Messed Up (32 page)

After several minutes Levi crawled over to my side and pressed his head against my chest. I reluctantly put my arms limply around his shoulders, “I’m so sorry Chelsea,” he said his voice thick with defeat, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You must think I’m a fucking monster.”

For some reason, maybe it was because I sensed the worse was over and I was overcome with relief, or maybe because the intensity of the last twenty-four hours had finally caught up with me, I’m not sure, but in any case I started crying too, and words began falling out of my mouth uncontrollably, “Why do you want to hurt me?” I asked between sobs, “What have I done to deserve this?”

“I don’t know. Nothing,” he said kissing the tears from my face, “I am such a lunatic Chelsea. You are fucking perfect. You don’t deserve any of this,” he took a deep breath, as I wiped the tears from his face with the side of my hand, “I was just so fucking pissed at my father and...”

“And you decided to treat me like your personal whipping boy?” I asked irately, “Jesus, Levi!”

“I know. I’m awful. I’m as bad as
him
,” he said, kissing at the side of my neck. I could feel the moment had past. My brief glimpse into honesty was coming to a close. I sucked in my last tears, and rubbed my hand through his perfect hair. “Forgive me?” he asked looking up at me with his sweetest puppy dog eyes.

“Just promise you won’t do it again,” I said weakly, knowing full well any promise he made would be an empty one, but maybe it would at least postpone the inevitable.

“Never again,” he vowed. Levi then carefully turned my body so he could see my back, a mass of red, I was sure. He gingerly unzipped the back of my dress and then I felt him press his lips gently against each burning welt. He sighed deeply before saying lightly, “I guess we won’t be going to Noah’s pool party.”

My room was dark, aside from the dim glow of the street light creeping underneath the curtain. Levi had left once, only to return an hour later, this time through my open window. I stretched out on my stomach, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama shorts. Levi had given me a couple of his trusty white pills which had not only killed any pain but my sense of modesty as well.

Levi lay on his side next to me, soothingly rubbing ice cubes over the raw welts that burned on my back. I felt so relaxed, it was easy to forget the violent scene that had taken place earlier that day. Sometimes, when I felt exceptionally exhausted from my tiresome reality, I tried to just let myself sink into a place where everything was good. Where my incredibly hot boyfriend was lovingly caressing my back, and that was it, there was nothing more. The part of my mind that was seemingly ruled by my foolish heart was so persistent in trying to will everything to be okay, while the logical part of my brain continually reminded me that my life was a like a revolving door into hell.

“Levi,” I asked in a small voice, my head turning to look at his barely lit face, “What made you want to be with me? I mean, in the beginning?”

“The first time I saw you. You were at 7-Eleven telling off some tool,” Darrell Carpenter, I thought, I hadn’t realized Levi had noticed me that night, “I was watching you and you were so beautiful, but you seemed entirely oblivious of that fact. And then when I met you at the concert, you were so smart, but not like you were trying, just naturally. I’d never met anyone like you before.” He kissed my cheek tenderly, “Why do you ask, Punky. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve just been thinking lately, how different I am from Camille. She is so stunning. Like she’s just stepped out of a magazine. I can’t understand how you would go from her to me.”

“You’re not going to like my answer,” he warned with a smile.

“I can take it,” I responded lightly, realizing he wasn’t going pretend like he and Camille were just friends anymore.

“Well, there are girls to fuck and girls to fall in love with. You figure out which you are,” he laughed lightly and then added, “The big clue should be the fact you’re still a virgin.”

32

I was standing naked in a sterile white room, my arms tied behind my back. One small bed was the only furnishing. On the bed was a single calla lily. I heard the slamming of a door behind me. I spun around to see a set of eyes peering at me through a tiny window in the steel door. I recognized the eyes immediately. They were gray and muddy and seemed to dance with evil delight as they bore into me. I took a step backwards, away from them. I wanted to hide, to cover myself with something but there was no escape. I was trapped. I heard his laugh, high pitched and jagged. I tried to scream but nothing came out of my mouth, it was taped shut. Then the pain began, deep in the small of my back, ripping at me like I was being cut in two. I twisted in agony, the pain so intense, but I was helpless to stop it.

