vanity and lift my window up farther. The guitar’s melody is clearer now, but the singing voice is muffled through the dense trees dividing us.

  Moved by the melancholy sound, I sit down on my closed toilet seat and listen. I’m already running late this morning, but I’m entranced by the music … by its honesty.

  Some days it’s loud and aggressive, but today it’s sad. I wish I could hear the lyrics, too.

  “Avery, are you up?” my dad yells from the hallway. Sighing, I get up and lean my head out of the bathroom to shout a yes toward my bedroom door.

  Back to reality.

  I’m standing with only one foot on the ground, digging my bare toes from the other one into the crook of my foot and ankle. I grip the doorframe and listen, but the music has stopped.

  I wish I knew the person who gives me these moments of comfort each morning. They’re minutes when I get to imagine there’s another human being on this planet who might feel the way I do.

  But at the same time, this person’s music is too personal to be heard by me, and I feel guilty for listening.

  Glancing at the time on my phone, I see how late it’s getting, so I plug in my straightener to begin the tedious process of smoothing out my unruly waves.

  Blake likes them straight. There’s probably some ridiculous reason my parents prefer them that way, too.

  Unruly.

  The sinister smile creeps from the shadowy corners of my lips. Screw this. I like my curls, and I think I’ll give them center stage in this fake show called my life.

  Once I’ve styled my long hair to porn-star status, my innocent complexion needs excitement, too, so I add an intense purple shade of eye shadow and some black liner.

  All that’s left is what to wear, so I open one of the moving boxes that contains some of my clothing and ransack it, tossing shirts and shorts onto my hardwood floor.

  I find my classic Def Leppard t-shirt that once belonged to my father. He played their music for me before he became stuffy and old, and I fell in love with it. It’s one of the few good memories I can recall of time spent with him.

  I hold the shirt up and think about Hayden. He wears concert shirts a lot. God, I’m so nervous about seeing him today.

  I considered faking sick, but then he might worry something happened to me. Will he tell anyone my secret? The way he keeps to himself at school leads me to believe he wouldn’t.

  I take one last look in the mirror, ready to play my role in this messed up world. “All set,” I mumble before I grab my book and gym bags. As I walk past my parents master suite, I hear my mom moving about inside.

  I know it’s her since she’s always running the latest around here. I reach the stairs and trot down them to the first floor.

  “Don’t you have a paper due today in sociology?” my father asks as soon as I step into the kitchen. Perched on a stool at the island, he’s reading the morning paper and sipping his coffee.

  Before I stroll over to him, I pour what remains from the carafe into my to-go mug to drink on the way to school.

  “Good morning to you, too, and I have my assignment finished.”

  Dropping the newspaper, he sizes up my style for the day and grimaces.

  “Did you have your mother proofread it?”

  I roll my eyes. “No. As usual, you both arrived home too late last night, but I’ll have Blake read over it after our physics exam.”

  “Right. You have an exam today, too. Remember that poor grammar can lower a grade, so don’t forget to have him check it.”

  If his brow knits any further, he’ll have to perform plastic surgery on himself, and he needs to save that dynamic skill set for his vain patients.

  Oh, how I wish I could drip some of my sarcasm into his morning cup of joe.

  “I have a 4.0. What more do you want from me? Just back the hell off.”

  My face slings to the right from the smack it receives. This hit was unexpected. It typically takes more mouthiness to provoke it. I bring my face back up and rub the side of my cheek.

  “Number forty-seven.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s the number of times you’ve slapped me since I began keeping count about two years ago. Maybe that’s not bad for over 700 days.”

  My father blows out a heavy breath and drags a hand over his mouth. A few grey hairs show through his blond, making him appear more distinguished than he is.

  Dr. Brad Hollingsworth … I know the real him. The one who has to struggle to keep it together … to keep his temper and anxiety under control.

  “Avery, I’m sorry, but the older you get, the more you defy your mother and me.”

  “Don’t bring Mom into this,” I sneer. “She’s never laid a hand on me.”

  “See, this is what I mean. You have no respect for authority anymore.”

  “Authority. I guess that is the right name for it since all you want to do is control me and ensure I follow the laws of Dr. Hollingsworth.”

  Before I can receive another smack to the face, I tear out the front door, hearing him call for me as I go.

