Take Me With You (7 page)

Is this because of what happened with Dillon? Am I somehow searching out someone just like the stupid bitch he left me for so that I can get revenge?

No; see that’s not right. For the first time since everything went down last week, the last thing on my mind is making someone else hurt. Revenge; I don’t want it, especially not with the only person in days that’s been able to break through my defenses even if he has no idea he’s doing it.

Whatever’s going on, I need to get control of it because if it gets out that I actually enjoy han
ging out with one of the special needs kids, it will mean the end of everything. Popularity at school, the way the other kids look at me when I make my way down the hall, the respect I command because of the fear I instill. All of it will just be gone and I’ll be left with nothing.

I’ll end up completely alone.

Eric

My entire session with Dr. Thompson flew by a whole lot quicker than I expected it to and for some reason, about halfway through, watching him move the pen across the paper, it made me stop talking long enough to ask him for a pen and paper so I could write too.

Here he was asking me about my day, how I was feeling and every other mundane thing he could possibly think of and all I was focused on was getting that little scrap of paper in my hand and doing the craziest thing with it.

There was this moment outside with Amy where she seemed different, more open than I think she’s ever been and even though it’s stupid, it makes me want to do what the doctor said I did with Cadence and reach out of my comfort zone. So armed with the little paper with my number written on it, I’m making my way down the hall, super aware of everything going on around me for the first time in years.

The closer I get to the waiting room, the faster my heart pounds and I can feel the sweat starting to pool under my arms and on my forehead the minute she comes into view.

Sitting in the chair closest to the door with her head down, reading some random magazine, completely unaware that in a few seconds she’s gonna have someone standing in front of her, I slow down my pace, taking in things about her that I never noticed when we were talking outside before.

With the way her head is turned down, it’s impossible to make out her eyes, but I do see the dimples in her cheeks and with the slight raise to her lips, it makes them stand out even more. Whatever she’s reading, it’s obvious that it’s amusing to her if she’s going to smile at it, which just makes me wanna get even closer so I can experience it firsthand.

The way it sounded when she laughed, it’s the same when she smiles. I noticed it the first day and it’s happening again. It’s something so rare that I just wanna enjoy it while I can.
It’s the craziest thing, enjoying anything about Amy, but it’s true.

Closing in on her, I clear my throat and her head lifts until her eyes land on me. With a tiny wave of her hand and an even higher raise to her lips, I go ahead and sit beside her, hoping that the way she’s acting is an invitation a
nd I’m not reading into it.

“You ready to get your head shrunk?”

“I was born ready.”

Breaking out in laughter at the same time, I see my chance, before Rose call for her and I slip the piece of paper across the table that’s in between us until it’s barely brushing against her arm.

Noticing it and taking it from my hands her eyes meet mine and her head tips in confusion.

“What’s this?”

“A lifeline. You know, if you ever need it.”

Sliding up out of the seat, I make my way out the door, not stopping until I’ve escaped the building altogether. As much as I wanted to stick around, see her reaction when she opens the paper and sees my number sitting there, I couldn’t do it.

It’s already strange enough doing it at all, but doing it for Amy, the girl that up until a week ago had made my life and the lives of my friends a living hell, it was something a whole lot worse than strange. It was downright crazy.  I also didn’t want to see her reaction if for some reason the way we were earlier had changed. If giving her my number repulsed her.

Reaching the bus stop, sitting down on the bench, checking my watch and making sure I didn’t miss the normal one with the extra time I stayed in the office, I lean back and pull the ticket from my jeans at the exact moment that my phone starts vibrating on the other side.

It’s only when I’ve got my hand back out of my pants, complete with my phone and my ticket now sitting in my teeth that I can finally find out who it is.

Where I figured Belle was texting me randomly again, it’s not. It’s an unknown number which means it can only be one person. 

Lifeline activated. See you on Friday Curious George.

Chapter Seven

Amelia

Two things happen when I get home from my appointment and neither one of them are things I want to think about, much less deal with.

