Page 55 of Pieces Of You

I think I’ve been stuck there ever since.

“You good, Gladys?” Holden asks. We’re sitting in his truck, in Esme’s driveway, while he eyes the numerous bags by my feet, as well as on my lap. There are the ones I left at his house, along with my replacement school bag, plus one filled with the “suitable attire” his mom had let me borrow—they’re washed and ironed now, ready to be returned. The less connection I have to the boy beside me, the better off I’ll be.

If it weren’t for all the extra baggage I’d be lugging around, I would’ve caught the bus home.

I force a smile. “Ready when you are.”

It’s the most we’ve spoken all day. Even when we were working in Esme’s yard, Holden found a way to give directions without actually talking. I don’t know if he’s simply mirroring my mood or if he’s in a mood of his own. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to say, and he has nothing I want to hear.

When we finally make it to my house, Holden speaks for the first time. “Do you need a hand carrying—”

“Nope,” I cut in, already halfway out of his truck. “I’ll see you at school.”

I hate that he still cares enough about me to wait until I’m inside before slowly pulling away.

But worse, I hate that I notice it… that Ilikeit.

Gina usedto say that there isn’t a problem in the entire world that couldn’t be solved with a long, hot bath. Unfortunately, my trailer doesn’t have a bath, only a shower, and so that’s what I do. I set the temperature to scorching, and I stand under the stream, let the water crash down on my shoulders, and I try to breathe through the constant pain of existence. I ignore the liquid heat that falls from my lashes, and act as if it’s coming from the showerhead.

I try to imagine the feeling of soft, beige carpet beneath my legs, the warmth of the fireplace heating my flesh. I try to remember the smell of books, the scent wafting up with every flip of the page. For a moment, just one, I can feel her with me—Gina—her gentle hands combing through my hair and her shaky, aging fingers wiping away my tears. Sometimes, I wish I was back there, the only place in the world I felt cared for. But that would mean going back in time—a time when I was safe… but my mother lived a life of destruction.

I sniff once, standing taller as I push the thought aside, angry with myself for even thinking it.

When the hot water runs out, I reluctantly switch off the shower. Just as I reach for a towel, I hear the knocking on the door.

Not knocking.

Banging.

Fear closes my airways, fills my bloodline with panic.Dread. Before I know what’s happening, I’m standing behind my door, wrapped in a towel, with a loaded gun held tightly in my grasp.

The banging continues, only now it comes with a familiar voice. “Jamie!”

I push out an exhale—relief mixed with anger—and open the door. “What the hell, Holden!”

“What took you so fucking…” His words die in the air when he notices my lack of clothing first, and then the gun. His eyes meet mine, confused. Worried. “Why do you…”

I turn on my heels, stomp toward the bedroom. Over my shoulder, I snap, “Why are you knocking on my door like you’re the goddamn police!” Or a violent, jaded ex-boyfriend looking for his punching bag.

“That’show you want to answer the door if cops come?” I hear him close the door, lock it, and then his footsteps following behind.

After replacing the gun in the drawer of my nightstand, I turn to him. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you answering the door with what I assume is a loaded weapon?”

I flop down on the bed, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, causing my knees to bounce, my hands to shake, my pulse to pound in my eardrums.

I hate that he’s here, that he’s witnessing this, and so I try to hide it. I get up, move past him standing in the doorway, and grab a towel from the bathroom. After sitting back down, I busy my hands with drying my hair. “What do you want, Holden?” I ask, trying to level my breathing.The last time I felt this amount of fear was when I caught Jayden, the “property manager,” in my house when I’d been out. He said he was checking the gas lines. I bought a chain lock the next day.

“I just… I don’t like the way we are right now,” Holden answers.

I laugh once, bitter. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“I don’t know, Jamie, but the silence is killing me, and you’re being weird, and I don’t know how to take it, and…”

I struggle to find some calm in the chaos of my mind. “And?”

He doesn’t answer, and so I look up to see him watching me. His eyes are on my bare legs at first, and then they trail up, past my waist, to my chest, barely covered by my towel. His throat moves with his swallow as his gaze slowly shifts up to my eyes, and I notice the familiar spark. The heat. Theneed.

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