Breakable Page 4

  “Stacy?” Older Me whispered. “What was that?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, letting my hands drop.

  “What happened? Why did you…” she trailed off.

  “Karyn.” I gasped and all the tension left me in a breath. I stepped back until my shoulders hit the wall, then slid to the floor. “He’s dating Karyn.”

  In the mirror, Older Me grimaced. “I was afraid of that.”

  “You knew.” I glared, though by this time I wasn’t really surprised. But I needed to hear it from her mouth so I had justification for going postal on her ass.

  Her lips twisted sideways and she gave a little shrug. “I never know. Not one hundred percent,” she said quietly.

  “But that’s what happened to you,” I said again, wishing my voice sounded more angry than dead.

  She nodded. “At least, I thought it was around this time. It’s hard to keep track of dates sometimes–”

  “WHO CARES ABOUT DATES?!”

  Older Me startled. But then her lips pressed to thin lines and she folded her arms. “I care,” she said. “I care a lot.”

  “You should have told me!”

  “I will never tell you unless your life depends on it!” she snapped.

  “WHY NOT?!” There was a ball of something in my chest. A roiling, seething mass of pain and frustration and fear and utter disbelief. “Why wouldn’t you tell me to help me?! So all of this wouldn’t hurt so much?”

  For a moment she didn’t speak. I was hopeful she would change her mind.

  I shouldn’t have been so naïve.

  “Look at us, Stacy. Look at what we can do,” she said finally. “No one else can do this! God didn’t put me here, in your life, for no reason. There must be something I have to do. I’m not always sure what that is… but I am sure I’m not here to make history repeat. Your life doesn’t have to follow mine, Stacy. In fact, I’m praying it doesn’t.”

  “Well, looking at you, I’m kind of hoping it doesn’t, too!” I snapped. Then loathed myself.

  Older Me flinched. Her eyes closed. When they opened again, they were bright with unshed tears. “That was just cruel.”

  She was right, of course. “I’m sorry,” I groaned, slumping back against the wall again. “I just…I just can’t believe you wouldn’t warn me. I mean, I really thought–”

  “I did try to warn you, Stacy. I spent two hours trying to talk you out of going tonight. You do realize I have a life? That two hours with you is two hours I don’t do other stuff. You get that, right?”

  That kind of slapped me between the eyes. I hadn’t actually thought much about that.

  “Well, yeah…” Now that she mentioned it, anyway. “I just… I need your help. And you aren’t helping.” I hated the whining, plaintive tone in my voice.

  How was I going to face Mark tomorrow? We had an entire Saturday in the art room to work on our portfolios. Alone. Until a few minutes ago, I’d been looking forward to it. But now…

  Older Me sighed. She ran a hand through her limp hair. Her face sagged. “I only want the best for you. You have to believe that–”

  I opened my mouth to argue with her just as the door behind me rattled and thumped under a planted fist.

  “Stace, you in there?”

  Mark.

  I leaned on the wall and took a deep breath.

  “Stace? Who’re you talking to?”

  “Myself,” I answered weakly. Mark didn’t know about Older Me. He just thought I had a tendency to talk to myself when other people weren’t around. Which, when you think about it, is true.

  “Are you okay?” he said. His voice sounded muffled, like he was close to the door. “Finn said you fell over?”

  Lord, give me strength. “I tripped. I’m fine. I’m just cleaning up.” So it wasn’t a lie, I grabbed a couple of the paper hand towels from the dispenser and ran them under the water in the sink.

  Older Me frowned at my arm.

  I looked down. I’d forgotten about the dust and dirt painting my hip and rear. I groaned. Stupid Finn and his stupid–

  “Stace?” Mark sounded alarmed.

  “I’m fine. I’m just frustrated.”

  “Do you need some help?”

  “No. Go back to the dance. I’ll see you later.”

