Beautifully Ruined (9 page)

But these are things I don’t get to know because of one crazy man on one horrible night.

“Does he try to contact you?” Milo places the photo back on the mantle, swiping his palm over the clean glass to remove the smudge of my thumbs and any dust.

I nod. “He sends me a letter about twice a week.” Every letter has my birth name on the envelope and I throw them all into the large gray bin in the back of my closet, never wishing to read them. I’m not ready to face that demon yet. “I don’t read them.” Moving back to the couch, I sit down, drinking the water and waiting for me. “How do you protect her? How do you protect your family?” A tear sluices down my cheek.

It’s a stupid question, one not easily answerable, but I need an answer—from one helpless child to another, I need to know someone’s plan.

Milo turns to me, sadness clouding his eyes. “For the longest time, I couldn’t. I was too young, too small, too dumb—we all are, but I try.”

“How?” I ask with a shake of my head.

“Well, most things I can’t protect them from. I mean, they’re their own people and I try but we all know what
not
to do.” Milo’s right. There was no way I could have prevented anything horrible from happening to my family, not when I was so small and weak.

It must be easier to live when there’s not a threat from
inside
your home,
inside
your family.

“It was a big thing back then, what happened to you and your family,” Milo begins sadly, his blonde hair shielding his eyes. “It haunted people. It still does. My parents cried every time it was on the news. They cried nightly after the story ended. They were never the same after.” He turns to me, expression solemn. “I always wondered what happened to you. I never thought I’d ever meet you but I’m glad I did.”

I turn away, avoiding this
moment
he’s creating between us.

The silence grows thick around us, quickly becoming awkward.

His hands slap against his jean-clad things, disrupting the silence within which we descended. “We should watch a movie,” Milo blurts loudly.
Thank baby Jesus
, I love subject changes. “Something to pass the time until I take you home.”

I nod, drying my eyes with my sleeve.

We choose a movie—or
he
chooses a movie while I lounge on his couch, I’ll watch anything provided there are no speedy flesh-eating zombies. Luckily, he doesn’t choose a zombie flick. Halfway through the film, he chose
Unstoppable
, the front door bursts open. The tiniest girl I’ve ever seen in my life—and I’m pretty tiny myself, so her size is truly surprising to me—walks through, dropping her neon green backpack next to mine on the floor.

She flips her blonde bangs from her eyes and says, “Holy
balls
, it is friggin’ cold out there.” Her accent is thick and I’m instantly reminded of my cousins. “Hey, what are y’all watching?” She rubs her hands together, blowing onto her fingertips.

“
Unstoppable
,” Milo answers, his attention fixed on the screen. I’m leaning against a pillow propped against his side while his arm rests around my chest. It’s awkward but extremely comfortable. I don’t even mind the constant touching. It’s not like he’s feeling me up or anything inappropriate, his hand is planted on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles on the blade.

“Again, Milo?” she whines. “This movie gets annoying after a while, you know?” she tells her brother. “I’m Melanie, by the way, but everyone calls me Mel,” she says to me. “Are you Milo’s girlfriend or something?”

I’m surprised. I forget to respond as she stares at me, waiting for some form of words to leave my lips.

Milo chuckles. I’m still staring at his interesting specimen of a sister. “This is Joey. She’s just a friend and she’s in my AP Euro class.”

Thanks, Milo
.

“Hi, Joey.” Her voice is upbeat and chipper. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile is sweeter than sugar and brighter than the sun in July. Oh dear, how do people deal with that?

“You too,” I reply, smiling just as excitedly. Mel’s infectious.

She plops onto the couch by my feet, leaning against my legs. Her long hair drapes over my arm, the ends tickling lightly against my skin.

“This movie is
so
boring, Milo,” she whines loudly, reaching for my glass on the table. “Whose is this?” she asks, leaning her head back to look at us. I raise my hand. “Well, don’t mind me, sugar,” she says before taking a long drink, clearing half of it.

I laugh.

“That’s the thing about my sister, she doesn’t believe in boundaries or personal space,” Milo explains.

“How is that any way to make friends?” Mel asks, giggling. “Just assume that we’re best friends already, ‘kay Joey?”

“Okay,” I answer, worriedly. She seems harmless. She also seems like my kryptonite: bubbly. It’s terrifying.
She’s
terrifying.

The movie ends and we go through two more movies before their mother walks through the door clad in a red suit and tall black stilettos. Mel’s asleep with her head in my lap. I just woke, feeling Milo’s fingers sift slowly and gently through my curls.

