Only The Trees Know, page 8
Liam pushed his body tighter against mine so there was no space left. This time not even my glare could keep him away.
The feeling of him overwhelmed me. His touch had the ability to make nothing else matter. I’d forgotten where I was then, just as I melted into it now.
“No one saw,” he said.
He lied. The two girls who’d turned the corner had given us strange looks. One of surprise to find us pressed against the books, along with a bit of confusion, followed closely by delight. I’d bet that they’d spread gossip about us by the end of the day.
“Those girls saw us.” My voice was weak. “We weren’t careful. We shouldn’t have done that.”
“They didn't see us,” he said again a bit dismissive, as if repeating the lie made it true.
“All it would take was for one of them to tell someone. Or worse, take our picture.” Everyone had a cell phone and they liked to use it to record evidence against their fellow students. It happened all the time. If they saw us—the social outcasts and me known for having a family with a shit ton of money—of course they’d snap a picture.
Liam reached to touch me again. He always wanted his hands on me. The last thing I needed was for his fingers to find the fresh scars on my arms. As he stepped closer his hands wandered up the back of my shirt. He found the dips and bumps of the damaged skin that would never be pristine and smooth again. He knew exactly where to touch because he was the only one who had seen the extent of them.
I kept the evidence of my torment covered. It was easy enough to wear a t-shirt at the pool in the summer. Besides, I pretend that I didn’t want to sunbathe anyway. Only losers did that. The scars were everywhere, on my back and on my arms and legs. Some self-inflicted, some I’d sought out like those from my father. I’d wanted them all and yet, I still hid them. Because there was a little bit of shame connected to them that I could never let go.
Liam touched them to comfort me. And while it did that, it also reminded me that I couldn’t trust in this. It cracked me down the center leaving me feeling vulnerable. He didn’t understand what they meant to me. How could he when I didn’t understand myself? I only knew that they were deeply part of my identity. Showing me as twisted on the outside as I felt on the inside.
He began to croon like one does to a toddler, shushing and making placating noises. Most of his words were a string of nonsensical promises, “It will be okay. We’re going to make this better. Please, Josiah, believe me.”
And damn me, I felt myself caving. I needed the comfort he offered. It was a peace I could get lost in. So very different than the promise of pain. It caused just as much hurt, but in a different way. The kindness sweeter and more torturous.
Everything was falling apart. All my emotions felt tight inside me like a steel cage wrapped around my chest. I’d held them in for so long.
I couldn’t let them out now. Not here. Liam couldn’t see how far he’d crawled under my skin and into my head. Because then he’d know that if he pushed a little more, I’d break.
He needed to understand how this had scared me. We couldn’t be reckless like this anymore. I wasn’t batshit crazy enough to flaunt our relationship. It made it worse that when I looked at him there was no guilt on his face. Instead, frustration lined his frown.
Then I understood—
He’d planned this.
I replayed the library scene in my mind, realizing that he hadn’t jumped away as soon as he should have. I’d been too focused on not having my secrets exposed to pay attention to him. Now that I could think a bit clearer, it became obvious that he’d wanted to get caught. He’d been vocal about us being out at school. It seemed that he didn’t want to wait any longer, no matter that I had a very different opinion.
Knowing he’d betrayed me made me more nauseous than being discovered. How could he do this to me? The lies continued to spill from his lips. Telling me everything would be okay when he clearly meant to push me into making a decision.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Liam said. “Just because people know at school, doesn’t mean your dad will find out.” He widened his eyes. “Wouldn’t it be great if you could be open somewhere? Like, not always closeted.”
No, it wouldn’t. Because I couldn’t separate my life like that. It only made me feel more fractured. Him pushing me hurt. Especially when I’d made it clear this was not what I wanted.
“How could you?” I asked.
Liam blinked. When he answered, he ignored my question. Either he didn’t understand what I asked or he was trying to brazen out his betrayal. “I know they didn’t see us. But even if they did, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters,” I hissed. Had he not paid attention at all?
“Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.”
And there it was: his admission.
“I can’t.” Exposing myself would be the worst thing to do. I couldn’t give up my entire life. Especially not now. I couldn’t guarantee that I would survive my father’s reaction.
“I love you,” Liam said, as if that made everything better. His hand came up to cup the side of my face, his fingers stroked my cheek. He spoke with his lips close to mine, his eyes half-closed. “Josiah, it kills me that I can’t say that you’re mine. That we can’t be a couple.”
He tore me apart. Because yes, there was a part of me that wanted that too. I craved the comfort he promised me, to have someone on my side. Still, there was a bigger part of me that wanted to punch him. I felt unhinged and he was the one making me feel like I couldn’t be who I knew I had to be. It became increasingly obvious that I couldn’t deal with his constant pressure.
“Did you hear me?” he asked when I didn’t answer right away.
