Beautifully Ruined (17 page)

Fuck, he did
.

I roll my eyes before I pull away. He’s paying for this somehow.

“You taste like chocolate,” I tell him, giggling wildly as everyone around us laughs. We look fantastic, I know. I’ve never felt sexier in my life.

“So do you.”

I start to wipe the cake from my hair.

“As long as I don’t get a cake shower, I’m getting a picture of this,” Harley announces, propping herself in front of us with her phone outstretched before her. After the
click
of her camera app sounds, Avery plants a handful of cake in her face, pulling it up to the top of her head and tapping it flat.

Harley shrieks and jumps back, wiping the cake from her face. It’s too late for her—it’s in her hair. It
matches
her hair. Avery beams bright; he’s never looked happier. Harley’s never looked more shocked and angry.

Oh, this is going to be good.

“It’s on, Moose,” Harley states, diving straight for the cake in the center of the table and launching a handful straight at her boyfriend’s face.

The war has started.

Cake began to fly. Ksenia hit Jackson right in the face, Zephyr pegged Kennie in the center of her yellow sweater. There were even a few casualties at neighboring tables staring at us as if we’d gone crazy.

Basically, we did.

When the cake was done flying, and half of us were covered, we learned that we weren’t getting in trouble—but we can no longer bring cake to school.
Oops
. Laughing, we sit down and wipe bits of cake from our clothes and skin. I’m not entirely sure when this lunch table became so full. There are people here I never thought would be excited to celebrate my birthday with me.

That, in itself, proves how much my life is changing.

For once, on one birthday, I’m happy.

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


I park my new car—I can’t stop saying that,
my new car. I have a car! Yippee!
—in the driveway behind my aunt’s SUV and smile as I walk into the house. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud, a nice, soft, life-is-good cloud. I feel as if nothing can pop this little bubble I have surrounding me. I feel so happy I could just spit!

I close the door behind me, forgetting I won’t be home alone today, and walk into low hanging streamers, streamers dangling from tacks in the ceiling. Not expecting them, the feeling of paper against my arm startles me and I trip over my feet, stumbling into the living room as if I just bought my body and I’m still trying to figure out how to work my limbs.

“You’re home!” Hilary sweeps me into a tight hug lifting me from the floor. The scent of chocolate coats the air, filling my lungs and making my mouth water. But it could just be me, I’m still covered in random bits of chocolate from lunch. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

We? Who’s we?

Patrick steps from the kitchen wearing an apron and holding a chocolate covered wooden spoon. “I really hope you like chocolate?” I’m not sure when I’ll get used to him and my aunt being a
we
. He’s still a lovely sight.

He should stick around—I hope he does, he makes my aunt happy.

“I love chocolate.” Hilary releases me and I follow her to the kitchen, sitting at the dining room table.

“Good. You’re in for quite the treat, then.” I grin excitedly as I watch him walk over to the counter and stir a large glass bowl filled with one of my favorite things—cake batter. I’m excited for more cake.

I pop up stairs for a quick shower and change of clothes that aren’t so… chocolaty. Walking back down the stairs, I take my normal seat at the dining room table, watching my aunt as she ogles Patrick as he moves around the kitchen, stirring things, setting pans in the oven. I think she just fell more in love with McDreamy than I’ve seen anyone who’s a fan of
Grey’s Anatomy
. That’s saying something.

“What’cha making, dude?” I ask, eagerly leaning forward in my seat as the scent of sugar waters my mouth. If I were more curious—don’t get me wrong, I am, just not enough to move from my seat—I’d walk over there and poke around, become my nosy self.

“It’s an old family recipe.”
Oooh, that sounds delicious
. Old family recipes usually are. I think I hear my aunt sigh. “My grandmother would make it for every birthday. It’s kind of a tradition.”

My heart tugs at that. He’s bringing his family’s tradition over to our little household. Hell, I’m in love with this mountain of a man.

“We like tradition,” I randomly announce, shocking myself. Hilary shoots me an awkward glance. She’s confused, as am I, because, as we both know, there’s nothing actually traditional about our family minus every Christmas spent in Texas and every Thanksgiving spent here.

But I don’t mention anything, I just watch him bake and let Hilary shoot daggers at me with her eyes. The man sure knows his way around a kitchen.

“Well, both of you made me feel like a part of your family,” Patrick begins, his attention fixed on the oven. If he were paying attention, he’d spy my aunt watching his every move like a hawk, practically salivating.
Oy
. “I wanted to show my gratitude and extend the same courtesy.

Aww…

“Oh, Patrick,” I say, slightly teary. He sure knows how to make a girl cry.

After everything’s baked, cooled, and iced, candles are lit and set upon a impeccably frosted cake. I make another wish—or act like I make a wish. Then it’s time for gifts.

“Thanks, Aunt Hil!” I stare at a thick photo album in my hands. Embossed on the cover are three names,
Ivy Nevaeh, Noah Jonathan,
and
Josephine Elizabeth
. Tears prick my eyes. I try my hardest not to let them fall—but fail.

It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to.

“I had fun making it, Joey.” She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear before she inches closer to me. “I just wish I had more photos of Ivy, Noah, and your mother.”

Me too. But I can’t say that right now. I can’t form any usable words at the moment, only vowels and sounds.

I can’t bring myself to open the cover. I can’t force myself to see their faces. Not now. Not on my birthday. Not when I’m another year older and they’re… not. They’re just gone. They’re gone. Forever.

They’re gone.

Now I’m crying—sobbing, blubbering to be more exact. On my birthday, one of the best I’ve ever had, I’m crying.

“Oh, honey.” Hilary wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me to her until I tuck my head on her shoulder, and cry. “It’s okay.” Her hand rubs up and down my back, slowly soothing me.

