The Contradiction of Solitude Page 18

  Faces behind glass.

  Smiling emptily.

  It was time.

  “I don’t get it, Layna. I don’t understand what’s happening. Something’s wrong. I know it.” He was panicked. Worried.

  My little brother was apprehensive.

  Because of me.

  “The clock keeps ticking, Matty. It won’t stop. Years go by and it doesn’t make a difference. He’s here. Always here. And I have to know. I have to see his face and hear the words. I need to find the reasons. Because I can’t live with only guesses.”

  Matt would understand. He was the only person in this world who ever would.

  But even his understanding had limits.

  There were things, important things that I could never share.

  “I can’t go. I want to pretend he died. I need to. To stay sane I have to believe that he’s gone for good.” Matt was crying. His words cracked and broke. His grief, his sorrow bled through the phone. Finding rest in my heart.

  “I would never ask you to go, Matty. I would never expect that of you. Live your life. Enjoy your ignorance. I’ll try not to despise you for it.” My statement was honest. That’s all I could offer him.

  After all the lies, all the illusions, it was the best thing I could do for anyone.

  Truth bled.

  Sticking to my skin.

  “I don’t have the connection to him that you do. I was nothing. To him I didn’t exist.” Matt’s sad, sad voice rang in my ears.

  “Hold your arms out, Lay. I’ll make you fly.”

  I held my tight fist over my heart. Squeeze. Burn. Fall.

  I didn’t argue with Matt. It was only fact.

  “There’s contradiction in solitude, Matty,” I said, words lost in time.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  Nothing.

  My tears fell to the floor. Mixing with the blood only I could see.

  “Elian.”

  I loved hearing her voice in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. When my phone rang it wasn’t the pieces of a tortured history terrorizing me in the dark.

  “Elian, I need you.”

  She needed me.

  I twisted. I turned myself inside out.

  All because she needed me.

  Months had turned into a lifetime.

  I couldn’t remember a time before Layna Whitaker. I couldn’t imagine a moment after her.

  There was only her.

  Only this.

  “I’m here. Always.”

  The calls had stopped. I began dreaming of home.

  But not of Diamond Creek.

  Layna.

  My home was with her.

  Flashing images, no cohesion. All I can make sense of was the way I felt. Whispered tones. Hissed threats.

  But she chased it all away.

  She was here.

  Home.

  Content.

  Unsettled.

  Panicked.

  Satisfied.

  Even as I loved, I missed my nightly interruptions. My comforting call. The reminder that no matter how hard things were, I would never, ever be alone.

  I went to sleep hearing Layna’s voice. But my hand…it reached for other things.

  I noticed the blue car driving up and down the street. It would slow down just in front of the house and would then pick up speed and continue on.

  I knew he was looking for her. She was the one he wanted.

  “Go home, Elian,” Amelia called over her shoulder as I tried to follow her. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t smiling.

  She just wanted to get away.

  The star. Colors on skin. Hanging out the window.

  He looked at me.

  I looked at him.

  Eyes meeting. And I froze.

  Amelia got into his car and buckled her seat belt. She had already forgotten about me. I wasn’t important any longer.

  He drove off with my sister.

  In his blue car.

  “Elian, I need to come over. Please let me see you.”

  She needed me.

  I needed her.

  I told her to come. I was lost without her. She was all I could see anymore. Coal black eyes that held the secrets to my horrible, horrible past.

  His daughter.

  I picked up my phone. No text messages. No missed calls. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about that. She said she was always there.

  Always.

  She lied.

  But Layna’s there. She held me when I couldn’t keep my head up. When I felt like I was drowning and the air didn’t come fast enough.

  My devil.

  My monster.

  My Layna.

  “Where are your pills, Elian?” she asked as I shuddered and sobbed.

  I watched Amelia drive away. I saw the star on his arm. He took her. She was gone. My mother screamed and yelled at me. Asking where she went.

  “Where is she, Elian?” My mother slapped my face and ripped my shirt. She was in a rage. Unseeing through her tears.

  Amelia was gone.

  My father refused to look at me.

  Ever again.

  I was a shadow in my own house.

  And when they found her, I knew it was over.

  My life was finished.

  I didn’t matter anymore.

  Because Amelia was gone.

  Never coming back.

  “What pills?” I asked. I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  Pills?

  The days were starting to blend together. I could hear her voice singing in my ear.

  “Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posies. Ashes. Ashes. We all fall…”

  “We all fall down,” I whispered. The room was dark. Layna never turned on the lights. I used to tease her that she was allergic to the sun.

  I didn’t tease her now.

  I understood how hard it was to face things when you could actually see them. It was easier when they were out of sight. When you could pretend they didn’t exist.

  “Where are they, Elian?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Layna wasn’t making sense. She held my phone and I tried to grab it from her. What if the text came? I was waiting for it.

  But it never came.

