Ink & Interruptions

            I’m not sure how long I stood staring after him—the wake of his anger deafening as I slowly found the strength to peel my feet from the tiled floor. By the time my hand touched the cool glass of the front door, my shock had shifted to blinding anger. Anger that seared into the marrow of my bones as I got in my car and slammed the door closed behind me.

            The short drive to the school did not allow my mind enough time to unravel. Kyle was out of line. My blood began to boil, matching the heat that licked up the back of my neck. Me? Running? Fucking rich coming from the guy who literally moved towns to get away. I whipped into my parking space. I wasn’t sure where Henry’s truck was, but honestly, I didn’t care. I felt like I couldn’t see anything past Kyle—”Good luck with all that running”—what a prick.

            I threw the door closed and felt the reverberations rattle through the metal of my car. I winced, hearing my dad’s voice weave through the venom that still clouded my vision.

            “Treat a car like a child. Abuse will only cause problems later.”

            The comfort of my dad’s voice should have cleared the fog; it should have allowed me to find my balance, but each step toward the school door only seemed to land harder. The final few morphing into child-like stomps as I swung the door wide, jamming my other hand into the front pocket of my bag, searching for my office keys.

            They weren’t there. I let out a growl before stuffing my hand into the main section of my bag. I shoved aside my water bottle, planner, and wallet, scraping my fingers along the base. By the time I reached my office, I was cursing under my breath—each item that revealed itself as anything other than thin pieces of metal drove my mind that much closer to the brink of insanity.

            “I swear,” I mumbled as I flung my bag to the floor and knelt beside it. I began to pull things out, oblivious to the clatter of the scattering items. “You know what.” I flipped the bag over and shook it twice, hard, and watched with something bordering on hysteria as the little that remained in the bag fell to the floor. I wanted to rip the thing in two as I watched the set of keys fall from the front pocket.

            “Perfect,” I growled as I stood up and shoved the key into the lock. I pushed the door open and, using my foot like a broom, swept everything from the hall into my office. I tossed my empty bag on top of the mound before collapsing onto the floor beside it.

            Muttering under my breath and pausing frequently to swipe furiously at the tears running down my cheeks, I tried to shove everything back into my bag.

            “Evie.”

            Her voice was soft—a first responder sent to assess the damage. My shoulders sagged, and for a moment, I thought if I just ignored her, pretended the ground swallowed me whole, she would leave, but this was Jenna. There was no version of reality in which she would leave. Hell, she’d never done it when we weren’t friends, why in the world would she start now?

            I heard her feet shuffle forward and then there was a click—the sound of the door meeting the frame, closing me off from the world. That broke me. The tears came faster, and my shoulders started to shake. Then, she was in front of me, kneeling on the ground.

            “Evie?” She was still for a moment before she reached across and gently slid the bag from my hands. She quickly gathered everything into the bag before setting it aside and scooting closer. “Is this one of those “off limit secret” things?”

            A laugh bubbled up in my chest. “Damnit, Jenna.” I huffed. “I can’t have a single moment, can I?” The laugh came then. It was ugly and mixed with the remaining sobs that still choked me.

            “What?” She shrugged, feigning innocence as I worked to wipe the rest of the tears from my face. “I’m practicing ‘boundaries,’” she said, using her fingers to frame the word. My laugh grew and my shoulders started shaking again—this time from the crude, abrupt cackles that were erupting from me.

            She waited—sitting there as I worked through every emotion my body demanded be felt. When I finally found my breath and was able to settle onto the floor, I took a deep breath and found a soft smile.

            “Thanks, Jenna.”

            “For what? I came for the gossip.” Another shoulder shrug before she stood and offered me her hand.

            I took it and allowed her to pull me from the floor. I tried to smooth out my clothes, my eyes catching on her pristine, cream blouse. “Do you ever have a bad day?” I asked. My eyes followed the line from her blouse down her fitted slacks to her black Mary Jane heels.

            “No.” She shuddered. “And all the evidence to the contrary has been burned.” I made another harsh sound, something between a laugh and a grunt. “Evie.” Her voice gave me pause, and I met her eyes. “I’m not going to lie.” She gave me a once over. “Today isn’t it.”

            I laughed. “You’re telling me.” I moved to my desk and flopped into my chair. Jenna settled into the student chair on the other side.

            There was a pause, the silence in the room affording me the time needed to regain some sense of control over my lungs.

            “You wanna talk about it?” She asked. Her voice dropped low, cautious, wary.

            “I don’t even know,” I said, a sigh escaping me as I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

            “Wanna switch chairs?” She offered. “Maybe we can role play—you the student, me the burly guidance counselor.” She dropped her voice a few octaves. “Tough, no nonsense—success or failure; there is no in between.”

            “God, Jenna.” I laughed. “What do you think I do in here? Also, please tell me ‘burly’ and ‘no nonsense’ are about another counselor you know.”

            “The burly was.”

            My head shot up. “Um, rude.”

            “Have you met you?” She shot back, a smile forming at the edge of her lips.

            “Listen, I’ve had enough character evaluation today to last the year.”

