Twisting Fate Page 13

  "Hey, Simon. What are you doing here?" I unlock the doors with my keyless entry and place my hand on the door handle to open it, but he doesn't move; not one inch. He just stands here staring at me as if his dog just got ran over and I'm the number one suspect. "Are you okay?"

  He eyes me from my head to my toe, stopping on my stomach. He walks away from my car a little ways and I can hear his cleats patter against the pavement. He stops and just stares out at the road with his hands linked on top of his head. "Fuck!" I stand here speechless and stunned by his outburst. Was all that necessary? He yelled it loud enough for the entire baseball team to hear. He turns back around and walks straight for me, pinning me against the door of my car. "He got you pregnant?"

  What do I even say? He looks down at my stomach again. Is it really that noticeable? I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it. I follow his eyes to the protrusion around my midsection. It's now that I notice just how noticeable it actually is. It's like a little basketball appeared over night; not big, but big enough it's out of place on my normally flat midsection. I'm assuming me not saying anything says everything. "How far along are you, Kinzleigh?" Why does he sound mad?

  "Four months." By the look on his face, short replies are probably the best route to take. Konnor wasn't this mad and he's my brother. Brothers are entitled to the right to be angry when a guy knocks up their sisters.

  "Stupid prick. He just couldn't stand the thought of anyone else having a chance at you, could he? He had to go and knock you up so he could keep you to himself, forever. Do you realize how hard your life is going to be with a baby, Kinzleigh? What happened to your cheerleading dream? What if y'all would have broken up, then what? You still have to go to college." Why do I feel like I'm being lectured by my father?

  Wait just one minute. What exactly is he accusing Breyson of? Is he implying Breyson tried to get me pregnant on purpose? That's absurd! I'll admit that I was a little naive when it came to sex for lack of experience, but Breyson had dreams too. He didn't want to be settled down with a baby, did he?

  Kinzleigh snap out of it. Did you actually just think that Breyson would do such a thing?

  "Simon, you've been one of my best friends since I moved here and I've fought to remain your friend. I've listened to your advice, but you're about to cross a line. Once you cross it, there is no coming back. You will be dead to me." He closes his eyes and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me in for a hug.

  I wrap my arms around his waist loosely, not knowing what else to do or say. This is a little awkward. "You're right. I shouldn't have reacted that way. I wasn't even going to say anything to you. It kind of just came out when I noticed you actually looked pregnant. I guess I was hoping it was all just a rumor. I wanted to ask you something."

  "What is it?"

  He puts a distance between us, but never completely releases me. "I wanted to know if you would do something for me, or with me. Shit, this isn't coming out right. I was going to ask you to go with me to prom."

  Prom? I rub the side of my nose at the corner of my eye. Well this was not what I expected him to say. I have to give him a little credit. He is persistent. Why would he think I would have any desire to go to prom? "I wasn't really planning on going."

  He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. He lets out a sound of aggravation and then opens them. "Kinzleigh, I know you're still going to be upset about Breyson, but you can't just stop living altogether. It may even help for you to be around friends having a good time. I promise I'm only asking as a friend. Come on; say you'll go. If you try and you're not having a good time I'll take you home, I promise."

  "Simon, you can take any girl you want. Why do you want to waste your time worrying with me? Prom should be unforgettable. It's senior year. All I will do is make your night miserable. I'm not a fun person to be around anymore..."

  "Go with me."

  "Simon..."

  "Kinzleigh...say you'll go with me. I won't take no for an answer."

  I breathe out. I breathe in. It's times like these I wish I could be more like Presley. She always seems to know what to do in these situations and I miss her. She was always the life of the party, taking what she wanted and not being afraid. Looking back now I realize I was kind of a bore. Maybe I should have hooked up with a guy that I didn't react to so much. Maybe I should have looked outside of my little cheer bubble and enjoyed myself more. How did she enjoy being around me all those years?

  Now I feel like I'm doomed. Somewhere deep inside the girl Breyson brought out is hiding from the world, afraid of living without him. I want to move on, but I don't know how. "If I say yes, can I go?"

