32. Macie

Chapter thirty-two

Macie

I pulled up to the curb of the vacant area of my neighborhood and simultaneously experienced a rush of panic and the elation of seeing Relic waiting for me. Relic had my yearbook in hand. I breathed out slowly as I turned off the car and eased out the door.

Relic cocked an eyebrow. "That's the first time in a while I've seen you that white coming out the car."

Shocked, I blinked, and then my gaze darted about as I tried to think of the last time I felt total anxiety driving. Standing taller, I brightened. Wow. I could drive the few blocks now without freaking out.

"You okay?" Relic asked.

"Yep. I'm not freaking out at all at seeing that yearbook."

I leaned back against the front of my car and scratched at the hives forming on my arm.

"Everything okay at home?" he asked.

I frowned, hating how Seth and I were now avoiding each other. He was worried and mad, and I was plain exhausted from being on everyone's mind. "Nothing I can't handle." I glanced at the yearbook and then away. "It's not fair for Seth to carry this lie, so I'm going to tell my parents about us." Mom sort of knew, but Dad didn't, and my father would be the needle that could pop my happy balloon.

"Want me there when you do?" Relic's expression had that look to it, like he was offering to enter a brawl at school.

I toed the concrete. "Not at first, but they'll want to meet you."

"I've never met parents before, but I'll do it. I can't promise they'll like me."

I couldn't promise they'd like him either. In fact, I had a sinking feeling my father was going to detest him. "Seth said you're part of some gang."

"Do you believe him?"

"No. But I also think your life is more complicated than yes or no answers."

"That's true," he mumbled, then he gazed out over the empty lots as though he saw far more than the dirt and weeds. "My dad's part of a crew, and I'm being heavily recruited, but I'm moving heaven, Earth, and hell to stay out."

"The gang is why you want to leave town, isn't it?"

He nodded, and his heaviness squeezed the air out of my lungs. I had one more question, and while I hated how this conversation brought him down, I deserved to know. "Is it possible the gang recruiting you…" I phrased it this way because I didn't want to mention his father. "Could they be responsible for carjacking me?"

"No. I have close contacts I trust in the gang. Jacking cars aren't on their radar. They make their money focusing on other endeavors."

Other endeavors… I assumed that meant selling drugs. No matter how I tried, I couldn't comprehend Relic's world. Even if I wanted to use drugs, I wouldn't even know how and where to score them. Before the carjacking, my biggest worry was how much playing time I would have on the volleyball court, or whether I was going to win student body president again. Now, all of that seemed trivial.

"The same contact is the one helping me identify the known people in other gangs actively stealing cars. He put a dot on the names of the possible people in your yearbook."

I bent over as I unsuccessfully tried to breathe through the nausea. Relic gently rubbed my back as I waited for the dizzy spell to dissipate. Finally, I straightened, and Relic tucked a stray piece of my hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear.

"How am I going to do this?" I asked Relic in a plea. "How am I going to find who did this to me when my body revolts each and every time we barely talk about it?"

"You're doing great."

"I'm not," I snapped. "We're halfway through the summer. I need these people arrested before fall, and you need the money to leave. I'm failing you, and I'm failing me and—"

"Stop." Relic slipped to stand in front of me. He cupped my face with his hands, his gaze catching mine. "Stop. You're not failing anyone. You're slaying this."

I scoffed, but he continued, "You're driving without panic."

"A few blocks," I muttered.

"You visited where you were carjacked."

"Throwing up everywhere."

"And you're going to take this yearbook and look at these faces and see if anything rings any bells."

"I didn't see their faces."

"But you saw something. All we're trying to do is find the backdoor to your brain, the loophole that'll give us one more clue."

The tattoo. A whisper in my brain, a slight push as if maybe my mind was giving me permission to speak those words aloud. I had nightmares about that tattoo. Thought of it many a time, but that tattoo terrified me. Yet, that tattoo was a clue. A clue that could bring us one step closer.

Could I do it? Could I speak of the tattoo?