            “Ah.” She said, her eyebrows raising. “Whose house are we egging?” She cracked her knuckles—morphing into what I could only assume to be her version of Barbie the Bouncer. The image fizzled to life in my mind, and all I could do was stare at her. Her petite frame was set at odds against the stern look she had scrunched her eyebrows and forehead into.

             “Who are you?” The question tumbled out. My brain unable to filter anything other than the remnants of emotions that were still skittering across my skin.

            The “Jenna from work” did not make jokes or threaten people. Heck, the “Jenna from last week” offered me nothing but spiteful glances and not-so silent judgment. Right? My mind hesitated as it spiraled out trying to trace every interaction since my first day. Had everything been hostile? Did I miss something? Misinterpret early on? Had I been the one to shut the door? Did I miss this Jenna?

            She was watching me, as though she could track my thoughts. “Is it bad if I tell you I don’t know.” She dropped her gaze on the last word, her playful façade following her lowered eyes.

            “What?”

            A shrug. “I don’t know, and what’s scary is, I don’t think I ever have.” She let out a rough laugh. “How does someone get to twenty-five and not know?” She paused and then lifted her head, rolling her shoulders back before finding my eyes. “Hey, no changing the subject.” A slight wave of her hand. “This is about you and your crazy.” Another smile, but this one was different—smaller, less defined.

            “Well, you know those ‘fans’ I’ve got from all my time being a superstar?” I shot her a pointed stare. “One of them decided to wrap their hands around my throat this morning.”

            “I didn’t know you were into that.”

            “I’m serious. It was not pleasant.”

            She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, joking aside. What happened? Kyle? Henry? Kyle and Henry?” She wiggled her eyebrows at me.

            “You just said joking aside.”

            “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”

            I sighed. “No, it’s fine.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It was Kyle, only worse, it was hurt Kyle.”

            “Hurt?”

            “Yeah. Apparently, he’s still in love with me and the whole ending our engagement thing was a temporary oversight on his part.” Another sigh—my body incapable of making any other sound.

            “Temporary oversight?” She let out a short laugh. “You’re kidding. How did he explain that one?”
            “Well, he didn’t get to that part. I sort of told him ‘no.’”

            “Sort of?” She raised one eyebrow.

            “I was in the middle of explaining the ‘no’ when he lost his mind.” I threw up my hands, feeling the anger flare to life again. “He blamed it on Henry.” My voice was too loud—I knew it, but I couldn’t find the volume button. “Henry! Can you believe it? My ‘no’ is never mine. It always has to be someone else’s. Henry’s. Kyle’s. Even my ‘no’s’ growing up were always Aunt Julia’s or my mom’s.” I sucked in a breath. “Ha! What a fucking joke. I say ‘no,’ and it means absolutely nothing. Mom says ‘no,’ and it’s ‘no’ for Kyle, for me, for the past, the future. She pisses me off with this whole Kyle is the future crap.” I was standing now. Pacing behind my chair, gesturing at the phone resting on the desk.

            The same phone that held every half-written message to my mom. Every moment of weakness where I almost told her I’d try again with Kyle. I’d try for her. I’d give it all up again if it meant normal. If I could have her back, I’d do it. But some selfish part of me always pressed the delete key. My whispered “no” echoing in my mind, just strong enough to stay my fingers, to pull away from plummeting back into my past, to keep me from closing the door to my cage again.

            “He left; he said ‘no.’” I let out a sharp huff. “Well, I guess she’s consistent. His ‘no’ didn’t matter either.” I collapsed back into my chair, my head falling into my hands.

            “So,” her voice was soft, floating to me, caressing my frayed nerves. “Is this about your Kyle or your mom?”

            The question caused my breath to hitch—the same breath I’d spent the last ten minutes trying to recapture. My immediate response was no. No. This wasn’t about my mom. This was about Kyle and his insufferable attitude about my answer. This was about him telling me to quit running—to face the issues in front of me. This was absolutely not about my mom.

As though I’d signaled the memory through some long forgotten stage cue—my mom’s voice filtered through the denial that I was desperately trying to fill my mind with.

            “Evelyn Rose Mercer, stop with the dramatics.” Her voice was clipped as her hands found her hips.

            “Mooom.” My voice was whiny. I remember trying to force it out of my words, but as much as I worked to make my plea firm, unwavering, thirteen-year-old me just couldn’t do it. “I don’t want to go. I don’t even like that movie.”

            “Why would that matter?” She was digging through my closet—pushing aside my favorite shirts and jeans as she worked herself to the very back of the clothing rod.

            “Because I’m the one going,” I whispered. My shoulders sinking lower with every word.

            “Don’t whisper. You know I can’t hear you when I’m in here.” She huffed as she began to work backwards through the clothes, reviewing each item again. “Where did you put that skirt Julia bought you last week?”

            The skirt was pale blue and knee-length. It had thick stitching in three rings around the fabric, creating tiers that worked their way up in stages to an elastic waistband. I hated it, and what was worse, I didn’t know if the hate for it stemmed from the skirt or the fact that when Aunt Julia gave it to me, each tier folded into a perfectly, pressed section, it passed into my hands with promises of “I saw it and knew you had to have it” and “It’s just a little sweet surprise for my favorite girl.” But I knew there was something more—some secret agenda knitted into the fabric.