  His smile forms; the one that makes him the attractive boy that he is. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

  I roll my eyes. "Do I have a choice?"

  He slowly shakes his head from side to side. "Well I guess it's a date then. I mean...not a date, but a... well, oh fine I'll be ready at seven."

  He closes in and kisses me on the cheek. "I'm glad I didn't have to go to plan B," he says before he starts to walk away.

  I begin to smile a little. "What was plan B?" He is already at a distance, causing me to have to yell.

  He never stops walking. Instead, he turns and continues walking backwards. "Doesn't matter. I got the answer I wanted." He smiles and he's gone.

  Everyone keeps saying friends are what I need, I guess we’ll find out. Being alone doesn't seem to be doing any good. I just feel wrong for trying to move on when Breyson can't. It doesn't seem fair. It's time to go talk to him. Maybe then I'll get my answer.

  ***

  I pull up at the cemetery I've become very familiar with. I'm here every day and every day it's just as hard as the last. I shut off the engine to my black SUV and exit without taking any of my belongings. It's finally warm and here I don't have to hide my stomach. I disregard the jacket that I have zipped in an attempt to hide it and lay it in the seat.

  I weave through the many headstones until I come to the one I no longer have to look for. I’ve developed a form of OCD in my daily ritual; everything always gets done the same. I read the name across the front and begin fixing my hair as if he can see me. I like to think he can, and I want to look presentable. There's a breeze out today and the sun is warm. "Hey, Brey. How is everything today?"

  I walk closer to the headstone and sit with my back pressed against the stone. Leaning my head back I let the sun heat my face and legs. "Everything is the same here. You aren't really missing much. I think everyone is figuring out our little secret though. I'm not ready for anyone to know, but I don't think I have a choice. Adalynn said that Briar got suspended. It's all because of me and I don't know how to fix it. He can't play in tonight's game. I wish you were here. You always knew what to do in every situation."

  I do the same thing every day when I come here. I sit here and have a one-way conversation with him or the thought of him. The truth is, I don't feel him as much as I did. I don't really know what it means. That chill I used to get or the feeling that someone is near is mostly gone. I get it from time to time when I'm really upset, but the days that I do okay, it's rare. That thought alone makes me want to stay upset just to feel him, but I told myself I was going to move on for this baby.

  I still dream of him every night, but it's mostly memories of us together. I continue to wake up screaming each time they end and each time I'm soaked in sweat. I've stayed in his bed a few times, but when I do it seems the dreams are worse and more real. I can't keep waking up to Briar holding me in Breyson's bed, trying to comfort me, so I don't stay there anymore. I've even felt him crying a few times, but he tries to hide it. He's so different from Breyson and Braxton. He seems to be the nurturer of them all.

  Braxton still tries to keep his distance for now, but I know I can't avoid him forever. I'm terrified that one day I'm going to forget he's not Breyson and do something stupid like kiss him. I could never forgive myself for doing something like that. The sad thing is Adalynn would probabl
y understand, but I couldn't. Knowing my luck, this baby will probably come out looking just like him and I won't ever be able to move on.

  I sit here as I do every day lost in my own thoughts. "So, Brey, Simon asked me to prom. I don't really want to go, but it's probably for the best. It's nothing, but friends. I know I don't owe you an explanation, but I still feel like I do. Why don't you let me feel you anymore, Brey? Are you trying to make me forget you? You know I can't do that, I won’t. I need to feel you near me. I'm supposed to find out whether our baby is a boy or girl in a few weeks. I've been thinking about names and wanted to get your opinion."

  I sit and wait hoping I will feel something, but instead I get nothing. Maybe if I just keep going there will be some kind of sign. "So far I have thought of a boy name. I think I like Bryce Patrick Abercrombie. I'm not real sure of a girl name yet, but I still have time I suppose. Right now I like Breycie, but that’s as far as I’ve gotten. Either way I want its name to mean something; to have a part of you even though you won't be here to be a part of this baby’s life." I blow out, trying to keep the tears at bay. It usually doesn't work, but maybe today is different. I'd like to think he can still hear me, but I can't be sure.

