Hannah hoped Sean would pull one of his disappearing acts today. She needed a day to hide under the covers and pretend like things weren’t as bad as she knew they were. She nearly swallowed her tongue when her phone rang, but was quickly relieved to see it was Kristen calling. Sean almost broke her wrist when he found their first text. It was still really sore and she should’ve been wearing a brace, but with Connor watching her every move, she didn’t want to give him any reason to react.
She was already drawing more attention to herself wearing jeans and cardigans in Arizona’s hottest month. Every day was a strategy session; parting her hair just right, placing her backpack on the left shoulder to avoid the soreness in her right, and she tried her best not to limp when people were around.
Her muscles would eventually stop aching and the bruises would heal, but there was no recovery for what Sean’s actions had done to her heart. She blocked most of the violence from her memory, but there was a hollowness growing inside that detached her more and more from the person she thought she was. Hannah knew most people, Sean included, thought it was her love for him which kept her by his side, but in truth, it was her guilt.
Part of her believed his anger toward her was partially valid. She was the one who decided to break up with him at the bonfire and the reason he was distracted when he backed into Emmitt’s car. She, Emmitt, and Sean were the only ones who knew the truth.
“Hey,” Hannah answered.
“Are you free?” Kristen asked. ‘Free’ was code for when Sean wasn’t around.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“I’m DIYing my bedroom and could use your artistic touch.”
Hannah pulled back the covers to get a look at her thighs. She could still make out the imprint of Sean’s shoe just above her knee. Nothing appeared to be broken, but it hurt like hell when she walked or kneeled.
“I’ve actually got a reservation with a couple of books at the library. I figured with the heat I’d get a head start,” Hannah lied. “I would totally come if I could…”
“Hannah, it’s cool. I can always get one of the boys to help.”
“Okay, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to talk in the library, but I’ll text you when I get home.” Hannah hated lying, but she had to create a text-free window in case Sean dropped by.
“I’ll be here, purging my room of demons,” Kristen said.
Hannah wanted to spend the day with Kristen instead of fearing the moment Sean would call.
Chapter Two
Connor
Connor was busy pulling items from the pantry shelves when footsteps approached him from behind.
“Excuse me,” a woman said. “I was told I could get my assignment from Connor.”
“That would be—” Connor froze when he turned and saw her half-burned face. “—me.”
“How old are you?” Her offence to his reaction was noticeable in the way she turned sideways to hide it.
Connor had certainly seen his share of deformities, but never on someone who looked like she could be the next Shakira.
“I’m seventeen, not that it should matter,” he replied. Like there was some kind of age limit for helping the community? He’d been a food bank volunteer since he could walk and no one knew the place as well as he did. It never failed that some one-time volunteer would show up thinking their age gave them the right to boss him around. And this chic didn’t even look like she was much older than him. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-one tops.
“How nice of you to ask. My name’s Mariah and this is my face,” she said, turning so that he could see her burn more clearly. “Now if you’re done gawking, I’m just looking for something to do.” He hadn’t even realized he was staring.
Looking at her narrowed eyes, Connor realized how insensitive he’d been. Griping about his age was nothing compared to the responses she must get every day of her life. He was far from perfect, but even he knew he could be better than he was at that moment.
He approached her with his hand extended. “I’m sorry. My reaction was rude and I’d like to start over if you’re up for it.”
She gave him a skeptical glance before taking his hand. “Hi, I’m Mariah Silva,” she said with a relaxed grin.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Connor Christos.”
“Wait, your initials are C.C. God, that’s just cruel.” Her giggle was a squeaky taunt that reminded him of all the kids who teased him up until the eighth grade.
“Wow. You’re very pleasant,” he said returning to his cart.
“I’m sorry. It’s just a defence mechanism.”
“Well, maybe you could hit the off switch for a couple of hours and help me out.”
“Fair enough,” she said, tying her flowing blonde curls into a knot on top of her head. “So whatcha got for me?” She was thin but firm where it counted.
“You could help me check expiration dates on the boxes. Expired items go in the trash; boxes expiring within the week go on the cart.” He handed her his clipboard and pen and she went right to work.
Connor continued loading his carts, passing Mariah, whose smirk looked like she was insulting him in her head. He caught a glimpse of her belly button as she checked a label on the top shelf. A vine tattoo wrapped around her hip and traveled up her back. He rearranged the boxes at the bottom of his cart, trying to get a better look.
“Ahem,” Mariah announced loud enough to gain his attention. “Are you going for a record?”
I am so going to hell, Connor thought. “I am so sorry. I’m really not…”
“Save it. I’ll take pervy boy over gawking at the freak show,” she said.
“No, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“I’ll tell you what; I’m willing to forget this whole thing ever happened, if you sign this.” Mariah handed him an envelope.
Connor immediately recognized the county seal. “You were sent here from traffic court?”
“Yeah, and…”
Connor smirked. “So do you do this often?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Whatever. You’ve been playing that poor victim card since you got here.”