            And here it was. A date. With Kyle. My skin went clammy at the thought, my stomach rolling over, threatening to expel the pancake breakfast I’d greedily eaten that morning.

            “Evie? Are you listening to me?” She pulled back from my closet and looked at me. “The skirt? Where is it?”

            I wanted to lie, to tell her I didn’t know. To ask for my jeans instead. Push back—be me, but my eyes betrayed me as they darted across the room to my dresser.

            “The dresser?” My mom practically screamed as she dashed across the space. “Why in the world would you put it in the dresser?”

            Evie, Why? Evie, quit. Evie, no. Evie. Evie. Evie.

            “Evie?” Jenna. Jenna was speaking…to me. “Evie?” Her hands found mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off as I lifted my head from my hands.

            “No.” I let out a soft laugh—half-hearted and broken. “Clearly, it is about my mom.” I leaned back into my chair. “It’s so much about her that I didn’t even realize it until you said something.”

            Jenna gave me a small smile. “If it helps, I have buckets of issues with my dad.” She paused. “The counselor.”

            I froze. “Mr. no nonsense?”

            She nodded. “The one and only.” Her hands slid back across the desk and found their way into her lap before she leaned back into her own chair.

            “Wait.” I scooted closer, my chest meeting the edge of my desk. “Why would a school counselor move around all the time?”

            She laughed. “Schools aren’t the only place counselors work.”

            Duh, Evie. I scolded myself. “Oh, yeah, right.” I felt heat race up the back of my neck. Way to look smart.

            “Yeah, he was a financial advisor for some big company. They had branches all over the States, so we moved…a lot.” She closed her eyes, and I couldn’t tell if she was battling tears or just reliving the past. “Every new branch needed time with my dad and his infinite wisdom.”

            “Oh,” I said as the puzzle pieces began to fit together. “That sucks, Jenna.”

            “Yep. Pretty much sums it up, and I am sure you can imagine his opinions on me flitting off to God knows where with some dipshit from high school.” It was her turn to fidget, and she started with the hem of her shirt—pulling the fabric tight before bunching it in between her fingers only to pull it straight once more.

            “This would be the guy?” I asked, trying to mirror the softness she’d used with me earlier.

            “The one and only.” She said again, following the words with a scoff. “You wanna know the truly sucky part?” She asked—her eyes still closed. “I haven’t even told my dad.”

            “Huh?” I asked, unsure what she meant. The move? The guy? Her job? What was I missing?

            “He thinks I’m with Dylan.”

            “What?” The question felt wrong. I needed to offer reassurance, wisdom, guidance, but I was spiraling. Dylan. Her dad. Jenna.

            “Yep.” She blew out what felt like a never-ending breath before she opened her eyes and looked at me. “As far as my dad knows, I am in a happily committed relationship with Dylan Carter, who is a financially stable, kind man who definitely did not leave me without rent two days before it was due after moving me fourteen hours away from my family.”

            I am not sure what shape my face had contorted itself into, but every muscle in it was bunched in pain for her. “Wow.” Your insight is unfathomable. My mind hissed at me as I dropped yet another unhelpful utterance.

            “Hence this.” She gestured around. “A secretary job for a man who hired me based on my skirt length and not my credentials, seeing as I had absolutely zero.”

            “He’s an ass,” I said, before considering another response. Again, you are truly the best at this.

            “Which one?” She laughed as she sat up straighter.

            “All of them, clearly.”

            “Yeah, well, Kyle is too.” She said, a smile re-forming on her lips. “So, as much as I want to tell you to talk to your mom, I can’t.” She looked back down at her hands briefly before she re-met my eyes. “I am so scared to hear another ‘I told you so’ from my dad that I am quite literally clinging to a crappy job in a crappy town,” She winced. “No offense.”

            I laughed. “That’s the line you recognize.”

            “Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “I was just trying to say, I get it, you know?”

            I nodded. I did. I knew all of it a little too well. The urge to hide—the only difference is that I was hiding in plain sight.

            “So, what are we going to do?” I asked, hopeful that she had tucked away a different answer, an ending for this, saving it for her finale.

            “Beats me,” she said, standing from the chair as the first hour bell rang. “But if anyone is going to figure it out, it will be you.” She slid around the chair and headed for the door.

            “Oh, yeah?” I asked. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

            “Because you’re a superstar.” She spread her fingers out and wiggled them.

            “Get out,” I said, laughing.

            Her laughter trailed after her as she stepped into the hallway and turned left towards the front office. Suddenly, I was alone again.

            Alone with no answers. No closure, and no idea about how to fix any of it. But I didn’t feel the same. It was the same situation, but I was different. Steadier. My eyes jumped to the door frame. Jenna had fixed it. She hadn’t given me the answer or crafted a plan for my future, but she’d fixed it all the same. Maybe, she was more of a superstar than she gave herself credit for, and maybe she was the first thing in my life that was mine. No Kyle attached. My friendship.

            My chest warmed at the thought. Then my brain whispered: so, a witch, not a siren, great.