I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. My back was throbbing from the stinging welts I had suffered the day before. I opened my curtains to let in some fresh air and found that the sun was just coming up over the hills. It was too early to be awake, but I didn’t even bother trying to fall back to sleep.

I filled the bathtub with lukewarm water and dumped a half a box of baking soda in, hoping that it would help sooth my stinging back. I sank into the tub carefully and closed my eyes letting my mind wander. The water grew cold as the sounds of my house coming awake began. I heard my dad frying an egg in the kitchen and toasting a piece of bread. Then my mom’s slippers flipping under her feet as she walked up the stairs and directly to the coffee grinder. It whirled and buzzed noisily, followed moments later by the sound of dripping liquid in the coffee pot. I could hear my parents talking to each other in low voices. I imagined my dad remarking on the weather forecast, morosely pessimistic about the drought. I could hear my mom
mmm’s
and
ah-hah’s,
she was agreeing without actually listening to his words.

If I concentrated carefully on the routine sounds buzzing through the house, I could almost imagine that I was back in time, before Levi had ever entered my life. I could practically feel what it was like to be
that
Chelsea, the self-confident Chelsea who rolled her eyes at girls who seemed so easily ruled by their boyfriends. I could experience in the depth of my being what it had been like to know right from wrong, good from bad, and to believe that I would always act accordingly. That person whom I could slip back inside of as I focused my mind on the habitual sounds floating from the kitchen, was the girl whom Levi had noticed that first day at 7-Eleven. He had watched her, chosen her. The sick irony is that she was long gone. That Chelsea had slipped quietly away and had been replaced by a hollow shell of a girl who acted from a place of fear and self preservation. Like a wild horse, I was being broken. I wondered if the new domesticated Chelsea would even be who Levi had wanted in the first place.

I got dressed into a soft cotton t-shirt and a pair of shorts. I pulled my hair back into a bun. I wouldn’t have to think about what I looked like until at least that night, Levi was on some kind of mission, illicit I was sure, with James and some of the newer Delancey Boys. I filled a mug with half coffee and half cream, and then popped it in the microwave to bring it up to a drinkable temperature.

My mom looked at me suspiciously as I sat down at the dining room table next to her, “It must feel like the middle of the night to you Chels,” she said looking back to her newspaper, “Do you have to work this early?”

“Nope. I just couldn’t sleep. Besides, I should probably start transitioning to hideously early mornings. School starts soon, you know.”

She raised her eyebrows at me but was too absorbed in her paper to comment further, “Chelsea!” she suddenly gasped, “Isn’t this Toby?” she pushed the paper toward me.

I could feel my heart sink as I looked at a photograph of Toby Fanning staring back at me. Below the photo was the headline, TEEN FOUND SLAIN. Tears began to well in my eyes as my mom read the article aloud,
“Montecito High School junior, Toby Fanning was found bruised and partially decapitated in the backwoods of Vistas Park yesterday by a mountain biker. The seventeen year old junior was last seen by his mother on the night of Monday, July 6 at ten o’clock in the evening. His mother, Marcy Fanning, told staff reporters that she had received a note from her son stating that he would be spending the summer with his father and had not placed a missing persons report, ‘I had no reason not to believe his note,’ Fanning told reporters. SJPD made a statement to reporters late last night indicating that they are pursuing this as a homicide, but would not comment on possible motives or suspects. A memorial service will be held at the St. Jacobs High School Cathedral tomorrow at 10AM.

“Did you know he was missing,” my mom asked in a near whisper as pressed my fingertips against my eyes.

I shook my head, not looking at her. My worst fears had just been confirmed. I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that Toby was dead, but as long as there wasn’t any proof of this fact, I could go on believing that he would magically appear in my English class next fall, chattering away to me about some obscure band. But now that I’d seen it in black and white, there was no denying that the heinous prank I had been part of had left Toby dead.

