Perfectly Flawed (41 page)

I unlock the car and dive behind the wheel,
starting the engine before Zephyr even opens the passenger door. He
gets into the car and shoots me a look of concern, one I don’t want
to acknowledge. I want to seethe. I want to
scream
.

Damn it, I want to hit things.

I peel onto the road, burning rubber and
cutting off the car behind me. The driver lays on the horn and I
flip them the finger, hoping they can see it through the back
window. Zephyr grips the handle to the door with white knuckles as
I speed down the street, weaving in and out of traffic as if I were
in some
Fast and Furious
film.

“Joey,” Zephyr starts slowly, trying not to
piss me off anymore than I already am. He’ll fail if he says the
wrong thing; I could possibly throw him from the car… without
stopping. “Calm down.”

I don’t want to
calm down
—I want to
hit things. Preferably with a couple tons of car.

Though, I can’t with this car, I wouldn’t be
able to explain to my aunt without having my driving privileges
revoked, but I still want to put something against a wall… or a
person.

I wonder if I could kick Ryder again, that
helped the last time.

But Zephyr is right—
damn it
—I need to
calm down. Driving when I’m this angry, this infuriated, can’t be
good.

I slow the car down, trying to be a
responsible driver, and take a deep breath. Finally, I pull the car
over, parking in the nearest fast food restaurant to collect my
bearings.

I remove my hands from the steering wheel; it
hurts to unclench, but I need to breathe, I need to release, I need
to detach myself. My knuckles turn from the stark white back to
their normal tan color and I try and shake the feeling back into my
hands. They just hurt.

“Sorry,” I say quietly as I mentally count
back from ten to calm myself, one of the
tricks—
ironically
—Dr. Jett taught me in the start of my
sessions with her. When everything became overwhelming, when I felt
completely buried, I needed to detach myself from the situation and
distance myself—somehow counting did that.

“It’s okay,” Zephyr responds quickly,
breathless. There’s a shaky vibrato to his voice. I scared him,
didn’t I? That almost makes me laugh but it remains buried beneath
the present anger still within me, the anger still boiling my
blood.

After I take the time to breathe, making sure
I’m calm enough to drive without causing an accident on the road, I
drive home—going the speed limit. Zephyr wants to talk about it but
I quickly nip it away, kissing him quick before wishing him a good
rest of the night and heading inside my house alone. I try to work
on homework but I can’t focus. My mind is filled with thoughts and
images: I can still picture the man searching for me, or Josie, I
can still picture what he held in his hand, and I’m still angry, no
livid
, that Dr. Jett just dismissed what I remembered. She
dismissed my feelings and fears about being in the dark about my
own past.

I think that’s something I need to know!

You can’t know where you’re going if you
don’t know where you’re from
. How can I even think about
graduating high school, going off to college, and starting my own
life if I don’t know important things about myself? About my past?
How can I move on with my life if I don’t know from which I’m
moving on? It doesn’t make sense to me. And the people I thought
would help me, the people I believed in my heart would help me, are
leaving me in the dark because it’s better for me if I don’t know
or it’s better if I figure things out on my own.

It’s complete crap if you ask me.

But just because I feel like this, just
because I’m so angry, doesn’t mean I can treat Zephyr like I did. I
treated him like scum and I know that. I had no right to endanger
his life like that just because I didn’t like what I heard in
therapy. It’s my problem, not his, and I was being… crazy.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I slam my chemistry
book close and run my hands roughly through my hair, my curls
clinging to my fingers as I bunch my hair in my closed fists,
feeling the anger and worry surge through me. It’s brief current
coursing through my veins, then I’m tired, exhausted from
everything.

It’s time for bed. I walk up the stairs,
brush my teeth, and head into my room to change into pajamas. I dig
around in my top drawer until I find a pair of multicolored striped
sleep shorts and slip them on, tugging off my t-shirt. I stand in
my room, feeling the chill brush against my legs. I feel so small
here, I feel like a passing moment, waiting for my time to end, but
the moment continues on an endless loop and I’m waiting, waiting
for something different. It just never comes.