“The scar’s gotta be good for something,” she said with a shrug.
Connor was appalled—no—disgusted. How could she…People in her condition didn’t act like that. “You—you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Oh yeah, like you never let your little drummer boy act bail you out of a jam or two. Weren’t you the one attempting to explain your way out of blatantly peeking under my blouse a minute ago?”
Connor was severely annoyed and that was no easy feat. He was the understanding one, the one who gave everyone a chance, but some people were just asses who liked making others feel bad to boost their own egos, and that’s where his patience ran out. “If you want credit for your hours, I suggest you get back to work.” Connor tossed the envelope back at her.
“Fine. Who else is in charge here?”
“Just me,” Connor said, handing her a broom. “Now get to work.”
His father always lectured him about appreciating the volunteers despite what brought them there, but all Connor ever saw were lazy speeders too broke to pay their traffic fines. They were always trying to get him to sign for extra hours. As if community service was some kind of BOGO. Never had anyone stooped as low as Mariah. He watched her swishing the broom around, without capturing a single crumb.
“You’re going to have to do better than that for my signature,” he said topping off his carts. “And when you’re finished sweeping you can wheel these down the hall to the assembly station, and go back to checking the expiration dates.”
“Yes, Sir.” Mariah laughed.
“If you don’t like it, there’s the door.”
“You really should try loosening up a little. What do you do for fun?”
“This,” Connor said looking around. No one forced him to get up at five in the morning to work in a h
ot and stuffy warehouse. He did it because helping people made him feel like he was actually doing something for others.
“Tell me you’re joking.”
“Look I’m not interested in talking, and you’ve got less than an hour left.”
“All right fine. I’m sorry if I offended you,” Mariah said dumping the contents of her dust pan in the trash. “How about I show you the rest of my tattoo and we make up?” The dimple in the center of her good cheek was downright diabolical. Connor took a deep breath, releasing some of his hostility. His temper always led to doing or saying something he’d regret and there was nothing he hated more than regrets.
Even when he was a kid, the guilt would eat away at him until he either confessed or hurled all over the kitchen floor. He’d since tamed the queasiness, but holding things in had created land mines of the brain, vivid memories of every regretful moment of his life.
He took a few more deep breaths when he realized how strong that glimpse of her tattoo had roped him. “No, thank you,” he said in a softer tone. “Look, I’m sorry for getting so upset and for staring. I’m usually better than that.”
“If you call that upset, you should meet the guy who did this,” she said, pointing to her face.
Connor almost fell over when her words finally seeped in. There was a flash and for a second Mariah was Hannah, standing in front of him with a half-burned face. He reached out to her.
“What are you doing?” Mariah asked, shattering his hallucination.
Connor lowered his hand and stepped back. “I’m sorry…to hear that. Wait are you—no, forget that please. I’ve got a lot of crap on my mind this morning. I owe you an apology, again.”
“It’s cool, I just don’t do the whole touching thing.”
“I won’t. I swear,” Connor said backing up some more. “I’ll empty the carts; you can check the expiration dates.”
“Okay, now you’re making me feel like an outsider. Here,” she said, grabbing his arm. She pulled him toward the shelf beside her and grinned as she tossed expired boxes in the trash. “Just pretend I’m a friend of yours.”
Connor didn’t want to. He was still trying to figure out if his suspicions about Sean and Hannah were even real. He never thought he was capable of hating someone as much as he hated Sean Amarko.
Even before the accident he couldn’t stand the guy. Hannah was always running off to spend time with him, and now she was permanently glued to his side. Connor couldn’t be sure if his allegations weren’t just his way of finding a reason to bash Sean’s face in and get his friend back. Still, the way Sean yelled at her the night he and Brian spied on them and watching her cry meant Connor had to say something.
“What’s wrong with actually being friends?” Connor murmured, drawing his attention back to reality as he reorganized the shelves by expiration.
“Are you sure your squeaky clean view of the world can handle being friends with the depraved?” Mariah asked.
“Try me.”
“Okay, what do you want to know?”
“Where do you go to school?” he asked.
“How do you know I’m in school?”
“You’ve got a stack of index cards sticking out of your back pocket. That means you’re studying something.”
“Very observant. If I show you my tongue would you be able to tell me what I had for breakfast too?” she asked.
“I know this might not be a familiar concept for you, but generally making friends involves learning about one another.”
“All right, well I guess the next question is for you. Are you a married?”
Connor choked a little.
“I’m observant myself,” she said eyeing his ring.
“No, it’s not a wedding ring.”
“Thank God. I thought you might be one of those sixteen and pregnant husbands.”
“Hey, those guys are just doing the honorable thing,” Connor replied.
“Really? So not only are the girls expected to be moms still in high school, but they get the added privilege of being married to the newest town loser?”
“No, a loser would be someone who ran away from their responsibilities.”
“So you’ve never had an ‘oh-shit’ scare with a girl?”