  "Bryce Patrick Abercrombie," I say aloud. When I do I feel a small flutter in my abdomen, causing me to startle. That was strange. I place my hand on my small bump of a belly and feel it again. It felt like something did a somersault. Was that the baby? I haven't felt anything before, too small to make itself known. "Hey, baby. You're finally deciding to make me aware of your presence."

  I have one of those baby books. Breyson's mom told me to read it, so I'll know what to expect, but I have only skimmed certain parts. It's a little frightening, to be honest, when it starts talking about problems and illnesses. I'm only just now getting used to the idea of being pregnant, I don't need to worry about problems. "Brey, I felt it; our baby." As the whisper escapes my lips peacefulness envelops me. Finally, I feel something. I thought I was losing him and the thought sends a surge of panic through my body.

  I let the calmness take over and the tear break free. This is what I've needed. I've needed to know he is still watching over me. Call me crazy if you want, because I don't really care. I'll take him in whatever form I can get him. I scoot along a vertical line from the stone until I can lay on the grass parallel to the direction the casket would be laying underneath if there were one. I begin rubbing the soft grass through my fingers like I used to do with Breyson's hair.

  I look up at the sky, allowing myself to feel like I’m lying beside him. I always lose track of time when I'm here. Usually, I recluse into my thoughts of him or talk for hours; usually, it’s reminiscing about us or telling him things I would if he were really lying beside me. I know at some point I will have to distance myself from this place, but I'm not ready for that day to come yet. I just need a little more time with him first.

  In a few short months I will have someone else that needs me and I will have to make my visits here sparse. The sun is setting in the horizon and the swirls of orange and pink are soothing. My eyes get heavy as I lay here basking in the warm air. It's finally starting to be warm outside more than it is cool. "I love you, Brey; always have, always will. The fatigue starts to set in and my eyes fight to stay open, but in the end sleep wins out and I drift into the land of nod.

  ***

  My eyes start to open to a rocking motion, accompanied by the sound of crickets chirping and a breeze blowing my hair across my face. The only thing familiar is the hard body I’m resting against. Still half asleep, I associate it with the dream that was playing out before I was woken. I don't have time to register where I am before leaning my head against something firm, but layered with something soft. “Brey…” I snuggle into the man scented cotton shirt and allow the darkness to consume me once again.

  ***

  I roll over in the plush confinements of a comforter. The feathery pillow supports my head and a wave of male scent floods my nostrils as I stretch. It's not a smell I recognize. I must be still dreaming. "You okay?" The sound echoes around the room in a raspy voice I've heard before, the night I got my tattoo. My eyes jolt open and I sit up in a panic.

  I look around the unfamiliar room as my eyes come into focus. The walls are painted the color of charcoal and are the support for a collection of guitars. They range in size, shape and color, but are designed to be a stunning focal point. Against the wall to the left of me is a small desk, lined with a cup of freshly sharpened pencils and a bundle of notebooks. It's tidy and simple.

  A chair sits in the corner with an amp and electric guitar resting on a stand beside it. You can definitely tell a musician lives here, which brings me back to my original reason for my sudden awareness to the world. Why did I hear Riggan's voice? I look around the bed of solid black comforter toward the foot and there stands a body.

  My eyes trail upward that same lean, sculpted frame I saw that night in the tattoo shop. A pair of loose denim jeans and a red vintage tee shirt is what he is wearing. His hair is gelled in the same spiky fashion it was the first time I laid eyes upon him and I can't see his shoes, but from the way he looks I'd guess Converse. This or prep was the average guy at my school back in California.

  He is standing before me with his tattooed arms crossed over his chest, scraping his top teeth over his bottom lip and lip ring. I narrow my eyes at him. "Why am I here, Riggan? How did I get here? What time is it? Where is my car?"

