Minder

Chapter 20

LAWSON

The school has been a horrible event that I have to continue to participate in because, if I don’t, Patch might arrest me for truancy. At least, Issy, my incarcerated father, would be proud.

I don’t ask how she is; they don’t ask what happened between us. I couldn’t tell them exactly either. Because I know I overreacted, and now the guilty punches keep flying, knowing I couldn’t save her from belittling pain.

Olallie was chasing after me, and I avoided her. Even as she walks down the halls, I don’t miss the bright white gauze wrapped around her palms.

My feet take me next to her, but she doesn’t look up for anyone. My ghost girl keeps both hands connected at her waist, on guard.

“Olallie,” I call out her name, wanting to stop the distance doubling every minute. She doesn’t hear me, the cochlear implants missing from their place.

Once, those bright eyes were a glaring reminder of salvation in the nightmares. They remain vacant as Olallie escapes to another realm. Silence wrapped her up, making sure no more harm could be claimed.

Getting home from school, I find my mother at her piano and Crimsyn next to her, singing practice.

My massive head hangs, hands over my knees. Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry. Weeping seems like a dream come true. I need her, desperately ache for the fact to be false.

The only hope is that it will never be.

“Remember, she’s just a white girl from a small town.” Angel’s voice starts off the cautionary tale. Seeing the heartbreak in my slumped shoulders.

“Why does that mean anything? You are a white girl from a small town.”

“I just want you to think about how it looks. How hard it was for us; I know Olallie’s father is a friend of Patch’s.” Us? Which us? Angel and Patch, or the former, Angel and Issy?

“Still not following….” Why does Angel pretend I know what the hell she is talking about?

“Just maybe it’s a high school crush, and you shouldn’t take it too seriously. Olallie is just a girl whose been through a lot in life; you wouldn’t want to make it harder. Would you?” My mother collects the sheet music, and Crimsyn acts annoyed at my intrusion.

“What are you saying? Why would I make it worse? How—” Then it clicks. My mother bites down on her lip, worried about my reaction. f**k, is she going to be surprised by the outcome?

“Let me get this straight; you assume I will turn out just like my dad did?”

“Lawson—” Backtracking, this woman earns points in the category.

“Let me finish because you got to say your wild tales. Now let me share mine with you.” She stands, and I stand taller than her, focusing down on her.

“Sometimes, your temper controls you, and you get out of hand.” Palms open, and the scent of vanilla hints at her lotion.

“Tell me, Mother, who stood in front of you for two years, taking a beating while you cowered in the corner? I couldn’t bear hearing your cries anymore at the age of six. I would hide Syn in the closet of my bedroom. When he went looking for something to smack around, and you’d had enough. I f*****g stood in his path, so you didn’t gain another bruise.” I pick up the flower vase on the coffee table and chuck it into the sliding door to the backyard. “You think I have his anger issues? That isn’t what’s wrong with me, Angel. What’s wrong with me is that my own mother tried denying time and time again that our father was beating the s**t out of us.” The glass shatters around me; its purpose magnifies. “How could you think such horrible things about me? When all I did was save you from him? Now you fear me? When I brought Patch into our lives, I ensured we were safe. I don’t understand; I would never hurt anyone the way he did.”

A new wave of hurt flushes against my skin. Blood pumping so hard through every vein, ready to explode.

I stare up at her, arms clenched to her chest just like when I was a child. The horror she tries to blink away only makes mine fade.

A hot temper she seems so worried about has lost its steam. When I look her over, I don’t see the smiles she shares with Patch—happy laughter with her and her other sons or the soft touches between her daughter. Crimsyn watches it play out in the corner, always on edge, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“Maybe you didn’t realize because you were wrapped up in the fetal position trying to forget your responsibilities. But I was the one who made your demons go away when you weren’t strong enough to point them out. It’s a miracle they didn’t take you away with Issy.” My fists pound the granite countertops until my knuckles split open.

“Stop yelling at her! Why are you yelling at Mom?” Our youngest brother Stetson starts smacking his fists against my leg, and I turn to bend down, grabbing his shoulders.

“Stetson, our mother is no angel. She has no wings left to fly. They kicked her out of heaven when they knew she no longer held a strong spine.”

“Momma!” He cries and rushes to her hip.

“Lawson?” Rhett, the oldest of the two, doesn’t rush to her; he looks at my hands as they begin to bleed.

“I’m okay, buddy, don’t worry. Sorry, I shouted.” Patting his head before I decide it’s time to leave.

“Maybe she deserved it….” Rhett is on the verge of being a teenager. Weighs his options, seeing what side will survive.

“Nobody deserves anything in this family.” I grab my leather jacket and throw it over my shoulder. “I’ll be at Verse’s house.”

“Lawson, you can’t just leave. What will Patch say when he finds out?” Crimsyn tries to get me to stay, but it is a silent plea.

Always the spectator.

“Patch will say the same thing he told me when he patted me on the back at the police station when I was eight years old. What took you so long?”

~

“You want my sister to look at that? She’s upstairs?” Verse brings me a bottle of the hard stuff to tame the pain.

“Nah, I’ve had worse. Remember eighth grade when that tenth grader was talking s**t about Crimsyn’s ass? His spit got my knuckles infected.”

“Dude was nasty big! f**k, bro, let me get you a towel. I’m sending Lyrick down to see if you need stitches.” Verse jumps up and bounds up the stairs.

I look down at my hands, and I can’t seem to lay them flat. In the basement chair, I lean my head back and wait for the feeling to return.

When my eyes finally relax and close, I see her face. I even hear her giggle, tempting me to let go.

“And then he laughed so hard he snorted cottage cheese out of his goddamn nose.” Baby brother’s voice booms and her riddle of a laugh comes through clear.

“Lawson.”

I’m up and out of my chair, hands still clenched in fists, standing in their way. Brooding a cloud of pissed off.

“Olallie, there a reason why you’re here?” f**k, I can’t say I’m not happy to see her. This night was a mess, and maybe my mother was right.

“I—I was just hanging out with Vayden. We—we were….” For some reason, her words stumble, like she might be caught doing something I won’t enjoy.

“What were you doing?” My voice is rancid with anger.

“Lawson, your hands.” Always a caretaker, I hate that about her. I hate that I need it; I want to keep it for myself.

“They’ll survive.” One step forward, and she mimics it back against the wall.

“Lawson, should I go get Verse?” Vayden gulps down a strange breath as his eyes ping pong back and forth.

“Yeah, you probably should.” As I smear a streak of fresh blood down Olallie’s cheek.

As he hustles upstairs, we are left with the soundtrack of nervous beats.

I think I loved the way the wicked play games with the righteous. I understand what my mother was talking about when she referred to the difference between Olallie and me.

How pure she was and how I struck out when I was born with the genes of a narcissist. But it wouldn't stop me.

Even if it hurt her and killed me. I would have her because she wasn't a thing I won. She was the future I always lusted after. We were going to make an impossible idea our reality.

All because I couldn't pull out once I viewed her soul, and she spoke things I never heard verbally. Connected into depths where silence was a haven, and our emotions were powerful.