“Good evening, children of mine,” their mother announces cheerfully as she sets her bags in the nearest chair. She turns, her blonde hair pulled tight away from her face in a slick low bun. Her face falls to confusion as she spies us on the couch. “There’s one more child here than when I left,” she says to no one particular. “You’re not mine.” She points a manicured finger to me.

“No,” I answer sleepily. “I’m not.”

“Mom, this is Joey,” Milo tells her. I may need to start my own introductions soon. “She’s in one of my classes. We decided to hang out.”

“
You’re already making friends!
” She squeals, walking over to place a big kiss on his forehead, leaving red lipstick behind. “I’m so proud of you, baby.” She smiles to me—beams is a more appropriate explanation. “It’s so nice to meet you, Joey. Thank you for taking some pity on my son, he doesn’t make friends easily.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Milo murmurs sarcastically behind me. “Way to sell me out.”

“That’s what mothers are for, baby,” she replies with a wink.

Milo’s grin contorts. “Or at least mine.”

“Shut up, honey, I want to meet your new friend, here,” she says, placing her hand over her son’s mouth. “My name is Candace, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, Joey.”

“It’s a pleasure,” I reply as Milo fights his mother’s hand from his mouth. When he wins, she fusses with his hair before planting another kiss on his forehead.

I can’t help my laughter.

When he drops me at my house, he grabs my arm, holding me back for a moment. “I just want you to know that if you ever need anyone, I’m here for you.” Concern covers his face, concern for me and my well-being. “To talk. To listen. To get hit. I can do it all.”

I nod, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. And apparently, thanking him is beneath me when I’m caught off guard.

“I mean, since we’re going to be
best friends
, I’m perfect to be your shoulder to cry on whenever you want.” Milo’s grin splits his lips.

I shove him away. “Who said we were friends, anyway?” The previous moment ruined when I smile.

“Oh, we
are
friends.” Milo nods knowingly, not taking
no
for an answer.

“Keep dreaming, Cowboy.” I slam the door shut, watching him chuckle as he drives away.

After that, he never asked about Zephyr again, not even when we passed him—and the
blonde
—in the halls. It was a forgotten topic. And Milo and I developed some kind of friendship. He would openly mock me with jokes and I would cut him down with wit and sarcasm. That was the beauty of us. It was even more beautiful when I punched him in the arm but I tried not to do that so much.

Lounging on the couch, my feet propped on the back as I lie with my head dangling back and off the couch. I watch television upside down while Milo flips through channels undecidedly. He’s so indecisive; I’m surprised he agreed to come to my house. Normally, I spend twenty minutes just listening to him discuss it with himself.
Well, I can go over to your house or you could come over here. Option A: I have to move and drive, but Option B: I can be lazy
.

“I don’t think that’s good for your head,” he tells me as he changes past a sports channel playing a beer commercial. I made that a rule—no sports. Especially football. It’s football season and he’s a Cowboy’s fan.

No.

“Oh, go shove it,” I reply loudly. “I don’t care,” I mutter, my head growing heavier and painful, but I won’t move. That’d be admitting defeat and I don’t do that. Not willingly. I can only hope for a real reason to sit up—like someone breaks in and I need to prepare my ninja moves. Okay, maybe I’ve sitting like this for too long.

We have been spending more time together. Mostly doing homework like a couple of nerds. Milo needs help catching up on schoolwork after his move across the country. It really set him back. He didn’t know about the Senior Project. Well, he knew about the project—they have that in Texas—but ours is extensive for reasons I don’t understand other than to ruin our chances of graduating on time. But I’ve been walking him through it as best I can. Today we wanted to do something completely different.

Just be lazy.

Bruno Mars plays through my mind. Sometimes, I love a soundtrack.

The joys of the weekend.

Milo chuckles quietly.

“What?” I ask, looking at an upside-down tire commercial.

“You act so much like her,” he answers quietly and cryptically.

Hello! Vague much?

I sit up as best I can, which is only raising my head enough to see the the top of his pale blonde hair. “Like who?” I ask, wanting an answer.

“Mel.” Shifting in his seat so he can look down to me. “She does the same thing, tells me to shove off whenever I say it’s a bad idea to watch television upside-down.”

“Well, then that girl knows how to handle herself with you.” I resume my position, dropping my h back and feeling my hair spill above me—er, below me.

“It’s weird, though,” he continues, shifting his seating again, it bounces me where I lay.

“What’s weird?”
Dude, do not make me lift my head again. I will not be a happy lady
.

