Four days later I was home. My life was normal. At least I kept pretending it was. My mother would wake me up and we'd have breakfast with my dad. I even laughed a few times. I went back to calling Allan dad. Penelope smiled at that. She knows it's been hard. Everyone does. I would spend the rest of my day staring at the wall. If take three cold showers and I'd pop a couple pills. I contemplated suicide and I contemplated running away. I called the phone Quinn left here. I held a lighter to my hand then I'd stare. I'd stare at the wall. I wrote poetry.
All about Asher. About Quinn. About Jasper. About anything or anyone I'd ever succumbed myself to loving. I contemplated suicide.
Still the best idea of them all.
I called Seth. We had sex. I cried. He left. I tried to drown myself. I sat in the bathtub but I couldn't do it.
Pathetic. Loser. Fuck up.
I wrote to my birth mother. I wrote to the hospital. I called the hospital.
Hospital: Hello Graven Hall Hospital.
Hospital: Are you hurt or in an emergency?"
I'd hang up every time.
Couldn't do it. Couldn't do it.
The last day of spring break I was in the hospital. My mother had died. It was funny. Well not the death. But it's funny how everyone cared now. People who had talked so much shit about my mother. People who hated her. Crying by her bedside.
The last day of spring break Asher came home. It was like a movie. He tried to talk to me but I couldn't.
"I'm going to kill myself." I told him.
"No you aren't." He replies.
"Only to spite you. Yes." I nodded.
"Only of your bullshit." I said.
"You don't have to be like your mother."
"Which one?" I asked. Asher sighed. His fingers wrapped around my mother's. They hadn't gutted her yet.
"That's all you'll ever be." I muttered walking out the door.
The first day of school. I skipped.
The second day of school. I skipped.
The third day of school. I attended.
School never really was a place to me. It was the title people gave to a room that huddled education. Apologies were slurred with awkward hugs and pats on my back. Teachers let me leave early and the lunch lady gave me extra fries.
Andy: I'm so sorry.
Andy: My mom wants you to come over for dinner.
Andy: Please Peyton. Please talk to me.
Me:... I'll say something you don't want to hear.
Andy: you saying anything is what I want to hear.
Me: You can burn in hell.
I walked away. My first two sentences to Andy since I've been back. No regrets.
I'd go home and watch papers burn in my backyard. Then I'd walk into my dad's office and play Russian roulette.
Then I'd go and wait for dinner. Rosalinda had three kids and usually left work at seven. I sat at the dinner table alone and ate the meal alone. Rosalinda smiled and walked away.
"Goodnight Rosie." I called after her. No reply as usual. I wrote more poetry. About Asher. About Quinn. About Jasper. About anything or anyone I'd succumbed myself to love. I contemplated suicide.
Still the best idea.
I went to a poetry house. Listened. Learned. Left.
Day two. At school. Hurt hands. Rubber bands.
I'm a horrible poet. Skylar and Cathy have made me a basket of carbs. I flicked them both off. Asher tried to call. Sunshine and Angela crawled through my window. They weren't giving up.
I'm fine. I would say. They knew I was lying. The funeral was in two weeks. Two weeks I would talk. Say something sweet then cry. I told them I had a date with Asher later.
Lies per usual. They left. I went to the poetry house. I met Christian. Christian met me. I'd go again next week. I'd be a regular just like him and I'd read and write poetry in this tiny cafe just like him. I'd drink wads of alcohol and make out with random guys just like him.
Not saying Christina was the best role model but he wasn't a horrible friend. And at the moment all I needed was a friend. Someone I could confide in about what really was happening. And though I'd only officially know him for a few hours I knew I could trust him. So I told him my story. Starting at that little Walmart in Tallahassee.
Christian said he'd read my poem. It was just a poem. He said it was a great one. But it was just a poem. His blue eyes and brown hair made the poem pretty.
Was poetry supposed to be pretty? Was it supposed to turn hearts like mine turned my stomach. I had read it 26 times. Each time I wanted to die a bit more than before. Is that normal? Can poetry make you want to die? Not a pretty poem.
Pretty pretty poem.
"Never would I have thought," he started. Catching my eye in the crowd. I held my breath waiting for the rest of the sentence to drop just like hearts on a roller coaster ride. Except I was the only one screaming. The only one feeling the rush of the top of the hill before everything went crashing down.
"That I would be a stereotype. Never would I have thought that I'd take fire to my smooth skin turning it into lumps or rocks on a deserted road. Never would I have thought that I would cry out at night for a love who's tongue I'd only touched once. Never would I have thought my mother would die. Such a strong woman fall at the prick of a needle like Aurora herself. Never would I have thought that I'd believe death was better than life. Never would I have thought that I would be a stereotype. Never would I have thought I'd want to slit my wrist and watch the blood pour just for pure amazement at how much blood could fill my small shattered body. Never would I have thought I'd be here. Here like this. Never would I have thought I'd be a stereotype." Christian finished smiling at me. The audience clapped and Christian handed my the poem.