“Yeah, I did.” As usual, though, I didn’t return the words of love. I wasn’t sure what I felt, or even if I believed in the sentiment. What did love mean anyway? I had nothing to judge it by. The people in my life who claimed to love each other eventually created a hell they lived in together. If that was love, I wanted no part of it.
Liam’s breath tickled my neck. “I’m not gonna let you deny us anymore. Eventually you’ll realize you feel the same way.”
Every word out of his mouth made me angrier. “You can’t force me to love you.”
When he pulled back, his eyes had narrowed. “I don’t have to force you, asshole. You already do.”
Liam didn’t get it. In a lot of ways his life was similar to mine. He’d suffered abuse from the various stepdads that moved in and out of his life. He’d also been violated in ways that we didn’t speak about. But while his bruises were allowed to heal mine were continual.
Now, he was left mostly alone. His mother barely paid him any attention. His siblings got into even more trouble than he did, so they took most of the heat off him. Most of all, he didn’t have his tormenter living with him and my father wouldn’t ever go away.
It frustrated me that he understood my need for silence but didn’t care if it put me in danger. Liam swore that people would understand. Or even that we could keep our secrets from my family and only be out at school and that everything would be fine.
I would never believe that lie. Life had us by the balls. We were slaves to it. At least for now when our age and lack of money crippled us.
Still he kept a shiny viewpoint that everything would work out. I knew better. Nothing had ever worked out for me. This addictive and crazy dance Liam and I did could only lead to an outcome that neither of us wanted. I couldn’t seem to hold myself apart from him. I wanted the chaos he brought like I needed my next breath.
“If those girls say something, no one is going to care.”
I couldn’t take that chance. Gossip could spin out of control. I wouldn't be able to stop it. It would get back to my father eventually. There were many times he’d promised to kill me, and my father always did what he said. My life didn't matter if I wasn't the person he wanted me to be.
“You think that shit won’t get back to him?” I asked, my voice cracking. Damn it, I wouldn't cry. “He’ll find out and then I’m dead.”
Liam looked pained, though he wasn't stupid enough to promise me the impossible. I was glad because I was sick of his lies and manipulation. He’d done this and whatever the fallout, he deserved the consequence.
“If you can’t be with me, then I’m moving on with someone else,” Liam said.
“You're threatening me?”
Hearing his words stoked my anger higher. It had always been implied that he would move on, but him speaking the words out loud hurt me in a way I wasn’t expecting. That he could cast me aside so easily after professing to love me was frustrating. Though the threat didn’t surprise me. He’d been working toward this for some time.
Liam shrugged. “I can’t waste my time.”
Even his casual attitude was a lie. This was another manipulation. We both knew it. He made no effort to hide it. Because he cared a lot.
I reminded myself that ultimately, we were nothing. I could never have a public relationship with him. “Why can't you enjoy what we have?”
Liam's hands flew in the air in his exasperation. “That's just it. I'm not happy.”
I realized that in this, he told the truth. Liam would never accept our relationship for what it was. He’d always push until it ruined me.
“I can’t be responsible for your happiness.”
His face turned furious. “Obviously not.”
I was just as angry, more so at myself than him. My weakness for him made me vulnerable. I hated myself for that. I was better than becoming a puppet to his needs and wants. Not anymore. Things were going to change. He could hold his threats because I had some of my own.
Now that I realized how big a problem our relationship really was, I would stop talking about change and actually make some decisions. From now on I was in charge of my own life, at least this part of it. If Liam had a problem with that, he could get out of my way.
“This can’t happen again,” I said.
“We won’t get caught next time.” Liam blew out a breath, like I finally made sense. “This is what I’m saying, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”
“No, I mean you and I,” I clarified. “We’re not doing this anymore.”
Liam snorted a half-laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“I mean it.”
Liam blinked slowly, a disbelieving smile on his face. As we stared at each other, and I refused to allow myself to weaken to him, it must have clicked. Frustration flitted across his features. I wouldn’t pretend to know what he thought. However, I did recognize pain. That was a feeling I was intimately familiar with.
“Why?” he asked, his voice cracking. His hands were still on me, and he squeezed, as if he could physically restrain me.
“You know the answer to that.”
I couldn’t cave to him. Not even when he looked at me with those hurt eyes. I didn't trust him. He’d keep pushing. First it would be to force me out at school. And then he’d demand that I refer to him as my boyfriend, and maybe even some public kissing. Eventually my father would find out. I couldn’t be half out and still hide it from my family.
He leaned in and gave me an angry promise. “You love me, Josiah. I know you do. There’s nothing you can say that will make me believe otherwise.”
I licked my lips and looked away.
He was wrong. I was stronger than whatever he claimed I felt, and I would prove it.
Chapter Twelve
NOW…
My hands and feet were shackled together as they led me through the halls of the jail. The chain was heavy, and the clinking of it drove me insane. Initially the loss of movement—the cuffs, cells, and all decisions taken away from me—had been hard to get used to. It wasn’t to say that I was now okay with it, but over the last few weeks I’d learned to deal with the constant lack of liberty. There would always be a clawing need for freedom. I suspected that never went away. No one liked being told what to do, and less so with chains, and the threat of solitary. The last thing I wanted was to be locked in a cell with absolutely nothing. I’d heard that people went crazy after being treated like that and hurt themselves or worse.
