The Best Revenge Chapter 8
In these coming years
Many things will change
But the way I feel
Will remain the same
-The End of All Things, Panic! at the Disco
When I woke up, the curtains were drawn and I couldn't see outside. In those few first disorienting seconds of sleepiness, I couldn't gage what time it was at all.
I lifted my head up slightly from the couch cushion to search blurry-eyed for my phone. I finally located it tossed upside down on the floor, and unlocked it as the bright screen jolted my brain cells to begin functioning.
It was 10:30 p.m. My 'nap' had taken eight hours. Also noting the lack of calls or texts from Casey, I groaned and chucked my phone across the room, cringing slightly when it made contact with the glass vase at the opposite end. The flower pot teetered and with one final sway, it tipped over the side of the dresser.
I winced, expecting to hear the crash soon, but the mink carpet absorbed most of the impact, and it just rolled over to its side anticlimactically. I heaved a sigh and got up from my sleeping position, and oriented the vase in its proper place again.
I dusted off the stray flower petals from the dresser into my hand and stuffed them lazily into the top drawer. I'd figure out the whereabouts of a trashcan after I catch up on my sleep, I reasoned with myself. But as I shoved the pink petals into the cabinet, a newspaper dated from about a month ago caught my attention.
I picked it up tenderly, trying not to rip the pages. On the front page of the Entertainment section sat an in-color photo of Lady Lana, donning tinted sunglasses and exiting a black Hummer. The unmistakable bolded title read,
DIVA DECLINE: LANA KEYES ENTERS REHAB FOR DRUG ABUSE
My forehead wrinkled in deep shock and interest as I heavily scanned the article. My darling mother had been caught with heroin and heavy amounts of marijuana in the very house I was standing in. She had been threatened arrest but they decided the best thing for her was to get through rehabilitation first.
With a young, impressionable daughter no less, she was willing to risk her entire image for drugs? I thought I knew my mother like the back of my hand. Over the three years I had lived with her, in order to sneak around her I had to develop a mental agenda to map out what she was doing at all times. I thought that I knew everything she was up to. I guess she's a better actress than I give her credit for. I was about to do some fucking confronting.
I tucked the newspaper article into my pants waistband just as the doorbell rang multiple times in the next room over.
I could hear Lady Lana's clickity shoes (she refused to take them off, even inside) make their way down the long, grandiose stairway. Click, click, click.
My senses followed her noises down the hallway and to the front door. The doorknob turned and I heard my mother mutter, "Oh."
"Oh" can mean many things. When you receive a present from an elderly relative that you aren't particularly ecstatic about, you respond with, "Thank you! Socks are exactly what I wanted", even though "Oh" was the answer you would have rather given. When your friend and you make plans to spend the night together, and she cancels at the last second, you're bummed. But it's not until you find out that she canceled in order to attend your nemesis' birthday party when you frown and say, "Oh."
Anyway, no matter how different the situations may be, "Oh" is always associated with dissatisfaction. And so while I was thoroughly intrigued with whom this visitor could be at this point, I couldn't deduce who it was yet because the stranger responded at that moment. "Is Sammy here?"
Oh.
I wasn't ready to approach Casey yet. I wasn't ready. I was still pretty embarrassed from being so hypersensitive about everything and leaving. Originally, I had just blindly packed up and left, seeing my mother as my goal and nothing else. I don't even think I meant for moving back in to be permanent in my head. I probably would have gotten over his comment; it was a combination of the individual stressors in my life that pushed me over the edge.
I wrapped myself in the thin blanket on the couch and walked toward the door. As I neared, I heard Lady Lana desperately trying to convince Casey something. When I came into view, Casey's eyes looked past my mother and widened when he saw me.
Lady Lana followed his gaze and turned on her heel to see me standing there. "Samantha," she whisper-screamed at me. "Go back. to. bed."
But Casey had already seen me. He angled his head back to Lana incredulously. "You said Sammy didn't come back here."
Lana straightened her back, trying in vain to size up Casey, who was still at least a head taller than she was. "Is it so wrong of me to protect my daughter? You hurt her. As her mother, I do not accept that. Samantha will not speak to you."
Casey ignored her. "Sammy? We need to talk."
Both of their stares seared into me, and I could feel the temperature in my cheeks rising. The cool air outside of the house was tempting. Finally I pushed past my mom, not able to look her in the eye, murmuring, "I'll be back before breakfast."
I followed Casey wordlessly to his car. We need to talk. I didn't want to talk. Maybe that's my problem; I run from my issues instead of facing them. I took a deep breath in. Being self aware of my faults doesn't excuse them. I got into the passenger side of his truck.
