I pause before proceeding further. "Hi, Mom." Charity sits down opposite Mr. Langford, hailing Mom who's preparing spaghetti. Dad?" She adds, then looks back and forth at me and Mr. Langford. I am too scared to go any closer, and too timid to just climb up to my room like I didn't fucking do anything.
"She was with me," Charity says.
"Charity, how many times have I warned you not to ever speak up for your sister?" He's talking as if he's referring to his hands, and oh boy…his voice is all raspy.
Mom finally turns to face me, placing the dishes on the table. "Honey, you should have called. For a split second I thought…" she inhales.
"I'm sorry, nobody was at home, so I didn't…"
"You were scared?!" He shouts, and I shrink. No, I'm scared. "You think what? He's going to get to you when you're alone, and slit your throat?" He stands up.
"Dad." Charity stands up.
"Malcolm," my mom says.
Tears have started to roll from my eyes just like they always do when he yells at me. "Well, I'd love to see the beast five feet close to my daughter, then I'll make sure he spends the rest of his miserable life behind bars." Why do I still feel like it's wrong to call him a beast? Why is a part of me always picking sides with Jeremy whenever it comes to MR. LANGFORD?
"Honey, go to your room, now," Mom orders. I don't wait for a second before rushing up the stairs. As I get inside my room, I close the door behind me and lean on it. The image of what Mr. Langford said spurt inside my head. Trailing to the floor, I place my hand on my forehead and tears rush down from my eyes. He had killed his adorable friend Kaela without hesitation, I bet he would enjoy doing the same to me.
While sobbing my eyes out, I begin to hear a plopping sound close to me. Looking up, I see something like red slimy liquids encircled next to my bed. I sniff in my tears as I crawl closer for a proper look. It adds the finishing touch to a smelling multicolored T-shirt when another drop of it plods into the fluid and dabs on my sweaty shirt. It not only smells like blood, but it also feels like blood, which makes my pulse skip a beat. I gradually glance up and notice that it has been painted in great detail on my wall, in the form of an article. I begin to breathe deeply. I get to my feet and take a few steps back to see what the article says. The message isn't clear enough, but it is spooky enough for me to scream! And I do, I scream as if I can see Kaela being murdered again right before my eyes. It's not a painting, but blood. Whose blood is it? And what have I done? My parents and Charity rush into my room. They don't ask me what the problem is as it is very bold before them. Mom lets out a breath and grabs my shoulder. "Oh lord." She squeezes me. Meanwhile, tears haven't ceased from my eyes for the past twenty minutes. Suddenly Mr. Langford speeds out of the room, he marches down the stairs so hard that he could fall off the building. Mom let out a breath again. "Both of you, stay here," she tells Charity and I before chasing after Mr. Langford. It was supposed to be a specific instruction, like if you don't obey you'll get grounded. But not long after, we start hearing cacophony from downstairs. Charity and I look at each other before moving toward the window. Looking down, I see Mr. Langford dragging Jeremy out of his house by the shirt. Fear grips me again. Mr. Langford is yelling something, something that's too loud to hear, and too angry to say. Meanwhile, Mrs. Oscar is trying to push Mr. Langford away from his son, but his grip on Jeremy's shirt is too powerful. We shriek as Mom rushes to them. She is trying to save Jeremy from his feisty husband by pulling him away, but Mr. Langford is way too angry and way too stubborn. And I fear for Jeremy. The moment he punches Jeremy in his face, my body sets ablaze. I breathe out and cover my mouth with my palms, then I scramble downstairs and hurry to them, before Mr. Langford murders someone on my behalf. On getting there, Mr. Langford punches Jeremy again, so hard this time that he falls to the ground.
"How dare you threaten my daughter?!" He yells.
"Malcolm!" My mom cries out.
"God! Stop!" Mrs. Oscar cries as she squats beside her son.
Jeremy is breathing heavily and loudly. His mouth is now full of blood. I would be lying if I say I don't feel sorry for him. Mr. Langford pulls him up by his shirt. As he sets his fist for another blow, I hold his hand. "Please," I sob. "Please." I am unable to hold the tears rushing from my eyes. Mr. Lanford looks at me for a few seconds. He takes a deep breath, then he puts his hands down.
"Anna," Jeremy says. For the first time in years, someone called me Anna. not even my mom calls me that. He's the only one who forgets the first two syllables of my name. Even though I'm shocked by his impudence, I'm glad he's still able to talk. "Are you…are you okay?" He takes a step closer, but Mr. Lanford moves forward like my shield. I don't want to look into his eyes, but I want to know if he actually cares. Was he not the one who had threatened me with a message written with someone's blood? Or was he not the one who I saw stabbing the life out of Kaela? No, I don't want to look into the eyes of my nightmare.
