Ripple Effect: A Novel (19 page)

I remember that. My ribs were bruised, too, and it hurt like no other. I move on to my next journal, this one covered in pupil irises. Sixteen . . . seems like a good year, from what I remember. Randomly, I open to a spot and read:

Mom, Adie, Daphne, Jema, and Hazel threw me a surprise birthday party for my sweet sixteen. I was so happy that I cried. I have felt so alienated by them for quite a while. Maybe I’ve done it to myself. Hazel said one day that I was being rejective, like rejecting everyone around me. I told her it’s not a word and she glared at me. I’ve realized that all of this anger that I’ve been feeling is because I’m scared of losing the ones I love. So what, I would rather push them away and not feel pain when they leave me? That explains why I’ve had this odd love/hate thing with Mom and Adie. Yeah, the party was nice. We watched Dracula, my favorite movie ever, and then we went outside and blew up fireworks, though they are kinda illegal. Mom even lit a few herself. It was nice to see her laugh a little. I think she’s becoming her again. Still miss Papa, but what can I do?

I thank the stars that I’ve found an entry where I didn’t want to kill my sister, or hate my mother with a raging passion. But what made me snap? Things seemed okay then, but why would I go through all of this now?

I return back to my current journal and open the first page. Nothing extreme. I hit July, just last summer, and find a juicy one. This might explain it. I return to my bed, my knees sore from kneeling on the ground. It reads:

I walked into the house and heard, “I’m afraid she’s getting out of hand and needs to be punished.” Er––excuse me? They couldn’t be talking about me . . . right? I mean, yeah I got in a fight with Adie and them because they called one of my prized paintings ugly and tasteless. Daphne said it was a stick figure. I said it was to represent a child’s perspective of her father. Yes, it’s abstract, but they were so criticizing and mean to me. So you know what I did? I threw it in the fireplace and burned it. Then, they started picking on my clothes. Adie said that my shorts were too short and that my chest was showing way too much. She’s a freaking nun when it comes to fashion! Daphne thought my shorts were cute, at least. But she made fun of my painting! I had to deal with all of this, plus running into Sabrina and she sic’d one of her nasty perverts on me. He grabbed my butt and I punched his face. Then he pushed me even more and I started crying, embarrassing myself in front of everyone. Sabrina stopped him and made fun of me for being a baby. Words can’t even describe how horrible she is.  Well, I kind of ripped out a chunk of her hair because I was tired of her crap, and her dad walked up behind her at the same time. He was mad. Said he’d call my mom. So, I walk into my house hearing my mom saying that I’m getting out of hand and that I need to be punished . . . I just can’t believe it! I’ve decided that Mom doesn’t care, legit, and the others just want to boss me around. All I have is Hazel. And I’m going to the Art Institute soon. I only have to tolerate them for one more year and I’m gone. That does not mean that I will talk to them. You don’t talk about me behind my back and you don’t mock my art! I really am alone, aren’t I? And what if someone grabs my butt again and I’m scared, like I am now? He could have raped me and no one would have cared! Papa’s gone and I’m all alone. And sometimes I have nightmares of being attacked, and what if they come true? No one listens to me and no one cares.

I thought back in my mind now to how it felt to feel alone and vulnerable. I held true to my word and hardly talked to them from then on. That was a few months ago. That was when the makeup got darker and the clothes became more revealing. I felt like no one here loved me so I had to find attention elsewhere. I second guessed myself, became depressed and lonely. Hazel was right when she said that I was crying for help, for anyone to hear me. And why no one helped me––I don’t understand.

“Cecily?” my mother asks.

I stare up at her for a minute, like I haven’t seen her for years, like I am her long lost child who is looking for her mommy. “Mom?” I whisper. Regardless of reading the angry journal entries, there is no way I can be angry right now with her. I love her and she is my mother.

Her breathing increases as tears fill her eyes. Brown hair, coifed perfectly, drapes to just above her collar bones, and her hazel eyes are a little red. She’s my mom! And she loves me! More tears flow from my eyes as my lip quivers and my chest aches. I just want her to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay!

