The Illusion of Annabella

  Where did he go? Where did he go?

  I dash down the hallway, peeking into every bedroom and my dad’s office. When I find him in my parents’ bedroom, I just about lose it.

  “Get out!” I yell, storming inside.

  My outburst only seems to encourage him. He frantically dumps out the dresser drawers, pouring watches, wallets, old clothes, and photos all over the floor.

  “There has to be some money in here somewhere.” He pokes his head inside the closet. “Poor people don’t have a house like this.”

  “Dead people don’t have money,” I say in a desperate move to get his attention.

  He stares at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Your parents are dead?”

  “Yes.” I sink down onto the edge of the bed, which is still made exactly how it was seven months ago. “So, please, just get out.”

  He rubs his jawline. “Maybe I should just be asking you where the money is. I mean, if they’re dead and you still live here, then they must’ve left you some.” He gets amped up as he paces the floor. “Dude, this is so much better than I thought. I totally lucked out with you.”

  I hate Miller in that moment, more than I think I’ve ever hated anyone. Even worse, I hate myself for ever letting him touch me, for thinking that it was better to be high and in his arms than living in reality with my brothers and sisters.

  “I’m not giving you any money,” I say, rising to my feet.

  He stops pacing, and his brow cocks. “You wanna bet?”

  My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe normally. “Yeah, I do.”

  My gaze darts to the door. One . . . two . . . three . . .

  Sucking down all the pain in my leg, I run for the doorway. My muscles knot in protest, but I make it out of the room and sprint down the hall. It feels like I’m learning how to walk again, one foot in front of the other, my leg in so much pain I see spots. Just like how life has felt for the last seven months. Like I’d forgotten how to live, and was drifting around blind, and now suddenly, I’m here, seeing everything, and all I can do is take it one step at a time.

  As I almost reach the stairs, bony arms enclose around my waist, and I’m jerked back.

  “Let me go!” I shout, slamming my head back.

  His grip constricts as he trips toward my parents’s room. “Not until you give me some money! I need it! Don’t you get it!”

  We crash into walls, step on each other’s toes, and finally stumble to the floor. I flip over onto my stomach and clamber to my feet.

  Miller jumps up and chases after me. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be, Annabella!”

  “It’s Anna,” I growl, whirling around and backing up toward my parents’ room with my gaze locked on him. “And I’m not about to give you any of their money.”

  I’m not about to let any part of my parents fix this mistake for me. No matter how much I loved my mother and wanted to be like her, I refuse to be like her, refuse to make any more mistakes without thinking about the consequences they have on others. I won’t give Miller any of my family’s money, won’t give him a reason to come back asking for more.

  I am my own person.

  Enraged, Miller lunges and topples over me. Blood rushes to my head as we tumble to the floor. I blink through the dizziness, preparing to fight when he’s pulled off me.

  “Are you okay, Anna?” an officer asks from above me while another drags a fighting, furious Miller down the hallway.

  Nodding, I sit up and press my hand to my tender forehead. “I think so . . . Wait, how do you know my name?” I squint at the officer who has hazel eyes and cropped brown hair that looks around the same age as Jessamine. Is he one of the cops who arrested me? It clicks. “Milo?” Jessamine’s Milo. “When did you become a cop?”

  Milo chuckles as he offers me his hand and helps me to my feet. “Since about a month ago. Heard a lot of things about you, too, but I didn’t think I’d get called out to your house this quickly.”

  “I didn’t . . . It wasn’t me.” I massage my leg, knowing by morning it’s more than likely going to be swollen. But the fight was worth the pain.

  “I know. I’m just messing with you. Zhara explained what was going on.” He nods toward the stairway. “How about we go downstairs and sit down, so I can take a statement from you.”

  I do what he says and limp down the hall for the stairs. Zhara hugs me the moment I step foot into the foyer and cries against my shoulder.

  “It’s fine. Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her, just like my mother used to do when we were hurt or scared.

  I feel strangely calm, but I think it might be shock setting in. Miller was never the nicest person in the world, but he was never as angry and desperate to get drugs as he was tonight. It makes me fear what I would’ve turned into if I’d stayed with him that night in the cabin, if I hadn’t said no and walked away.

  If I’d chosen to keep giving up.

  After we sit down, Milo asks a few questions without pushing too hard, and I give him the details he asks for.

  Loki shows up toward the end of questioning and immediately flips out when he sees Milo sitting with us, in full police uniform. “What happened?” he asks, rushing up to Zhara and me.

  “We’re all fine,” I assure him, and then give him a quick recap of what I just told Milo.

  “Good God, you scare the shit out of me.” He loosens the tie around his neck—the one Tammy gave him. “When I saw the cop car outside . . .” He shakes his head. “Well, I thought they were here because of you.”