  He cocks one eyebrow at me as I sit here slightly out of breath and parched. "Are you going to allow me time to actually answer your questions or are you going to keep firing them at me like paintballs, one after another?"

  Smart-ass.

  If it wasn't for the slight smirk on his face I might find it enjoyable to throw a shoe at him. "Well, do enlighten me, please," I say sarcastically. I'm hungry, tired, and fighting these damn pregnancy hormones with no one here to relieve me of this horny state I'm in. No one warned me of the crazy side effects I was going to go through being pregnant.

  I went from never wanting sex, to enjoying it with the perfect person, to actually needing it; talk about whiplash. A guy's bed is the last place I need to be right now. On top of me being here alone, with him, he is standing in front of me looking like a sexy rock god. Any girl would have to be blind not to notice how yummy he looks.

  Snap out of it, Kinzleigh. You should be ashamed. What would Breyson think?

  Without saying a word he walks over to the chair in the corner of the room. There is a window next to it. He sits and raises it with one hand. As easy as the window lifted, I would assume he does this frequently. I'm still waiting on him to say something; anything. He grabs the cigarette that is resting behind his left ear and reaches in his right pocket pulling out a lighter.

  He's so mysterious, slightly broody. He seems like he carries around some kind of baggage, but what? I want to ask, but then I don't. Clearly something is eating away at him. You don't have to have a lot of brains to figure that one out. It's carried on his face and in his body language. Now that I think about it, he mentioned at the tattoo parlor that he understood what I was going through.

  He still hasn't said anything. Instead, he places the filter end between his lips and lights the end until there is a bright orange bud. The paper burns back as he inhales. He holds the cigarette out the window as he allows the smoke to pass into his lungs. I assume so by the way his chest expands. Occasionally, he looks over at me with that same look on his face, as if he’s looking at a ghost. Each time he glances at me sitting in his bed, he takes a long drag from the cigarette as if he desperately needs the nicotine. I can tell his hand is shaking each time he removes the cigarette from his lips, but he’s trying to keep it out of my direct line of sight.

  I can't do anything, but sit here and stare at him. He intrigues me; not in the way that I was with Breyson, but like I want to get to know him or possibly help him. The problem with people like him is that they usually don't let people in.
You can tell by the way they carry themselves.

  He stares blankly out the window into the blackened sky. I can't really tell what the view looks like from here. I don't even know where here is. As he exhales, the cloud of smoke floats into the night air. "Riggan?"

  He takes another drag before finally looking in my direction. He doesn’t look me in the face for very long increments, like it pains him to look me in the face. His eyes are slightly glassed over as if he is processing some kind of information. "I found you sleeping in front of a grave and brought you here. You're face was puffy like you'd been crying. I didn't want to wake you. You really shouldn’t be sleeping outside, Kinzleigh. There are crazy people out there, looking for someone like you to get their grimy hands on, someone trusting."

  He stands from the chair and bends over out the window, resting his forearms on the window seal. "Are you okay? You can talk to me, you know? It might help me just as much as it could help you, to get out of my head for a while."

  His voice is stern and strong, hardcore. I watch as his jaw flexes back and forth. The paper on the cigarette burns rapidly each time he inhales. He doesn't speak; it's as if he needs that cigarette more than he needs to breathe. When there is nothing left but the filter he finally puts the cigarette out and flicks the bud out the window. Standing upright he looks over at me. "Let's get out of here. There is some place I want to show you."

  I look down at my uniform dress from school and I can imagine my hair is ratty and I need to brush my teeth. "Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind, Riggan. I'm not really dressed to go anywhere." He ignores what I said. Something is pestering his thoughts.

  "There are some clothes in the closet if you want to change. They should fit. I don't talk about my shit so don't ask. I'm not one of those guys you're probably used to that sit around and pour their fucking heart out. I keep my shit buried and for good reason. I thought you would be one of those girls that don't ask questions because you have your own shit to deal with. Are you going to come with me or do you need to run home now because you think I'm an asshole?" He crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes at me while playing with his black lip ring.