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Keeping up pretenses became difficult. We became attached at the hip, literally. We held hands so often that she became my right hand and I became her left. When we did our homework and needed both of our hands, we’d roll up our jeans and intertwine our legs. Ridiculous, I know.
We tried to wean ourselves off. Tried and tried and tried but after three weeks, during Christmas break, we threw up our hands together and accepted our fate.........very happily.
“Three days until Christmas Jules! Are you excited babe?”
“Of course. It’s my favorite time of year. Are you?”
“Of course. It’s my favorite time of year because it’s your favorite.”
She smiled, but half-heartedly.
“What is bothering you? You’ve been so, so distant today,” I asked, concerned.
“Well, I’ve been deliberating on whether I should tell you something Elliott. I have to tell you but I wanted to wait until after Christmas. The only reason I’m willing to do it now is because your Christmas present is gone.”
“Gone?” I asked trying to stay level headed. I knew where this was going and I could feel the blood begin to cook beneath my skin.
“Well, for weeks, like a coward,” she giggled uncomfortably, “I’ve been sleeping in my living room on the couch.”
“Why Jules? Are you still frightened? Taylor and Jesse haven’t bothered you once since that day.”
“That’s not exactly true,” she admitted.
My back stiffened and the hair that laid on the back of my neck stood. I pulled at the edge of my parents’ sofa and stared at the opposite wall avoiding Jules’ eyes. I felt the strongest urge to be anywhere else in the world other than in Bramwell, West Virginia because I was going to murder Jesse Thomas.
“I noticed right after Thanksgiving that my perfume bottle was on the opposite end of my vanity from where I usually keep it. I shrugged it off as absentmindedness, assuming I accidentally placed it there and never thought twice about it again until a few days later when I observed that the books on my top shelf had been switched with all the books on the bottom shelf. The next night, my hanger hooks looped the closet bar the opposite way I placed them. The night after that, my bed had been made and they had placed something on my pillow.
“When I bent in for a closer look I saw they had torn a strip from the end of my sheet and formed a noose with it.” She shuddered. “Every day, I’ve walked into my room in search of their newest installment. They’re usually harmless, or as harmless as you’d expect from two complete and utter psychos, stupid, or unnoticeable except, for last night’s.”
“And what had they done last night?” I asked eerily calmly.
She didn’t have to tell me. I was going to kill him regardless and only because my Uncle Danny, Jules’ parents, my parents, even Jesse’s parents didn’t believe a word Jules and I had said about him. He was the perfect psycho, a well adjusted, for appearance’s sake, psycho with the world’s largest death wish.
“Go on,” I said. She must have felt the thoughts because she waited too long to spill what he had done. She continued to hesitate.
“Go on,” I insisted, calming my tone so she would feel comfortable enough to continue.
“They stole the painting I had been working on for you for Christmas. I walked into my studio, saw that it was gone and assumed it was gone for good, until I left to see you today. After I locked my front door to leave, I saw the painting. It was hanging by a larger scale noose taken from longer strips of my sheet but the most disturbing part was what was done to the painting.”
“What did he do?” My voice teetered on hysteria.
“He drew one word in dripping red.” She paused. The silence was deafening. “He drew, ‘YOU’,” she continued.
“Where is this painting?” I asked.
“It’s still high in the tree in my front yard. I couldn’t reach it. I was hoping you would get rid of it for me. I can’t let my parents see that Elliott. They’d leave Bramwell over something like that.”
I slammed my fists on the cushions and let the boiling blood rush over my body. I didn’t want Jules to touch me. I didn’t want to calm down. I wanted the rage. I stood up slowly and walked to the front door. I grabbed my keys from its hook and swung on my jacket with the wool lining. If I need to, I thought, I could swing easily in this jacket. I dug my hands in to the pockets and felt for the pocket knife I usually kept in it.
“Where are you going Elliott?” Jules asked seriously.
“To take that painting down babe,” I spoke over my shoulder.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No, you’re not,” I said then checked myself, “I mean, you’ve been through enough don’t you think? I’ll be right back. Promise.”
I turned toward her and smiled. I never would have left without kissing her had I not wanted to keep the explosion at a breaking point until I saw him and the thoughts to myself.