  “Anna did good tonight,” Zhara says, defending me.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I deserve it.”

  “No, you don’t,” she argues, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “You’ve been doing well the last few weeks.”

  “But I’ve been doing shitty for the last seven months.” I take a deep breath and look at Loki. “I think I have some making up to do.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Loki tosses his tie onto the armrest. “How about I go finish up with Milo, and then we’ll talk about it some more.”

  I nod, and Milo and Loki head outside into the windstorm to fill out some paper work and get everything wrapped up.

  Zhara rubs her puffy eyes and stands up, smoothing her hair into place. “I’m going to go check on Nik.”

  “Where is Nik?” I ask worriedly.

  “I sent him next door so he wouldn’t be here while all that stuff was going on.”

  “Good idea.” I’m glad Nik wasn’t around while Miller was losing his shit.

  She hesitates to leave the room. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  “Zhara, I’m fine,” I assure her, kneading my tight thigh muscle with my knuckles. “Go check on Nik.”

  “I’ll bring you some ice for your leg.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She reluctantly leaves me and the break gives me time to prepare myself for whatever punishment Loki is going to give me for screwing up again.

  When Loki returns to the living room, he looks completely worn out, as if the last seven months have crashed over him at all once.

  “I think after this, Miller’s not going to be a problem for a while. He’s probably going to be spending a long time in jail, since, yes, we are pressing charges.” He waits for an argument that never comes. Plopping down on the sofa across from me, he spreads his arms across the back. His head tips back and his eyelids close as he mutters, “I’m so tired. I just wish I could sleep for, like, an entire day.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, blinking back the tears.

  Confusion swirls in his eyes. “For what?”

  For everything. “For you being tired. For being a pain in the ass. For bringing Miller into our lives.” I align my fingers across four pink marks on my arm where Miller roughly grabbed me. “For everything that happened tonight.”

  “What happened tonight wasn’t your fault. Miller chose to come here on his own and force his way in.” He
kicks off his shiny shoes and they hit the hardwood floor with a thud. “The only thing you did wrong, though, was getting in his way. Seriously, Anna, you should have let him just take whatever he was looking for and stayed downstairs with Zhara until the cops showed up.”

  “He wanted money—Mom and Dad’s money. And he didn’t deserve it.” I massage my temples as my head pounds.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just have a little headache.”

  “Why don’t we go find you something to eat and then get you some painkillers?” He gets to his feet, adding sternly, “The over-the-counter kind.”

  A soft laugh escapes my lips, even though it’s not funny. But it feels so good to be able to laugh without feeling as though I’m doing something wrong.

  We spend the rest of the night eating the dinner Zhara and I made and playing board games. Even Alexis joins us, but only because Loki told her she’d be grounded if she didn’t.

  Just before midnight, we gather around the television and count down the seconds until midnight, taking turns, carrying on the Baker tradition even though we usually started at seven.

  “Five,” Zhara says, clapping excitedly as she spins toward the end table.

  Nikoli chucks his football in the air, stretching out his legs across the floor. “Four.”

  Loki reaches for his soda on the coffee table. “Three.”

  Alexis flops back in the sofa. “Two,” she grumbles.

  I’m lying on my back with an ice pack on my leg, reading a message Luca sent me when it’s my turn.

  Luca: Happy New Year, Skittles Girl

  “One,” I say with a trace of a smile on my face.

  Me: Happy New Year, Skittles Freak

  “Happy New Year!” We all shout while Zhara tosses a splash of glitter into the air that floats to the floor and get wedged in the cracks.

  Tearing my attention away from the glitter, I look at the five of us and feel a saddening sense of peace hover over me.

  From now on, this is it. The five of us here, together, holding onto what’s left of our family. I can try to run away all I want, but the reality will always be here, waiting for me when the day done. The house may be emptier, but at least there’s a roof over my head and four people here to fill up the space and remind me that Anna’s still here. That I might not ever be that silly, happy girl who had big dreams and loved to dance, that naïve girl who had crushes and once worshipped her mother, but a part of her exists somewhere underneath the purple hair, dark eyeliner, and ankle bracelet.

  And I can either choose to keep fighting who I am now or learn how to live with just being me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Secret to Candy, to Life

  The rest of the week passes by without any more drama. Before I know it, Friday arrives and my ankle bracelet is removed, giving me two and a half days of freedom before I have to return to school on Monday. Still, standing on the sidewalk in front of my house, the air tastes better than it ever has. My leg feels lighter and my shoulders less weighed down.

  “Now, remember,” Loki says as he hikes across the lawn toward me. “Just because it’s off, doesn’t mean you can go back to wandering around. You still have physical therapy during the week, and school. And I want you to start going to a counselor, too.”