I felt my mom pull me into a hug, and I began to sob. She patted my back soothingly, but with each pat, the sting of contact worked as a reminder of why I was in this mess to begin with. Why Toby was dead.
Levi Bennett
.

If I had ever been close to exposing the details of my predicament to anyone, it was at that very moment. I felt my mouth open to explain it all to my mom, but the words wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t force them from my lips, no matter how hard I tried, they were stuck.

There is a tradition for the women in my family. Whenever something really bad happens, something so sad we can’t face it, we
take to bed
, and that is exactly what I did that day. My mom checked on me every couple of hours, bringing me lunch and then dinner. Levi called a few times, but I didn’t answer, knowing I would probably face punishment later, but not caring enough to reach for the phone.

Of course my parents assumed that I was despondent over the loss of a friend, which was part of it, but honestly, and I know this will make me sound shallow, only a small part. My overwhelming sense of doom was based primarily on the fact that I felt responsible for his death. And then there was the realization that my boyfriend, the person I spent the majority of my time with was truly insane. I was now convinced that Levi was willing and capable of ending my life if he ever felt so inclined. I spent a lot of the day contemplating why Levi would want Toby dead. What had he done? I had no idea; all I knew was that I didn’t want to make that same mistake.

I watched my bedroom walls as the sun set and they fell dark. I eventually flipped on the TV and scanned the channels aimlessly. I heard my mom’s footsteps outside my door. She peered in at me with sad, tentative eyes, “Sweetie, Levi called, he sounded really upset. I hadn’t realized he and Toby were so close.”

I nodded noncommittally, “I guess.”

“I told him that you had taken to your bed for the day. He said that he’d be by tomorrow morning to take you to Toby’s memorial,” she paused, “Would you rather I go with you, honey? I can cancel my morning clients.”

“No thanks Mom. I should go with Levi,” I sighed, “He’ll need the support.” Besides, I thought to myself, I doubt he meant it as an option.

The drive to St. Jacobs the next morning was thick with silence. It wasn’t until Levi pulled his car into a parking spot and turned off the ignition that he finally spoke, “Don’t be too upset, Chelsea. Toby was a complete douche.” I scowled at him with fierce eyes. He threw his head back and laughed, sounding exhausted, “Listen, Punky. I know you think that you had something to do with this, but you don’t know anything.”

“
Oh really? I don’t?” I asked sarcastically, “Then tell me Levi. How did it happen? I’m sure you know.”

He turned his head toward me, took a breath and exhaled slowly, “It is not safe for you to know anymore then you already do,” he said grimly, “Just trust me on this one, please. You really shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“
Fine,” I said opening the door, “Let’s get this over with.”

I’d been to a couple other funeral services in my life, two of which were for kids from school. The first was when I was in eighth grade and Nicole Spellman died of leukemia; the second was just last year after Tyler Simmons was killed in a drunk driving accident. Both services were similar to Toby’s in that they were spilling over with people. There is something so obviously horrific about the death of a kid which draws a big crowd, unlike my great Aunt Clementine’s memorial where only a handful of mourners showed up. Maybe it’s human nature to want to bring meaning to something as tragic as premature death.

The cathedral at St. Jacobs was swarming with people, so many in fact, that they had plugged in speakers outside so that those who did not fit inside would still be able to hear the minister’s inspiring words. Like always, Levi pushed his way easily through the crowd with the authority of someone carrying a backstage pass. He pulled me with him to the second row of the chapel, just behind Toby’s family. I stood quietly next to Levi as he politely shook Mr. Fanning’s hand and kissed Marcy Fanning’s cheek, offering his
sincere
condolences. Marcy cried quietly into a handkerchief, not looking at me. A lot of good those earplugs did him in the end, I thought morosely, and then scolded myself for being so cynical, even at a funeral. Levi’s parents arrived next, going through the same pleasantries with the Fanning family as Levi had. The church music began and we all sat down.