By the time the bus picks me up, my mom again bailing on her promise of getting me after work, I’m more than ready to just get home, lock myself away in my room and forget the day even exists. It’s too bad that my mom doesn’t see it the same way.

Not even in the door two seconds and she drops her first bombshell.

“I spoke with Principal Daniels and the President of the School Board while you were out.”

“Yeah, so?”

Her talking to Daniels, it’s not surprising considering she’s been doing everything in her power to get me back in school, more than a little pissed that I’m home alone where she can’t keep her eyes on me. Not that it matters or anything. I actually prefer her not giving a shit.

“Amy, I’ve been doing all I can to rectify the situation you put us in. Both of them agreed to let you back in, but not before having a sit down with the family of the girl you hurt.”

Which family? I’ve done the same shit for so long it could be just about anyone. My mind flashes to Isabelle first, but I toss it out because I have a feeling if it was her, Eric would have said something considering they’re close. Cadence is out too, I didn’t get to burn her at all. With those two out, there was still at least six people it could be. None of which I wanted to sit down in front of.

“So we sit down with them. Then what?”

“You are to issue a sincere apology to Hannah Michaels and her family and you are expected from that point to attend meetings.”

“What kind of meetings?”

There’s no way in hell I’m gonna do what she’s telling me. I’m pretty damn sure even if I did issue a sincere apology for what I did that day in the bathroom, they wouldn’t believe it anyway. I wouldn’t believe it.

“Counselling meetings, in addition to your sessions with Dr. Thompson. You will be in a support group of sorts, for victims of abuse and bullying.”

“Is throwing me into that supposed to scare me straight? Come on Mom, you know this is all bullshit. I’m not doing it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Amy. You ARE going to do this and you’re going to be sincere about it. The problems you’ve been causing have finally caught up to you and it’s time that you learn from them. Acting the way you have been is only going to lead to more trouble in the future. It’s time you learn that now before it’s too late and I’m unable to come to your defense.”

Bullshit. Everything she’s saying is bullshit. She can believe all she wants that she’s coming to my defense, but I know the truth. She’s going through all of this because she’s covering her own ass. If word gets out that I’ve done the shit I’ve done and she didn’t step in, it makes her look like a bad parent. Something she doesn’t want to be.

Small towns suck. Word spreads faster than a common cold and in the time it takes you to blink, people have learned all of your secrets and formed their own opinions, something my mother wants no part of.

Mother of the Year she’s not and I’m not gonna help her obtain the title either. Screw her.

If she wanted to come to my defense she should have done something years ago with my dad instead of ignoring it and letting it continue right under her nose. We’ve never talked about it, but I’m pretty damn sure she knows what he was doing to me, but like with everything else, she kept her rose colored glasses on and ignored it.

“I’m eighteen, Mom. You can’t make me do shit.”

“I can if you want to continue living here.”

Not the first time she’s threatened me with this either. She’s blowing smoke. She won’t kick me out for the same reason she’s attempting to scare me straight. It would ruin her fucking image.

“Whatever. It’s an empty threat and you know it.”

I turn, more than ready now to escape into the comfort of my room, where I can lock the door behind me and block her out completely, but before I can make it two steps away from her, she drops the other bombshell and if I thought the school one was bad enough, I was in for a rude awakening.

“Your father called, it’s time for your monthly visit.”

Eric

Putting the finishing touches on the picture, making sure the shading is perfect, I close the sketch pad and push it across the desk. I’ve been doing the same thing for the last two hours. Picture after picture, so vivid in my mind that I can’t stop until I’ve gotten them down and added color.

This is another way I’m different. I’m obsessive about my art. What started as these really goofy looking cartoon characters when I was seven has turned into still pictures brought to life. I just put the finishing touches on a butterfly I managed to catch sight of when I got off the bus and before that it was a phoenix.

My mom says I’ve got a real eye for design but I don’t agree. I just think she’s being a mom. It’s an expected response. The artwork that I do, it could look like total garbage and I’m pretty sure she’d say the same thing to me. It’s her way. I love her for it, but I really can’t trust anything she says that way because of who she is.