“You two look alike.”

And now I am lifting my head…

“We don’t look alike,” I reply defensively. Bad habit.

If he’s talking about Mel, his sister, I don’t look like her. She’s gorgeous, tiny, and blonde. She’s so aware of herself and confident. I’m nothing like that. I could aspire to be her one day, but that’s a long time away. Maybe two ice ages away.

“Actually…” he trails, drawing out the suspense.

This is why hanging out with him gets annoying. “Just spill it, Cowboy.”

“It’s your eyes,” he answers automatically, as if he’s been holding it in all this time.

I am going to have to sit up aren’t I?

“What about them?”

Why am I goading him on?

“You two have the same eyes,” he answers. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that?”

What is he talking about?

Whatever it is about my eyes, I roll them and correct my seating on the couch, sitting upright so my head stops hurting, letting all the blood rush down my body.

Without really thinking it through, I say, “You’re weird,” before snagging a chip from the bowl on the coffee table, eyeing him as I pop it into my mouth.

“You’re one to talk,” he counters with a smug grin.

“Then this friendship makes
so much
sense,” I reply.

“
Yes!
” Milo yells excitedly, startling me. “You finally admit we’re friends!” he exclaims loudly, throwing his arms above his head in exuberance. I snatch the remote from his leg, changing the channel to something without goal posts.

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get too happy there, Cowboy,” I mutter, deadpan.

My phone chirps on my lap, vibrating as I pick it up. I check the screen, clicking the little button on top.

Harley:
Are you ever going to talk to me?

Eventually
, I think as I click the screen off and drop my phone back to its place, not bothering to reply. I’m not in a texting mood. My phone beeps again. Another text I don’t want to answer.

Harley:
Please don’t ignore me
.

Sweet baby Jesus, the girl is persistent.

I release a grunt of annoyance as I type out a reply a bit too aggressively for my phone’s liking, punching at the screen with my thumbs so hard the pixels dilate.

Me:
I’m not. I’m just busy at the moment. Talk to you later
.

My phone beeps instantly with response but I don’t look at it. I don’t want to talk to her right now. Or Kennie. Even Ksenia has been leaving me messages on my Facebook wall. Alexia has somehow found my email and has continued apologizing to me through the internet. I’m just not the chattiest person with any of them. It has everything to do with Zephyr and Blondie—I’ll willingly admit that now.

Sighing, I silence my phone—clicking
ignore
on Harley’s message—and launch my phone onto the coffee table, watching it bounce within its thick plastic pink case.

“What?” Milo asks, quirking a brow at my expression. “Telemarketers?”

I snort. “No.” I change the channel. “Harley.” Milo looks confused. I don’t think he’s had the pleasure of meeting her, the sweet bundle of joy she is. “You don’t know who she is, do you?”

His blue eyes narrow. “I’m not sure…” he trails.

“She’s taller than me, brown hair, dating the tall redhead moose.”

Moose?
Milo mouths before recognition covers his face. “Oh, her.” He reaches for the remote but I hold it out of reach, nearly throwing it across the room. “What did she want?” he asks curiously.

“I don’t know,” I lie.

I know she’ll want to talk about getting my files. We had it planned perfectly and it’s something I still want to do, still something I plan to do, I just need to tweak my plans, add new people to replace the old. Zephyr’s out—obviously. If Harley still wants to help, she can—and we’ll need others. I doubt we can pull it off with only two people, not successfully anyway, and jail time isn’t exactly in my plans.

But I don’t tell him this, not Milo. He might thing it too weird, too random—and it
is
those things, more of those things—I just don’t want to get bitched at.

Then again, I could be wrong. He could be down with misdemeanors. He could even have a record. I don’t think I can picture Milo Simms with a rap sheet, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never asked him—but I won’t find out any time soon.

Pursing my lips, I ponder. And then the curiosity pops from my mouth. “Have you ever committed a crime,” I ask, curious and debating if I can use Milo for my own personal gain. If he can sneak through crowded rooms and not be noticed—that’s a useful skill.

His eyes snap wide and his head slowly turns toward me—not unlike the character from
The Exorcist
. I half expect it to spin around all the way. “Uh, what kind of crime are you thinking, Joey?”

I shrug, tugging on the end of my braid. “Just any crime…”

“I’ve shoplifted a candy bar before,” he answers honestly. “Even a band tee, but I’m not a hardened criminal if that’s what you’re asking.”

Oh, shucks!

“That’s not what I’m asking, Milo,” I say with a shrug. “It was just a question, Cowboy, sheesh. Calm your tits, would you?”
What is with the defensive
?

