Only The Trees Know, page 5
“I was lucky.”
“Lucky?” he asked with obvious skepticism.
I scowled. So much for fair media. “Yes, lucky. I call survival the greatest luck.”
“What about—”
The other lady was having none of it. She spoke over the man to get my attention. “Are you worried about the DA pressing charges?”
I turned back to her, giving my puppy dog eyes. “I’m innocent.”
Her mouth twisted.
I added, “Of course I’m worried. Innocent people go to jail all the time.”
Behind me the man said, “There have been evidentiary leaks that suggest you’re guilty.”
I swung around. “What evidence? They haven’t presented any. The media is spreading lies and hearsay. I thought you people were about reporting the truth. Don’t you want the truth?”
He smiled. “No need to get upset, Mr. Harrison.”
I’d played right into what he’d wanted. They were going to spread lies, regardless of whether it hurt me.
My jacket felt too tight and damp under my armpits and down my back. Sweat gathered under the band of my ball cap, making me itch. I couldn’t wipe at it. That would make me appear weak, or guilty, or any other thing the body language experts would to read from it.
I had to get away. This situation wasn’t salvageable, and I was dumb for thinking it would. They weren’t ever going to give me a fair shot. No one had yet.
The gas pump clicked and with it came euphoria that I could now escape. My hands shook as I reached forward to release the nozzle from my tank. They kept talking. I ignored them, going to that place in my mind where I could focus only on my movements and not anything that happened around me.
Neither reporter was eager to let me go.
“Excuse me, I need to leave,” I said as I pushed past the woman to reach my door.
“Just a few more questions…” they both started to say.
Getting inside the car, I turned the engine over. Then I twisted the volume of my music as loud as it would go. The screaming lyrics did nothing to drown out the continued questions and I watched in the rearview mirror as my Slurpee fell from my roof, splashing to the ground behind me.
Chapter Seven
THEN…
SIXTEEN-YEARS-OLD
Iknew I was late and I didn’t care. The paperwork had been clear that group therapy started at nine a.m. and that the doors would be locked exactly on time. If I didn’t make it, my hours would not count toward the court-mandated program.
How did they expect me to get there if I couldn’t drive? I was sixteen without wheels. The judge had delayed my license until I proved that I was repentant and served my punishment for underage drinking.
My mom had been out of it this morning. I’d tried unsuccessfully to wake her. She’d looked pale and waxy, her arms limp. I’d been panicked enough to check if she was still breathing. She obviously wasn’t fit to take me and my father wasn’t around. The only other person who was in the house was Lucia, the housekeeper, and she didn’t own a car.
Without another choice, I’d ridden my bike and completely misjudged the time. I’d speed pedaled the last quarter mile. Now I was a sweating mess, probably stinking with matted hair and wearing a damply spotted shirt.
The recreation center was located near the university in a small converted series of buildings that had been a strip mall. The front was a series of glass panels with a logo stretched across the expanse. I didn’t bother to lock my bike, instead slamming it into the rack and sprinting for the building.
A lady was pushing the doors closed when I arrived. She held a set of keys in her hand in the middle of inserting a key into the lock. She looked like an eighties throwback with frizzy permed hair and faded coral lipstick. Her clothes weren’t any better. She wore a boxy shirt with a floral pattern and mom jeans that came up to her waist and showed off her thick belly.
I stopped short, my hand already up to push the door open. If I did that, it would smack her straight in the face. We stared at each other, both unsure what to do and caught in a bizarre standoff. I thought she’d let me in, but she didn’t make a move to step aside. I made a show of looking at my watch. Then I turned my watch around, to show her the face. “I have a minute left. Let me in.”
Her face soured and her lips pressed together emphasizing her chewed-off lipstick before she stepped back and allowed me entry. She gestured across the reception area to an open room where I could see people gathered. “Sign in and then take a seat. Make sure you're early next time.” Then she locked the door behind me.
The need to point out that “on time” meant just that and I wasn’t required to show up even a half-second before was hard to swallow back. But I figured I shouldn’t start the first day of court ordered group therapy by starting a fight. The troll might inform the judge.
Instead, I put on a false smile that I was sure looked a little pained and nodded. I followed her instructions, making my way to the room she’d indicated. The stupid ass stunt with the alcohol on the university campus ended with me forced into a group therapy program with a community outreach philosophy. We were supposed to talk about our feelings… blah, blah, blah… and then paint old buildings, or pick up trash, or feed homeless, or some other nonsense. It was a joke. Fifty hours for one night of drinking. The judge had acted like I’d committed an unforgivable sin.
Everyone stared at me when I walked into the room because of course all those ass-kissers had been early. There were about fifteen kids sitting in a circle fidgeting and looking bored. For a bunch of delinquents, it was awfully quiet.
A man who was clearly the therapist sat on the far side of the circle wearing a polo and jeans and thick green glasses. He watched me with a sour expression as I came in. “Thank you for joining us…” Then he let the sentence trail off wanting my name.
There was enough snark in his comment that it caused snickers to erupt around the room.