  The sensation of fullness in my ears is building, and I have to will away the tunnel vision encroa
ching on me. I can’t handle the anxiety his lecturing creates.

  Stomping down the wide porch steps of our new home, I hear the annoying country tune blaring from Blake’s car.

  If my anxiety wasn’t already at its peak, it is now, but to avoid another argument, I plant a smile on my face and open the passenger door of his sporty white Nissan 350z.

  “Hi,” I shout over the music before kissing his cheek. His light blue eyes travel over me.

  “Are you really wearing that to school? And what’s with the dark makeup? Are you hanging out with the stoners now?”

  I shoot him a glare. “Not you, too.”

  Shaking his head, he backs out of the driveway.

  “Let me guess; your dad’s home this morning.”

  “Yep.”

  He glances over, and from how his fists tighten around the steering wheel, I know he spotted my red cheek.

  “He hit you again.”

  “Let it go. I sort of asked for it.”

  “He chooses to smack you, Avery. He could handle it differently.” He tightens his grip on the leather, punishing it like my dad punishes me.

  “I swear I’m going to hurt the man the next time he lays a hand on you, so I need to stop coming here before it happens. This drive sucks, anyhow.”

  “My new house is only fifteen minutes farther away from you.”

  “And adding another fifteen to get back to school means I have to get up a half hour earlier.”

  “You’re the one who insisted on picking me up after the move.”

  “And now I’m letting you know you’ll need to drive yourself.”

  Pulling his death grip from the steering wheel, I entwine our fingers and lean over to give a faint kiss to his neck. He moves his head away, so I sink back against my seat.

  “We have less than three months before we graduate. Let’s make them the best ones,” I say.

  He gives me a mischievous grin.

  “Does this mean your pussy’s finally open for business?”

  “Blake!”

  He laughs, but it’s only seconds before his scowl returns. “Babe, I’m serious. You told me when we got together you were saving your virginity until you were sure it would be meaningful.

  “We’ve been together for two years. If you don’t think it would be meaningful by now, you’re never gonna. What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “You told me we’re not staying together if I don’t go to UofL with you. I’m not attending that college, so I’m not giving up my virginity only so a few months from now you can be at a frat party screwing whoever you feel like.”

  “Whatever. I don’t see why we can’t have some fun while we’re still together, and I can’t believe you’re thinking about attending IU.”

  “I am attending IU. My parents just don’t know it yet.” Ugh, I’m not even getting into the college debate with him this morning.

  Like my parents who attended there, Blake wants me to go with him to the University of Louisville in Kentucky which is only a short drive from where we live in southern Indiana.

  I want to attend Indiana University in Bloomington. It’s almost two hours from us and would give me independence from my parents. I need that freedom more than anything.

  I’m relieved when Blake turns up the crappy music and drops the subject about getting some. Leaning my head back against the seat, I think about what he said.

  For the most part, I guess he has been patient about us not having sex, but that’s only because we’ve messed around in other ways. Meaning, ways where I make him feel good while still getting to keep my clothes on.

  An uneasiness heavier than what I’m already plagued with this morning bears down on my chest. What he doesn’t know is I’m not trying to save my virtue for shit. It’s only my excuse, my cover up … my lie.

  If we have sex, he’s going to find out the real reason why we haven’t been up until now, and then he’ll flip.

  He’d tell my parents my secret, and it would create a shitstorm I don’t need; one I’m not capable of handling.

  I have to admit, though, that a part of me believes sex will be more meaningful because I waited.

  Since Blake and I aren’t going to the same college, he’s not the guy I want to share my first time with, and this conversation with him reaffirmed that fact.

  Needing a distraction from the unsettling thoughts and the lyrics about John Deers and cold beer, I pull out my physics book and study.

  We stay in our own worlds until we’re close to the school parking lot. I notice Blake glancing at the rearview mirror for the half dozenth time.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Someone on a motorcycle has been behind us since we left your subdivision, and now they’re following us to school.

  “It looks like a dude, and he’s wearing a helmet, so I can’t tell who it is. Who goes to our school from your subdivision?”

  “I’ve only lived there a month. I have no clue.”

  Blake parks in his usual spot, and we both get out. As we meander toward the entrance of our high school, we glance over our shoulders to look at the person on the bike.

