The Resurrection of Aubrey Mill

Chapter Three

“Can’t. Breathe.”
I struggle for the much needed influx of air to enter my lungs, but with Linda’s arms wrapped around me with the strength of Hercules, I’m unable to catch my breath. When the hell did she get so strong?
“I just don’t want to let you go yet,” she whispers lightly, her cheek resting snug against my shoulder as she follows it up with a sniffle. Hesitantly, I lift the arms pasted against the sides of my body to envelop her in a half-hearted embrace while giving her an awkward pat on the back.
“I’m not letting go until you give me a real hug, damn it.”
I begin to make a joke about the use of the swear jar, when she follows up her request with an even tighter death grip—who knew it was possible?—and I have no choice but to relent to Linda’s request. Softening my hold, I reluctantly ease into her embrace, allowing myself to nuzzle ever so slightly into her neck and inhale the floral perfume that’s just…Linda.
For roughly three seconds, I hold on and allow her fragrance to transport me to a once familiar place, one saturated with the essence of light and warmth—a complete contrast from the bitter darkness through which I find myself constantly wading these days. My eyes prick with tears, and I release her before my hardened shell begins to dissolve.
Stepping away from me, Linda inhales deeply and wipes her eyes with the tips of her fingers before she reaches into her purse to—I kid you not—pull out the swear jar and set it on the table between Fi-Fi’s bed and mine. Looking up at me, she holds a semi-serious expression as she states, “Be good.”
I open my mouth to reply with my usual wit-filled retort, but she stops me short. “You’re a good girl, honey. You have a lot of love to give to those around you, if you would just break free from whatever unnecessary chains you have bound around that heart of yours.”
She releases a weary sigh and reaches forward to take my hand into hers. “You’ve convinced yourself that you’re merely protecting those around you from whatever you think will happen, but the only thing you’re accomplishing is the guarantee of leading a very lonely and miserable existence.”
With a sad smile, she releases her hold and places her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Life is full of so much that you refuse to let yourself experience. The blanketing comfort of love, the fulfillment of contagious laughter, the peace of finding true joy, the butterflies of uncontainable excitement…these are all things that make up life. They should never be taken for granted. You of all people should understand that, sweetheart.”
I sigh forcefully before finally making my long awaited clever response.
“I’ll be sure to add those to my Christmas wish list, Linda.”
The vigor of hope previously present in her green eyes quickly diminishes and I immediately wish I could take back those spiteful words. Shooting my mouth off is a defense mechanism that I haven’t quite learned how to control. Hence, the swear jar. Good thing there’s not a hateful spew jar. That one would rake in an ungodly amount of money.
Linda releases my shoulder and the somber expression displayed on her face makes me wish I was capable of simply reaching out; to bring her close and never let her go. But I don’t. I watch as she draws in a deep breath before turning away from me, quickly saying her goodbyes to Fi-Fi before heading toward the door. As soon as her fingertips skim the handle, my body seizes with regret.
“Linda…”
My own muffled voice is barely recognizable as I somehow manage to breathe her name. It’s coated with a painful mixture of heartbreak, sorrow, and shame. I hate the person I’ve become. I’m trapped in this pathetic existence, watching the only person who cares about me walk out of this room, knowing she’ll never know how I truly feel about her. Regardless of how much I ache to take the vulnerable steps toward her, I remain where I stay.
Linda stills upon hearing my voice, then swiftly turns and closes the gap between us in three long strides, wrapping me in her arms once again as tears build along the base of my lashes. Looping my arms under hers, my fingers clutch the back of her dress as I crush my cheek against her shoulder, squeezing her with a strength that I never thought capable. Silently, I offer my apology, and with one light stroke of my hair, I know she accepts.
The sound of the bathroom door shutting breaks the still of the moment and we release each other from our embrace. Bringing her hand to my face, Linda wipes the one traitorous tear that managed to escape, then dips her head to meet my eyes.
“See you in a couple of months?” she asks, swiping her own cheek.
Unable to speak and, therefore, at a loss for some much needed sarcasm, I simply nod my response. She offers me a genuine smile full of relief, and after another reassuring squeeze, Linda disappears through the doorway, leaving me on my own and sealing me in with Princess Fi-Fi.
Quinn. Her name is Quinn.
I lock that little tidbit of information securely into my memory bank before heading to my bed. Something tells me that my nickname, while I find it extremely entertaining, wouldn’t yield the same positive response from my new roomie.
Inhaling deeply, I collect my emotions and begin to sift through the items strewn on my bed. I hear the click of the bathroom door opening as Quinn makes a reappearance with a bashful look in her eyes.
“Sorry for disappearing,” she states as she slowly approaches. “It just seemed like you two were sharing a moment. I didn’t want to intrude.” She shrugs her shoulders and casts her glance down to my bed where her eyes land on my Poe Hello poster.
“OH! I love Poe! I saw her in concert recently with Teagan and Sara! She is AMAAAAAAAZING!” she squeals as she claps her hands together excitedly, her pony tail swinging back and forth as she resumes bouncing off the floor. After a few more small jumps, she gains actual air as she launches herself onto my bed and begins rummaging through the remainder of my wall art.
I just stand there, not really sure what to do with myself.
Segregating myself from the population has obviously left me ill-equipped to deal with some random person who has deemed it acceptable to lie on my bed and touch my possessions after only the mere exchange of our names. I watch her for a minute or so, listening to her oohs and aahs, waiting patiently for her to kindly get off my bed, but when thirty more seconds tick by I see that this really isn’t an option for her at the moment. She’s lost in my excellent taste of music.
