Page 3 of No Romeo
I stared through the dirty window at the condemned house on the corner. In the dark, it reminded me of something I’d expect to see in a horror movie. Peeling paint. Collapsed roof. Waist-high weeds.
Growing up, Old Man used to let us play in the woods behind the house. It was condemned long before he died, but now it was as though Mother Nature was trying to reclaim it.
“I’ll be fine, Kyle.” I kissed his cheek, shouldered my backpack, and left the semi-air-conditioned car.
The miserable summer heat wrapped around me like a thick, wet blanket as I started through the weeds.
I made it halfway through the yard before I turned around and glared at Kyle, his car still idling at the curb. Sighing, I pulled my phone from my pocket and sent him a text.
Me: It’s fine, Kyle. Go home.
Kyle: Where are you going?
If I told him where I was really going, he’d never leave. I stared up at the star-filled sky and took a breath.
Me: I told you, to a friend’s house. Go!
Kyle: Why couldn’t I drop you off at the friend’s house?
Kyle: What if you get murdered?
Shaking my head, I waded through the tall grass again as I shot off one final text telling him to go home, hating that I had to lie to my best friend.
I’d made it halfway around the side of the abandoned house before I heard him pull away. A few steps more and I stopped at the dark tree line of the back lot. Moonlight danced through the limbs of the single oak tree nestled amongst the tall pines, playing over the silhouette of the treehouse Hendrix built for me when we were ten years old.
I swept my fingers over the initials carved into the rough bark of the trunk.LS & HH.As much as it would hurt to stay here, I had very few options. I’d rather sleep in this treehouse than ask my piece-of-shit mom for help.
Inhaling a breath, I pulled a flashlight from my backpack, cut it on, then pulled myself up the rope ladder and into the small space. Coming here only picked at a barely healed scab, but I craved the nostalgia, the familiarity, the pain.
The light shined over piles of leaves on the floor and the damp, green-covered walls. Even through the mildew, I could still make out the messages carved into the worn planks, my gaze landing first on:I love you.
Just like when I was thirteen years old and had read that message for the first time, my heart fluttered.Since then, Hendrix had written and said those words a hundred times. And now that was all they were—words. Forgotten. Meaningless.
My gaze shifted to the far wall. The one that, when I left Dayton, was absent of any notes.
Why?
I miss you
I love you
I hate you!
Hendrix must have come here and carved those after I went into foster care. And God, did it hurt.
I had my reasons for doing what I did, but none I could ever tell him. Which was why I’d cut contact the moment I left Dayton. It was easier to lie to him when he was no longer in my life.
And still, he’d come here. I pictured him, alone, heartbroken, believing I had betrayed him as he angrily carved the words he couldn’t say to me on that wall. Tears stung my eyes, and I sucked in a shaky breath to fight them off.
I loved him, too.
And I always would. I took the pocketknife from my backpack and placed the sharp point on the wood, carving a message I knew Hendrix would never see.
I miss you, too.
The next morning, I stood in the parking lot of Dayton High, staring at the double-door entrance.
In the last two years, I’d been to five different schools, and I never thought I would have to grace these shit-stained halls with my presence ever again. But I had nowhere else to finish my final year.And I was getting my diploma.
