Текст книги "Confessions of a Kleptomaniac"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Thursday evening, I eat dinner with my parents, listening to them gossip about all the people in the town who don’t live up to their high standards. I tune them out for the most part, allowing my thoughts to drift to Grey.

I’m still not positive what I’m going to say to him if he brings up the stealing incident tomorrow—whether I’ll tell him the truth or not. I can’t lie to myself, though. All confessions aside, the idea of going to lunch with him makes me feel excited. I just hope Piper doesn’t flip out about it. The last thing I need is to be the target of her again.

“Luna, you’re going to be working this Saturday and Sunday after church,” my mom unexpectedly announces as she shovels a spoonful of lasagna onto her plate.

I blink from my thoughts and focus on what she’s saying.

“Your father and I will be out of town for the weekend for that church camp program we’re helping out with, but my mom will be coming to stay with you,” she explains. “We’ve made her a list of rules and the things that you need to do. She’ll see to it that you get everything done, and don’t think you can get away with stuff just because she’s old. Remember, she took care of Aunt Ashlynn.”

I stab my fork into the food on my plate. Eighteen years old and she still gets me a babysitter.

“Who am I working for?”

“For Benny at his store.” She sets the spoon into the pan. “And you won’t be getting paid for any of the work you do.”

“This isn’t a job,” my father says as he digs into the pasta. “This is part of your punishment.”

I set the fork down, no longer hungry anymore. “Did you . . . ? Did you tell Benny that I stole from him?”

My mom lets out a sharp laugh. “Like I would ever admit such an embarrassing thing to anyone.” She picks up her fork, shaking her head. “We told him that we thought it would be good for you to help our community a bit more, that you were becoming too spoiled and needed to see what it’s like to actually work. And it’ll help improve our family’s appearance. With how you have been behaving lately, you’ve been causing a lot of our church friends to gossip about us.”

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“You’re lucky Benny is giving you this opportunity,” she continues. “He turned down the offer a few times, but we were persistent, so be grateful for this chance and don’t argue.”

I actually like the idea of helping Benny out. Perhaps it can help with my guilt. There’s just one problem, though. Or a fear. What if I can’t control myself? What if I’m in that store, and all I can think about is taking stuff off the shelf when Benny’s not looking? I haven’t stolen since that day, but every time I get stressed out, it’s all I can think about doing.

“Maybe I should help someone else,” I subtly suggest, “someplace that’s not a store.”

“You’ll help the person you stole from,” my mom snaps. “And you will do a good job.”

I nod without further argument. I can do this, I tell myself. I’ll be out of the house, far away from them and way less stressed, which will help with the impulse.

I finish the rest of my dinner without speaking. After I’ve scraped my plate clean to avoid any “waste not, want not” speeches, I clean up and head for my room.

“Luna, come here for a second,” my mom beckons me back to the kitchen table.

I free a quiet breath then back up. “Yes?”

She meticulously examines me over from head to toe. “I’ve been thinking about something.”

A chill ripples through me. Great. This can’t be good.

She reaches up and fusses with my hair. “I think it’s time for a haircut, something way shorter. Maybe something like Mary Persting’s daughter.”

I jerk back. No way am I cutting my hair as short as Mary Persting’s daughter. Hers is shorter than Beck and Ari’s hair, for crying out loud.

“I like my hair this way.”

Her expression hardens at the sound of my clipped tone. “Watch how you talk to me, young lady.”

I try again, forcing myself to be calmer. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to cut my hair. If I do that, then I won’t be able to pull it up and keep it out of my eyes.”

“If we cut it short enough, then it won’t hang in your eyes.”

My fingers curl inward, and my nails stab into my palms. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Stop arguing with your mother,” my dad warns from the kitchen sink. “If she says to cut your hair, then you will cut your hair. If she says jump, you will ask how high? If she tells you to clean the house, you will thank her for giving you a roof over your head.”

I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood.

“I’ll schedule an appointment with Donna for the end of next week. You will go, or you won’t be allowed back in the house.” The threat in her eyes makes me shudder. “And be grateful I’m taking you to a salon. I could do what we did last time and cut it myself.”

I swallow hard as the painful memory strangles me. I was twelve and had worked so hard to grow my hair all the way down to my lower back. Then, one day my mom decided she hated the long-hair look after one of the other mother’s commented on how trashy I was starting to look. Yeah, I liked to do the whole beach wave, bed head thing, but it didn’t make me look trashy.

“Nice girls don’t keep their hair that long,” she said like that made logical sense. “Right now, you don’t look like a nice girl.”

