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The next day, Tray told me one of Jace’s men had driven me home, and he came out to carry me inside. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t do anything. I just sat and stared straight ahead, like an empty vessel. He told me that Austin had been scared. When I heard that, a pang of regret went through me. Austin didn’t deserve that. His sister was away. His parents were gone, and now I was acting like a walking corpse. No, that wasn’t true. A walking corpse didn’t feel. I was feeling too much; I couldn’t handle it. I felt like someone thrust a large butcher knife into the middle of my chest, leaving a gaping hole. It was becoming infected, and I was rotting from the inside.
Tray asked if he should call Shelly and Kevin. I asked him why. He jerked his head in a nod, then climbed into bed behind me and wrapped his arms around me.
The week passed like that. I didn’t go to school for the first half of the week. Tray took the counselor’s note to excuse Mandy’s absence, and he explained what happened with me. I was allowed three days to miss and when I went back Thursday, I shouldn’t have been there. I went from class to class. No one talked to me. Everyone watched me. They had all heard about Brian’s death; they just didn’t know I had caused it. Tray helped me. He remained by my side. He had people take notes for me. When he couldn’t be there, he had people carry my books for me.
He told me a few days later that Mandy had called. She wanted to know how I was doing. For some reason, I began laughing at that. She was in rehab, trying to comfort me. Brian had never cared when he was getting help. It had been all about him. She was in his old place, and she was reaching out because of him. Somehow, that was ironic to me, and I couldn’t stop laughing. Austin was in the living room at the time. When he saw the tears rolling down my face and heard the hysterical note in my voice, he threw his video game controller and ran upstairs.
I couldn’t blame him.
Tray frowned and said into the phone, “Maybe in a few days.” He paused, listening to her on the other end and then replied, “Just keep getting better. That helps her.”
I wiped a tear from my face, but couldn’t stop laughing. I sighed. “I’m a mess.”
He didn’t respond. He slid an arm under my leg and the other behind my back, lifting me so I was on his lap, tugging my head so I was leaning into him. My shoulders were shaking as more laughter poured out of me. The laughter soon faded and then there were only tears. When the irony left me, it was replaced with a deeper sadness. The void inside me doubled.
Each night when Tray took me to bed, I laid there, closed my eyes, and willed myself to sleep. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, but when morning came, I got up. I showered. I dressed. I ate. I went to school. I went through the motions. My birthday came and went. I didn’t remember until it was the day after. A sad laugh formed, but died before it slipped out. I was eighteen now. I didn’t even need to be adopted anymore.
I never told anyone. I didn’t want to deal with any more pity, from anyone.
It was the next week when I found out that Jace had held a small funeral for Brian. I hadn’t been invited. I couldn’t even process that, but I knew it would hurt me later. All I could process was that I wanted to make Jace pay, even more than he was now. This was his fault. No, it was mine too.
I closed my eyes and felt another wave of grief roll through me. It was both of our faults.
“How’d your friend die?”
Austin asked the question from across the table. It was Saturday morning and everyone had slept in, so we were having a late breakfast.
Tray looked to me, waiting to see if I would answer.
A lump was in my throat, hell—it was always there now. I spoke around it, “He was shot.”
“Oh.” He glanced down at his plate and moved his eggs around with his fork. Then his hands gripped the fork tighter and he looked back up. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why was he shot? Mandy said you had dated a psycho.”
I frowned. “When did she say that?”
“Before.” He lifted a shoulder and looked to Tray for a moment. “It was before you moved in. She heard Mom and Dad talking one night. She said that we were asked to take you in because the guy you were dating was dangerous. If that’s true, why aren’t you happy? I mean, isn’t this a good thing he’s dead?”
I couldn’t form a sentence. The pieces started to fit together even more now. Jace told Shelly and Kevin about me. He used the excuse that Brian was dangerous. They had been lied to as well. A new wave of hatred spewed through me. It was like poison, affecting every pore inside of me, turning it so all I could think about was Jace. This was his fault. It wasn’t mine. Brian’s death was on him.
“Taryn?”
I didn’t know who said that. The need to find Jace, the need to hurt him, was overwhelming.
“Austin, why don’t you get ready? I’ll call Eric’s mom and have her pick you up.”
A chair was shoved back. They were moving away, then I heard Austin’s faint voice, “Yeah…is she going to be okay…” Then I couldn’t hear anymore. They had both left the room.
I had loved Jace. He and Brian had been the only constants in my life. I would move away, then come back, and they would still be there. That cycle was repeated every time I was sent to another foster home. Somehow, I always ended up going back to Pedlam. I would sneak out to see Brian. He was my first love, but Jace was family too. Now they were both gone and I felt stripped open. I felt like I was bleeding everywhere and I couldn’t stop.
A door shut in the distance, and I heard Tray coming back to me. He didn’t say anything. I tensed up; I didn’t know if I wanted to hear any more condolences. I gritted my teeth. With every, “I’m sorry,” I wanted to hit someone. My hand curled in a ball. I was going to swing if I heard sympathy from him. Without saying a word, he knelt and scooped me up from the chair. He tossed me over his shoulder, and I waited to see where he would take me.
He carried me outside and into a gym. As he set me down, I looked around. A punching bag was in one corner with a boxing ring in the other. Against one wall was a sheet taped up with a silhouette of a person in the middle. Little holes were punched through it along with rips. As Tray went to grab a knife from the wa
ll, I knew it was used as a throwing target for him. He came over and opened his palm. A knife was in his palm, the handle towards me.
