Page 18 of Revenge At Raleigh High
A soft, rushing sound disturbs the silence as an avalanche of snow slides from the pitched eve above the window behind us and lands with awhoompfoutside. “They tell us all kinds of stories when we’re kids, about us being stronger than them,” I say quietly. “Women. Truth is, we’re the weak ones. We need to think we’re protecting them to protectouregos. Meanwhile, they’re the ones keeping us together half the time.”
Mr. Parisi nods slowly, bathed in the watery, insubstantial light of the morning that’s snuck its way through a crack in the blinds and is hitting him square in the face. “You are righter than you know. We’re forever underestimating them, aren’t we?”
We sit in silence for a while, both deeply lost in our thoughts. When the clock by the television reaches seven forty, I sit up, rubbing awkwardly at the back of my neck. I’ve never had to kick my girlfriend’s father out of my place before. “I’m gonna have to get ready for school, Mr. Parisi.”
He blinks rapidly, looking a little stunned. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I was a million miles away. I forgot… No school today. Half of the faculty are snowed in. The storm’s going to get worse this afternoon. They’re saying tomorrow’s officially going to reach blizzard status. Coldest temperatures recorded in the last twenty years.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.Shit. Get some things together. Enough for a couple of days. If we head back now, we might be able to grab some supplies at the store before everything shuts down.”
“I’m sorry. Get some things together?”
Mr. Parisi groans halfheartedly, getting to his feet. “Well, I promised myself, didn’t I. I swore, if I didn’t find you over here in bed with some other girl and there was no hypodermic hanging out of your arm, I’d take you back home with me. Only until the storm passes, that is,” he adds quickly.
“I don’t…I still don’t get it.Why?”
“Well,” he says slowly. “Silver said something yesterday about you that made me think. And I know just how fucking miserable living in a trailer can be if they’re not weatherproofed.”
He means well, I know he does, but I can’t help but be a little offended. Heat rises up the back up of my neck, burning the way embarrassment and shame are wont to do. “I’ve taken care of this place. See for yourself. Watertight. No drafts. It’ll be blazing hot in here once I’ve—”
“Alex, Alex, whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn’t mean anything by it. I know you’re capable. I can see with my own two eyes that you’re managing perfectly fine here by yourself. What I should have said…fuck.” He huffs. “I’m sorry. What I should have said is that it sounds like most of us are getting snowed in for the next few days. And I know how much it would suck to be snowed in by yourself. And I know how happy it would make my daughter if you were snowed in withher. So…Christ. There’s no need to make this harder than it already is, okay?”
The heat, along with my anger subsided the second he told me he knew that I was capable. Now, I'm just a little entertained by this whole series of events. He’s inviting me, in a stilted, roundabout way, to go hang out at their place so I won’t be alone. Part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it—I’ve been alone most of my fucking life. What’s a couple more days, shut off from the outside world?—but the rest of me is kind of fucking numb. No one’s ever come for me before. Shown up to take me away, so I’ll be safe, and warm, and around other people. I don’t really know what to do with that.
I get up, wondering if I even have a bag big enough to gather three days’ worth of clothes inside. “Uh, thank you, Sir. That’s very kind…”
Silver’s father rolls his eyes, exasperated. “For the love of god, don’t call me Sir, Moretti. That sounds absolutely fucking ridiculous. Just call me Cam, for Christ’s sake.”
6
SILVER
The house is silent as the grave when I wake up. It’s strange to lie beneath the covers with my eyes closed, hearing absolutely nothing. Not too long ago, I’d have been burying my head under my pillows, trying to block out the chatter of the television in the living room, and Max’s tuneless, obnoxiously loud singing in the bathroom down the hall, while Mom and Dad hurled a volley of shouted questions back and forth at one another downstairs.
I remain still, eyes closed, trying to gauge what time it is without checking the Mickey Mouse watch resting on my nightstand, and a heavy, regretful burn settles over me, taking root in my chest. I used to be frustrated as hell by all the early morning noise and commotion, especially on the weekends when I was supposed to be able to sleep in, but now the silence that hovers in the empty rooms of this house feels almost deafening.
How did this even happen? Were there signs that things were falling apart, right before they disintegrated, and no one fucking noticed? Could my parents have done more to love one another? CouldIhave done more to keep us all together?
These questions plague me more and more; it hasn’t escaped me that Mom began her illicit affair with her boss one month after I was attacked at Leon’s party. I was sullen during that month. Quiet, withdrawn and scared. My fear hadn’t manifested itself in the way it might have in other teenagers. I got really,reallyangry. I lashed out. I refused to listen to or obey simple requests. I fought with my Mom over every single little thing, roaring at her whenever she opened her mouth to say something, and in turn she snapped and sniped at me, grounding me day after day for my insolence. It was abadmonth. If I hadn’t been so difficult, would she have gone looking for comfort in the arms of another man? Would she and Dad have emerged through the other side of whatever rough patch they were going through and been fine if I hadn’t been so unmanageable?
These ‘ifs’ serve no real purpose, I know. Life’s one big spiderweb of decisions, actions, cause and effect, one domino after another toppling, knocking the next one down, then the next, then the next. Trying to unravel what would have happened if one small thing in the Parisi household had been different is not only impossible but futile; the past is set in stone and there’s no changing it now, no matter how badly I might want to go back.
I throw my duvet over my head, fully aware that it’s still snowing outside. I canfeelthe weight of the sky bearing down on the house. It’s probably been dumping all night, which isn’t the best. Getting to school is a hair-raising experience on heavy snow days, and—
DING!
Shit. My cellphone buzzes on the night stand next to my bed, disrupting the silence. I start, nearly jumping out of my damn skin, but then a slow, secret smile spreads across my face. I have no clue what the official time is, but I do know it’s early. There’s only person who’d be texting me at this time in the morning, and a message from Alex is definitely worth opening my eyes for.
Blearily, I prop myself up on one elbow, blinking rapidly, giving myself a second to accustom myself to the grey, weak morning light before I reach over and pick up my cell. I’m disappointed when I see the message isn’t from Alex after all, though. The number on the screen isn’t even saved in my contacts. I rub at my eyes as I click on the blue text box, opening up the message.
+1(564) 987 3491: Stupid lying bitch. Why don’t u just fucking kill urself.
Oh.
That was stupid of me. Thereisone other person who’d text me at this time in the morning. Not Jake. Jake wouldn’t be so stupid. He’d never leave hard evidence of his hatred, that could possibly be traced back to him. But for the past six weeks,someonehas been sending these messages to me, making my phone chime more and more frequently. And I haven’t said a word about them. I’ve ignored them, or tried my best to anyway, but they’re becoming increasingly more hateful.
Stupid…lying…bitch….