Casey sunk into the driver's side and placed both hands on the wheel but didn't start the engine. His right hand lifted off the wheel and pushed his dark hair out of his face. His jaw was set. He didn't face me as he opened his mouth,
"Why'd you go back?"
"I - " I started weakly, but the rest of my sentence caught in my dry throat, and I paused. I crossed my arms over my chest.
He was shaking his head slightly, like he couldn't comprehend my actions. "I get that you're mad at me, and that's fine and whatever, but what I don't get is why you went back to Lady Lana."
"She's my mom," I stumbled out lamely.
"I know. I get that. But she - "
I finally found my voice. "Don't you start listing all the things she's done! I out of everyone understand what she's capable of." I looked down at my pants waistband, where the article remained hidden away.
I continued, "From the surface, yes, she's unbearable! But she's still my mother. She has everything I've ever known. I'm not saying I don't want to live in your dorm. I just want to stay with her until I'm ready."
"If you wait until you're ready, you'll be waiting the rest of your life."
"It's more complicated than that! She has so much control over me!"
"She doesn't love you!"
My emotions blinded me. Of course she loved me! Right? He was the one out of line. "Who are you to tell me that? The only reason she might not love me is because you convinced me to run off to UCLA!"
Casey stopped for a quick second. "You're blaming me? You KNOW you made that decision for yourself. Sammy, that isn't fair."
"It wasn't fair to my mother either. Do you realize what I found out when I woke up today? She wouldn't survive without me. The month after I left with you, she was this close to doing something horrible to herself." I slid out the article and threw it at Casey.
He skimmed over it. "I'm not denying that your mother needs help. Professional help. But that doesn't excuse her for using you like a prop. She discards you when she doesn't feel like taking care of a kid."
"She's deeply troubled - I - I'm the only one that can help her!"
"That's what she's making you think! She's manipulating you!"
A car sped by us, and its headlights illuminated Casey's face for a second. His eyes were intense and roughly passionate, and his voice began to increase, "I can't fucking stand here while she breaks off chucks of you little by little! You said so yourself - the only reason she dragged you here was so she can cash in on your presence! Damn it, Sammy, I'm not going to let her abuse you!"
I stayed silent, staring at the dashboard in front of me.
"She's abusing you," Casey whispered again and again, breathing in deeply.
I turned to him, and opened my mouth, wildly searching for a flaw in his argument. My mother's facade was crumbling. All the good I had previously tried to salvage from her was fading away.
Casey noticed my defensive walls lowering. He cupped my face with both of his hands and met his lips to mine.
The stick shift was pressed between the two of us, so I moved slightly to the right to get it out of the way. It's been way too long since I've felt Casey like this, with no worries of anyone barging in and tearing me away to another city. He angled me against the passenger door, slowly leaning down farther. Every point in my body burned as I accepted his pleading advances.
I broke away from lack of air and fell back onto the inside of the door. The passenger seat supported my back better than any couch could. My blood was circulating quickly, and my heart was pumping as fast as Casey's. An hour ago, I had been exhausted even after I had slept for half the day. Now, the deepness of the night brought a cleansing feeling of renewal. Of freedom. My perspective was so jumbled up; while it bothered me that I had so much to learn about people's true and most secret intentions, I found I didn't care. Lady Lana didn't have anything to offer me but frigidness. I leaned back into the warmth that was Casey Acosta.
A/N: HEEEEY EVERYONE
Did you actually think I would miss the opportunity to squeal about the last Sammy Keyes book coming out?! YOU GUYS, THIS IS MAJOR. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY FEELINGS ANYMORE.
I'm very adamantly trying to convince my mother to take me to Barnes and Noble so I can get my hands on a copy! I need this book in my life, and everyone seems to be reading it before me. I swear, I'm thinking of blocking Twitter so that I don't get any spoiler alerts from any fans until I have devoured that novel.
We breathe freaking dedication, you guys. I remember I started my Sammy Keyes journey when I had to review one of her books in third grade. THIRD GRADE, PEOPLE. And here I am, a tenth grader. What is life?
BY THE WAY GUYS IT IS A SCHOOL NIGHT AND I AM GETTING TWO HOURS OF SLEEP JUST SO I CAN TYPE THIS UP FOR YOU ALL ON THIS MOMENTOUS OCCASION.
Tell me when you plan to get the book and stuff! TELL MEEEEEEEEEEE. Then we can discuss it/analyze it/beg Wendelin Van Draanen to bend to our bidding and begin a series for mature readers about Sammy in the future.
Live, love, Sammy Keyes, everyone. Peace.
X,
DKMV