  “You need to sleep, Elian. You’re not resting enough. You’re not making sense and I’m worried about you.”

  Layna was worried about me.

  I laughed. Loud. I could hear it out on the water.

  Lies.

  Laughter and lies.

  My Layna, my dark, dark heart curled up beside me on my mattress. Her chin digging into my back. It hurt. I could feel her deep inside. I couldn’t get her out.

  I tried to claw down and hold on. She wouldn’t let go. Why wouldn’t she let go?

  “Shh. Elian, go to sleep.”

  I closed my eyes and drifted off.

  Because she told me to.

  And I listened.

  I woke up the next morning to silence. And light.

  I sat up in bed; the blanket fell to my lap. I ran my hands over my face trying to remember last night.

  Every morning was the same. Trying to recall the events from the night before. And I never could. They were slipping away. Between fingers. Before I could catch them.

  What was happening to me?

  “You’re awake.” Layna walked in and sat down on the edge of the mattress. She was lovely to look at. I think back to the first time that I saw her. All dark hair and coal black eyes. Reading her book and eating seasoned fries.

  How could I have ever known that I would love my nightmare?

  “I’m awake.” I looked around, not sure what I was looking for. If I was looking for anything.

  “Are you going to work?” Layna asked. My head felt fuzzy and my mouth was dry. I took the cup of coffee Layna held out and drank a mouthful.

  “Work?”

  Layna widened
her eyes. Fathomless holes revealing nothing.

  Nothing.

  “That place that pays you,” she clarified. Her brows knitting together.

  Work.

  When was the last time I had gone?

  I had been wrapped up in a dead sister and a dead past. I had forgotten…

  “You don’t have to go if you’re not up to it. You look like you could sleep some more,” she observed, watching me as I drank my coffee.

  I couldn’t think much about going anywhere. I was trapped. Here in my house.

  With her.

  With her.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. I couldn’t remember when she had come. Was it last night?

  Why couldn’t I remember last night?

  What was wrong with me?

  “I called you. You said I could come over.” Layna frowned again. She was upset. Why was she upset?

  With me?

  “Did my phone ring last night? While you were here?” I asked. No texts. No missed calls.

  Where had she gone?

  Layna shook her head. “No.”

  No.

  I stood up and found a pair of jeans and a shirt from the pile on the floor.

  “Where are you going?” Layna asked.

  “To work,” I told her.

  I had to get out of there.

  Away from Layna and her coal black eyes that confused me. That consumed me.

  I wanted to wrap my arms around her and fall. And fall.

  And fall apart.

  But I needed to go.

  Because the call didn’t come last night. And that destroyed me.

  “Why don’t you get a shower?” Layna suggested. I nodded. She was right. I smelled. When was the last time I had been clean?

  Sixteen years ago.

  “I can help you,” Layna offered. She took me to the bathroom and ran the water. She washed me like I was a child.

  She cleaned my skin but not my mind. My memories were intact. There was no cleaning them.

  I shivered under her touch. I wanted more. So much more.

  There was never enough of Layna.

  She let me take her clothes off. She let me fill her body. She let me kiss the pain. A- Way.

  I moaned. She sighed. I cried. She laughed.

  I loved her.

  I loved her.

  What was wrong with me?

  “Elian, we need to talk,” George said as I walked into the studio. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been there.

  Where had I been?

  Margie wasn’t there. A different girl was behind the counter. I didn’t recognize her. She didn’t acknowledge me when I came in.

  “I can’t right now, George. I have things to do.” I walked into the studio. Stan and Tate looked up but neither greeted me.

  I didn’t care.

  George followed me. Frowning. Irritated.

  “Hang on a sec, Elian. You haven’t been here in over a week. No call. No show. And you just waltz back in like you still have a job!” George sputtered.

  Over a week?

  Where had I been?

  With Amelia.

  With Layna.

  “Are you on drugs? Because if that’s what’s going on, I’ll find someone to help you.”

  Tate and Stan pretended like they weren’t listening. But I knew they were. Assholes.

  “I’m not on drugs.” I sounded dead. Unbothered.

  I sat down at my bench and picked up a piece of steel wool.

  What was I supposed to do with this?

  I held it for a few seconds and then dropped it on the worktop. I rested my hands on the smooth piece of wood that lay there, untouched in weeks.

  What was it supposed to be?

  I couldn’t see the picture that had, at one time, been so clear in my head.

  George pulled up a chair and sat down beside me. I barely noticed him. He didn’t matter.

  I ran fingers along tools, trying to think of what to do with them.

  Sand and stain. Cut and saw.

  “If drugs aren’t the issue, then please tell me what’s going on. You’ve been working here for three years. Three years, Elian. That’s a long time. And I’ve never seen you act like this. The guys tell me you’re with some chick. If she’s got you tied up in something—”

  “Enough, George,” I threatened low. I threatened loud.

  He blinked at me in surprise.

  He didn’t know me.