It happens.
Bending at the waist, I unzip the front pocket on my backpack and pull out the heavy-duty double-sided tape, mentally selecting the locations for poster placement on the wall, when she finally decides to come up for air. She rolls onto her side and assesses me a moment before speaking.
“So Raven, what’s up with the kitty eyes?” she inquires.
Shifting my weight onto my other foot, I stall for a bit before answering. “Um, I guess you could say I’m different. Why? Does that bother you?” My tone is clipped, suddenly saddened that my initial perception of this girl may have been totally off-base.
She throws her head back in laughter and after a couple of completely unnecessary hiccups, she brings her green eyes back to meet mine. “No, it doesn’t bother me in the least. I think it’s kinda cool that you are who you are, with no worries about what people think.”
Her eyebrows draw together and her mouth curves toward the floor as she continues. “I learned a long time ago to never judge a book by its cover. It seems what people try to represent on the outside very rarely mirrors their inside. Beautiful people tend to be ugly, ugly people tend to be beautiful, storms tend to brew below a person’s cool, calm exterior, and tremendously happy people tend to be overcompensating for their own grief. Nothing is ever really what it seems.”
She raises her gaze, once again, taking in my appearance. “Except with you, I think your representation is probably pretty accurate. And I think that’s brave.”
I almost, almost, laugh in her face. Like, deep from within the pit of my stomach, very unattractive, heinous laughter because I know I’m anything but brave. The whole appearance that she’s so freaking fond of is the result of fear.
The irony is not lost on me.
I choose to keep my blank expression as I shrug my shoulders. “You seem pretty happy,” I remark.
Her eyes still locked onto mine, she simply responds, “Exactly.”
The seconds pass between us as I try to figure out the exact meaning of that statement, when there’s a sudden knock at the door. A wide grin spreads across her face and her eyes light up with unadulterated glee. “YAY! Our first official visitor!”
Quinn excitedly bounces herself off the bed to answer the door and I take the opportunity to once again regain control of my private realm as I step onto the bare mattress, dispensing a piece of tape while grabbing my favorite poster. A deep, masculine voice comes from the doorway, so I keep my attention solely on the task at hand, not wanting to intrude in case it’s her boyfriend. Using the adhesive, I tack a piece to the left top corner of the poster and adhere it to the wall at the head of my bed, making sure my back is turned to Quinn and her male visitor.
Just as I extend my arm to attach the poster, Quinn calls, “Raven! You have to meet my Boarding Buddy!”
Great.
Boarding Buddy.
The whole reason I skipped Freshman Orientation. Who needs to be paired up with some random person just to find your way around campus?
I can do that shit alone, as I intend to.
I abort my mission of avoidance, casually turning my head just barely over my shoulder, but as soon as I see the person to whom she’s referring, I lose the hold on my poster. The scraping sound it makes as it swings back and forth along the wall hardly registers due to my dumbfounded state of shock. Without pause, the blood drains from my face and my legs feel as though they’ve been carted through a tub of cement before being reattached to my body.
I pray that these reactions comprise the typical response for when you see the one person in your life that you never, ever expected to see again. Because if that’s not the case, I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack and will be struck dead where I stand within approximately 2.5 seconds.
But with one more look into those familiar hazel-brown eyes, with a tinge of green so undeniably familiar, my possibly failing heart is suddenly revitalized as it spurs a jarring shock throughout my entire body, immediately transporting me to my past.
You see, when I was a little girl I spent a lot of time alone—Linda worked nights as a nurse, so I became a victim of a lot of television, and most of it wasn’t child friendly. One night, I was fully immersed in a crime show marathon where they were explaining how some trauma victims store their memories by way of compartmentalization. It was then I created and defined my compartments, sealing away certain memories where no one, not even me, could access some of them. It’s a very intricate system. For example:
Level 1 memory bin: Very easily accessible. Like an open door, memories flow in and out, allowing my day to day function. Items that would fall into this category would be things such as exam schedules, dental appointments, and the name of my new roommate Quinn.
Level 2 memory bin: A little more difficult to gain entry than Level 1. More like a closed door, where it takes some actual effort to recall these memories. Examples include the time Linda fell down the stairs and broke her collarbone, when I accidentally washed her favorite cashmere sweater in hot water and dried it on high heat, the unfortunate occasion when she attempted to make chicken pot pie, and the death of all the animals Linda brought home. Not necessarily the most terrifying of my memories, but definitely not the best.
Level 3 memory bin: These remain safely behind a locked door, for which only I have the key, and are mostly a lump sum of some pretty painful memories from my past. Some happy, some sad, but all memories that are guaranteed to bring heartbreak over and over again. So, they remain locked safely in Level 3.
Level 4 memory bin: Steel door, passcode, and retinal scan required for entry. Some of the most painful of my recollections. The death of my mother, the death of my sister, and the pain associated with both will forever stay hidden in this place.
Level 5 memory bin: Top Secret military clearance required. Titanium encases a steel vault buried approximately thirty feet underground. It’s booby-trapped with C4 and other deadly explosives which will be detonated if anyone comes within ten feet. Only one memory resides here, never to be freed again.
Like I said, I had a lot of time on my hands.
But now, as I eye the person in front of me cautiously, it becomes painfully obvious that my Level 3 memory bin has been compromised.
Either that or somehow I unknowing relinquished a key to the one and only…
Kaeleb Kristopher McMadden.