Page 106 of Strings
He sighs and his head hangs low. He gazes up at me and I see it again.
“You’re fucking doing it right now! Stop! It makes me want to punch a wall. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. We’re all running from something, Sebastian. Even perfect little old you!” Walking away from him, I give him the side-eye as I head back toward my torn-up couches. They’re a metaphor for my life.
He follows me. “That’s all very convenient. Let’s blame me for feeling bad for you. Wow, what a shitty person I am for having compassion.”
“Compassion is what you offer the kids at the center. Pity is what you give me every time I’ve ever mentioned not having money. You know what, Sebastian? The majority of people in this world don’t have money. We don’t feel sorry for ourselves, we do what we need to do to survive.”
His hands fly up to the top of his head. “So I should apologize for what I have? Do you thinkIchose this life?”
“You certainly haven’t walked away from it. You just keep doing what every wants you to do.”
“You’re rich—making this about me when you’re the one who’s been lying to me for months! This isn’t about me. I told you how the press hounded me. Did you really think no one would ever find out who you really are? What you’ve really done? And why in the fuck would you lie to me? You know more than anything I hate lying. Do you not know me at all?”
I huff loudly. “You and I had an arrangement based on a lie. Are you going to sit here and judge me when you’ve been lying to everyone about me from the start?”
He pauses as my words register in his brain. He licks his lips and takes a breath. “I didn’t come over here to fight with you. I came here because I wanted to know what you were thinking. I wanted you to tell me the truth. Can you please?”
His eyes are softer now and my anger subsides. “When we first met, I thought I’d never see you again; then I did. One lie turned into another. And I wanted to be her—Natalia Pearson, the good girl from a good family who went to college and had a career in music. But the fact is, yes, I have a rap sheet. Yes, I sold drugs. Yes, I’ve stolen and begged, and lied and used my body to get what I needed. But I also did it because the alternative was no place to sleep at night and more than likely a severe beating. Have you ever been punched in the face or the stomach? It hurts. How about the center of your back when you’re trying to run away? I was scared for the majority of my life. I learned how to survive and I did. Sometimes, that meant lying, even when I didn’t want to.”
His eyebrows furrow. “The thought of anyone hurting you, let alone you being a child and being hit by an adult, makes my heart ache. I’m not pitying you. I just wish, more than anything, I could have been there to stop it.” He straightens the glasses on his face. “What can I do now?”
Turning away from him, I assess the rest of the room. The picture frame on my end table is broken. I open the back and take out the picture of my grandmother, tossing the uneven frame toward the couch. I stare at her for a moment.
“Who is that?”
“My grandmother. Well, not really.”
“I don’t understand.”
I close my eyes for a moment. I’m not used to talking about myself and I have a feeling this is only the beginning. “At least once a week, my mom would go to a store and steal a bunch of stuff. As sad as it is, I looked forward to those days because every day, I secretly hoped and prayed maybe she’d get me something. I wasn’t looking for much; a candy bar, or a twist tie for my hair, or even some lip gloss. She never did. The purpose was to take things we could pawn or re-sell.”
I smooth the flimsy picture in my hands. “This one time she stole a cheap picture frame. My dad was pissed because it wasn’t valuable. He threw it against the wall and the glass shattered. My mom told me to clean it up. Inside the frame was a picture of this old woman with kind eyes. She was all dressed up and looked like she had money.”
Staring at the picture for a moment, I turn it so he can see. “I kept the picture. I cut the price off and pretended she was my long lost grandma. I imagined we’d been separated or that my mother stole me from my actual parents and she had a reward out for my return. I pictured her being rich and thought maybe she was desperately trying to find me. I’d look for her in crowds. I’d sit in my dark closet, where I’d hide from druggies after school and create stories of how she’d rescue me and what my life would be like. She’s the only relative of mine I love and she’s not even real.”
I shrug and tuck her picture into my pants pocket. “Dumb, I know. But when I was five, it gave me hope. She was real to me.”
Sebastian stuffs his hands into his pockets and gazes down at the floor. “I’m sorry you had such a rough life. I wish I would have known you then.”
I snicker. “You wouldn’t have come near me. I was poor. You were probably at some expensive private school while I was walking around with holes in my shoes.” As soon as I mention shoes, I think of the kids at the community center. I don’t know why I’m giving him a hard time about his money right now. I know how much he loves those kids and he helps them simply because he cares. He’s a good man. I don’t deserve him.
“You don’t know anything about me either. You can’t tell me what I would have done. You didn’t know me then. I’m not even sure you know me now. I know I don’t know you.”
I shake my head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. I wanted to tell you a thousand times, but I couldn’t.”
He steps toward me. “Do you not trust me? Did you honestly think I’d judge you for your past?”
“I didn’t know. I was so embarrassed. I’d created this life for myself and I wanted it to be real. I didn’t want to be Summer anymore. I never wanted to be her to begin with.”
“My mother had no right to do what she did tonight, and for that I’m sorry. But I’m also really angry with you for lying to me. I know we’ve been lying to everyone around us from the start, but damn. There was always something about you. I could be me with you. The real me. You made it easy and I thought we had something special.”
His words hurt and I need to get away from him. We did have something, but what does it matter now? It’s over. I rush past him and head toward the bedroom. My nightstand is overturned and that’s when I see my pens on the floor. I gasp. Did they really take the time to snap them in half?
I fall down to my knees and try to see if any of them are salvageable.
“Really? You’re going to worry about a bunch of useless pens at a time like this?”
Glaring at him over my shoulder, I grit my teeth. “They may be useless to you, but they’re everything to me. You wouldn’t understand.”