I looked at the other kids, not afraid to meet the eyes of those laughing. My shoulders were stiff and my head up, daring them to cross me. The snickers died off the longer I looked. Soon enough it was silent again and all the gazes had turned down or away until only the therapist remained fixed on me.
“Josiah Harrison.”
“Josiah.” He made a notation on the clipboard he held. I’m sure it wasn’t in my favor.
Once again, my false smile was in place. A little evil this time like the kind I’d learned from my father. I had a feeling I’d be using it here a lot. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Even though I technically wasn’t.
The therapist cleared his throat. I’d made him uncomfortable, and my smile became genuine as I watched him shift in his chair.
“Sign in and take a seat,” he finally said.
I turned to the small table just inside the door. There was a list on a clipboard, a cup with three pens, and a sign written in thick black sharpie that said: SIGN IN HERE. I added my name to the sheet with a lazy scrawl.
Once done, I turned back to the rest of the room and looked for a seat. There weren’t many to choose from. Apparently, they only set out enough for the kids who were scheduled to attend. Since I was the last to arrive, I ended up next to the therapist in the reject chair.
The meeting room was old. The carpet was thin, one of those flat business types, that had loosened and now had creases in it. Along the back of the room a row of windows overlooked a courtyard. There were several picnic tables outside, none of them with shade. On one side of the room a refreshment table had been set up. From where I stood I could spy a box of donuts, some plates of cookies, and juice, along with the necessary plastic cups and plates.
I was the center of attention as I walked through the center of the circle to the open seat. It didn’t bother me in the least. It was important to set the tone as I meant to go on. I took my time, made sure everyone had a good look at me. Made sure that they knew they couldn’t mess with me. That I wasn’t a target.
The therapist waited for me. I often wondered why adult authority figures let me do this since it negated their control of the room.
“We good?” he asked when I finally took my seat.
I made a motioning gesture like: go ahead, instead of replying. This time when the snickers came, they were focused on him.
The therapist frowned. It was quickly gone and replaced by an unconvincing smile. He addressed the group. “Welcome, everyone, my name is Mark. You have been court mandated to attend this class because of drugs and alcohol—or maybe both. We sincerely hope that we can help you in your relationship with abusive substances in the future.”
I swallowed back a snort.
I honestly didn’t pay much attention as the group therapy portion of the day started. They went around the room asking each person to rat out their issues, and then everyone else was supposed to offer support and understanding. It was absolutely ridiculous.
Of course I was expected to participate. When it was my turn, I gave a sanitized list of my transgressions. Keeping it strictly to those that had gotten me in here. I didn’t offer anything other than that. Instead, I spent the hour checking out my fellow convicts, zeroing in on the eye candy sitting directly across from me.
If I had a fantasy, he would be it. His face was on the boyish side of hard, a bit of stubble on his jaw. He had dark hair that was long and wild and made me lose any thought I had. He was distracting in the worst way. My gaze kept straying back again and again to the point where I got caught and I wasn’t even upset about it.
The boy knew what he did to me. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs open, putting his goods on display. The bottom of his shirt rode up, showing all his lean lines as he stretched.
Good. Fucking. Lord.
He smirked, the corner of one lip pulling up with amusement.
There was always a moment with a potential hookup, the non-verbal “I see you and I’m interested.” It passed between us. Only this time it left me a bit shaky.
I’d always been attracted to both males and females. It wasn’t my interest in a boy that had me confused, it was that my attention had never caught so completely. My thoughts on the matter had always been: I could look but I couldn’t touch. Or at least if I touched, I couldn’t allow myself to get caught. And it certainly couldn’t last more than once or twice. It could be a hookup at most, never a relationship. Even though I liked both sexes, I knew that I would never publicly end up with a boy. My father would never allow it. Not that he had said this specifically, I just knew that it was too unconventional for him to approve.
This boy was too pretty, the exact kind that demanded to be owned. He was a temptation, and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t have to know him to want him. This wasn’t about caring or feeling, it was about touching his skin and licking his body. He could make me forget my rules and go back for seconds and thirds.
I made the decision right then to stay away from him. I didn’t exactly play it safe in my life, though sometimes following the rules was for the best. Especially when the fallout would be too much to deal with. This boy, I could already see how much destruction I’d willingly walk into for a taste of him.
He sat with friends, one on either side. It was obvious they knew each other prior to today because no personal space existed between the three of them. They’d lean in and whisper and touch arms and legs in that easy way that friends did. I found myself watching the other two as well. Trying to figure out more about the boy from them. But they were bland compared to the boy; I really couldn’t say much about them.
The therapist dude finally called a break.
I needed it. My brain had gone numb after listening to the whining from the other kids. I’d have to hang out with these idiots for weeks to get in my service hours and the thought of more time with them did not improve my mood. Plus, trying to keep my libido on the down low was another stressor. A break from staring at the boy would be welcome.
