She held the knife at her throat. No, she thought. Not here. She traced the tip of the blade along her neck and its cold sharpness made her shiver. Slowly she brought the knife to her heart. This would be a good place. She gripped the handle with both hands tightly and braced herself to push. Just before the blade slid into her body, she stopped. Just not right. Then she knew. The pain was a sickness, a churning inside that burned in the depths of her body. She pointed the knife at her stomach. It would be slow and painful this way. Good. She didn't brace herself this time; she breathed even when the blade was inside her and her blood came oozing out. She imagined the pain rushed out with it.
Let me be exorcized, let me be free…
Lara woke with a start and despite the warmth of the sunlight spilling through the window she was leaning on, she was shaking. She put her hand on her stomach and could feel her pulse beating there. It was a sickening feeling, like she couldn't stand to be in her own skin.
The window faced eastward, letting the bright morning sunlight illuminate her entire room and Lara slowly stopped shivering. She curled her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes again, wanting desperately to fall back asleep. It was a selfish thing. Sleep let her escape her life, her reality, her self. She couldn’t remember what she’d dreamed last night, but it had to be better than the waking world.
Yawning, Lara looked over at the clock on her dresser and saw that it was 9:54AM. It was past time for her to get up. It didn’t matter how tired she was or how badly she wanted to be free from reality because, in the end, she was responsible for the way things were now and she damn well better face it.
After catching herself about to drift off, Lara finally forced herself to stand up. As soon as she was on her feet, her vision went dark and she had to brace herself against the wall to keep from falling. After a long moment, her head cleared and the world righted itself. She really needed to eat today. The last thing she wanted was to faint in front of Paige and have her aunt fussing over her.
She pulled on the first tank top and pair of shorts she found in her bag and then braided her hair. The weather here was only slightly cooler than it had been in Virginia, so she still wanted to pull the weight of her hair off her neck.
Lara paced aimlessly for a few minutes. She was reluctant to leave the room; it was so safe and quiet here. There were no questions to answer, no conversations to pretend to care about. She wasn’t expected to act in any certain way. God, her head was chaotic enough without the pressure of catering to everyone else’s expectations: be sad, be strong, be brave, mustn’t feel guilt or hate, must mourn and grieve, but still be making progress towards recovery, must cry, why won’t she cry, must get on with life, must remember what they would have wanted for you, must sit with the pain and watch it from afar as if it were a landscape you were just passing through. Shut up, shut up, shut up!
She opened her door and charged out almost belligerently, bumping roughly into someone as she turned into the hallway. She started to fall backwards from jolt, but felt a strong arm pull her back onto her feet, helping to support her.
"Oh, I'm sorry," a deep male voice said. "Are you okay?"
Lara looked up to see the green eyes of a tall, blond boy staring down at her. His face was clean cut in appearance, as if his chin, cheekbones, lips and nose were chiseled from stone. Through his white tee shirt and carpenters jeans, Lara could tell that he was lean and muscular in an easy, non-threatening way. This wasn’t a guy who spent endless hours in the gym lifting weights. He seemed more like someone who liked being outdoors, liked being active.
"I'm fine," Lara replied as she pulled away from the boy. "Thank you."
"You scared me to death," he said with a nervous laugh.
"Likewise," she admitted as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She suddenly felt too exposed.
"I'm Marc. I’ve been helping Tim with the renovations here for the last few months," the boy said, holding out his hand. Lara shook it reluctantly, feeling the same strength in his grip that he possessed throughout his entire body. When she looked up at his face, she could suddenly see herself in her mind’s eye being held so tightly in those strong arms that for once she would be able to breathe. Her cheeks burned and she looked back down.
“The pot rack guy,” she murmured, remembering what Tim and Paige had said last night.
Marc winced. “Yeah, that’s me. I think it’ll be a while before Tim lets me live that one down.”
“What, is he some kind of perfectionist?” Lara asked with surprise.
“No, actually, I am. He likes to needle me about it sometimes.”
“Oh.”
"So you're Lara, right?" Marc asked hesitantly after an awkward silence.
"Yeah," she replied.
"Tim and Paige told me their niece was going to be staying with them. But to tell you the truth, I thought you'd be younger from the way Paige talked about you."
"I'm almost seventeen, actually, but I think she forgets that most of the time. I haven’t really spent a lot of time with her since I was little and I think she froze me at that age. When she first saw me a few weeks ago she started calling me ‘precious.’”
Marc laughed. “Sounds about right. To me, she said something along the lines of ‘oh, you must be a little heartbreaker.’”
“Huh. I think you have me beat.” Then she looked at him challengingly. “But, uh, when I got here yesterday Tim bear-hugged me and bounced me around in the air. Has he ever done that to you?”
“Actually yes,” Marc said. “The day we finished the bedroom upstairs. But he threw his back out and couldn’t work for the next week.”