"Keep it. I already know my life." I said softly. He licked his lips and nodded folding the poem and shoving it in his pocket. He had the poem. He was holding my life. And he unlike most took it as a precious little animal and hid it from danger. My poetry savior. Christian Adams.
I'd written a poem. I'd had it performed. I was amazing. I was absolutely incredible.
I was me.
Casket shopping was the most depressing thing ever. It's not like I'd ever see it again. I'd never see her again. Penelope's parents came down. All the way from New York is the oldest versions of rejected cast members of Jersey Shore.
They cried and blamed my father. My father simply rolled his eyes and had them escorted out of his office.
"Yes, I want a full broadcast or my wife's funeral." Allan said to the news people. I rolled my eyes and left the house. Christian.
He'd quickly become my best friend. His boyfriend was nice too. They'd offered to let me stay with them until college.
I'd stay with them later. When I wasn't a mess.
Coffee. Lots of coffee. Christian and Shawn liked coffee.
Note to self Everyone. Likes. Coffee.
I invited them to the funeral. They said yes.
I slept at their home. It was small and warm and smelt like stale liquor.
Shawn was cooking dinner and smiled as he finally met me. He said he's heard so much about me he thought Christian was turning straight.
Oh good old gay jokes.
Christian let me sleep in the art room. It smelled like acrylics and stale liquor.
Is there a place in this house that didn't smell of stale liquor?
They made me a makeshift bed on one of the couches and closed the door. I could hear them talking about me.
Shawn referred to me as Poem Girl. As though my own poetry was superior to anyone else's being a sort of secret super power I had.
They talked about letting Poem Girl move in. Letting her stay until her home situation was fixed. Poem Girl was raped. Poem Girl is not rape. She just was. I was raped. I am not it though. That moment isn't me. It was apart of me. Like Christian said. If being gay is me then my name would be Gay. Shawn said yes. Poem Girl can stay. She can stay as long as she needs. And Shawn said no. Poem Girl isn't rape. She was. But she isn't now.
They said they'd sleep and talk to Poem Girl tomorrow. I wish I really was Poem Girl. But I wasn't. I just could write words on a page. Not poetry just pathetic.
Penelope's mother bought the same dress as Penelope to wear to her funeral. I can only feel bad for the woman. Jealous of your daughter?
The lawyer went over the will. Since I haven't turned 18 yet Noel rightfully can hold my portion. The will was simple.
Money and the house and the cars all belong to my children. Stephanie Quinn Andrews, Peyton Elizabeth Andrews and Ethan Andrews.
Nothing goes to Allan Andrews. Screw that bastard.
Nice touch mom. Allan was slightly disgruntled by the fact that the woman he cheated on, disrespected and humiliated along with public mutilation didn't have him in her will.
Damn how could she do that?
Priscilla finally told me why she was being so weird. Not that you couldn't figure it out with one look.
She was pregnant.
"I wanted to tell you but both Andy and Asher said it'd be a bad idea." She said.
Andy and Asher.
Culprits of the destruction of my life.
"It's okay." I murmured. Christian came up behind me. Priscilla's eyes wide. Probably thinking about how fast I had moved on from Asher. Not like we broke up. Not like Christian was straight. Not like we were dating.
"Pizza tonight Poem Girl."
"Cool, hey I'll meet you on the car okay?"
"Yeah sure. But hurry up I've got a surprise for you." Christian says smiling at Priscilla and kissing my cheek.
"Wow." She says.
"Oh give it a rest." I rolled my eyes.
"I have to ask you a favor. If you say no I totally understand." She says.
"What is it?"
"Can you take the baby?" She asks. The wind is knocked from my already bruised lungs. I wonder how much air as gone through these? Gallons on gallons.
"Have you said anything to Andy?"
"I can't take care of this baby and you know he can't either."
"You want me to take care of your baby? So you can go through high school as some golden girl?"
"I have a reputation. You already burned yours. You're my last hope. Or I'm getting an abortion." She threatens.
"You really don't love Andy? Or yourself."
"Love is a tricky game. Gets in the way of winning."
"I'll take the baby. But after that he's mine. You don't get to see him. You don't get to breastfeed him. You are no longer apart of his life. Neither is Andy." I said.
"How'd you know it's a boy?" She asks.
"Pitiful." I sighed walking out to the car.
"Surprise!" Christian yelled handing me a small box.
"What's this?" I ask
"Well you're not going to know looking at the wrapping paper. Open it up." He pushes hopping in his seat. Inside was a small necklace on the bottom was a house key that was splattered with paint and had my name surrounded by other words.
"A house key?" I asked smiling at the object.
"Well, yeah. You basically live with us." He said smiling.
"This is beautiful. Thank you!" I smiled hugging him.
"No problem, Poem Girl." He smiled. We drove off into the sunset. Like in s movie and I was content.
Okie double update. Yeet.
Baby names for a boy?