Is this everything that I have to look
forward to, is this everything my future holds for me? I know that
I’m going places, I’ve always known I was destined for something
greater than this place, I just never knew that I’d possibly take
my demons with me.

That thought, that realization, is enough to
fuck with me, it’s enough to drag me from the depths of my deepest
pits, into the shallow grasp of the monster.
The monster
,
the thought is strong enough to send chills down my spine, shaking
me where I stand. Just the memory of the man,
of my father
,
chills me to the bone. It’s so cold, the memory, that I can’t shake
it away. It immobilizes me.

But I can’t let it.

I tie up my hair and look to my window,
spotting Zephyr reading on his bed. It’s such a sweet sight. He’s
shirtless—
thank the gods!
—and he’s leaning against the
headboard, one hand above his head, the other holding tightly to
the book. He moves to turn the page but immediately resumes the
position, a tiny crease forming in his brow as he stares at the
page.

This sight warms my heart, it warms me where
I stand and I momentarily forget everything.

I walk to my window and wave until he sees
me. Brown eyes slowly raise from the page while his hand marks the
spot.
There’s nothing more appealing than a guy who reads!
He makes his way to the window after he sets his book on his
pillow, his chest bare and still surprisingly rippled. The way he
moves has me transfixed, mesmerized, and I want to be there, I want
to be where he is. Zephyr pokes his head out into the chilly night
air.

“Hey.” He sounds happy to see me. That’s
surprising after the afternoon we had. Maybe it’s because I’m not
behind the wheel of a car. Probably.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I tell him,
speaking through the alley. “It’s just that, I don’t know…” I trail
off trying to put my feelings into words. “Sometimes she looks at
me; she speaks to me, like I’m some pathetic little girl; that I
can’t help myself from being the victim.” I shake my head. “I just
get so pissed off when she does that.”

He knows I mean my doctor. “I’m sorry,” he
says.

“You shouldn’t be,” I tell him. It’s not his
problem, it’ll never be his problem, it’s mine, all mine and I need
to learn to cope with it. Somehow, I need to cope.

“Want me to come over there?” he asks,
pointing into my room. “I could sleep on your floor again?”

As amazing as that sounds, I know he’d rather
sleep on hot coals or on
the
floor more than that crappy air
mattress. And, with him looking like that—
eeek!
—I’d be too
tempted to relieve him of that funky air mattress for the comfort
that is my bed. It’s awesome, nice pillow top, so comfortable that
I hate leaving it every morning. But that aside…

“I think I can manage tonight, but thanks,
Zeph.”

“I wish I could kiss you goodnight,” he says
into the cool night air. It’s a whisper between us, the moon, and
the stars, carried on a soft breeze from him to me, but he never
felt closer.

“Me too,” I whisper back, lightly lifting my
hand as if to reach to him. As close as we are, we’re still too far
apart. “We’ll save that all for tomorrow.”

That familiar crooked smile of his sneaks
through, playing at his lips the way that makes me swoon.

“I’ll leave my window open,” he tells me,
repeating our familiar send off for the night.

“Me too,” I whisper.

“JoJo, honey,” a woman’s voice calls from the
other side of the room.
There’s someone in my room?
I turn
away from the window, slowly facing her, spotting chocolate skin
and a loose navy tank top. Her jet-black hair curls around in mini
spirals, framing her face in a frizz too adorable for words. She
holds her hands out for me and I reach for them, feeling the soft
skin caress my tiny fingers. “Come sit on Mommy’s lap.”

Mommy?
She’s my mom.

I do.

I climb onto the bench she’s sitting on and
plop onto her lap. Her body is warm and comforting as her arms
surround me, hugging me from behind, a sweet scent filling my
nose—
she smells like cinnamon sugar
. She grabs my hands,
holding them over something large and black, shiny and grand, I’ve
heard my mother call it a
piano
but I’m still not sure if
that’s its real name. It must be, my mommy wouldn’t lie to me.

“What are you doing, Mommy?” I ask, my tiny
voice squeaking out every word as I watch our movements.