Connor paused and looked at Mariah. “That’s a little personal, don’t you think?”
“Oh, so you didn’t really mean the being friends part? You’re just chatting until it’s time for me to go.”
“No.” Connor was all for making friends; he just didn’t like having to explain his lifestyle to every person who asked about his ring.
“Then treat me like a real friend. Tell me.”
“If I had I wouldn’t be wearing this,” he said flashing his ring.
The stunned look on her face was one he’d got often but it still irked him. People treated him like he was the freak. When last he checked, fornication was still a sin.
“It’s official, this really is the ‘Leave it to Beaver’ town.”
“Hey, don’t hate on my town,” Connor said.
“Moving on, the next question’s yours.”
“You never answered my first one.”
“You’re good.” Mariah laughed. “Very focused. You’ll make a good detective.”
“And you’ll make a crappy witness. Would you just answer the question?”
“All right I go to ASU. And before you ask, I’m majoring in biology. And no, I do not want to be a doctor. I just like experimenting on things.
“I guess that means you’re pretty smart.”
“No, I just enjoy the company of people more fascinated by what’s in their Petri dish than what happened to my face. I was a journalism major before I…wasn’t anymore.”
“So the guy—he goes to your school?” Connor asked.
“He’s at my old school in Texas. I came home after it happened and transferred to ASU.”
“It must suck to have to uproot your entire life like that.”
“It’s not so bad. I’ve always loved Arizona. I just wanted to experience something different, and—well—it wasn’t what I expected.” She reached for her burn as though she were going to rub it and stopped herself. “Whose turn is it?” Mariah asked.
“I think yours.”
“Okay, so tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”
Two immediately came to mind, but Connor quickly averted the landmines. “I have a sixth toe.” Connor said as he carried a few jars of pasta sauce to his cart.
“Really? Let me see.” Mariah followed him with her arms full of rice mixes.
“It was removed when I was a kid, but I still feel the nerves a little when I wiggle my right foot.”
“Phantom limb? Careful, you might be developing BDD,” she said as she tossed a box of cereal in the trash.
“What’s that?”
“Body dysmorphic disorder, it’s a mental illness and very common…among women.”
“So I’m a girl because I have a phantom toe?”
“Well there’s one way to find out. Take off your shoe.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not taking off my shoe for you.”
“Why not? Could it be because you’re self-conscious about a deformity which no longer exists? Because that would kinda make you a girl.” Mariah grinned.
“Very funny. Did you learn that in biology?”
“No, I was a psychology major for a semester. I thought studying the mind would help me figure out why I was so screwed up, but it only taught me how to label the crazy. BDD prevents people from seeing their true selves like you and your phantom toe.”
“Wow, should I lay down for this?” Connor asked, as Mariah handed him a stack of cereal boxes.
“Shut up. I’m just saying that the toe isn’t really there. It’s decomposed in a land field somewhere.”
“If it’s so common, do you have it too?” Connor asked.
M
ariah dropped a bag of rice spilling it all over the floor, and he knew he’d hit a sore spot. His first instinct was to apologize again, but then that would alert her to the fact that he knew it was her face. He may not have known much about her, but from the way she joked; it didn’t seem like something she wanted to delve into. He was about to place his hand on her shoulder when he remembered her no touching rule.
“Connor, we’re running low down here?” Noelle yelled from down the hall as Connor searched for another broom.
“Be right there!” he yelled.
“Go on. I’ve got this,” Mariah said, sounding more sullen than she’d been moments earlier. “Plus, I wouldn’t want your girlfriend to get jealous.”
“How did you know she was my girlfriend?”
“It could’ve been the ‘I heart Connor’ drawn on the back of her hand that she made sure I saw, or the smudge of lipstick on your jaw that I’m guessing matches the color she’s wearing.”
Connor wiped his jaw. “And you call me observant? I guess you learned that from biology.”
“No, I learned that one from Sex and the City,” she grinned as she swept up the last of the rice. They both laughed, and Mariah pulled out one of her index cards and a hidden ink pen from her hair. She scribbled on the back of it and handed it to Connor. “My real friends have a way of calling, so use it.” She went back to checking expiration dates as Connor pushed his carts down the hall.
Chapter Three
Tristin/Hannah
Tristin was slipping on her tank top when something crashed in the hall. She opened her door to find Kristen pathetically pinned between her mattress and the wall.
“I don’t need your help,” Kristen barked as Tristin held the mattress so she could wiggle free.
She was a sweaty mess in her oversized sweater and dishwashing gloves, and all of her furniture lined the hallway. She’d even changed her curtains.
“Redecorating?” Tristin asked.
“More like decontaminating.”
“Whatever. Do you need help with this or not?” Hearing the words come out of her mouth made Tristin want to gag. Every time she looked or thought of Kristen she felt…guilty. It was a completely new concept when it came to her sister. Had being with Brian really turned her into such a girl?
“How about you stand at the bottom of the stairs and hold out your arms.”