Losing Hope

“You know,” he says, pushing off the car with his foot. He folds his arms across his chest and walks toward me. “I really wish I could just let it go, Holder. But for some reason you seem so focused on my business, you really make it impossible for me to let it go.”

He’s within reach of my fist now, which isn’t very smart of him. I keep my eyes locked on his, but watch his hands out of my peripheral vision.

“You’ve been back less than a day and you’re already at it again,” he says, stupidly walking even closer to me. “Sky is off-limits to you, Holder. Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her.” I can’t believe I’m still allowing him to speak. “Don’t go fucking near her. The last thing I need is for another one of my girlfriend’s to kill herself because of you.”

I’m in that moment.

The moment when rational thought is drowned out by anger.

The moment when a person’s conscience is stifled by rage.

The moment when the vision of releasing every pent-up feeling I’ve had for thirteen months surfaces, and it actually feels good. His face would feel so good against my fist right now and the thought of it makes me smile as I clench my fists and inhale a breath.

But Grayson quickly becomes an afterthought when I look over his shoulder and see Sky across the parking lot, climbing into her car. She doesn’t even glance around the parking lot to look for Grayson. She just climbs into her car, shuts her door, and leaves.

It’s in that moment that I realize he’s full of shit.

They weren’t sitting together at lunch.

She wasn’t at the party with him Saturday night.

She’s not waiting for him after school.

She’s not even looking for him in the parking lot right now.

Everything falls into place as Grayson takes a step back, gauging my reaction, waiting for me to take his bait. Sky doesn’t care about him. That’s why he’s so pissed that I was talking to her in the hallway. She doesn’t give a shit about him and he doesn’t want me to know that.

He’s not worth it, I repeat to myself.

I watch as Sky pulls out of the parking lot, then I slowly refocus my gaze on Grayson. I’m oddly calm after coming to this new realization, but his jaw is clenched tighter than his fists. He wants me to fight him. He wants me to get kicked out of school.

He doesn’t deserve to get a single damn thing he wants.

I raise my arm. His eyes dart to my hand and he puts his own hands up in defense. I point the clicker toward my car and press the button, unlocking my doors. I silently walk around him and climb into my car, then pull out of the parking lot without giving him the reaction he was hoping for.

Fuck him. He’s not worth it.

Chapter Ten

I open the refrigerator door because I’m starving, but I haven’t had anything to eat in over thirteen months. I haven’t taken a single bite of food since Les died and it’s weird that I’m still alive after all this time.

It takes the refrigerator light a second to kick on, even after I have the door open. As soon as the contents of the refrigerator are illuminated, I’m immediately disappointed. Every single shelf is stuffed with Les’s jeans. They’re all folded neatly on the shelves of the refrigerator and it pisses me off because this is where the food should be and I’m fucking hungry.

I open one of the crisper drawers, hoping the food is hidden in there, but there’s no food. Just another pair of neatly folded jeans. I shut it and open the other crisper drawer and her jeans are in there, too.

How many fucking pairs of jeans does she need? And why are they in the refrigerator where the food is supposed to be?

I close the refrigerator door and open the freezer, but I’m met with the same thing, only this time the jeans are frozen. They’re all in freezer bags labeled “Les’s jeans.” I slam the freezer door shut, irritated, and turn toward the pantry, hoping to find something to eat in there.

I walk around the kitchen island and look down.

I see her.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, but she’s still there.

Les is huddled in a fetal position on the kitchen floor, her back pressed up against the pantry door.

This makes no sense.

How is she here?

She’s been dead for thirteen months.

I’m hungry.

“Dean,” she whispers.

Her eyes flick open and I immediately have to reach my hand out in order to steady myself against the island. My body suddenly becomes too heavy to hold up and I take a small step back, right before my legs give out and I fall to my knees in front of her.

Her eyes are open wide now and they’re completely gray. No pupil, no irises. Just glossed-over gray eyes that are searching for me, unable to find me.

“Dean,” she says again in a hoarse whisper. She blindly reaches her arm out toward me and her fingers feel around in front of her.

I want to help her. I want to reach out and grab her hand but I’m too weak to move. Or my body weighs too much. I don’t know what it is that’s stopping me, but I’m only two feet in front of her and I’m doing everything I can to lift my arm and take her hand but it won’t fucking move. The more I struggle to regain control over my movements, the harder it becomes to breathe. She’s crying now, saying my name. My chest tightens and my throat begins to close up and now I can’t even calm her down with words because nothing will come out. I work the muscles in my jaw, but my teeth are clenched tight and my mouth won’t open.

She’s pulling herself up on her elbow, slowly scooting closer to me. She’s trying to reach out for me but her lifeless eyes can’t find me. She’s crying even harder now.

“Help me, Dean,” she says.

She hasn’t called me Dean since we were kids and I don’t know why she’s calling me Dean now. I don’t like it.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus on getting my voice to work or my arms to move, but all the concentration in the world can’t help me right now.

“Dean, please,” she cries, only this time it’s not her voice. It’s the voice of a child. “Don’t go,” the child begs.

I open my eyes and Les is no longer there, but someone else has taken her place. A little girl is sitting with her back pressed against the pantry door and her head is buried in her arms that are wrapped tightly around her legs.

Hope.

I still can’t move or speak or breathe and my chest is growing tighter and tighter with each sob that racks the little girl’s body. All I can do is sit and watch her cry, because I’m physically unable to even turn my head or close my eyes.

“Dean,” she says, her voice muffled by her arms and her tears. It’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name since the day she was taken and it knocks out what little breath I had left in me. She slowly lifts her head away from her arms and widens her eyes. They’re solid gray, identical to Les’s. She leans her head back against the pantry door and wipes away a tear with the back of her hand.

“You found me,” she whispers.

Only this time, it’s not the voice of the little girl anymore. It’s not even Les’s voice.

It’s Sky’s.