  He removes his helmet, and my heartbeat skyrockets. I stare as Hayden shakes out his thick, wavy hair, the color matching the faded black leather jacket he’s wearing.

  “Hayden Jamison,” Blake says. “I’m surprised he can afford that bike, but it’s likely he paid for it with drug money. Hell, he’s probably selling drugs to someone in your neighborhood.”

  “We don’t know he sells drugs.”

  “As poor-looking as he dresses, how else could he afford that bike?”

  Not having an answer, I don’t respond, but I still think of Hayden, the mysterious guy who’s in my first two periods of school. Oh, and who happened to save my life.

  If Blake knew that guy was in my room only hours ago, he’d try to kick his ass, but I think he’d lose.

  Hayden’s at least six feet two, a couple of inches taller than Blake, and he appears stronger, his muscles more defined.

  Not to mention, he gives off the vibe that nothing scares him. Blake would be intimidated once he stood in front of the guy.

  Hayden’s in his usual attire, which consists of black boots, blue jeans and a dark t-shirt. He sits in the back of the classrooms by himself, and I’ve only ever seen him with one friend, Joey. The combination of it all is a total cliché for the arcane, loner type.

  What’s odd is he actively participates in our classes. I can tell it makes him uncomfortable, but it’s as if he can’t help but chime in.

  He’s intelligent, and that has always sparked my interest. After yesterday, I find everything about him intriguing.

  Chapter Three

  Avery

  As Blake and I walk to physics, I give him my sociology paper so he can proof it once he turns in his exam. The guy’s a genius, and his grammar and punctuation are always spot-on.

  The second I eye Hayden sitting in the back of the room, I release Blake’s hand and hurry toward my seat. Hayden never looks up from his book, and I have mixed feelings about that.

  I want to see his face to gauge his reaction, but if he speaks to me, then my friends, and most certainly Blake, will be baffled, and I don’t know what I’d give as an explanation.

  Our teacher, Mr. Stephen Bradford, passes out today’s test, getting closer to me with each step. He’s twenty-five, and at first sight I found him attractive.

  He dresses stylishly, and his light brown hair has a Caesar cut where it’s buzzed on the side and a bit spiky on top, but now I see him for the creeper he is.

  Before handing me my test, he steals a glance at my boobs and then my eyes, the brief look a reminder he’s not finished with me yet.

  He’ll impose his domination over me once we’re alone, and I’ll sink that much further into the pit of shame.

  I feel as if I’m driving full-speed ahead into the dreaded tunnel, my vision seeing only black, so I take a deep breath.

&nbs
p; The tip of my pencil digs into the desk, and I scrape downward, imagining it’s my skin that’s beneath it.

  My stomach is twisting in knots, but I have to get an A in this class, so I close my eyes to regain some focus before I begin my exam.

  Shit, the questions are hard. I studied a lot, but anxiety overcomes me, and I can hardly get through it.

  I’ve been staring at the last three questions for fifteen minutes. That’s when Blake turned his in. Why does everything come easy for him?

  Focus, Avery.

  I glance to the clock, and I only have seven minutes left of class. I guess at the first two questions I’m missing answers to, and I leave the last one blank.

  It didn’t help that Hayden strolled right next to me during that time to turn his in, too. The sound of his boots brought back memories of yesterday, distracting me further.

  I’m holding back tears as I walk to Mr. Bradford’s desk with only two minutes to spare. Spotting the unanswered question, he glowers and peers up at me with his beady brown eyes.

  “You have a couple of minutes left.”

  I shrug. “It won’t help. I can’t focus.”

  “Our “official” private tutoring sessions begin in two days. Your father approved them.” His sneer causes me to shudder.

  “Yeah, 'cause physics is what we focused on the last time you had me stay after.” I add a grimacing look to make my rejection clearer before I stride away.

  No sooner than I take my seat, the bell rings, so I lift my backpack from the floor and force my pencil through a tiny unzipped section of it.

  “Avery,” Blake says as I hurry to the door. He’s behind me, and I don’t want to turn back because he’s going to talk about how easy the test was even though he knows it’s never the case for me.

  I recall he has my sociology paper for next period, so I come to a stop right after I enter the hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I shake my head and look away.

  “Don’t.” We’ve been together long enough for him to know what that means. It means if he pushes and I have to talk about my feelings, I’m going to become a bitch, and that won’t be pleasant for either of us.