When I’d been informed that I had a visitor, I’d thought it was my lawyer. There weren’t many people who could visit me. And the ones who could hadn’t come yet so I figured it was my attorney. When they didn’t lead me in the direction of the secure rooms, I was surprised.
Instead I was taken to the main visiting room. We entered on one side of the bank of glassed in windows creating a see-through wall that separated visitors from the inmates. On both sides were attached little desks with tall off-white cinder block sidewalls creating cubbies. Each cubby had a phone so that a conversation could happen with the visitor on the other side, and there would be an approximation of privacy even though behind our backs cameras were trained on us. The guard led me down the row and pushed me into a seat.
It was a shock to see my mother sitting across from me. I stared at her, curious as to why she was there. She looked a lot older than the last time I'd seen her. Her face was pale and saggy, and her expression seemed sad. Dark circles lined her eyes and the roots on her dye job had grown out.
My father wasn’t there, of course. Neither of them had visited since my arrest. I'd felt abandoned, but figured I'd see them when I got out on bail. When bail had been denied, I'd resigned myself that I wouldn’t see either of them until the trial.
My hands were still bound together. There was enough movement that I could reach for the two-way phone that allowed us to speak. There were no buttons or dials on the base of the phone box. It was a small gray square with a hook to hang the black handset attached together with a thick silver cord.
I picked up my handset and watched her do the same.
“Josiah,” she said when our lines connected. It had been a while since I’d heard her voice, and the sad breathy quality of it was another surprise.
I cleared my throat, finding it difficult to greet her. “Mom.”
In front of me was a silver metal counter. I put my elbows on it in order to better support the phone and the chains.
Her hands were shaking. I knew she couldn’t come in here drunk and high. So either she was in withdrawal or she was nervous about whatever she was here to tell me.
My attempt at a smile fell flat.
“What have they done to you?” Her gaze darted over what she could see of me. I knew that she cataloged my too-long hair, unshaven face that hid fading bruises, and the large orange jumpsuit that swamped my emaciated frame.
I figured her concern wasn't about the bruises. I’d been hit plenty of times at home. No, she was concerned about the gossip that would ensue when I was next in public.
My hand gripped the handset tightly, squeezing the plastic. “You’re not going to ask me how I am?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. She looked behind me to the guards before she asked hesitantly, “How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
My sarcastic answer didn’t stop her from then asking, “Are you getting enough to eat?”
I snorted. “I’m eating okay.”
A weighted silence slipped between us. I had nothing to say to her and wished she would get to the point.
“I miss you,” she said.
Now she was pushing the farce too far. I couldn’t keep listening to this. None of it was real. It was difficult to sit across from her and watch her tears that were more lies, all while she tried to act like the mom she’d never been.
There was an edge to my question when I asked, “Why are you here?”
On cue, she started crying harder.
All I could think about when I looked at her was how much I hated her. She’d done nothing to earn my respect, less to keep it. Not once had she ever put my needs above hers. She’d let my father do whatever he wanted to me while she’d remained silent. Everything came before me: drugs, money, my father. I’d never been picked first. She was probably grateful that that I took the attention away from her. What kind of mother uses their kid as a shield?
I was about to hang up the phone and ask the guard to take me back to my cell when she said, “Your grandfather died.”
It was so unexpected that it stopped my forward motion. I sat deeper into the chair, turning back to look at her. “What?” I asked, though I knew I’d heard her correctly.
“Your grandfather. He’s gone.”
The news hit me hard. It wasn’t that I felt warm affection for the man. To have him out of my life without a goodbye, though, was a shock. I'd not seen much of him since we’d moved. He’d gotten sick soon after, and his health kept him from traveling. Though he’d always maintained hold of the family money, and with that his grip on my father.
My grandfather’s death would unleash him.
I stared blankly beyond my mother, turning over what this meant. Now I knew what the tears were for. She hadn’t come because of me, or the fact that my grandfather’s death had devastated her. The circumstance had left her vulnerable. I was gone, and now my grandfather—there was no one left to protect her.
“You need to leave him,” I said, wanting to add, finally. There wasn’t another option. I wouldn’t be out anytime soon, even if I weren’t convicted. Permanent incarceration looked more and more likely.
Instead of taking my advice, she looked at me like I was crazy. Her hand wrung the phone cord, showing papery thin skin. There were fresh bruises on her wrists and I was sure that if she pushed up her sleeves there would be more. The bastard at least had the sense to know not to hit her in the face now that the media was watching.
“We don’t talk about that,” she whispered, her gaze darting around.
“He’s going to kill you eventually.” Saying it out loud what we both knew made me feel stupid. Why did I care when she was not doing anything to help herself? She wouldn’t change and neither would he.