Lara laughed; a small laugh that spread its warmth throughout her body. It felt so natural that it wasn't for another moment that she realized it was the first time she’d laughed since her parents had died. Waves of guilt swept over her and the smile that had so easily appeared and illuminated her face faded in an instant, leaving a dark frown in its place.
Marc's hand was on her arm. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.
She pulled away from him quickly. "Yeah, sorry. I'm fine." Lara looked up at him and could see the worry in his eyes. He knows about my parents, she realized with dull nausea.
"They told you," Lara stated dispassionately.
"You mean—about your parents? Yeah, they did. I don't know what to say. It must be really hard for you. I can't imagine what you must be going through."
Lara was speechless. She had become accustomed to the hackneyed phrases of comfort given by friends and acquaintances, looking like puppies in their pathetic sympathy. Her best friend even had the nerve to say: "They're in a better place, sweetie, where they can watch over you all the time." The hell they are, Lara had thought. They're six fucking feet under the ground.
But Marc regarded her with a sense of respect that she hadn't gotten from anyone since accident. He didn’t seem afraid of her, or of saying the wrong thing. And it made her feel almost…normal.
Words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. "It is what it is," she said in a monotone voice. "People die; thousands every day. Why should my parents be any different?" She remembered father's body flying through the windshield, her mother's pleading as Lara bent over her battered body. "Don't let me die, Larissa. I don't want to die."
Marc looked at her oddly, his head tipped slightly to the side, staring into her eyes. "That makes it easier for you, doesn't it?" he asked after a long moment.
Lara looked away from him. "What?" She felt very disconcerted. It was like this boy could see right through her.
"Rationalizing your parents' deaths so that you don't have to feel it."
Again, Lara was taken aback. "Look, if you want to psychoanalyze me the least you can do is get some ink blots and a couch for me to lie on," she replied harshly.
"I'm sorry," Marc said. "I didn't mean for it to sound like that. I guess...I just wanted to know..."
They were both silent for a long while. Lara kept her gaze on the floor. She tried to remember if she snapped at people this much before the accident. Rationally, she knew that she hadn’t. She’d always tried to be polite and somehow she’d known how to say the right things, but now she honestly couldn’t remember what it had been like to be that girl. This bitter, vicious bitch seemed to be all that she’d ever been.
But Marc was looking at her, unafraid and unflinching. “I just wanted to know…”
"It's hard," she finally said so softly that she wasn't sure he would be able to hear her. "You know, I was never one of those kids who constantly relied on their parents. I was independent; they raised me that way. I remember when they dropped me off at summer camp a few years ago, so many of the kids were saying tearful goodbyes. Not me. I just dropped my stuff off and ran out to see the hiking trails. Actually, I completely forgot to say goodbye to them." Lara laughed bitterly. "I was so busy being independent that I always forgot little things like that. To say, goodbye; to say, goodnight; to say, I love you. You never really realize how much or how little those words mean until you can never say them again."
Where the hell did all that come from? Lara thought, feeling her throat tighten. She concentrated harder on staring at the floor. "I don't know, I'm just rambling."
"No," Marc replied. "I see what you're saying."
Lara merely nodded. She didn't want to talk any more; she’d told him too much.
"You'll be alright, you know," Marc said, moving closer to Lara. His voice was so soft, so gentle that Lara almost believed him. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "It hurts like hell, but you'll be alright."
She lifted her eyes to him. “How do you know?” she whispered.
It seemed like he was about to answer, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs cut him off.
"Marc!" Tim yelled. "We're back!" He and Paige walked down the hall carrying some supplies and a toolbox.
Lara's breath stopped for a moment, as it usually did, when she saw Paige. Her mother's face, her mother's eyes. "Don't let me die...”
"Oh Lara, you're up!" Paige remarked. "We were just out picking up some stuff for the other bedroom up here. I thought we’d be back before you woke up. How did you sleep?"
"Fine," Lara replied, gritting her teeth as she tried to push the memory away.
"And I see you've met Marc," Paige looked from her niece to the tall blond boy with a slight smile. "Isn't he just a heart-breaker?"
Marc and Lara exchanged amused glances and Lara could tell he was trying to contain a laugh. "He's...uh...very nice," she replied.
"He's also the best help I've had on these renovations, in spite of the faulty pot rack," Tim added, slapping Marc on the back affectionately. "Paige and I keep trying to convince him to forget about college and stay with us until the house is finished."
“And I keep telling the both of you that I can't exactly pass up a scholarship to UPenn," Marc replied with mock frustration. “You’ll just have to find some other poor high school kid who is willing to work for mere pittance.”
“Well,” Paige suddenly interjected, “since you will be leaving for college soon, we don’t want you working too hard. You were supposed to have the day off, so why don’t you take it?”