"If you love your freedom, you better stay clear from my family." Now, who's threatening who? Mr. Langford grabs my hands so tightly that if he can glue me to himself, he would. He drags me along, trudging towards our house. One mind says to look back, and the other says not to, but I listen to the one that said I should. Even in a dusky hour and from a distance, I can see his eyes foaming with not only guilt, but worries. If I hadn't seen him in the act, I would still believe that he's a good person.
"You bastards are going to hear from my lawyer!" Mrs. Oscar shouts with agony, forgetting it's late.
My mom insists I sleep with Charity while she helps clean the wall. And just like I planned, I sleep with my eyes open.
JEREMY
The pain I'm feeling on my right cheek is nothing compared to how worried I was when Malcolm told me someone had threatened Anna with blood painted on her walls. Who would have done that? Nobody else knows apart from me and Anna's parents. Mother helps me up to my room even while I keep telling her not to. I was punched in the face, not on my legs. She sits me down on my bed and then sits next to me. She raises my Jaw and inspects my face. "That Crazy bitch," she mutters. Mother has never watched her language in front of me. According to her, bad language isn't harmful in anyways, and a good child will always be good. "I'll get some Ice," she says, standing up.
She's an overprotective single mother, and that scares me at times. I can't imagine the length she would go just to make sure I'm safe. She had made sure I got out of juvie earlier than ten years, with the connections she had. Five years ago, she requested a hearing, because she believed I didn't kill Mikaela, and even with the numbers of evidence presented in the court, she still didn't want to accept it, and that's only because she doesn't care. She said if I actually did it, then I had a good reason why I did. What reason would be good enough to murder a sweet girl like Mikaela? The image Of what I did is etched in the back of my head, and I've accepted it to be a horrible memory that I'll carry around for the rest of my life. "Mother," I call her before she can step out. She turns to face me, and I spend about thirty seconds looking at her, scanning through that poisonous face of hers. "Whatever you think you are doing, Stop," I tell her. She scans my face for another thirty seconds, and then, she gives a wide mischievous smile before then steps out. I think she understands that I can be more deadly than she is, so she better not cross the line.
ARIANNA.
Mom insisted I share Charity's bed with her, and I did, just that I'm unable to sleep. I lie facing the ceiling, and the memories of Kaela begin to creep in. Those times when we fought bitterly because of that stupid book. Was I wrong not to have left the book with her? I mean, after all, I was the one who lost the game, and she deserves to get my book. I try picturing the good times I had with her, but I can't, because there wasn't any. Now I'm not sure if I and Kaela were ever friends. Jeremy was the one who had liked her better. Like how he would always share his candy with Kaela even if she has loads of it, or how Jeremy always picked sides with her whenever we fought. During those two picky years Kaela was in our lives, I had lost Jeremy to her. That's why I'm still finding it difficult to believe that Jeremy murdered his best part. I guess this is more of a mystery to me than it is to others.
Finally, thin golden lights of morning rays arise through every tiny opening in Charity's room. I turn to face the clock on the nightstand and find the long hand pointing at the middle between 1 and 2, while the short finger gazes directly at 6. It doesn't surprise me anymore that I didn't close my eyes throughout the night. It has happened most regularly since the accident. Scientifically, it's called insomnia, but normally, it's simply the fear of shutting your eyes to the dark, you never know what you might dream of. Chas's high snoring sound makes me realize I need to go get ready for school. I help myself up from her bed and drag my legs out of her room. Traipsing to mine, I pray the blood is gone, even if the threat remains stuck up in my head. I wrap my hand around the knob and take a deep breath before opening the door. My eyes are posted horizontally on the wall before my bed. The blood is gone, and the wall is as clean as a newly painted house. I proceed into my room, Gosh, it smells like that of a fresh new book. But that doesn't change anything, that doesn't change the fact that someone's blood was smeared all over my wall. And that threat — I know what you did. I haven't done anything wrong, and it would be absurd for someone to think it's fun to scare me like that. I freshen up, dress for school, and let my bouncy hair bounce on my face and down my shoulders. I stroll down the stairs with my backpack over my shoulders. It's BACON. Every time I have a disastrous day, Mom always prepares bacon. She also did five years ago after I had witnessed Kaela death. I still don't understand why she thinks Bacon, air quote: 'food' can make me feel better, but yeah, it does make me feel better, at times. I'm standing still behind the dining room, watching my lovely mom performing her motherly duty. She rubs her neck with her right arm as she stirs with her left. Yeah, Mom is a left-handed lady, with every right attitude. It pains me to see her in pain. I know she's the one who has wiped the blood off my wall. The love she has for me, swears, it can move mountains. I plod to her and hug her from behind. Her body tenses up a bit, but I feel her calmness as she rubs her hand on mine. "I love you," I whisper.
"Love you too, dear," She whispers back.