Within in moments, my mother is beside me on my bed, just as I wished. She holds me in her arms, the way only a mother can when you’re upset. All I can do is gasp for air as I press my face harder into her shoulder and cry a heart wrenching song.

After a moment, I compose myself a little better. My cheeks are still wet with tears and my nose runny, but I am at least able to breathe again.

I look down at the journal and she does too. “I left it here for you,” I whisper, just realizing what the old Cecily had done. “She left it here.”

“I read it just now,” she says quietly. I can’t look into her eyes—I’m disgusted with myself. “Baby, you should have told me you were so miserable.” It’s not scolding or harsh; it’s loving and caring. “And the punishing thing from a few months ago . . . , sweetheart, I was talking to Gordon about controlling Sabrina. He agreed with me, I assure you.”

“So you don’t think I’m a horrible kid?”

“I knew you were depressed, but I had no idea it was to the point of suicide. Was it always like that or did you decide to do that after the teacher assaulted you?”

My lip quivers once more and I just know that I am going to lose it again. I shake my head, being that it is all that I can do. I can’t get the thought of me lying dead somewhere out of my head, or Leison’s hands on me, or feeling so alone. Luckily my mom has her arms around me and I’m not even close to being alone.

“Cecily, honey, it is okay. You’re here with me. You’re safe.” My mother sweeps the hair out of my face gently. I look into her eyes and see the raw fear that fills her. Her hazel eyes gleam and her skin is blotchy from wiping the tears away. Regardless of it all, she smiles.

“Did––did––,” I begin to stutter. “Why didn’t you read it before now?”

She cups my cheek in her hand. “I should have read it earlier,” she whispers.

“How did this happen?” My voice is whiny and miniscule.

Her eyes fill with tears, though she tries to choke them back. “Baby, I am so sorry that this has happened—that I didn’t help you. After your father died, it was so hard for me to get up in the morning. It was you and Adie that kept me going. And I saw the darkness taking over you––so subtly, and you pushed us away so quickly. I know it’s not your fault though, sweet girl, it’s mine. I didn’t show you that you were safe or that I loved you enough.”

I bit my cheek. “When did you really start to worry, Mom?”

“Well, I knew that something was very wrong when you were skipping school. Before, you were always smart, always a good student, though you still were very depressed. Then you started with the dark art, which suggested that you were scared. I couldn’t entirely figure out why you had turned away from us to begin with, but it makes sense now. I know that being your sister’s hero is hard, and I never wanted you to feel so horrible about it.”

I nod, just once, and stare down at the pile of dark clothes and makeup. I want it torched and burned.

“The depression and anger appeared after Papa died.” Mom goes on. “But when you took the turn for the worst––it was overnight, I swear. You skipped school, you started drinking, you wore dark clothing and had dark makeup on. Then suddenly, you only wanted to wear sweats. And you brought home a flyer from school about a party, and my daughter normally wouldn’t attend a party like that. I knew that something was horribly wrong.”

She softly brushes the hair off of my neck and sees the bite mark. “I’ve noticed the bruises, Cecily.” She holds my shoulders as to never let go. “When did this man do this?”

“Last Friday,” I whisper, not wanting to talk about it.

Mom holds my face in her hands and looks at me as if I am a miracle. “What turned you around, baby?” Her thumb strokes my cheek.

“I don’t know why I changed . . . why I am sitting here right now, and not at the party. I think it was an angel clothed in white,” I admit, though it sounds crazy.

“Something blessed you, my sweet girl,” Mom says in a soft voice. “Because of that change, I read your journal. I was taken aback when I saw your interactions this evening and needed answers to your rapid transformation.”

I look at the spot on the floor where I passed out. “I can’t explain it.”

“You say an angel visited you and helped you change your mind about suicide—then it did.” That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, but I know without a doubt that it is what happened. “Cecily, this type of change doesn’t happen just because,” she says.

