It’s late and colder than hell, the air stinging at my skin like needles. I let the phone ring, walking back and forth across the sidewalk, thinking about what this means. For as long as I can remember, it’s always been about doing what my father wanted, with sports, with rules, with life. I’d always felt this obligation to go back to that house, no matter what. I don’t know why and maybe I never will. But I’m hoping this is the first step to cutting the ties with that God damn house that’s haunted by nothing but terrible memories and the soulless monster who put them there.
It’s gratifying to think about.
I’m about to hang up after the phone rings for the fifth time, but then someone says, “Hello.”
“Umm…” I can’t tell if it’s him or not. “This is Kayden… Is this Doug?”
“Oh, yes, Kayden.” There’s some ruffling in the background followed by some voices. Then it goes quiet. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, well, no.” I’m struggling and it feels like someone has their hands around my neck. But I mentally pry them off, shutting my eyes and picturing Callie. “I know it’s late, but I need to talk about what happened that night.”
There’s a pause. “The office is closed but I can meet you at Larry’s twenty-four-hour diner in about half an hour.”
I take a deep breath and the cold air sends relief to my lungs.
“All right.”
We hang up and just like that I’m heading toward the starting line of my recovery.
The diner is not too far away and I choose to walk there even though I’m frozen and my fingers are turning blue. I get there earlier than Doug and order a cup of coffee. It’s late enough that no one’s there except a few guys with trucker hats and grease on their jeans and the cook and waitress. I select a corner booth away from them, the counter, the kitchen. I don’t want anyone else hearing what I’m going to say—it’ll be hard enough getting the words out of my mouth.
I start flicking the rubber band, wishing Callie were here holding my hand, just like we’d planned, but I know it’s better being solo and leaving her out of this mess. The waitress is bringing me coffee when the bell on the front door rings. An icy breeze sweeps through as Doug walks inside, but it’s okay. It kind of makes it all real and forces me to feel everything.
I rest my arms on the table as he heads over and I stab my fingernails into the tops of my forearms. He has on a jacket and a pair of jeans, along with a beanie. It’s a little out of character for him, since I’m used to seeing him in suits, but then again it’s eleven o’clock at night.
“Hello, Kayden,” he says in an exhausted voice as he lowers himself into the booth across from me, taking his beanie off. His thinning hair stands up in every direction.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” I tell him and take a sip of coffee, feeling the burn all the way down to my stomach. “I was just worried that if I didn’t call… that I’d back out or something.”
“I’m glad you woke me up,” he replies and slips his arms out of his jacket. “It’s better not to wait on these things.”
I wonder what he’ll say when I tell him everything. I set the cup down and fold my arms on top of the table, returning my fingernails to my skin. “You were right,” I hurry and say before I pussy out. My fingernails burrow farther into my skin and split sections open. Blood trickles out.
“About what?” he asks, but I think he really knows. He eyes the blood on my arm but doesn’t say a word about it.
I flex my fingers and take in the bloody, crescent-shaped marks on my arms. “About what happened that night.”
He crosses his arms on top of the table. “I don’t recall ever saying what happened that night.”
“Yeah, but you… you thought that my father…” God, this is so fucking hard. Why is it so hard? My dad’s a fucking dick. He beat me all those years. Just say it. “He’s the one who hurt me that night. Well, I mean I did stuff to myself too, but he…” I sound like a fucking kid. I tuck my fingernails into my palms, stabbing them into my skin. Every part of my body wants to escape, be alone, find something sharp and bleed the pain out of me. But I keep reminding myself Callie, Callie, Callie. “He stabbed me. That’s where the cut on my side came from. He was pissed off because I’d got in a fight with Caleb and he had to pick me up from jail and everyone knew. So he took me home and started hitting me, which he’s done a lot. But I hit him back, which I’d never done before.
And then things got out of hand. We knocked some knives onto the floor and the next thing I knew he’d stabbed one into me. I’m not even sure if he meant to do it or if it happened by accident.”
The words pour out of me like blood, and with each breath I take, my lungs start expanding wider and more powerfully. I feel like I’m free for the first time in my life. Free from my childhood. Free from my scars. Free from the cuts, the bruises, the razors, the pain.
By the time I’m finished, I’ve stopped clenching my fists and my fingers are stretched out in front of me. I wait for Doug to say something, but instead he flags down a waitress with his hand.
She’s a middle-aged woman with blonde hair braided at the back of her head. She’s wearing a bright blue dress and a white apron. In her hand are a pen and an order book. “What can I get ya two lovely gentlemen tonight?” she asks, poising her pen over the notebook.
“I’ll have some pancakes, toast with strawberry jam, and a tall cup of milk,” Doug says and looks at me with a small smile.
“Kayden, go ahead and order whatever you want. And make sure it’s enough to get you through the next few hours.”
“The next few hours?” I question. “Is that really necessary?”