Page 5 of Echoes of Nevermore
“There. Now there’s nothing to feel wrong about doing. You didn’t take it. You didn’t have a choice.” I wink at her, sliding her phone back into her palm. “Besides, you never know when you’ll be in a pinch and need to call a good mechanic.”
I brush her long strands off her cheek, dragging the tips of my fingers along her freckles like I used to do, and force myself to release her.
“I guess you have a point.”
She’ll find her way back.
She has to.
Chapter 3
Star
I shouldn’t have let him put his number in my phone. I could have stopped him. I should have tried harder. But I searched deep into my heart, looking for the reasons to walk away.
Scott.
The engagement.
Both reasons would have made me slam the car door in Nevermore’s face six and a half months ago. But now, they seem like a weight I carry out of duty. Our engagement is a sham, and Scott isn’t who I should be with. Not that Nevermore is either, I just met the guy. As strange as it is, there’s something so familiar about him; he feels like home. Maybe I’ve become so accustomed to being treated like shit by Scott that I’m clinging to the first guy who treated me like a human being. It’s possible that I’m making connections that aren’t real. But I can’t shake the feeling, real or not.
My cheeks puff out, and then air blows out between my lips. I want to rip my hair from my head, strand by strand. I pace the floor in front of my closet, occasionally stopping to glance at the costume hanging at dead center. It was a last-minute clearance buy. I bought it two years ago for a party that got cancelled almost as fast as the invitation came. It’s been hanging in the closet collecting dust, and as far as I cared, it could have been moth food. Now I’m glad to have it.
After I returned home from getting my oil changed, I tried to end things with Scott. He begged me not to throw our engagement away. Swore he would change. A week has passed, and he’s been on his best behavior. Maybe he has turned over a new leaf, but I doubt it. I don’t know why I always take him back, but I do. Maybe it’s out of fear of being alone. Perhaps it’s pity. This isn’t the first time we’ve gone through this. It’s a vicious cycle. One that I need to end, and I intend to do it tonight when we’re around other people. He’s less likely to gravel and make me feel guilty when the eyes on him don’t only belong to me. I don’t care if he’s actually different, so am I. Too much pain and hate are between us to ever salvage our relationship. It’s unhealthy, and I don’t have room in my life for that level of toxicity anymore.
Nevermore hadn’t said anything truly inspiring to me, but when he asked my opinion, it got me thinking. I couldn’t remember the last time Scott cared enough to ask my thoughts on well…really anything. When he isn’t drinking himself into a belligerence, he is shouting about not drinking.
We’re going out tonight because he wants to drink but is too cheap to buy all the liquor to make the mixed drink he wants or pay my cover charge. Anyone dressed up gets in free, which is the reason for the costume.
I slide the wizard get-up over my body, running the tip of my finger along the mystery scar on my forehead, and wince. I wish I could remember where it came from, but I’m also thankful that I don’t. A frown forms on my lips as soon as I see my reflection. Harry is supposed to be the one with the scar, not Hermione, which is who I’m dressing as for tonight.
I bite the tip of my tongue and smile. Hopefully Lolo gets a good look at my outfit when I go out the door tonight. Hermione didn’t always carry a broom or wear a pointy hat, but seeing as Lolo already calls me a witch, I can’t pass up this opportunity. I giggle, mumbling some made-up incantation that sounds nothing like Latin, snatching my lipstick off the counter, and pointing it at my reflection. My eyes catch a glimpse of the crooked line running down my forehead again, and I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose for a moment.
I know people say scars make you stronger, but I think that only applies to the ones with the story you recall. Tenacity and character can’t be built from an experience if you remember nothing about it. I draw an absolute blank when I try to place the history of this one. I have a good idea what caused it, but I have never gotten an actual confirmation from anyone. Grams said I got it when I was eighteen, but never how it came to be. In fact, she straight out refused to tell me. Eventually, I got fed up and quit asking her.
The scar is gnarly, but it’s not as noticeable as it was in my early twenties. Little kids point it out and usually ask what happened. Their parents scold them when they do, but the question doesn’t bother me as much when it comes from a curious child. The adults are a different story. One would think that after close to sixteen years that the whispers and stares from the people around here would’ve come to a stop by now. Nope. The locals are still just as nosy and inconsiderate as ever. The second they think I’m out of earshot, their running their gums. I guess the fact that I have eyes with the capability to see them whispering behind cupped hands and pointing at me doesn’t matter. I’m not dumb. I know they’re talking about me, and to be honest, most days I don’t care. If my name is the subject, at least that means they’re keeping someone else’s name out of their mouths.
The only thing I wish is that someone would have the common decency to tell me if my suspicions are right. It’s like the whole county came together and made the decision to keep my past from me as if it is some big conspiracy that’ll ruin the world. I try not to let it bother me, but it does. Why does everyone else have a right to know things about me that even I don’t? I’ll find out one day. My coworker, Jeanne, suggested I look it up on the internet. Like I hadn’t thought of that. I have, but I’m too scared to pull the trigger and make myself do it. I tried to go through with it on my twenty-first birthday after an all-night bender. It was late, and I was drunk. When I saw the words, “Horrible accident, only one survives”, as the headliner, no doubt it was the one that took my parents.
I not only shut the computer down, but I unplugged it. It’s dumb to run from my past, but it’s also irrational. If I dig deep down, I know I’ve avoided it. The information isn’t the part I can’t handle. Not exactly. It’s what will follow.
It’s the devastation.
It’s the breakdown.
It’s the debilitating sadness brought on by knowing I used to have a life full of wonder and laughter, and it was ripped away in a matter of minutes.
It’s remembering the name of the person responsible for ruining my life. I hated the ghost of a person for the majority of my life, and I’ve finally managed to allow myself to think of other things.
I’m a hypocrite. I want someone to tell me, but I can’t bring myself to pull up another article again. I guess that I’m afraid that if I see the words or look at the images that I won’t be able to handle it. Not that hearing them is much different, but it seems less intimidating somehow.
I bring the cherry red lipstick to my lips, sliding the satiny-smooth balm over them, and rub them against each other to even out the color. It’s brighter than I would normally wear, but it is a Halloween party after all. There will be people wearing a lot more daring things. At least I hope there is. If the raciest thing there is the lipstick smeared across my lips, the night is going to be boring for sure. I’m not one to chase chaos, but if I’m going to a party, I want it to be one worth going to.
I’ve always loved dressing for the occasion, so I won’t let the fact that Scott isn’t paying for my entry bother me. I have a job and money; I could fork up the cash. But out of sheer principle, I won’t. If anything, by saying he wasn’t paying for me, he closed our story without having any idea of what he did. Sometimes the smallest gestures have the biggest impact. I wouldn’t end things between us based only on this; I’m not that petty. This is the icing on the cake that I’m about to smash in his face, though.
Chapter 4
Nevermore