Milo still stares at me with curious eyes before he turns back to the television and the endless stream of commercials playing. I have it on MTV. A rerun of
The Real World
would be playing, if these commercials about random movies and products I’m too terrified to even think about ever stop, as I contemplate things.

But I can’ shut my mouth. “I was thinking something along the lines of”—I shrug indifferently, feigning innocence—“breaking and entering,” I say, quickly. But I have to play it cool; don’t want him to think I’m on my way to a crime spree.

“Oh, well, yeah, breaking and entering.” He snaps his fingers. “I do one of those about three times a month. Are you planning a robbery or something?”

I could slap him for his sarcasm. As I turn to look at him, I nearly do smack my palm right across that pale cheek of his only to add a little color—and
oooh
, it’s so very tempting.

But I don’t want to hit my only normal friend. That won’t be good for business.

Wait—did I say normal…?

“For one thing, the correct term is burglary,” I begin. “And it’s not like I love the idea of committing crimes.”

“Oh, well, that makes the question okay.”

I roll my eyes. “You know,” I begin. “Just because you can speak doesn’t mean you should.”

Milo sighs. “There’s nothing more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm.”

“I can think of a few things,” I mumble, annoyed. I shake my head. “Never mind.” I’m done with this conversation. I grab the remote to move on to a new channel. Maybe there’s a decent movie on somewhere I haven’t found yet, I want something long enough to distract me.

“No, Joey,” he says, reaching for my arm before he stops himself. “Now I’m curious. What’s with the crime question?”

“Nothing,” I reply defensively. “Just forget it.”

“You’re a strange one,” he mumbles, stealing glances at me.

He’s right. I’m strange, I’m weird, and I’m tired. I’m tired of living my life the boring way. I want my files. I deserve to know what’s in them. This is something I need help with and I’ve always been told I should ask for what I want.

I want this.

So I tell him. I wanted to tell him because he’s my friend and I know he cares about me, and I him. So I tell him how I want—no,
need
—my files. I tell him about the plan I created with Harley and how we need to get in there soon.

Surprisingly, he says, “Well, when should we do this?”





All I had to do was tell Harley that everything we’d planned to get my files was still on—breaking into my therapist’s office. Before any agreement, I had to apologize for being so distant. She did the same, saying that she’d been too distracted with Avery and a few of his body parts to pay much attention to any of her actions. I didn’t need to hear that part about limbs, but she was awesome for being honest with me. And I did understand. I mean, I had briefly been there—distracted with a boy and his… parts.

We brought in Kennie. She was too excited and eager to be included. Even said she had the perfect outfit for the occasion. Just to be safe, we asked Ksenia. She was happy to agree.

I should be alarmed with their willingness to help but I have one thing on my mind—the eye on the prize—and it’s my main goal.

We plan for the upcoming Friday. Hilary has plans to go away with Patrick for the weekend. A lovely, long weekend away from home at a lovely bed and breakfast far away in the middle of nowhere. She can’t see me do anything illegal, what more can a niece ask?

“So, we’re all set, right?” I ask the group sitting in my room, looking to Harley and Kennie on my bed, Ksenia sitting in recliner, and Milo chilling on my rug. It’s an odd bunch to pair together but I doubt I’ll regret it.

They all nod.





“You’ll be fine, right?” Hilary asks nervously as Patrick takes her suitcase, wheeling it down the rickety-rocky walkway that leads from the front door to the driveway where his SUV sits. “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she surmises, turning back to look at her boyfriend. “Do you think he’d be upset? If I completely ditched him to hang around at home with my niece? My cute, adorable, loves-me-no-matter-what, niece?”

“Uh, yes,” I bark, literally pushing her through the front door with my hands placed flat against her back, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked anything. “Aunt Hil, You live with me. So you’re going to absolutely keep this date.” My aunt can
not
break her plans. Her breaking plans would disrupt my plans. Okay, not really, I don’t really have a curfew if I say I’m studying with Harley and Kennie. She’s even met Milo, so I could mention his name, maybe even Ksenia. But my appointment with Dr. Jett is in a few weeks, I need time to study whatever I find.

“You ready?” Patrick asks after he slams the back door, locking his and my aunt’s things away. He leans against the car, smiling sweetly at Hilary as she takes a tentative step toward him. But she falters and turns back to me, worry covering her face. I look over her shoulder at Patrick, watching his hair blow in the wind. He’s prepared for her to change her mind—poor thing.