I got up and stretched, and then walked past the refreshment table to the door at the back of the room that led directly into the courtyard. I needed a smoke. I’d forgotten to take something from my mom’s medicine cabinet and doing this shit sober made my nerves itch. A little nicotine would only minimally take the edge off.
Several others had gone outside as well. They grouped off, lighting their own cigs. I headed for the farthest picnic table. My “do not mess with me” vibe on point.
I climbed on top of the table and planted my feet on the bench before I lit up. The first tangy rush of nicotine hit my lungs. Holding it in for long moments before blowing it out in a snakey trail. I had only a moment to savor it before my solitude was interrupted.
I’d been staring at the ground, so the first thing I noticed was a pair of beat-to-hell tennis shoes walking my way. My gaze traveled up well-formed long legs and a wide chest before I felt surprise to realize it was the boy.
I kept my face expressionless while my stomach danced. Instead of greeting him, I took another hit of my cigarette, thankful that my hand remained steady. I blew the smoke in his direction.
They boy got a face full of it and blinked.
Even his slow blink was sexy. God damn. He was bad, bad, bad for me.
He licked his bottom lip and stuck out his hand. “I’m Liam.”
I took another drag before reaching out to shake. I’d admit to no one why I hesitated. That I could feel the connection to him and it scared me.
“Josiah.” I cleared my throat, pissed that it sounded breathless.
That made Liam grin wider. He slid his hands into his back pockets, making my gaze stray to his abs and chest. “It’s nice to meet you, Josiah.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to him. And was relieved when we were approached by his friends, even if I wasn’t feeling sociable.
The girl slid a proprietary hand onto Liam’s arm before she said, “I’m Zoe.” She was petite, her head barely reaching Liam’s shoulder. Her hair was faded blue, and she had a Monroe lip piercing in her upper lip. Her style had the cutesy edge of anime rather than punk, with a short black skirt, white knee highs, and combat boots. She’d winged eyeliner and used false lashes to create doll-like eyes and her red lined lips were bumped up in the middle of the natural bow.
Liam shook her off as he introduced the other boy. “This is Parker.”
“What’s up, bro?” Parker asked me. Clearly high, his eyes were red and his face pale, and his focus didn’t connect. His height was in the middle of the other two. He was skinny and had a shock of red hair that was bushily overgrown and freckles dotted his cheeks. “This place sucks, right? What’d you do to get in here?”
I shrugged. “I was drunk in public.”
Parker whistled. “Oh man, that’s cool.”
“Not really.” It hadn’t felt that way the next day when my dad had beat my ass. “What’d you do?”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “We were at a party the cops busted.”
“That sucks,” I said.
Parker snorted. “Yeah man, one minute we were having a great time, and the next those pigs had us sitting along a wall.”
“The school has been cracking down. They’re putting pressure on the cops to bust the parties,” Liam explained.
“Oh yeah? Where do you go to school?”
“Lakeside High,” Zoe said.
My stomach took a nosedive. Lakeside was the local public school where I’d be starting on Monday. Which meant I’d see much more of Liam than just at these meetings. I didn’t know how I’d be able to keep my lust in check, because attending the same school firmly put him out of the hookup category.
The prep school had kicked me out after I’d agreed to the plea deal. It had been the highlight of this mess. My father had been pushing for another prep school. He eventually agreed to let me attend Lakeside. Honestly, I didn’t have the grades to get into anywhere else.
“I’m starting there next week,” I said. My throat felt terribly dry and Liam’s gorgeous smile did all kinds of shaky things to me. I focused again on my cigarette, trying to figure out how I was going to navigate this.
Liam stepped closer to me. “You can hang out with us. I’ll find you.”
Zoe looked at Liam and then looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “Yeah sure, us degenerates have to stick together.”
Parker snorted. “Totally.”
Chapter Eight
NOW…
Attending Zoe's funeral wasn’t my best idea. I should feel sad she was gone (which I did), and guilty that she’d died (which I also did). Mostly I was uncomfortable and distracted. The funeral was held in one of those newer churches that had once been an old warehouse.
My imaginary Liam waited for me near the doors that led into the sanctuary. I was happy that he was leaving me alone today for the most part. I also wondered if he’d paid his respects to Zoe. At least he wasn’t talking to me, giving me time to process my grief.
There wasn't an air conditioner inside the sanctuary. The room steamed from the mass of bodies and the blowhard pastor at the front of the room. A huge cross hung behind the pulpit. The walls were a pale shade of green, the space left cavernous. Beside the casket, an enormous print of Zoe's senior picture was propped on an easel.
The service overflowed with a grotesque turnout of mourners who had never met Zoe. There was no way she knew this many people. She would have loved the attention.
None of the mourners tried to hide their stares as I made my way down the aisle in my dark suit, their animosity obvious. I kept my gaze forward, pretending to ignore them and their implied threats. They shouldn’t be focused on me and instead worry about the girl lying in the casket at the front of the church. I’d stubbornly attended because it was what a friend would do. I owed her and had a right to be here whether they approved of me or not. I’d gone with her into those woods and she didn’t make it out.
