Rachel
"It's really nice here," I tell Paul, admiring how beautiful his home is.
Mr. Lahote was out of town for the weekend. He didn't give Paul any details. Just that he'd be back on Sunday. Don't do anything stupid.
"You know how someone can be really beautiful? Like a 10… and then they open their mouth and they're a 3? That's kind of like this house. It's a 10 — beautiful fixtures, pleasing decor, nice furniture — but actually living here is hell," he mutters.
I sit down at the big beautiful kitchen island and watch Paul cut peppers. He's making chili. He's decided that tonight he'll cook for me. I haven't had someone else cook for me since… wait… has anyone ever cooked for me?
"I'm sorry," I apologize.
He shrugs, "I much prefer your house."
"Well that makes one of us," I mumble and steal a pepper from the cutting board when he turns to check on the meat frying up on the stove behind him.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Nothing," I shake my head. To Paul, my childhood home is an escape. A place he can run away to; where we can be with one another. To me… it's always been the place I've run from. The memory of Mom lingers in the walls and floors and haunts me from room to room — corner to corner. A constant reminder that she is gone because of me.
"I'm glad you're here, though. It feels like home when I'm with you," Paul admits.
I think my heart stopped beating for a moment. In not so many words, he's managed to summarise what I've been struggling to put into words since I've been back.
"You feel like home too," I reply and then immediately blush when I realize that I have — in fact — said that out loud. "I mean-"
"Nope. You can't take that one back," Paul grins ear to ear and points a pepper slice at me before pushing it into his mouth. He picks up the cutting board and dumps the sliced peppers, onions, and mushrooms into the chili, and puts the lid back on top.
"How's the pack doing?" I ask, desperate to change the subject before I start sweating due to my embarrassment.
"Everyone's good. Things have settled down somewhat," Paul says, leaning his arms down on the counter, "not a ton of vampire activity. Sam briefly mentioned running into Jacob-"
"What?!" I stand up from the stool, "and this if the first time I-"
"Not physically… mentally. Heard him for a little bit," Paul explains, "we don't know how close or far off he was."
"Oh," I sit back down at the island, "I can't believe he's been gone for so long… and all of this is because of that Bella girl?" I shake my head, "my baby brother has a lot of growing up to do. It's just so incredibly immature of him to just take off like that and not tell anyone where he was going. I swear, the next time I see him I'm gonna-..." I stop when I notice Paul is smiling at me with a dreamy expression, "what?"
"I love it when you get all fired up," he smirks.
I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, "I guess I do have a bit of a temper. What a pair we are."
"Fire and fire," he laughs.
"The chili smells really good," I couldn't keep track of everything he put in it. I will have to bug him for the recipe later.
"It's got to simmer for a while. Wanna make out?" Paul smirks, cocking his eyebrow.
"Part of the reason I was coming over here tonight was to help you study for the SATs that you need to retake," I remind him.
Paul groans, "I was hoping you'd forget the detail."
"Have you at least looked at the materials?" I ask him.
Paul pouts and whines like a pup.
I smile at him, "I'll take that as a 'no'. Go get your books."
"I'm so screwed," Paul grunts after I correct one of his errors in a math equation.
"It's a common mistake-"
"Stupid," he mumbles to himself and lays his head down on the coffee table we're sitting beside in the Lahote living room. I've been trying to explain geometry to him for about an hour. I think we should probably switch to someone less advanced.
"You're not stupid. Stop it. Now, look," I wipe the eraser dust off the paper and start to show him the correct way of going about finding the hypotenuse when the phone rings.
"Oh, thank god," Paul quickly gets to his feet and grabs the phone off the wall, "hello?" he grins at me as I deliver an irritated expression. "Hel-" he stops. His grin fades and he slams the phone down.
Uh-oh.
"Your mom again?" I ask, gently.
"She needs to stop fucking calling," Paul grunts, balling up his fist.
"Have you talked to her?" I ask him, closing the math text with the paper we're working on inside.
Paul shakes his head, "I don't want to hear what she has to say," his nostrils flare.
"What if it's important and-"
"Why should I care?!" He snaps, "she hasn't given a god damn about me for all these years. Why the fuck should I give her the time of day?" his fists shaking.
"Calm down, Paul," I look around, if he phases in his house he'd likely cause a lot of destruction.
"I'll calm down once she forgets our fucking number!" he growls, "fuck! FUCK!" Paul's balled-up fist flies at the wall.
I close my eyes tightly but don't hear an impact. When I open them again I see that he's stopped himself from smashing the drywall but his fists are still shaking.
"I… I can't. I need to go," he hurries to the back door, taking his shirt off along the way and unfastening his belt.
"What? Where?" I follow him into the kitchen and out the back.
"For a run.. Something. I- I need to blow off some steam before-... I'll be back," his breath is angry and shaking.
I collect the clothing he's discarded along the way, "Um… okay I-" I swallow, caught off guard when Paul removes his boxers as well and is naked for a split second before he phases in a rageful display of fury.