“It’s not okay,” I sob into her shirt, protectively clutching the photo album to my chest. I’m sure I’m freaking Patrick out.
Sorry
. Everything from this morning rushes back, flooding my mind. “I’m seventeen. I’m another older when they’re… they’re just…”

“You can’t feel guilty, Joey.” Her arms tighten around me. I can only imagine how uncomfortable this is making Patrick. “Maybe I should’ve waited—found a different time, a more appropriate time—to give this to you.” I continue to blubber into her shirt. “Joey, I can’t let you feel like this over something that isn’t your fault.”

I pull away from her, leaning back far enough to look her in her green eyes. “This—this is all my fault and you know that. If it weren’t for me, if I didn’t open my big mouth, then they’d still be here.”

Hilary looks to me, confused. “What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath. I guess I haven’t told her everything lately.

How could I forget that? How could I forget to
do
that?

“I don’t know,” I shake my head and wipe beneath my eyes, clearing the trails of tears. “I’m just… talking. Ignore me, I’m not sure what I’m saying right now.” How can I tell her that I’ve been remembering, that I’ve been having dreams, that it’s all coming back to me night after night like some demented and macabre puzzle. That night, that dreadful night, is slowly rebuilding itself, piece by piece, in my memory. Everything is becoming clearer and clearer night after night and I haven’t even told her. How do I even tell someone something like that? I don’t. Like a good little girl, I lie instead. “I really appreciate this, Aunt Hil. I mean that.” I force a smile, truly happy for the gift with no sane way of showing it right now.

“Are you sure?” She leans forward. “You don’t look so great, Joey.”

Turning my gaze to a stunned Patrick—he looks uncomfortable but smiles through it if he wants to stick around, he should know I do this quite often. I’ll apologize later—I smile wider hoping to make it believable. “I’m sure, I promise.” I wipe my nose with the
back of my hand before I stand to duck from the room. If I say it enough, I’ll believe it. That’s how this works.
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m really, remarkably fine.

I tenderly set the photo album on my bed. Everything is still covered with petals and balloons—though, I’ve managed to pop half of them to make more room for me to move around. My phone beeps and I pull it from my pocket.

Zephyr:
Pick you up in twenty. Love you!

A small grin forces its way onto my lips—leave it to Zephyr to cheer me up with even knowing he’s doing it—and I glance to my closet where the green dress sits on a hanger. It’s so beautiful—it doesn’t seem right for me, as if I’m not meant to wear it.

Walking toward the dress, I reach out my hand and let it slide down the smooth fabric, feeling it’s silky texture against my skin.

I’m not worthy of this—I’m not worthy of any of this.
These are the only thoughts running through my mind. The only things on repeat, playing in my mind.
Not worthy, not worthy, not worthy. Of anything.
Another tear rolls down my cheek and I try, I try so hard, to suppress the demanding urge to cry. But it’s not working.

My phone beeps again.

Zephyr:
Only fifteen minutes until I get to kiss you!

I shove my feelings away. This is supposed to be a happy day. I dress and ready myself for whatever Zephyr has planned for us tonight. As much effort as it’s taking, I can’t help but feel worthless.

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

“You can open your eyes now.” That’s the first thing I’ve heard since I sat in Jamie’s car. Zephyr didn’t feel this was an appropriate night for his motorcycle. I had to agree with him on that. Me, in this gorgeous dress, on the back of his bike would not be a lovely sight. I’m not even sure how to maneuver in the heels I borrowed from Hilary’s closet.

God forbid her car breaks down and I’ll have to walk some large distance in these babies.

Oh crap! Did I just jinx us?

I open my eyes and see I’m standing in the center of a room filled with tiny twinkly lights. In front of me is a tiny table covered in black, lacy cloth, set for two. A single lily sits on a plate, and two candles flicker in the center.

“Zeph.” The sight leaves me speechless.

His arms wrap around my waist as he leans into my neck, pressing a gentle kiss to my skin. “Do you like it?” he whispers, his breath sending shivers down my body. Pushing away, he takes my jacket from my shoulders and hangs it behind me. I’m too mesmerized by the sight in front of me to wonder where. He pulls out my chair. “Have a seat, Joey.” I do.

“How did you do all of this?” The question seems stupid but I’m curious. I didn’t know Zephyr had it in him to do something like this. It’s like something straight from a movie. I really do have a great and loving boyfriend.

I normally hate these things—these sweet romantic scenes that make all the girls gush and swoon—but it’s never been for me before. I can finally see my stupidity.

But that doesn’t change the feelings stirring deep within me, the feelings of worthlessness and sorry, of hate and guilt. Those are still there, still lurking, still brewing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Not now.

I can shove them away. That’s about it. I doubt Zephyr wants to deal with a crisis right now—so I shove it all away, hidden within a box in the back of a closet in my mind. The closet is filled with boxes of a similar nature, so these thoughts and feelings have relatives to keep them company as I try to enjoy the rest of my night.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” my boyfriend tells me as he takes the seat opposite me in his suit blazer and slacks. I didn’t know Zephyr even
owned
a blazer and slacks. It’s weird to see him so dressed up for me. I like it, though.

“So you’re a magician now?”

He shrugs. “I think I know
a
card trick.” That makes us laugh and laughing feels so nice right now. “To be honest, I had a lot of help.”

“Like a magician’s assistant?”

Zephyr smiles and nods. “Exactly.”

By the time he picked me up—or just walked across our connected yards—I had covered my red eyes and blotchy cheeks with Visine and makeup. It was impossible to tell I’d been crying only twenty minutes earlier. If Zephyr could tell, he’d have asked me, he would’ve wondered and begged to learn what hurt me.