I froze, Relic noticed, and I breathed out slowly again as another wave of dizziness overtook me. As if doing so would help Relic to crawl up inside my brain and see what I saw, I extended my right arm and touched the skin above the wrist. My throat closed, I became hot and cold and clammy and sweaty, but I needed him to know this. I needed to find who had done this to me.

Needing air, needing space, needing to scream at my inability to speak, I stumbled away, but then forced myself to turn back to Relic. He watched me in confusion as I kept my right arm extended and kept gesturing at the skin of my forearm until I was smacking the area.

His head tilted as he understood I was playing the most screwed up game of charades. "You saw the exposed skin of one of their arms."

I nodded furiously as I choked back a dry heave.

"A scar?" Relic rapid-fire asked. "A birthmark? A mole? A freckle? A tattoo?"

I threw my hands out in a yes then sank to the ground. Sweat poured off my scalp, down my face, and I was going to look like a nightmare in therapy today. Strong hands on my biceps as Relic stood behind me, and he half encouraged, half hauled me off the pavement and practically carried me to the passenger seat of the car. Once he safely tucked me in, he eased into the driver's side, started the car, turned the AC on high, and pointed every vent in my direction.

I glanced over at him, half expecting him to be looking at me like he hated me, but instead, he had this expression of jubilation that I couldn't understand. "Why do you look so happy?"

"Because you are absolutely incredible."

Maybe Relic had developed heat stroke on his walk here. "Are you okay?"

"I'm walking on air." Relic placed the car in Drive and began our trip toward therapy.

"And why is that?"

"Because you brilliantly narrowed our list."

***

My yearbook lay unopened on my desk, and despite my attempts to ignore it, I couldn't shake the feeling that a monster might leap out and devour me if I looked away. Problem was, if I did cross the room and open it, an even bigger monster called "Panic Attack" would devour me whole. Emotionally, I couldn't handle that. Not tonight.

Since it was a weekday, the amusement park closed at seven, I wrapped up work at eight, and Relic dropped me off in the neighborhood at eight-thirty. Because his older sister had work tonight, he couldn't stay to chat, so I cruised into the house at eight-thirty-five. Since then, I had eaten the dinner Mom had left for me in the oven as Mom and Dad sat with me at the table and asked me their two million questions about work. I then took a shower, and now in my pajamas, I sat on the bed with a sketch pad and pencil and stared at the blank page. Well, when I wasn't staring at the yearbook.

Relic told me not to worry about the yearbook, at least not tonight. He also told me to take the night off from thinking about the carjacking, but what he didn't understand was that I always thought of the carjacking. Being shot, being left for dead…it all lived and breathed in me like a parasite. My heartbeat—the feel of the car bumping into mine. I breathed in—me exiting my car. I breathed out—them coming near me, attacking me, and me attacking back. I blinked—the boom of the gun being shot and the pain of the bullet ripping into me.

Because of that, I stared at the blank sheet of paper and, in my mind, saw the tattoo upon the page. If only I could draw it. Drawing, though, was not one of the many talents my mother had passed down to me. Still, if I could only draw some part of the tattoo. Wouldn't that open up the entire world for me?

I needed my mom. I needed her to see into my mind and drag out this picture. Because I was exhausted from living like this, exhausted from reliving this damn nightmare day in and day out. I longed for peace.

Screw it. I grabbed the sketchpad and pencil, stalked out of my room, went down the stairs, and found my parents sitting at the kitchen table, leaning toward one another as if sharing an intimate secret. They had been quietly talking to one another, their voices light, Mom's quiet laughter music to my ears, and Dad had a relaxed smile on his face as he looked at my mom. In front of Mom was a finished cup of tea, and it looked like she had made one for Dad as well, but his had gone untouched.

They glanced up when I entered, and I shrank at the lighthearted and happy expression on their faces. Good gravy, why did I have to always be the one who made them miserable?

"Hey, Mace," Dad said. "What's going on?"

Abort mission. Abort mission . But as I began my about face, Mom said, "Is that a sketchpad in your hands? Is my daughter actually drawing?"