I don’t share this part of me with anyone. She only happened to see it because she came into my room without knocking once when I was in the middle of something. That’s another thing I can’t do. It physically pains me to walk away when something I’m drawing is unfinished. I have to sit in the chair or on my bed until the entire thing is done or it will cause problems for me later.

I’m also what my dad calls a perfectionist. I will rip paper after paper out of my sketchbook if even one mark doesn’t come out the way I can see it in my head. Visual memory is a good thing to have, but for me and my art, it’s trouble. I’ve actually broken down a whole lot more than anyone knows, hitting myself until I bleed because things haven’t turned out perfectly.

That’s the reason I keep it to myself. If anyone else found out about it and what happens when things don’t go right, it would just be another thing they’d use against me. I think there’s enough as it is just being in a special class. I’m not looking forward to adding more.

Stretching in the chair, pushing it away from the desk as I crack not only my back but my fingers, both tense from the focus I put into the last two hours of designing, I look up the minute I hear the vibration and watch my phone move on its own across the desk.

The familiar sound that signals a text, three low tone beeps in a row repeats consecutively and I reach across and grab it. Unlocking the phone and heading straight into the messages, I’m met by one I never expected to see.

Can I get that lifeline now?

Running my fingers over the keys, not wanting to waste a second replying, I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.

Always. Are you ok?

The response is almost as quick as the one I sent and despite knowing who it is texting the words, it still hurts to read.

No.

What’s wrong?

My mom told me something and its fucking with me.

Ignoring the language, I debate whether I should ask her for more information. It’s really none of my business what her mom told her, but if she’s texting me, reaching out and asking for the lifeline, maybe I’m the only one she can tell. Tapping the phone a few times, still not sure what I should do, another text comes through.

Sorry. Shouldn’t have texted you.

Her words, the way she’s taking everything back, it’s obvious what I’ve gotta do now. I can’t let her act like what she did is wrong. She might be the world’s worst bully but that doesn’t mean she didn’t deserve to have someone hear her when she needs help.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself as I type out my response.

What did she tell you? Do you want to talk? I can call if it’s easier.

This is the time where I expect her to go back to the way she’s always been and not answer, or better yet, say something mean to end whatever this is right now, but that’s not at all what happens.

It’s my dad. I can’t talk about it. Like actually talk. It hurts too much.

Having spent the last year being bullied by this girl and her friends, I’m the first to admit I know nothing about who she is away from school. I’ve always just seen her the one way and it’s hard even now, with the way she’s texting, to see her any other way. I don’t know what it is about her dad that she doesn’t like, but if she needs me, I want to listen and help.

What did your dad do?

He hurt me….A lot.

Swallowing the lump that’s forming in my throat, I do my best not to read into what she texted, but it’s impossible.  It could mean just about anything but with the way my mind works, the image I can bring up easily, it’s almost too much to take. Is he the reason she’s burned? Had he been the one to introduce the lighter, burning her?

You probably think this is funny right? Like I deserve it after all the shit I pulled with you and your friends. Fuck. Why did I text you? You’re just gonna use this against me the first chance you get. Tell Kayden and Belle until the rest of the school knows.

No way. That might be the way her and her friends do things, but it’s not the way I operate. I would never think to do something that mean to someone, even if they did deserve it. There’s no way I can make her think that I’m like her. I’m better than that.

It’s not funny and you can tell me anything. I won’t tell anyone. It can be our secret.

Time passes sickening slow as I wait for a response from her. I hate even thinking this way. After everything she’s put me and my friends through, I shouldn’t want to help her, let alone keep her secrets, but that’s exactly what I want to do. I meant what I said before I left the office earlier. I want to be her lifeline, the same way Belle is mine.

One minute turns into two, and then two into four and just as I’m about to give up on hearing from her at all, prepared to drop my phone and completely leave my room altogether, the screen lights up and there’s a new message.

A message that makes my blood run cold.

He touched me. Did things to me. He still does.