  He pounded the door again and it rattled on its hinges. “Dammit, Stacy, stop being a martyr.” Older Me’s eyes widened. “Are you hurt? I’ll drive you home. Or you can just go. Karyn can give me a ride later.”

  Oh, yes, she’d love that. “I said I’m fine, Mark. Go back to the dance before your girlfriend feels abandoned.”

  That was met with silence. I gave up on the wet towels, since it seemed like they were shedding more paper on my clothes than removing dirt anyway. It took a second to realize he hadn’t responded. Just as I froze, the tiniest cough sounded from his side of the door.

  My stomach sank. “She’s there, isn’t she?”

  “Are you okay, Stacy?” Karyn’s little-girl voice purred. “Bee said you hit the ground pretty hard. It must have hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, unable to ignore the touch of glee in her voice. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he hear it? I shook my head.

  Whispers rose on the other side of the door, then broke into hushed voices. Angry, hushed voices. His rumble, punctuated by her increasingly high pitched squeaks.

  If I wasn’t so miserable, it would have been funny.

  Behind me, Older Me sighed.

  “Stace, I’ll take you home. Okay?” Mark sounded weary.

  I took a breath and forced my voice to steadiness. “Go back to the dance, Mark. I don’t want to go home yet. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “But–”

  I cursed at the same time Karyn whined, “She doesn’t want you to!”

  I almost changed my mind. Just to irritate her. Just to see if he’d do it. But deep down I didn’t want to fight for him.

  I feared I would lose.

  “Just go. Please. I’ll be fine.” My voice sounded normal, even to me.

  A few more hushed whispers, then Mark sighed. “Okay, but… if you decide you want me to drive, just text me.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed, remembering my phone, laying on the bed at home. “Okay, thanks.”

  A second later the squeak of his basketball shoes rose on the linoleum. Then Karyn’s heel’s clicked rapidly down the hall, fading away until I heard the faint thunk of the fire doors swinging closed behind them.

  I was aware of Older Me in the mirror, frowning.

  “Stacy–”

  “Just leave it, okay?”

  “I’m not… Did you get hurt?”

  “I’m fine. I tripped. Everyone laughed. End of story.”

  “He tripped you, you mean?”

  “I said, leave it alone!”

  “No! You shouldn’t have to live this way! Why don’t you talk to the teachers again? Or…or just avoid him?”

  I gaped at her then. “Seriously? Did that work for you?”

  Her face tightened but she didn’t speak.

  I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t work to just “avoid” them, because they find me. And it doesn’t work to tell the teachers, because Finn and his friends just get more careful and get more mad at me. So until you have a better idea, shut your face.”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  “Well, you aren’t.”

  She dropped her head in her hands. I turned away, pacing the tiny room, suddenly full of pent up energy. She didn’t get it, which was crazy. How had she had it so much easier when we were living the same life? And why did she refuse to tell me about the future, except in the vaguest terms?

  The tiny, twisting fear I’d always had suddenly clicked into place. “Maybe I’m nuts after all.”

  “Don’t you ever say that!” Older Me hissed.

  I whirled. “Why? Because your precious husband thinks you’re cuckoo?”

  “Don’t.”

 
; She hated when I brought that up. Her husband had had her committed last year. But they only held her for three days. It had scared her though. And to be fair, she was right – I didn’t want to think about that happening to me. That I might not be able to convince professionals I was sane.

  So, why wasn’t she helping?

  I stormed back to the mirror, finger aimed at her chest. “No matter how much I ask, you don’t tell me what’s coming. No matter what I go through, you won’t explain anything until it’s already happened. What good is it being able to talk to you if you can’t even help?”

  “I help you all the time!”

  “That’s crap!”

  “I helped you understand what happened with Dad! I told you everything I knew about why Mom was so screwed up.”

  That much was true. She’d helped me through Mom’s constant jibes, and when Dad stopped showing up for visits – or even sending birthday cards… But how did I know I hadn’t just picked that stuff up somewhere else? Twisted it in my mind to make it come from her?

