Page 27 of The Bleeding Woods

Grayson’s breath stills, but his eyes meander toward me. I feel naked; I feel like I’ve been stripped bare before an audience of accusatory eyes. It takes every bit of my willpower to choke back tears. Jade’s left eye twitches.

“Did you actually see him this morning, Clara?” she demands. “Or were you hallucinating?”

Tears break free and stream down my face.

Horror is sewn into the grooves of my irises.

Endless apologies are all that come to mind, but I no longer have the voice to produce them.

She clicks her tongue, then shakes her head in a way that sends chestnut curls of hair over her furrowed brows.

Either she still doesn’t believe me, or she hopes with every inch of her soul that I’m in the midst of a psychotic break.

“Well, that answers that.”

Maybe I am in the midst of a psychotic break, if I wasn’t already broken enough.

Maybe I’m tired of being spoken to like something subhuman, despite the possibility that I am.

Maybe I’m tired of Jasper, whatever he is, fact or fantasy.

Maybe I’m tired of Jade, who just can’t seem to understand how much this hurts, hurts, hurts.

“Why don’t we try to get some shut-eye?” Grayson suggests, his warm fingers grazing the edge of my triceps. He’s here; I’m human. “We need sleep.”

I end up sandwiched between the two of them. Grayson lies as still as a soldier, and Jade writhes, annoyed by the granules of earth beneath her skin. They gather in irritating bunches under her exposed limbs. It is only after Grayson’s breath evens out that she speaks, her voice a low growl.

“I really wish it had been you.” She wouldn’t dare bring this up with him awake.

This is the longest we’ve spent alone together in months, so it was only a matter of time before the strained tether between us would be tugged even more taut.

It’s exactly as I feared. “You should have died that night. They didn’t deserve it.

They were good parents, and even better people. Because of you, they’re gone.”

It’s worse than I feared.

I can feel it; I’m about to be a whole lot worse too. “Do you actually think I meant for it to happen?”

“With you, I never know. Either way, your recital meant more to them than their lives, and more than their other daughter waiting at home. That’s just how it was, though. It was always about precious little Clara. They never cared about me.”

I shoot up to sitting, giving her a glare I seldom dare. “Are you hallucinating now? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

She rises with me, far more comfortable with her ocular arsenal.

“It’s the truth. No matter what we were doing, they had to make sure you were safe.

You were happy. You were taken care of. It was always you, you, you.

Clara, Clara, Clara. Right up until their last moments on Earth, it was all about Clara. ”

“Have you ever considered why?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Jade, they needed to keep an eye on me because I couldn’t do anything right.

I was a walking natural disaster. Nothing ever came easy to me, not even moving like a normal person.

That’s why I took dance. You . . . you were perfect at everything.

School, sports, socializing, instruments, extracurriculars, dating.

You were a straight-A student. Every cute boy, cool teacher, and coach was obsessed.

Mom and Dad had too many reasons to be proud of you to manage.

You were their superstar, and I was their failure.

They didn’t need to breathe down your flawless little neck, because you had living in the bag.

You were perfect. I was barely passable. ”

“I had to be perfect, and I had to make it look effortless, because that’s what big sisters do. It doesn’t mean I needed them any less. I just learned how to fend for myself without them, and it’s a good thing I did, considering what happened.”

“I told you I didn’t mean for that to happen!” I yell.

“Yeah, well, it still happened, and you didn’t even care!” she yells back. Grayson must have been exhausted, because he doesn’t stir.

“Of course I cared!”

“You didn’t even cry at their funeral! You didn’t even miss them! They gave you everything, and you didn’t even have the common decency to miss them!”

Ouch.

She’s not speaking to just me anymore. She’s speaking to the monster in me.

She’s reminding me just how inhuman I am, and I don’t .

. . I don’t like it. I didn’t miss them.

I didn’t feel any guilt. It didn’t hurt.

It never hurt. It couldn’t have hurt. I’m a monster, it couldn’t have hurt. Why, then, does this hurt?

“Maybe I was too busy missing you!” I scream.

Now Grayson awakens. Startled, he stares at us with eyes so wide, the glow of the moon bounces off the whites of them. “What’s going on?”

The memories race through my mind. I see her frowning at me from the other end of the funeral home.

I see her back turned, a suitcase in her hand, as she leaves our grandmother’s apartment for the last time.

I see her in glimpses, skulking around our city, avoiding my eyes in the few instances we crossed paths.

I see her shadow, the space she left when . . .

“You left me, Jade! You just left me! The minute I got home from the hospital, you made it clear that I was no longer your sister! No more late-night talks, no more making pancakes together, no more anything! You hated me just for existing, and the worst part is, you were right! It was my fault! It’s true, I didn’t deserve you in my life, but I needed you!

I needed you, Jade, and I still need you! ”

I’m crying. Her amber irises are black as obsidian, but they, too, are swimming.

“I’m . . . sorry,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry . . .”

I search for more words, but my mind finds none worth their salt. I cannot bear to look at her, and I’m certain she’s had enough of me. On shaking legs, I tumble out of our makeshift tent. Something grabs the thinnest part of my wrist. It’s a branch. It’s Jasper. It’s a sensory hallucination. It’s—

It’s Jade.

“Me too,” she says. “I’m . . . sorry too.”

This isn’t right. She isn’t supposed to apologize to me.

She isn’t supposed to forgive me. She’s right about me.

She’s always been right. What happened to our parents wasn’t an accident.

It was murder, and I am the murderer. I’ll always be the murderer, the melancholy, and the misfortune.

I am a blotchy, black bloodstain on the surface of her life.

I am a source of suffering—her suffering, everyone’s suffering.

I don’t deserve her apologies. I don’t deserve her forgiveness.

I didn’t deserve my parents, and I don’t deserve a sister.

The memory of Joey as a gory marionette crosses my cortex and sends a shiver from my brain stem to the base of my spine.

I don’t deserve anyone.

I yank my arm away from her and take off into the trees.

Every one of them leans in, crooked and curious.

Beyond our makeshift camp, nestled between the crook of a granite slope and a wooden abyss beyond time and space, there is only silence.

The moon above is a sliver of buttery light, but in its crescent shape, it stares down at me like a reptilian pupil.

The world is watching and listening.

He is watching and listening.