  I draw my hoodie off my head and inhale another breath of freedom-kissed air. “How long to I have to go to a shrink?”

  “Until I feel you’re okay.” He undoes the button on the sleeve his shirt and rolls it up then repeats the movement on the other side. Ever since he’s been spending time with the Bentons, he’s started dressing more professionally. I don’t think he’s doing it because he wants to, but because he feels like he has to appear more responsible. “I just want you to feel okay again without self destructing.”

  I dig the toe of my bulky red boots into the dirt just in front of the curb. “I’ve been okay for the last few weeks. Well, compared to how I have been.” I glance up at him. “I meant what I said, Loki. I really am sorry. It may not seem like it, but I’ve been trying. I just need to figure some stuff out.”

  “I know you’ve been doing okay, but I want you to do great. I want you to be that girl who used to smile all the time.” His voice conveys such passion, as if he whole-heartedly believes that I can do it—be the old ballerina, ray of sunshine Annabella.

  I don’t have the heart to tell him that even if I bring some of the sunshine back, the ballerina in me might be gone forever, that my leg will never be exactly how it was before the accident. Just like me. And I have to learn to accept what is and move on; otherwise, I’ll end up down that dirt road again, throwing bricks at windows, popping pills, stealing, and getting arrest.

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his tan cargo pants and rocks back on his heels, his gaze fixed on the hill line just behind our neighborhood. “I know I can’t take the place of Mom and Dad, but I really am trying to make things as close to as when they were alive. I know I suck sometimes, but I’m trying my best to do better.”

  “Loki, you’re doing a good job.” A twinge of guilt seizes the center of my heart. “This thing with Family Services . . . Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” He crosses his fingers with positivity gleaming in his eyes, but he looks so defeated with the dark half circles under his eyes and pale skin. “Let’s hope I can keep it that way.” He lets out a hollow laugh.

  “I have a feeling things are going to get better,” I say with genuine positivity. “In fact, I had a dream about it.”

  He peers up at the sunlight glistening through the clouds. “I thought you stopped remembering your dreams.”

  “I did for a while, but my mind’s been a lot clearer these last few weeks without all that crap in my system. Painfully clear sometimes.”

  He steps forward and clasps my shoulder, giving it a squeeze, just like my dad used to do to all of us when he was trying to give us pep talks. “It’ll get better eventually.”

  “You’re the expert, so you’d know.”

  He backs across the grass. “Hey, I only smoked, like, a couple of times. That doesn’t make me an expert.”

  I throw a joking grin in his direction. “Is that why you spent half your senior year with your bedroom door locked and your smoke alarm shoved under your pillow?"

  “That was a science experiment.” He spins on his heels and strides for the front door. “Dinner will be ready in, like, an hour. Don’t wander off, please.”

  “Yes, boss.” I salute him then return back to the curb.

  I glance left and right, up and down the cozy, quiet neighborhood. All I would have to do is start walking until I made it to the bench three blocks down. I could get on the bus and just go, ride it until I felt like getting off. Nothing’s stopping me anymore. Except that part of me doesn’t want to. Part of me wants to stay right where I am, where I feel safe, loved, even if it means I have to deal with the guilt, the agony, the regret—everything I feel inside.

  I slip my hand into my jacket pocket and graze my fingers along the trim of the envelope that has my name written on it. I still haven’t opened the letter, but ever since New Year’s, I sometimes carry it around with me, conjuring up all kinds of ideas of what it’ll say. I know once I open it, that’s it, though. Whatever I read, I’ll have to accept whatever’s in there. Whether her words are encouraging, discouraging, there’s no going back from reading it, and I need to make sure that I can handle it.

  Even though I’ve decided that I want to forgive myself, want to heal and change, I still haven’t exactly figured out how to do so. How do I become that strong, happy person again?

  My phone buzzes from inside my back pocket, and I dig it out.

  Cece: Hey, I was wondering if we could have lunch on Monday during lunch break. I really want 2 talk 2 u again.

  My fingers hover over the buttons to type back, but then I switch to the dial pad, punch in her number, and put the phone to my ear.

  “Hey,
” she answers, sounding as shocked as the day she saw me with my purple hair. “I’m so glad you called.”

  I lower myself down to the curb, racking my brain for what to say. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you in a while . . . I’ve just been going through some stuff.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that. Are you okay now?”

  I look down at my bare ankle. “You know what, I think I might be.”

  “Good, because I miss talking to you.”

  “I miss talking to you, too.” I need to get everything out in the open, instead of holding it all in like I have been. “But I need you to understand that I’m not the same person as I used to be. The accident . . . It changed me. And I’m not just talking about my hair . . . Sometimes it’s hard to talk to you because you were such a huge part of my old life.”