10

van gogh – stand atlantic

"shark bait in the open water, tapped out so put me in a coma"

There were no fans left for shit to hit.

We could hear Lords' men trashing the Staedtler's living room, and I felt like crying. It was all I could do to keep it together, because I had a sneaking suspicion that Nate would crumble if I did.

He wouldn't say it, but there was an air of uneasiness around the blond as he pulled the window open, sitting on the ledge with one leg in the room and one already on the roof.

"There's a patio sling, it will catch you if you fall. That's what we're aiming for, because if we do this right, it will get us over the fence and into a different backyard. From there, we'll have a head start and we can run. We'll have a chance this way, Charis."

There was a flat portion of the roof that ran across as a beam, with the shingled slopes of the roof running off to either side. I tried to keep myself focussed on the sky in front of me, not the backyards below or the shouts coming from the house as the drug dealers tried to bust through the bedroom door.

Nate had been smart and dragged a dresser right in front of the flimsy wooden door as soon as we got in the room, but I had been far too anxious to notice, too busy fearing for my life.

If I was going to be honest, as hot as it was to watch Nate take control, I was equally as terrified that he was so relaxed about the entire ordeal. I was unnerved.

I crouched lower as I walked across the beam, lowering my center of gravity to minimize the chances of a fall.

"You're doing great, sweetheart." Nate shouted from behind me. He was keeping his head low as he scuttled after me. The window hadn't been closed properly, and it was only a matter of time before Lords discovered that we were on the roof.

"I'm just trying to survive until morning." I grumbled. "What do I do when I get to the end of the roof, Nate?"

"You're going to hate me for this, Forrester."

"Why?"

"You're going to have to jump."

"I'm going to have to what?"

____

Eight Months Earlier.

I wasn't sure how my heart had handled losing Jeremy. It's not like my parents had noticed. As far as they were concerned, I had always been this sad. According to my father, it was nothing that a good game of rugby couldn't fix.

Well, I'd tried rugby when I was thirteen and clearly it hadn't worked the way it was supposed to.

"Charis?" T.J said softly, knocking on my bedroom door. This was back when my walls were covered in posters yanked from Alternative Press, photocopied out of the liner notes from my favourite albums. "Charis, I need you to talk to me. I need to know that you aren't going to do anything stupid."

It wasn't like I hadn't considered it. I'd considered going down to the beach and wading into the saltwater and not coming back out again, downing a handful of paracetamol and one of dad's fancy Australian craft beers.

Just enough to make my parents remember that they had two children, not just T.J.

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't put them through that, no matter how badly I wanted them to remember that they had a daughter who was hurting beneath their very noses.

"Come in." I said weakly, refusing to leave the comfort of my bed, blankets pulled up around me with "The Kill" by Thirty Seconds To Mars blaring from the Bluetooth speaker on my dresser.

Everything that I saw reminded me of him.

But I didn't want to remember him.

Our downfall had been swift after the AboutThat post. Jeremy's scholarship had been suspended, and he'd been cut from the surfing team while a full investigation began into what transpired. His father had forbidden him from talking to me.

My mother wouldn't let me leave the house. Not that I had wanted to. I'd ignored all of the calls from Janae, Alexia and Maeve. Simon had reached out to apologize, to tell me that he did it for my own good, and I had left him on read.

The last thing that I wanted from Simon Kelleher was pity. Who was he to tell me that Jeremy was no good? That my first love was bad for me?

I wanted to crumble under T.J's pity stare as he sat next to me on the bed, his eyes zeroing in on the pile of empty cans overflowing from the garbage can, the dirty plates I hadn't had the energy to bring back out to the kitchen.

"You're not okay, Charis."

I knew he was right, but still I found myself saying "Fuck off, Tyrone Jameson. We all know that you aren't squeaky clean either."

He knew what I meant. While I had been sleeping around with Jeremy, T.J had been sleeping with Addy Prentiss, stealing her away under the nose of her boyfriend Jake Riordan.

"That's different and you know it." His voice was forlorn. He wouldn't meet my eyes. "Jeremy groomed you, Charis."

"No he didn't!" I wasn't sure why I was defending him. Even if he hadn't groomed me, he'd still shattered my resolve, my spirit. My heart. Taken away everything that made me who I was. "He's only a year older than me, Tyrone."

"You're a minor, Charis! Things like that are just technicalities in the eyes of the law. Jeremy was an adult, and you're still a kid. Still my kid sister."

"But I'm the older one, T.J! By eight fucking months!"

"I'm supposed to look out for you!" T.J boomed, getting to his feet. "Because that's what brothers do. I protect you from mom and dad's disappointment as much as I can, I look out for you at school, I have been keeping Jake off your back for the last three months and I haven't expected anything in return. Ever."

"Whoopdy-fucking-doo." I groaned, finally sitting up in bed. "I never asked for any of that. I have anxiety, T.J, not a wheelchair. I can defend myself just fine."

"Last time you tried that, you got suspended for violence."

My voice finally broke, a single salty tear watering in the corner of my eye to signal the incoming downpour. "I don't want to fight, Tyrone. I want my brother back."

T.J sighed, head in his hands as he sat back down on the unmade bed. "And I don't want to lose my sister."

We were Irish twins. Only eight months separated our birthdays, which made us closer than most. All throughout childhood, we had known what was going on with the other. We had known how the other felt. And when we started middle school, and T.J was scared out of his mind, I promised to be the big scary older sister, and that I would look out for him.

When did the roles reverse? When did T.J become the protector?

"You have been so out of it this past week. I barely see you anymore, you never come to school. Janae is worried about you, you know. And given your," he paused, thinking over his words, "history, I am so scared about what you're going to do next. They way this road is leading, I'm scared you're going to hurt somebody, and even more scared that somebody is going to be yourself."

I shook my head, wiping my tears. My face was a bright red, my eyes gaining the tell-tale puff of tears. "I can't do it, T.J. I can't go back there."

"But you also can't let Jeremy Ruffalo and Simon Kelleher destroy your life."

____

I'd been through too much hell to give in and jump now.

I wanted to survive.

"I'm not jumping, that's suicide! I'll fall on Alexia's car, and that would be the end of it all!"

Nate shook his head. "The patio sling, Charis! Remember?"

Right. The reason I'd agreed to this shitty plan in the first place.

I eyed the army green fabric covering the Staedtler's patio, the slant that created a perfect slide over to the next-door neighbour's backyard. What if they had a pool? If I landed on the pool cover, I'd drown. Or I could land straight on the railing of a deck and break my neck?

Nate's plan had so many flaws that I could have stood on top of that roof and listed them all.

Unfortunately, we didn't have the time. Inside, the bedroom door had finally been broken down, and I startled so much that I lost my footing on the beam, sliding down the side of the roof. I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming as I felt the roof drop out from under me, my back falling into the soft, bendable fabric of the nylon sling.

And there was nothing I could do to stop myself from falling and hoping that there were no hazards on the other side.