My heart hurt with the anxiety-ridden beat. I practically strangled the sketchpad as I sat in the seat the furthest from my parents. "I have two things I want to tell you and they are both equally awful."

Their faces fell, and I scrambled. "I mean, one isn't bad. I'm terrified of your reaction, but it's not bad. I think it's great, but your reaction could make it awful. Actually, there are a few parts to it you'll probably both be mad at, and I get it, but overall, for me, it's a great thing and—"

"Macie," Mom gently cut me off. "You're okay. Your dad and I love you very much, and this is a safe space for you to talk."

Yeah, well, that was easy for Mom to say as she was the therapist who could handle all of this, but Dad on the other hand? I went from staring at her, to glancing at Dad. Tracking the motion, Mom placed her hand over Dad's and squeezed. "Right, Noah?"

"Right," he parroted because it was easy to be all open-minded before actually knowing what I had to say. "Anything you need at any time, we're here for you."

Well, yeah…hopefully that would be true… So, here it went.

"There's a boy and we're seeing each other." Did agreeing that we'd drive hundreds of miles to see each other equate to boyfriend?

Mom's lips lifted in happiness because she was probably exhausted from keeping this from Dad. My father, on the other hand, appeared stunned.

"As long as you're happy, we're happy for you, baby girl." Mom rocked her hand that was holding Dad's. "Aren't we?"

"Seeing? As in a boyfriend?" Dad didn't ask this as a question. More like he stated it like some kind of reprimand, and the pencil in my hand audibly snapped. "You've been seeing him without telling us?"

Technically, I told Mom, but I had no intentions of ratting Mom out, yet she said, "Macie told me. The relationship was unfolding slowly, and she didn't want to rush it by forcing him to meet us. You have to admit, doing so creates expectations and a pressure."

Dad glared at her, and a pit formed in my stomach. Mom didn't flinch, but she did turn her gaze to me. "Macie, go to your room and give me and your dad a chance to chat."

"We have rules." Dad glowered at Mom like he didn't know who she was, and then turned that disappointing narrowed stare to me. "You want to date someone, then we meet them, and you don't date alone."

"Do you have any idea how archaic and masculine toxic that sounds?" I interjected. "I'm a girl, so therefore I don't know my own mind and can't make my own decisions without my father's permission."

"When you became old enough to date, you agreed to these rules," Dad pushed as Mom said, "Macie, it would be very wise for you to walk away. Noah, you and I need to take time out to talk this through."

But I was already saying, "You made rules that I had no choice but to accept when I was fourteen. I'm going to be eighteen soon. An adult. A person who can make their own decisions without you. What's the difference between the few months of seventeen and eighteen?"

"At some point, the two of you should listen to me," Mom said, "Because we've been on this hamster wheel between the two of you since sixth grade, and at the end of a fight, you two usually say I was right. How about we listen this time, okay?"

Yet Dad continued, "We made rules because we know how dangerous the world is. Our rules are there to help protect you."

My entire body twitched as something deep within me snapped. "Protect me? I wasn't on a date when someone shot me. Twice."

As soon as I said the words, I regretted them as Dad looked like I open-palm smacked him in the face.

"Macie," Mom said in a gentle warning. "Now I'm telling you to go upstairs and take a deep breath before we continue this conversation. Noah, take a walk outside."

"With everything you have going on," Dad said like Mom hadn't spoken, "you think having a boyfriend is wise?"

"So, wait," I said. "Let me make sure I have this correct. First, you're mad because I want to make my own decisions regarding who I date, and now your defense is that you'd rather I be alone for the rest of my life?"

"I didn't say that," Dad argued. "I asked if you think being involved with someone now is the best choice. You have a ton going on and it's easy for some guy to come in and take advantage of you."

My spine straightened. "So that's what I am now? Broken glass who isn't capable of making her own decisions? Wow, I am so glad we're having this conversation. I feel seriously supported, and I one hundred percent believe you're here for me anytime for anything."