She tugs lightly on my braided ponytail.
“Playing the piano, silly,” she explains to me. She presses my hand
onto a white key and a light sound releases faintly into the air.
It sounds beautiful, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I want to
hear it again. “Want to learn?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say excitedly, almost
cheering, with a large smile on my face. “What’s a piano?” I ask,
leaning back to look up at mommy, taking in her beautiful features
I hope will pass to me someday.

“The giant thing in front of you, stupid,” a
voice as tiny as mine barks back. I look to my right and spot
someone who looks familiar, as if I’ve seen her in a mirror,
looking at me with a scowl etched on her pretty face. I know I’ve
seen her before with her pale hazel eyes and dark curls, her olive
skin and freckles.

One word plays in my mind: sister.

She’s my sister.

“
Ivy Nevaeh!
” Mommy scolds angrily.
“We do not call anyone
stupid
in this house, ya hear me?”
Ivy rolls her eyes, skillfully for a seven year old. “Apologize to
your sister, now,” Mommy demands.

Ivy crosses her arms and lets out a long
sigh—way too dramatic for a little girl, but she’s working it. “I’m
sorry.” She spits out, not meaning it. You can tell by her surly
tone, the way she’s standing, and the look in her eyes. She’s
angry, an angry little girl, she’s guarded and hurt and just wants
to lash out. As her little sister, I know this. I know this because
she loves me, she really does, she just needs to hurt someone and
that someone is me.

“Mean it, please,” Mommy commands.

“I mean it, geez,” Ivy tells her. She walks
over to the bench we’re sitting on and grabs my hand within her
own. It’s warm and clammy, not something I’d expect. She plasters a
fake smile on her face before she drops my hand and walks back into
the living room, pretending that didn’t just happen.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into
you lately,” Mommy says, her hands lightly massaging my arms and
shoulders as I bang down on random keys. Once the tension I barely
felt left the room, I felt it was time for me to make some noise.
And I like it.

“Mommy! Mommy!” I say loudly, trying to catch
her attention between each
bang
. I lean back, letting the
noise die away, looking up at my mom. I try to see her eyes but she
isn’t looking at me. “I still love Ivy,” I tell her, hoping that my
sister can hear me. “Even though she called me a bad name, I love
her.”

“I love you, too, JoJo,” Ivy calls back from
the living room.

“Where’s my camera when I need it?” Mommy
asks herself, letting out a little giggle as her hand rubs the top
of my head.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mom!” a little boy yells with
excitement, running up with his red toy truck in hand.

Brother?

He’s small, almost as small as I am; his hair
is a crazy mess on the top of his head. Large curls dangle in front
of his eyes, bouncing as he moves. As he smiles, I notice that he’s
missing his two front teeth; he lets his tongue poke through.
Unlike Ivy, his eyes are a deep brown, vibrant but dark, almost
black as he looks to me.

“Noah, not now,” Mommy tells him, her
attention turning back to me.

“But Mom!” he whines, trying to get the
attention back on himself. He grabs her shirt and starts tugging
aggressively, hoping to get our mother’s attention.

Mommy sighs, dropping her head onto mine.
Noah’s still yanking on her clothing, determined to get her
attention. She takes a deep breath before she turns to look at her
son. “What is it?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer, he can’t—something loud
interrupts him. Somewhere far, a door slams loudly, rattling and
shaking a few pictures on the surrounding walls. One falls to the
ground, the glass cracking the moment it hits the floor, a jagged
web cascading over the family in the frame.

“DAMN IT!” a man shouts on the other side of
the house before a loud
crash
sounds through the air. I jump
at the unexpected sound. Mommy wraps her arms around my shoulders,
trying to settle my body’s uncontrollable trembling but it’s no
use, I can’t stop.

Is that Daddy?

Mommy sets me on the floor next to Noah with
a final rub of my arms. “Ivy, honey, take them upstairs,
please.”

Ivy jumps into action, running over to
me.

“I thought we were playing the piano,” I
whine loudly.

Mommy shushes me, her attention darting
between the kitchen and me. “Not now, baby,” Mommy tells me before
placing a quick kiss to my forehead. She does the same for Ivy and
Noah.