"Aww, so sweet." My mom and I don't need to turn around to see who it is. I sit down on the dining chair and bring out my phone from my bag. "You know, I wish everyday could be Bacon's day," Charity says as she sits opposite me. She picks an apple from the bowl on the table and takes a deep bite. I try to ignore what that means for me as I check if there's any text from Zack, but there are no relevant ones, just the one that says 'Today is my fucking birthday party. Xoxo. Don't forget to wear nothing but a bra and a G-string.' I exhale from Zack's prudent manner that never seems to switch off even if it's just for a day.
"What?" Charity smiles. "Getting all spiced up by a boy?"
Well, Zack's a boy, and that text is all spicy as Charity would think. "Yeah," I put down the phone. "From a boy, I hope you mean Zack." Zack is basically the only guy in my life for three years now.
"Oh, how is he doing, honey?" My mom places the steaming frying pan on the table. "It's like ages since I saw him," she says, scooping out our sausage on the plates before me and Chas.
"Mom, he comes here every day." I don't wait for my food to steam down before digging a fork into it and throwing some of it into my mouth.
"Yeah," she places one hand on the table, with the other on her waist. "But he never comes inside."
"To do what? So you two can make jokes that will eventually make us run late and probably lead us to detention?" I say. Zack and my mom are buddy buddies, and most times, that is annoying. My mom laughs the most whenever Zack is around. Like that guy…he is an anxiety killer. Just that my anxiety is way bigger than him.
"Well, it's not my fault that he happens to be hilarious." She returns the frying pan to the sink after serving her and Mr. Langford's breakfast.
"You know, one time…" she faces us, "he said apples taste like French balls," she adds, laughing. Charity immediately spits out her unchewed particles of apple.
"Did he…?" She asks with her eyes bulging out.
"Mmhmm," I mutter, eating my breakfast. If only Mom knows what he meant by French balls.
"That dude is so irritating," Charity says, pouring herself a glass of water.
Mom is still busy laughing when Mr. Langford walks in. We fall silent the moment we catch his gaze. He quietly takes his seat. He's wearing his serve and protect uniform, and he looks darker and sullen. I guess it's because of the fight last night. His over-protectiveness is the scariest thing about him. He can go to any length possible to see that we are out of trouble.
"Good morning, Daddy," Charity says to him, all chirpy.
"Morning," he replies
Even if my head is down, facing my food, I can tell he's staring at me. "Go…good morning sir." I look at him briefly.
"Morning," He replies after a few seconds.
Mom takes her seat beside him. It's a peaceful breakfast…for now.
"So, Charity, any news?" Mr. Langford asks as he sips from his glass of water.
"Uhmm," Charity swallows.
"Not…not really. But I'm hoping I'll get their text before this week runs out."
"It's not about getting their text…" He places his hands on the table.
"It's about what the text says," he adds, and Chas puts her head down. "What about you?" He turns to me. "How is school?"
I almost choke on my sausage, but I try not to show it.
"Oh, ummm…" I gulp. "My grades are increasing, and…well, I'm staying away from the bad guys," I tell him without being able to maintain a steady gaze.
"That would be amazing," he says, and a part of me feels relieved. "Only if it's true," he adds, and once again breaks the bond I keep thinking we can make.
"I hope you all know how much I love you. Sometimes I may be difficult…" Sometimes? "But you all should know that whatever I do, and whatever wrong I have done, is because I love you." It's as if he's referring to me alone. And I am looking at him as if he's referring to me alone. Wrong? What wrong has he ever done? If anybody could be so innocent, Mr. Langford would be the one.
"Uhmm," I cut off our eye contact by blinking away. "I should call Zack," I say, dialing his number. It's already 7:40 and Zack isn't here yet. It's unlike him. After the third ring, he picks up.
"Hey," he says first.
"Hey," I say back. "Uhmm, where are you? It's clocking to eight?"
"Oh, I arrived at your house some minutes ago…" he says, and I stretch out my head to see if I can get a glimpse of his car through the window. "Why didn't you tell me that hairy dude lives across from you?"
Hairy dude…what hair…"What?" I exclaim, my voice is low, but the shock in it is hell loud. I end the call at once. "I ummm…I need, I need to go…" I say discreetly, standing up.
"Honey, is everything alright?" Mom asks. I neglect her as I approach the door. Coming out of the house, my first gaze points at the Oscars and I see Jeremy and Zack chatting beside his bike. I feel my body vibrate with fear. Closing the door behind me, I slowly step down from the porch. My eyes are pinned to them, and I read their lips, hoping to get a clue of what they might be saying, but damn! I have nothing. Finally, Jeremy looks at me. Our eyes connect for some terrifying seconds, like that of five years ago when he got arrested. He says something to Zack, then Zack looks back at me, before approaching me. I'm starting to think that trying to keep Zack away from Jeremy is like writing a book that pleases the whole universe.