I didn’t want my hair short, and I fought her and tried to run. She had my father pin me down in a chair while she hacked off my hair with a pair of scissors. Her movements were so rough she even nicked my brow, and I still have a faint scar from it.

“I’m tired of the arguing, of you breaking the rules,” my mom continues. “This is the final straw, Luna. If you don’t stop being such an utter disappointment, your father and I will have no choice but to take more drastic measures.” My mom shoves the chair back from the table and snatches up the empty pan as she rises to her feet. “Now, go work on your homework.”

Fighting back the tears, I run out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I pace the floor several times, telling myself I’ll live, that it’s just hair. No need to get overdramatic. But as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I can’t keep the tears from overflowing.

My clothes are always too big and baggy when I like them to fit. I’m wearing a long-sleeved, yellow and pink shirt, and I don’t even like yellow or pink. I have no makeup on, and while I’m not a huge fan of it, I do like lip-gloss and eyeliner sometimes. My hair is the only thing I’ve ever gotten control over. I’ve always had it long and loved it that way. I can braid it, put it up, leave it straight, do whatever I want with it. What happens when it’s gone? Will I even know who I am when I look into the mirror?

I glance out the window, debating whether to jump out of it and go to the store or not. Take back control. Alleviate the pressure in my chest. Be the bad person my parents have always told me I am.

You’re such a terrible daughter, an utter disappointment. I don’t know what’s wrong with you.

I curl my fingers inward and fight down the compulsion as I grab my phone to text Wynter.

Me: SOS

She responds within two seconds.

Wynter: On my way.

Thirty minutes later, Wynter is crawling through my bedroom window and into my room.

“Man, I haven’t climbed up that tree since freshman year,” she says as she plucks a leaf out of her hair. She inspects the mud caked on the bottom of her four-inch, platform shoes. “I forgot what a pain in the ass it is to get up it.”

I glance outside at her car parked on the corner then slide the window shut.

“I’m sorry for making you do it.” I sink down on the edge of my bed. “But I knew they wouldn’t let you come up if you knocked. They’re too pissed off at me.”

Her eyes skim my bare walls, my organized computer desk, and my perfectly made bed. “It’s okay. I’m cool with climbing up a tree for you.” She takes a seat beside me. “I have to prove my love for you somehow, right?”

I crack a small smile. “I guess so.”

She wiggles around then leans against the headboard and stretches out her legs, getting comfortable. “All right, spill the beans. What happened this time? Or is it still that thing about the clothes?”

I comb my fingers through my hair. “She wants me to cut off all my hair.”

“What the fuck?” she says a little too loudly.

I cover her mouth with my hand. “Shhh . . . Or they’ll hear you.”

“Sorry.” Her lips move against my palm.

I pull my hand away. “It’s okay. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I mean, who makes their friend climb up a tree just so they can talk?”

“The kind who’s deserving enough to have a great friend.” She puts a hand over mine. “Look, I know how tough it’s been for you. I’ve known you for, like, forever, and I’ve seen the shit your parents put you through. And your dad is really, really scary, especially when you accidentally microwaved a fork.”

“We didn’t do that on accident, remember? Beck told us that, if we did, it would melt into silver.”

“God, we were really naïve when we were ten, weren’t we?” She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “Sometimes I miss it.” She looks almost pained, and I wonder if she’s thinking about something other than the memory of trying to melt the fork.

“We’re still kind of naïve when you really think about it,” I say. “Think about some of the dumb stuff we’ve done recently, like sneaking out to parties.”

“That’s not naïve.” She smiles again, shaking off whatever’s troubling her. “It’s called having fun, which most people do . . . But, anyway, you’re missing my point. My point was that, for the last ten years, I’ve watched your parents try to control you, and while I love you and how nice you are to everyone, I think you sometimes let people get away with too much. You’ve always worked so hard to not make anyone angry, even people like Logan who freakin’ deserve to be told how big of an ass-hat they are.”

I frown. “I don’t like making people upset. I always feel so bad.”

“I think that’s because your parents have branded that into your head. I think they were mainly trying to get you to act that way to them, but it ended up being a big part of who you are.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m not saying it’s bad to be nice. It’s a good thing. But you’re eighteen now, and it’s time to start living your life for yourself. You can say what you feel sometimes without worrying, and it’ll be okay, even if someone’s feelings do get hurt or people get upset.”

“They’d kick me out,” I whisper. “If I pushed them too much, they wouldn’t let me live here anymore. They’ve been saying that a lot lately . . . more than they normally do. I can feel it coming.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” She pulls a pillow onto her lap and picks at a loose thread. “I know you’ve been afraid that’ll happen because your mom says that to you all the time, but I don’t think you get that parents never go through with half the threats they make.”