  I shook my head. “Maybe you’re just the voice of my subconscious. A complete figment of my imagination.”

  “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Maybe you aren’t really my future. Maybe you’re just some wacky idea of what my brain is scared I’ll become. So it’s putting you in front of me to taunt me–”

  “Stacy–”

  “–because it doesn’t make sense otherwise. What point is there to knowing your future if your future self won’t tell you–”

  “I’M HERE TO HELP YOU DO IT BETTER!” she screamed.

  I gaped. She’d shocked me out of my rant. I’d never seen her yell before.

  We were both silent. She stood at the mirror’s surface, breathing so fast her shoulders heaved.

  “You don’t get it, Stacy. You just don’t. And you won’t until you’re on this side of this stupid glass.” She flicked her finger at the mirror and her image rippled again. I swallowed hard.

  “I don’t think–”

  “Would you just listen, for once? Please!” She closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Somehow…somehow I’m here. God, or whoever, put me here with you. You’re not crazy. And neither am I. And even if you don’t feel like it, I am helping. It’s my job to help you avoid the mistakes I made. Everything I tell you, or don’t tell you, is intended to help you make better decisions than I did when I was your age.” She stopped, biting her lip. “When you’re in my shoes, you can make different choices if you want. But I’m here, and I’m doing the best I can.”

  I hated those reminders that she’d once been in my shoes, on this side of the mirror. I only knew it from a couple slips she’d made over the years. If she was reluctant to talk about my future, she flatly refused to talk about her own past. Honestly, it wasn’t something I wanted to hear much about. I’d hate being her – knowing what was coming and having to talk to someone about it. But I knew if I was ever on that side of the mirror, I’d tell my younger self everything. Warn them about everything.

  Her eyes lifted to meet mine. But before either of us could say anything else, she hissed a curse and whirled. When she turned back, her face had paled.

  “I shouldn’t have yelled,” she whispered, her hands closing to fists. “He heard me.” Her voice caught.

  “Tom?” Her husband.

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, Stacy. We’re going to have to finish this later.”

  “But we haven’t even talked about Mark and…”

  But there was no point saying anymore. I’d be speaking to thin air.

  I blinked once, twice. Then bit my lip. She was gone.

  Mark was gone too, in a way. Everything was changing.

  In fact, right then it felt like the only constant in my life was Finn and his sycophants, always waiting, ready to pounce.

  Inside I was glass in a vice, the edges cracking under the pressure.

  Mark, hunched on his bed, hands in his hair.

  He needs me.

  Mark, rising out of the car, curling his arms around Karyn.

  The space behind my ribs that should have felt full of my heart, thumping as it was, threatened to splinter and fall away.

  My hands shook again. It got harder to breathe.

  Panic.

  I couldn’t be in that room a second longer.

  I flipped the lock back and rolled the door open. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to be away from this place.

  I saw it in my head then, what it would be like now Mark was with her. How he’d spend more and more time with her – even at school. How he’d lean down so she could whisper in his ear, and they’d laugh. How I’d never know for sure if they were laughing at me.

  How she’d fill his eyes and his hands, so he’d never question her. Never have time to think about anything but her perfect, silver beauty.

  Oh, gawd, I had to get out of there.

  I stumbled down the hallway, heedless of my heels on the linoleum, uncaring if anyone came to investigate the strange hitching sounds coming from my aching chest.

  I shoved through the fire doors too hard and they swung back, almost to the walls. If they’d thumped, I’d have been done. But I caught them before they could thunk together in the middle of the hall, eased them back into place, and took a breath.

  This hallway emptied into the back of the foyer, facing an emergency exit. But this end of the foyer was dark. If I could just make it across to the exit without anyone seeing me, I’d be home safe. I could cry, and draw, and try to figure out what the hell I was going to do now.

  So I slipped to the end of the hallway and peered slowly around the corner.