As Dad went to open his mouth for rebuttal, Mom interjected, "Is that what you did? Take advantage of me?"

Dad turned and looked at Mom with a serious glare that would have made me wither, but Mom stared back at him as if she could withstand hurricane force winds without blinking. "That was different," Dad pushed.

"Really wasn't," Mom replied.

Dad ran both of his hands in frustration over his face. "What happened to taking a moment before we speak?"

"You two, like usual, sprinted past that because you're both incredibly stubborn, so obviously, we're playing by the rules you two made up. I'll ask again, did you take advantage of me?"

"Macie's situation is a hundred percent different. I'm looking out for her best interests. I'm trying to protect her."

"Like how my dad was looking out for my best interest? Like how my dad was trying to protect me? You loathed how he judged you all in the name of protecting me, and you know how much I hated him for trying to control me."

"I am not your father, and I am not controlling Macie."

"Sure sounds like to me," I tossed out.

Mom narrowed her gaze at me. "And you—you needle your father at every turn. You are so determined you're right in the situation that you don't take two seconds to see anything he's saying from his point of view."

"His point of view is wrong!" I spat.

"And your father had good reasons to hate me," Dad continued his defense.

"We can't protect her from everything," Mom bit back.

"The fuck I can't," Dad snapped, and I flinched because while I knew Dad cursed, he never did it in front of us kids.

"She's going to get hurt, Noah. Our job isn't to stop it. Our job is to be here when she needs us."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"What are you going to do? Lock her in her room? Forbid her from seeing this boy? Crush her dreams and her freedom so you can sleep better at night? You and I made a promise to each other when we decided to have children—it would never be about us, it would always be about them. Who are you trying to protect? Her or yourself?"

"Both, Echo. Fucking both."

"I don't believe you."

They began a stare-off that felt like they were shouting at each other in their minds.

Somehow, this conversation had spiraled out of a confrontation between me and Dad and into a full-on fight between Dad and Mom. Part of me wanted to retreat, part of me wished I had never said a thing, but then another part of me wanted to end this. If Dad wanted to be angry, then let him, and let's burn this entire house to the ground all at once instead of allowing incendiary grenades to cause small fires that would continuously burn. "The whole point of telling you any of this, besides confirming that I knew you'd react badly, was because this guy and I—we did something we shouldn't have done. And I want to be honest about it. I want to be honest about him. He deserves that. Seth deserves that."

Both of them whipped their heads in my direction, and now even Mom had a scowl. "What does any of this have to do with Seth?"

"The guy I'm seeing came by one night after everyone went to bed to make sure I was okay because we went to visit the place where I had been carjacked and I had this massive panic attack and he was worried about me and I invited him in to watch a movie with me," and we made out but they didn't need to know that, "and we fell asleep and then Seth found us and now Seth's mad at me because I snuck a boy in without your permission and Seth may also be mad because the guy I'm dating lives in a bad neighborhood so people believe he's associated with this gang, but he's not associated with the gang, but the gang does try to recruit him but he doesn't want to be recruited, so he wants to move, but he can't move because he doesn't have any money, but the point is, he's not part of a gang."

Mom blinked three times, Dad's entire body went as rigid as a statue, and I swear time stopped and sound no longer existed. Silence. Dead silence.

Because my resolve was fading fast, I put the now wrinkled and strangled sketch pad on the table. In my rising dread and horror of what I was about to say, I may or may not have actually slammed it on the table, causing both of my parents to jerk. Sweat formed in my every crevice, hives the size of softballs formed on my arms, and I became cotton-mouthed. Knowing if I didn't act fast, I'd never accomplish my task, I spit out the words, "He had a tattoo. I need you to draw it for me. I don't know how. I wish you could see it and draw it, but you can't see it, but I see it, and I need you to draw it for me, okay?"

" He being your boyfriend?" Mom asked slowly.

I swiftly shook my head as the room spun. "No. February. He had a tattoo. You need to draw it. I think I'm going to throw up now." I scurried for the trashcan and vomited.