Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,60
felt it in every nerve, the rage overwhelming. He wanted to let go. For a second, he imagined himself beating the man to oblivion – a luxury he couldn't afford. Realizing he was getting himself worked up again, he shook himself, taking a deep breath of night.
I'm not like them. I won't be that guy.
Grinding his teeth, he grabbed the trashcans, circling the house to the parking lot. As he reached the curb, an awful sound made him jump. The whimper was heartbreaking. Almost sure he had imagined it, he turned slowly, wiping his hands against each other to free the residue left on the bin’s lid from the rains.
He frowned, confused and concerned. Aly stood in front of him; bad leg bent slightly, her arms were crossed. She trembled, her eyes filled with tears. From the audible quiver in her breath, he knew she was trying to stay calm.
She said softly, “Tell me it’s not true.”
His first thought that it was over. She had found something – something she couldn’t understand was scaring her away. Part of him knew it would happen. He’d prayed the thought was a reflex, just him trying to stop himself from getting hurt – like he was protecting himself, trying not to get hopes up– the subconscious failsafe for the abuser’s son. The universe was righting itself, starting with his secrets aired out for Lee, following with the end of the best summer of his life.
Girls like that don’t happen to poor kids with drunkard parents.
“Wait…” he blinked, internalizing his panic attack. “What?”
“Were you messing with me?” she whispered, voice cracking. She swallowed, eyelids fluttering as though the tears would go away. Instead, they spilled. “Today, yesterday, Friday – the campfire, the tunnels, the rock, the trails… It was all a joke. You guys were screwing with me?”
His brow knitted, hands waving uselessly. He didn’t know what to say, or where this was coming from. Confusion racked his brain. Unable to think, he shook his head, blurting, “What? Aly, no. Why-”
Staring at her feet, shecontinued, “Why is your brother in trouble for distorting an investigation?”
Did they seriously ruin this too?
“Aly, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Noah insisted, searching her eyes for some clue as to what was going on.
She looked like he had tried to hit her with a bat, like someone had personally reached into her chest and ripped her heart out with a roaring laugh. He got the feeling that she was as bewildered as he was, and neither really understood what the other was saying. They both had walls up and no one was breaking through. He wanted to hold her, to make the problem disappear, to return to laughter and kisses. He wanted to kill whoever had hurt her and dared to put doubts in her head. Before he could construct the right words, irrelevant ones were running from his mouth. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly my brothers.”
“How would I know?” she demanded, ferocity missing from her voice. He felt her gravitating towards him, moving ahead and back again, swaying as though she could fall over a cliff– the side undecided. Stepping forward, he prepared to catch her.
“Aly, I would never do that to you.”
“You…” she covered her face, shaking her head.
She didn’t need to ask.
“I promise,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.
She buried her face in his chest, crying. Part of him tried to stay confused, insisting he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t true, though
– he knew pain. He practically inhaled it, sending it rushing through his bloodstream. He’d seen Sarah practically shatter, curled into fetal position in the corner of her bedroom floor or wedged under her bed. He’d seen grown men cry, from townie drunks to his best friends when they were so black and blue they looked like they belonged to a space alien nationality. Mary-Agnes did it daily, more avid with the sport than local hunters trying to feed their families. If that didn’t prepare him, Aly already had. She’d seen him the night Sarah was burned. It included all sorts of his worst. He felt like she was a piece of him, like they already knew each other better than he knew the kids he’d grown up with. He didn’t care if she cried or screamed or hit him harder than his father. He wanted her to be better. He would let the world end if it made