He turns to look at me, his hackles up and breaths puffing out in steamy clouds.
"I'll wait for you," I finally manage to get the words out and he runs off into the woods at full speed, leaving me alone on his back porch.
I wander back into the house, leaving his clothing on the kitchen island. I check on the chili, it smells amazing. I hope he's back soon so we can finally eat.
The house is really beautiful. I hope someday to have a nice house in a city like Seattle. That is, if I manage to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. Things are so uncertain right now. Turns out my degree is worth nothing. I don't have any money because all my paychecks go towards paying to get the roof fixed. I'll be lucky if I have a small savings by the end of the summer so I can get out of here.
I won't miss it here… well… that's not altogether true… I'll miss Paul.
I'm startled by the phone ringing. I consider letting it ring but then wonder if perhaps it could be an emergency. Maybe I should answer it and take a message.
I wander to the cordless phone and pick it up, "um… Lahore residence," I answer. No answer, "hello?"
An automated message begins to inform me of an inmate from an Oregon correctional facility — Catherine Lahote. I panic and hang up the phone. Oh god. It's Paul's mother. I stare at the phone set for a moment longer. I nearly jump out of my skin when it rings again and again and again.
What should I do?
I glance out the window and inspect the tree line. Paul could be gone for a while. I wonder what she wants. He refuses to speak to her. What I wouldn't give to have a phone call with my mom. Just one. My heart hammers in my chest. I know it isn't possible but it feels like the ring is getting louder and louder and louder.
I pick up the phone and hold it to my ear with two hands. Thump, thump, thump, goes my heart.
"This is a Global Tel-Link prepaid call from … Catherine Lahote… an inmate at an Oregon correctional facility," the automated message is so robotic apart from her name. It's her voice.
I stay quiet. Waiting…
"Paul? Hello?" Catherine speaks, "please don't hang up. Hello?... Paul?"
"No… um… he's not here," I find my voice.
"Oh… who am I speaking to?" she asks after a few beats of silence.
"My name is Rachel," I reply, "um… Paul's girlfriend."
"Paul has a girlfriend!?" Catherine sounds delighted, "I- … I uh… well… this is not how I ever wanted to meet his first girlfriend," she laughs softly.
"Sorry," I whisper, "um… Paul really doesn't want to speak to you," I tell her, trying to be gentle. I can't imagine what she's been through or what she's currently going through. Why she's locked up in Oregon…
"I know," Catherine whispers, "I just have to keep trying and maybe-"
"No. It's really upsetting him," I glance out the window, scared of being caught, "you need to stop calling."
"Rachel?" Catherine replies, "do you have a last name, Rachel?"
"Um… Black," I comb my fingers through my hair.
"Rachel Black… I reccogni- oh! You're Sarah Black's girl! I know your mother!" Catherine's voice is joyous.
"Oh… You knew my mother," I corrected her, "Sarah Black died… seven years ago."
"Oh… oh, no. Oh, honey, I'm so sorry for your loss. How awful. Poor Billy," Catherine says, sympathetically.
My stomach is assaulted with a pang of guilt. For my mother. For my father being all alone… for even talking to Catherine…
"... I have to go."
"Oh, please don't go! How is Paul? Tell me how my son is doing?" she begs.
"I can't. This isn't a good time," my eyes keep darting to the treeline, expecting Paul to be back any second. I don't want him to catch me talking to Catherine.
"Can I… how can I reach you? Please? Please, Rachel… I'm desperate, here. I know that I've been a bad mother to Paul. I understand… But he's still my son. I still care about him. Can I call you? Just to make sure he's okay?"
"I… I dunno," I swallow.
This is a bad idea. Why did I answer the phone?
"Please… Rachel, please. I'm not well."
"What?" I'm caught off guard by that.
"Things have not been going well with my health and... I don't know how much time I have left, Rachel. I just… I need to know that he's okay. Please. Please do this for me. Please?" Catherine begs.
A pit grows in my stomach. I feel sick.
"Do you have a pen?" I whisper.
"Are you okay?" Paul asks me.
He's since returned from blowing off steam — whatever that means — and we've had dinner, looked at some more of the study materials… We couldn't agree on a movie so we're sitting on the couch — his arm around me — watching reruns of Futurama on TV.
"Hm? Mm-hm," I nod. I can't stop thinking about how I gave his mother my number… How I agreed to talk to her.
"... You upset with me?" Paul asks.
"What? No… why would you think-"
"Because of how I lost my cool and left you here all alone for like an hour," he interrupts me.
"Oh. No. It's okay. Really," I shake my head.
"You sure?" he asks.
I nod.
"Okay," he replies and looks back to the rerun of Futurama.
"Do you… what to talk about her?" I ask carefully. I don't want to upset him. I know that he is easily set off.
"Nope," he replies shortly.