  Elian Beyer didn’t live here anymore.

  “Whoa. This is what I’m talking about. The complete attitude change. What the fuck is up?” George was angry.

  I didn’t care.

  The clock ticked on the wall. Tick. Tock.

  I stared down at the wood in front of me, willing it to make some sort of sense. This had always been my passion. Something I was good at.

  I was losing absolutely everything.

  But Layna.

  I always had Layna.

  “I need someone who’s dependable. I need an employee that won’t flake when I have a piece that needs to be done. You’re never here anymore. I try to call and you don’t answer. You can’t expect to keep your job when you do shit like that, Elian.”

  I picked up the wood and thought about hitting George in the face with it. Smashing his nose and letting the blood run.

  I felt sick.

  The vomit rose in the back of my throat. My vision went fuzzy and a humming filled my ears.

  “Elian, are you even listening to me?” George demanded.

  I scraped my fingers down my face and ran them over my scars.

  My scars.

  They were me.

  “I think you need to pack your stuff and get out of here. Maybe when you get your head together we can talk about you coming back. But right now it’s clear you’re not all here.”

  “You want me to leave?” I asked, taking deep, deep breaths.

  “I’m sorry, Elian. You’ve always been my best employee. But something’s not right with you. I think you need to sort yourself out.”

  “Sort myself out,” I repeated.

  His eyes met mine and I thought I was drowning.

  Drowning in coal black eyes.

  “Yeah. Look if you need someone to talk to, you know I’m here. But maybe you should go home for a little bit. See your folks. Hang out with your nieces and nephews. Get some distance between you and whatever has brought this on.”

  Go home.

  Go home.

  Home was with Layna.

  That was all I knew.

  “I’ll go home,” I told him. Wanting him to leave. And he did. George said something else but I didn’t hear him. Then he was gone.

  I sat at the bench and picked up the piece of wood that at one time was supposed to be a guitar. What had I seen in this chunk of material? Where was the vision? Where had it gone?

  “Elian?”

  Tate said my name a few more times but I ignored him.

  We weren’t friends.

  Never had been really.

  I had been deceiving myself in thinking that my life in Brecken Forest was anything worth keeping.

  Not until Layna.

  And her horrible, horrible secrets.

  Layna Whitaker.

  The devil’s blood.

  “How did it all get so messed up?” I asked to no one in particular. I didn’t expect an answer. There was none to give.

  “I think she’s bad news, man.”

  I looked up at the sound of Stan’s condemnation. He looked at me with fear.

  Fear.

  “What did you say?” I asked, wanting to hear him say it again. Wondering if he’d have the balls.

  He and Tate exchanged nervous glances. They weren’t my friends. I didn’t need these people in my life.

  “That girl. Layna. She’s changed you. Something’s wrong with her. And she’s taking you down with her.”

  I curled my hand around the long, dense piece of wood. It fit perfectly in
my palm. It was warm and secure.

  “Don’t say her name,” I warned.

  I saw red.

  Vicious, brutal red.

  Layna.

  “Look at you, Elian. Ready to take our heads off for saying her name? What in the actual fuck?” Tate demanded.

  As though he had a right to know anything.

  The two men stood beside my workbench. Talking. Talking. I didn’t hear a thing they said. In and out of my ears. No recognition of actual words or statements.

  I gripped the piece of wood and knew that it was about to connect with their heads. I wanted to hurt them for questioning Layna. It was irrational. It was unreasonable.

  It was the reality I now lived in.

  I dropped the piece of wood on the bench with a clatter and got to my feet.

  “Do you think that any of this is real?” I asked, waving my hand in the air between us.

  “What are you talking about?” Tate asked.

  Frowning.

  We were both frowning.

  “You don’t have the right to ask me questions. You don’t have the right to express your concerns. You have no place in my life. Goodbye.”

  I left.

  It felt good.

  A door closing.

  With a bang.

  I wrapped each picture carefully and placed it in the box. One. Two. Three. Four…

  All of them. Covered glass. Empty faces.

  Put away.

  But not forgotten.

  Just moving on.

  The apartment was bare. Like I had never been there. My scent still warm in the air and the only indication that my presence was ever felt.

  Sad and lonely.

  And moving on.

  My phone rang and I reached for it. A number I didn’t recognize flashed across the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “May I speak with Miss Layna Whitaker?”

  “This is she.”

  My heart started thumping in my chest. Thump. Thump. Thud.

  “This is Michael Pierce, the warden at Red Onion State Prison. I received your message in regards to your father Cain Langley.”

  I swallowed.

  “Thank you for returning my call, Mr. Pierce,” I replied weakly.

  “How can I help you, Miss Whitaker?”

  I put down the framed photograph that I was wrapping with tissue paper and bit down on my lip. Hard.

  Was I really doing this?

  It was time.

  “I wanted to see about visiting my father. If that’s possible. I completed the visitor form as well as the background check online.”