I look down at my hands, fleshy and pink, as I remember the transparent ones that I had touched earlier. “She looked like me, Mom, the angel. We touched hands. That’s all I remember. I blacked out and woke up feeling like I do now. Happy and okay—and a little hung over.” I laugh innocently. “Have I disappointed you?” I ask in a scared whisper.

She holds my hands in hers. “Heavens no, my sweet girl. You just scared the life out of me, that’s all.” Her fingers softly comb through my hair and down my back. “It’s a parent’s job to be scared.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say quickly. I try to change the topic because I feel uncomfortable and guilty. “Why do you wear your wedding ring still?” I stare down at the unique golden band and diamonds. “Papa is dead . . .”

Mom twists the ring off her delicate fingers and hands it to me. I stare down the familiar piece of jewelry and smile. When I was a girl I always tried it on and pretended to be married.

“Death means nothing when you love the person with all your heart,” she explains and tilts her head to the side. “Your father will forever be my husband. And I know he walks beside us, guides from beyond the realm.”

Tears fill my eyes as an empty feeling comes over me. “I miss him, Mom.”

She nods. “Baby, I do too. Someday we’ll see him again.”

My eyes meet hers. “I know.” Normally, I would mock her and say she is a fool, but she is right. I’ll see my Papa again on the other side, I just know it.

Her arms wrap tightly around me and she kisses my head. “You are safe and happy and in my arms. That’s all that matters now. Whatever you saw, consider it a Godsend. Just as I consider you and Adie my little Godsends.”

I can’t help it and my eyes fill with tears all over again as I think about suicide. I am too young to die and I don’t want to! “I’m sorry,” I say again, feeling so guilty for terrifying her.

“Cecily, you aren’t going to kill yourself, are you?” Her face is almost white. “I don’t think you are, but I don’t want to jump to assumptions. I want to listen to you, understand how you feel.”

“No, Mom. I’m not going to kill myself––not now, at least. I don’t want to die, Mom, I want to live! I want to have my first kiss and put my feet in the Pacific Ocean. I want to go to the Art Institute in New York and paint and draw my heart out! I don’t want to die!”

“Whoever that angel was, she came at the perfect time, didn’t she?” Mom tears up. “Baby, you follow your dreams. Don’t ever be scared. I am here for you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I smile back and give her the ring.

“I don’t want to upset you, Cecily.” Mom looks down for a moment. “But can you tell me more about this man who attacked you? You said something happened in that journal. I know about the bruises, and I worry that what he’s done to you is far worse than touching . . .”

I revert back to being scared. I can’t tell her! He’ll kill Adie!

“What did he do to you?” Her eyes meet mine and hold a serious gaze.

My eyes close and I can see his dark eyes on me, feel his disgusting breath on my balmy skin. They shoot open as I flinch. “I don’t know,” I say quickly.

“Was it just touching, Cecily—or did he do more? You mention in here that he touched you, but you don’t give any more than that.” She touches the mark on my neck softly. “Cecily, honey?”

“I don’t know, Mom! He touched me, it’s all I remember!” I yell, lying completely. There is nothing that either of us can do, and if she tries anything, Adie could die. No one will believe me. Leison knows everyone and has implanted thoughts about me into their heads. It’s not worth losing my sister or my life.

“This is why you’ve skipped World Civ for the past week,” Mom says, already under the assumption that Leison had something do with this, I’m sure. “The school called and said you were skipping that class and that your grade was dropping.”

I nod. “It’s scary, as you can imagine. And if I do go, I wear baggy clothes so he doesn’t notice me.”

“Does he notice you?” That look fills her face, the look that a Momma Puma gets when she’s getting ready to pounce at the thing threating her cub. “Is it Mr. Leison who is doing this, Cecily?”

“Yes.” Bravery fills me, if only for that moment. “Mr. Leison hasn’t called me back since the first time, but I’ve only gone to his class once since the incident.”

Mom tries to blink away the tears, but can’t. She clears her voice as her eyes fill with rage. “If your Papa was here—he—he’d shoot him!”

“Papa is dead,” I remind her. “Spirits can’t help in these situations.”