"Sometimes," I swallow, treading lightly, "talking about something that upsets you… can make it less upsetting," I admit. Something that I have only recently discovered thanks to Emily.
"Oh yeah? Is that so?" Paul's voice is sarcastic and dry. He glares at me. I know what's coming, "then have at it, Bird…"
A pang. It's sharp and wretched and full of dread. Everything I've been keeping from him — from everyone — boils rapidly in my stomach. Control it, Girly. Come on. Push it down.
"Sometimes you're pretty ridiculous, you know? Don't sit here and act like I'm the only one here who bottles up-" he stops immediately when I am no longer able to control the rapid boil of emotions in my stomach and my eyes flood with tears. "No… no, no, no no. I-... shit, I'm sorry-"
"No," I bring my hands to my face, embarrassed that I let this happen, "it's fine. It's… you're right," I bring my hands down, "we don't need to… maybe i should go-" I attempt to stand but he pulls me back down.
"I-... was 8," he sighs.
I knot my hands together in my lap.
"and… things had always been bad between them. Mom's drinking was … out of control. Her and Dad were fighting like cats and fucking dogs. Fighting, Bird. Not arguing," he sighs, "she'd scratch and claw at him and he'd pull her hair and throw her around…"
"Oh my god," I whisper, taking his hands in mine and resting them in my lap.
"-and well… I knew it was because she was drinking. Mom didn't always drink. Things weren't great when she'd stop but… they were better. So… after one particularly ugly fight, I took the bottle of vodka she'd been working on and poured it down the sink and replaced it with water — like she wouldn't fucking notice. I was an idiot."
"You were a child," I whisper.
"And," Paul takes a deep breath, "and well… she did notice. Dad had left the apartment to get food and she really let me have it."
"She hit you?" I feel sick. Sick; for the little boy in such an awful situation. But also sick for pitying her only moments earlier.
"Dad's never hit me," Paul continues, "he's one cruel son of a bitch but he's never put his hands on me. That's why he got custody. Mom knew she didn't have a shot after what she did that night."
"What'd she do?" I whisper, afraid to ask.
"Well, she got in a few good slaps" he chuckles softly, "I thought I'd be clever and hide under my bed. She was so pissed. She grabbed me by the hair and tried to pull me out but I grabbed onto the bed frame so every time she pulled at me, the bed would come with me… and well, that just made her even angrier…"
I listen. That's all I can do.
"So in her rage, she starts scratching my face," he explains, "she always had these long nails too. I'm screaming for her to stop and yelling for the neighbors. She tries to cover my mouth and I bite her really hard. So she let's go… and I think that's the end of it. She left the room. All I have to do is wait for Dad to get home. And I'm waiting and waiting…" he expels a long sad breath, "then I hear her coming back. She went a boiled a pot of water."
"Oh my god," I whisper, scared for what he's about to say next, "she didn't."
"She gives me a warning to come out. I refuse … And then she throws it under the bed. It Burns my neck, my shoulders, my scalp… I spent a few days in the hospital. When Dad took me home she was gone. He'd packed up everything and we came to live here."
I don't know what to say. What can I say? I sit up on my knees and wrap my arms around him tightly; holding onto him and never wanting to let go. Paul accepts my embrace, his arms closing around my back and his face leaning into my neck.
"I never told anyone," he whispers, "I mean… of course my brothers all know but… I've never told anyone before."
I swallow, "... thank you for trusting me," I reply, softly.
Paul inhales me deep into his lungs and through a burdened sigh whispers, "I wish you'd trust me."
I know what he's talking about. I clamp my teeth together. I remember what Emily said about how we're family. I hold him longer. I don't want to let go.
Then I surprise myself, with my lips pressed into his shoulder I whisper, "I had an abortion."
He doesn't say a word, he just holds me tighter and strokes my back and hair.
I swallow the lump in my throat, "I got stealthed. I ended up pregnant and I had an abortion," I admit.
"Oh?" he whispers, tenderly.
"And I'm angry about it… because this was done to me and I was left to clean up the mess and face the consequences and he never admitted what he did. And I feel stupid for trusting him. And I feel guilty for choosing myself over the-" I stop myself. It wasn't a baby… it was an embryo, "... I chose myself and now I'm here," I whimper, "I'm stuck here and I'm nothing. All of my hard work in school was all for naught. It was for nothing and now I am nothing," I sniffle.
"Shhh, you're everything to me," Paul whispers and pulls back to look at my face and wipe my tears, "I love you so much," he says tenderly. "And you don't have to say it back — you are everything. Okay?"
"I'm so ashamed," I whisper, more tears fall over my eyelids from my confession. I am ashamed not just because of the abortion — even with these feelings attached I still do not regret — but I am also ashamed because of Mom. And I can never tell him or anyone about that.
"It's okay," Paul cradles me against his body, "I'm here for you."
I look up at him, cup my hand to his cheek, "as am I," I whisper.
In this moment, I know that I love him too.