Marc looked confused. “But I—”
“Oh, I have an idea,” she continued. “Maybe you could take Lara around and show her the town?”
Lara had to restrain herself from slapping her forehead and hiding her face out of embarrassment.
“Yeah, alright,” Marc said amiably. “You up for it?”
She gave him and Paige a strained smile. “Sure. Just let me get some shoes on.”
A few minutes later, Lara and Marc were walking out towards his truck. The air was already warm even though it was still before noon. Normally, she had enjoyed this kind of weather, but now it was just adding to her discomfort.
“Well,” she said, trying to sound casual. “This was a not-so-subtle setup.”
“Tell me about it.”
Marc unlocked the doors and they both hopped into the cabin of the truck. “I’m sorry. You could just drop me off somewhere or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, glancing at her as he started the engine. “The set-up wasn’t subtle, but I’m not that bad, am I?”
Lara gave him a half-smile. “I’m just not good company right now.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that, okay?”
“Fine,” she sighed as she turned to look out the window. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Marc started to back out of the driveway. “So, where to?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
Just as they turned out onto the street, Lara’s stomach growled loudly. She self-consciously clamped her arm over it.
“Sounds like we should start with breakfast,” Marc said.
They drove for a while, down the winding roads that Lara remembered from the day before. She didn’t say much and Marc didn’t press her. Staring out the window, she started to slip deeper into her thoughts until the world outside of herself no longer seemed real. This was the same state that she’d lingered in during those hours and days in Karen Bennett’s guest room.
It almost startled her when the engine of the truck stopped rumbling. They were parked outside of a small cottage that had been turned into a bakery and there were tables both inside as well as on the front porch.
“Sorry,” Marc said as they walked into the bakery. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to snatch you back from wherever your mind went during the ride.”
“I told you I wasn’t good company,” she reminded him.
“Don’t worry about it.”
They went up to the counter and ordered their food.
“So,” Marc said as they waited for the order. “What were you thinking about?”
Lara shrugged uncertainly, looking at the array of pastries on display. “Nothing, really. I just have a tendency to fade out, since…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.
“I see. Well it’s a lot to deal with. Your brain probably needs those breaks.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How are you so good at this?”
“At what?”
“I don’t know, at talking to me. Everyone else has been too nice, too sympathetic, too encouraging, too careful, too…everything. I started to hate them all. But you…” She trailed off, unable to find the right words. “You’re just different.”
The woman behind the counter slid their tray of food at Marc. He picked it up and they decided to sit at one of the outside tables in the shade.
“My dad walked out on my mother and me a few years ago,” he suddenly said. He took a sip of his orange juice. “I used to hate everything people said too. My mom was always trying to look happy, still smiling even when it was obvious how much pain she was in. I hated the pretense and the fake assurances.”
“Like the ‘time heals all wounds’ line?” Lara asked, rolling her eyes.
“Exactly. Or ‘whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’”
Lara bit her lip sharply and the cut she’d made the night before reopened. “Well I can attest to the fact that it’s all bullshit.”
Marc raised his cup of orange juice and Lara did the same. “To the end of bullshit,” he declared.
“Here, here,” she said with a smile and tapped his cup with her own.
The rest of the day was perfect. Lara and Marc walked around downtown and she listened to his stories about growing up there. In such a small town, it seemed like everything evoked a thousand different memories. Eventually they passed the high school that Lara would be attending in the fall. Marc was fun as he led her around the campus, warning her about the idiosyncrasies of certain teachers and which classes really had an impact on him. After that, he took her hiking along the trails in the nearby state park. When they finally went back to her aunt's house, Paige had the table set for a steak dinner, which was one of Lara’s favorite foods. Marc ate with them and Lara listened as he and Tim discussed their plans for the attic. She caught herself about to laugh at the argument the two guys had with Paige over the benefits of turning the attic into a game room. When Marc left, Lara read a book while her aunt and uncle laughed loudly through some movie on TV. She had another hot bath that night without even a passing thought of the man she'd seen in the mirror the night before. Finally, as she lay on her bed and started to drift off against her will, she realized just how perfect the day had been and she hated herself for every second of it.
"What do you want to do?" Marc had asked her that afternoon as they’d hiked the last hundred feet to the highest point on the trail. "With your life, I mean."
Lara knew that she shouldn't have been so disturbed by the question. He'd been talking about UPenn and med schools and his plans for the next few years; she should have been prepared. But she hadn't been and she didn't answer.
When they’d stood on the top of the hill overlooking the peaceful town below, for just a brief moment she’d felt blessedly insignificant. But then Marc had asked her the question again and she could only give him a sad smile as her answer. He’d tipped his head to the side and that odd expression he’d given her in the hallway that morning appeared again. How could he ever understand that all she wanted to do with her life now was end it?
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