  Along the wall between the foyer and the auditorium, two, wide double-doors yawned open. Darkness, music and the babble of a hundred voices leached out. The bass thumped under my feet. Voices drifted across my hair.

  But it was the light and dark that stole my breath again.

  Because Mark hadn’t returned to the dance.

  Twenty feet from where I peered around the corner, the bright, fluorescent lights of the foyer silhouetted two forms leaned against the opposite wall – one small and feminine, the other tall, masculine, looming over her.

  His head started to turn towards me, but her hand came up to catch his chin. Whatever she said, he smiled and tipped his hips forward, pressing hers back into the wall.

  His fingers slid into her hair as her tiny hands trailed down his chest, under his open jacket, and she smiled. Said something too low to be heard over the hubbub.

  He answered by leaning down, pulling her face up to meet his–

  I shot across the darkened floor, took the bar on the door with my arm, slamming it home so the door would give under my weight.

  Then I was out in the dark, in the night, running across the parking lot to Mom’s car, trying desperately to ignore the pains in my chest, the cracks screaming deep in my middle. Trying to see through the tears so I could drive home…

  Chapter Six

  Doc is paying attention now. He's forgotten himself and leaned forward, elbows on his polyestered knees. "It sounds like Karyn took pleasure in you finding out about her relationship with Mark. Was she aware of your feelings for him?"

  Blink. Oh, right. He’s pretending he doesn’t care that I talk to myself in the mirror.

  I sighed. "Yes. At least, I think so."

  "Did you tell your mother about these events?"

  Hell, no. "No."

  "Why not?"

  I roll my eyes. "All Mom cared about was that I didn’t embarrass her."

  Doctor frowns, but I can see the light turn on behind his eyes. A dysfunctional mother-daughter relationship is his bread and butter. "What made you feel that way?"

  Oh, please. “Just little things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like…She wasn’t interested in understanding how things were for me. She wanted me to conform. Be like everyone else. Be normal."

  "And how did she
define “normal”?"

  Scoff. “Wearing the right clothes, belonging to the right groups. Being popular. You know, high school stuff.”

  The finger on his moustache freezes. "I see."

  "Do you?"

  He meets my eyes and nods. "Yes, I think so."

  Awkward silence because I don’t believe him.

  He sits back in his chair. “Can you give me an example? From around that time?”

  I snort. “Take your pick.”

  “Just tell me the first one that comes to mind.”

  That was easy.

  When I walked in the door at home that night after the dance, I was already composing a sketch in my head. Not one for my workbook. One for my personal collection. One in which a cartoon Karyn’s eyes were nothing but crosses due to the axe blade protruding from her skull. I was debating blood dripping off hair versus blood trailing down her nose when I walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water to take to my room. The only light seeped in from the dining room. Mom must have left it on.

  Once I had my water, I headed that way so I could turn it off. When I rounded the corner past the kitchen, I was treated to the sight of my mother in her robe, sitting at the table. That was odd enough to stop me in my tracks. Mom left the house every morning before five. Even on the rare occasions I went out, she was usually in bed by eight.

  Though it was late for her, and she was ready for bed, she was her usual, sleek self, with her near-black hair twisted into a perfect bun, her black-rimmed glasses on the end of her nose, the shape of the frame highlighting her cheekbones. I didn’t know how she found them. But they looked perfect on her. Then again, everything did.

  She sat, rigid, at the dining table, staring at something.

  My phone.

  My heart dipped, bounced off my lower abdomen and returned to its rightful place where it sped off, thumping painfully.

  “Mom, what are you doing up?”

  “Who is sending these, Stacy?” Mom held up the phone, screen bright with a text message.

  “You opened my messages?! Those were private!”

  Mom’s face remained impassive. She turned the phone to herself and began to read. “Oh em gee. You’re so fat and stupid. Stop throwing yourself at guys. Everyone…h-eight…hates you.”