“I don’t think so. You know my mom has a sister, right?” I ask, and she nods. “Well, did you know that my grandma kicked her out of the house when she was seventeen because she was dating this guy they didn’t like? They didn’t even give her a chance to break up with him. They just told her to get out and didn’t even let her take any of her things with her.”

“If my parents were that way, I’d be screwed.” She pulls her legs to her chest and rests her chin on her knees. “What happened to her?”

“I have no idea. No one’s ever seen her since she moved out. At least, that’s what my mom says.”

“Was your mom upset when it happened? I know what she’s like now, but back then she had to be different, right?”

“No, my mom had already had me by the time this all happened. There was a huge age gap between the two of them, but that’s not really the point. The point is that my mom has always been as strict as my grandma, and I know she’ll kick me out. I think she’s already considering it, and the messed up part is that I kind of wish she would. But then what would I do? I don’t have any money, and none of my family will take me in. I don’t have anyone.” I don’t realize I’m crying until she scoots forward and wraps her arms around me.

“That’s not true at all. You have me. You have Ari, Willow, and even Beck. We’ll all be there for you, no matter what happens.”

I sniffle. “Even if I’m homeless?”

“You’ll never be homeless. If you have to, you can come live with me. I’ve been thinking about getting my own place, anyway. Hell, maybe this weekend I’ll move into the pool house. I doubt anyone would notice.”

“Your parents notice you. They just get distracted sometimes.”

“Yeah, tell that to my empty house. Neither of them have been home in, like, two weeks, and I don’t even know where they are.”

I pull back. “Really?”

She nods then heaves a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, though. I’m almost eighteen; it’s not like I need an adult around.”

“Yeah, but they shouldn’t just take off and leave you alone for that long,” I say. “And, if they do, they should at least tell you where they’re going.”

“I’m used to it by now.” She gives a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug then sits up straight and lowers her feet to the floor. “But enough about our lame-ass parents. Let’s talk about something fun.”

I scoot to the edge of the bed. “Like what?”

She waggles her brows at me. “Like why Grey Sawyer keeps giving you sexy-boy eyes.”

“He’s not giving me sexy-boy eyes,” I assure her. “He’s just looking at me like he does everyone else.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “See? There you go, being naïve.”

“I’m not being naïve,” I argue. “I’m just being realistic.”

“How is that being realistic?”

“Because Grey Sawyer would never, ever give me sexy-boy eyes . . . He just wants my help with something.”

“Help with what?” she asks, watching my reaction closely.

I give a half shrug. “Getting his grades up and stuff.” See? Not a total lie.

“I thought you already helped him with that?” Her suspicion deepens.

I pick at my fingernails as guilt swells in my chest. “Yeah, I kind of stood him up.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you to be so mean.” She prods me in the side with her finger. “I’m kidding. If anything, he probably deserved it for treating you like shit.”

“He’s really not that bad of a guy,” I tell her. “And just because he was mean to me once, it doesn’t mean I need to stand him up when he needs help.”

“Do you still like him?” She observes my reaction even more closely.

“What? No way.” I pretend to be appalled.

She grins like the Cheshire Cat. “You so do. Oh, my God, how did I not see this?”

“Because there’s nothing to see,” I say indignantly. “I don’t have a crush on Grey Sawyer.”

“Okay.” Sarcasm drips her in voice. “You know, if you did, I’d be okay with it.”

“I thought you hated him, though?”

“I do, but if he’s nice to you and you like him, then as your best friend, I kind of have to like him, too. Besides, I feel kind of bad for him after what Piper did to him.”

“Yeah, I heard that rumor, too. I doubt it’s true, though.”

She pfts. “Of course it’s not true. Piper’s just a bitch.”

I trace circles on the bedspread. “Do you really think she broke up with him? Or do you think she’s making that up, too?”

“Who knows? But I wouldn’t put it past her to make that up.” She scrapes at the purple polish on her nails. “You could always just ask him, though, if it matters.”

“I don’t think it matters.” At least, I don’t want it to, but it kind of does.

“I can see why it matters to you. I mean, you like him, and if he broke up with her, then that makes him more of a good guy.”

“Why would that make him a good guy?”

“Because Piper’s an evil bitch, and staying with an evil bitch and pretending their bitchiness is okay when it’s not kind of makes you a bitch, too. So, for his sake of ever getting a chance to date you, I hope he’s the one who dumped the Wicked Bitch of Ridgefield High.”

“Grey doesn’t want to date me,” I stress. She continues to give me that know-it-all look, and I sigh exhaustedly. “Can we drop this and figure out what we’re going to do with my hair please?”

“Hmmm . . .” She thrums her finger against her lips then gathers my hair into a loose bun on the back of my head. “You wouldn’t look that bad with short hair.”

I take another look at my reflection in the mirror again and shudder. “I look awful. And besides, my hair is the only thing I have left that’s mine.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She releases my hair and sits back with a look of determination on her face. “We’ll figure something out, but only if you promise me one thing.”

“Okay . . . ?” My tone conveys my reluctance. Sometimes, making promises to Wynter means making promises to get into trouble.

“That tomorrow night after the game, you’ll sneak out and come to Beck’s party,” she says with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

My mood nosedives even more. “I can’t. I’m already on thin ice as it is.”

“You have to. Ari even fixed that tracking app thing and got you a new phone, so that won’t be a problem.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “Please, Luna. Beck’s older brother is going to be there, and I need you there as my wingman.”

“You know Beck’s going to flip if he sees you flirting with his brother,” I stress. “And then you two will end up fighting.”

“I can handle Beck and his temper tantrums,” she replies with an eye roll. “And you know I’ve had a crush on Theo for years. He’s not like the other fleeting crushes I’ve had. This one’s stuck.”

“You’ve had a lot of crushes on a lot of guys over the years. Why don’t you just focus on other ones who aren’t one of our best friends’ brothers?” I suggest with naïve hopefulness. Deep down, I know she won’t do it. When Wynter sets her eyes on a guy, she never backs down until she gets him.

“I made a promise to myself a long time ago that, the moment Theo came home from college, I’d do my thing.” She shimmies her hips. “And I fully intend on going through with that promise.”

I sigh. “Fine. Get your thing on, but when you and Beck get in a fight, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“So, does that mean you’ll come to the party?” She taps her feet against the floor, bursting with eagerness. “Pretty please, say yes.”

I should tell her no. Not take the risk. But then I look at my hair, my beautiful hair that might be gone next week.

“They have this overnight, camp church thing they’re doing this weekend, so my grandma is coming to babysit me. She’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so maybe I can sneak out if she falls asleep early enough.”

She squeals way too loudly, and my eyes pop wide as I hear the sound of footsteps heading down the hallway.

“Crap. Someone’s coming.” I leap for my bed and push open the window.

“See you tomorrow.” She kisses me on the cheek then hops out onto the tree branch. “And we’ll fix this problem with your hair. I promise.”

Someone bangs on the door right as I slide the window shut.

“Luna, open the door this instant,” my dad demands with another hard knock on the door.

I rush across the room, take a few calculated breaths to calm down, and then unlock the door and pull it open. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze darts over my shoulder. “Is someone else in here with you?”

I shake my head and step back as he pushes into my room. He checks in the closet, looks out the window, and then bends down to look under the bed. As he’s standing up, he catches sight of something sticking out from under my mattress and pulls it out.

“Why do you have a photo of Aunt Ashlynn under your mattress?” he yells, causing me to cower back.

“Um . . . I don’t know.” What am I supposed to say? I have it because she’s my idol. Yeah, that’d go over well.

His face reddens as he strides toward me and grabs my wrist. “Do you have any idea how much this would hurt your mother!”

I back up against the wall. “I’m s-sorry.”

“Oh, you’re sorry.” He leans in my face, his fingers digging into my skin. “News flash, Luna, sorry doesn’t mean anything. Apologies are worthless. What you do, the choices you make can’t be erased.”

An exhale trembles from my lips. “I know, but people can forgive people for the things that they do . . . And sometimes they can change.”

“You’ll never change. You’re just like her. I can see it in your eyes.” He lets go of me and rips the photo into pieces. “I’m not going to tell your mother about this, but only because I want to spare her the pain and embarrassment.”

I rub my wrist where he grabbed me. “Okay.” What I don’t get, though, is why having the photo would cause my mother pain. Or why he’s so upset. I don’t understand most of the things they do.

“And I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for your mother because I care about her, which you clearly don’t. You’ve always been so selfish. Your mother hasn’t always been able to see it, but I have. I’ve told her time and time again that it’s time to just accept that and to let you go, but she wants to hold on to the hope that one day you’ll change. You won’t, though.” He storms out of the room. “Get to bed.” He slams the door behind him.

My legs quiver as I climb under the covers. I try to go to sleep, but I’m too wired after what just happened. I toss and turn, trying to relax, but I can feel the fear under my skin, sense the end coming. I’ve been getting on my parents’ nerves more with each passing day, and I know that soon they’re going to do to me what my grandma did to Aunt Ashlynn.

Part of me is terrified, while a small part of me feels . . . relieved.