Drive-By

FREYA

~I’m walking down a hallway, stark and white, illuminated by blinding fluorescent lights.~

~Suddenly, in front of me, a gray door appears.~

~I reach out my hand and push it open.~

~On the other side, I see a young boy standing over a hospital bed.~

~His shoulders are heaving.~

~He’s crying.~

~I walk toward him.~

~“Liam?” I say.~

~He looks up at me but points to the bed…to the woman lying in it.~

~“My mother is dead,” he says. “I’m all alone.”~

~I take one step toward him. And then another.~

~“You’re not alone,” I say.~

~I try to reach out my hand…to take his in mine. But as I get close to him, he starts to disappear.~

~I can’t touch him.~

~“I’m so alone,” I hear his little voice say again, but he has vanished.~

~I look down at the bed again and scream in horror.~

~The face does not belong to his mother, but to mine.~

~And we’re not in a hospital anymore.~

~We’re on the street.~

~THAT street.~

~She’s lying dead with a bullet hole in her skull.~

~Her blood is pooling at my feet.~

~I’m glued to the spot.~

~I can’t move.~

~I can’t scream.~

~As I begin to shut down, walls start to build up around me.~

~The concrete beneath my feet turns into wood. The blood vanishes.~

~I hear the sound of my father’s breathing, labored and heavy.~

~Then I feel the weight of his body, bloated with alcohol, pressing down on me as I try to lift his limp body off of the porch and into the house.~

~“Where’s Mase?” he gurgles.~

~“Mase is at school, Dad,” I explain. “Remember?”~

~“Why aren’t you at school?”~

~“Because I need to be here for you,” I say.~

~“No. I don’t need you. I need Mason,” he says. “WHERE’S MASON?”~

~His scream acts like a spell, dismantling the porch and replacing it with my childhood bedroom.~

~Suddenly my father is gone, and my brother appears, towering over me.~

~“It’s your fault,” he growls. “It should have been you instead.”~

~“No,” I whisper. “It wasn’t my fault, Mason.”~

~“You took her away from me, Frey.”~

~Then he turns and walks away slowly.~

~I’m so alone.~

~I try to move my feet, to chase after him, but the world rearranges around me and I am back on the street again, my mother lying dead at my feet.~

~I can hear the screech of car tires in the distance, while my ears still ring from the sound of gunfire and my eyes sting with tears.~

~I scream for Mason. And for my father. But they don’t answer.~

~So I call out for Liam.~

~“Liam! Help! Liam!”~

~“Freya?”~

~“Liam?”~

“Freya! Are you okay?”

I was still screaming Liam’s name when his voice jolted me awake, and I bolted upright in my bed.

My skin was damp.

My heart was racing.

And Liam was sitting next to me, eyes wide.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him, still completely disoriented.

“You were screaming my name.”

I rubbed my forehead with my palm, as if I could physically erase the nightmare from my mind.

“You were also screaming some other things…” he said sadly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I looked at him sheepishly. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, and he was wearing nothing more than a pair of boxers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

My eyes landed on a tattoo in black ink scrawled across his chest. Cursive lettering that I could just make out:

~Their choice is to leave.~

“It’s okay,” he said, and I could tell that he meant it.

“Freya, were you dreaming about—” He paused nervously, but then continued. “Where is your mom? You told me about your dad, but I don’t know anything about her.”

I swallowed.

“She died,” I said, and I felt the familiar burn at the back of my throat.

“I don’t talk about her much. I try ~not~ to think about her, honestly. But the story you told me about ~your~ mom…it must have caused my own stuff to resurface.”

He nodded, stroking me gently on the back of my head.

“What was she like?” he asked me.

I had to take several deep breaths before I could answer.

“Everyone said that I looked just like her,” I began, as images of my mother over the years flashed through my head. “But they were wrong. She was so much more beautiful. And every piece of art she created was a masterpiece.”

“She was an artist too?”

“She created things that made you feel as if you were inside her world. They weren’t just paintings, they were new realities,” I answered.

I couldn’t help but picture my favorite piece that she had created.

It was so simple.

A lone bird flying high above the streets of L.A.

After she died, I would look at it and pretend that I was that bird…that I could just spread my wings and fly away from all of my problems.

When my father’s drinking increased after she died, I would look at that painting and imagine myself high above the skyline, feeling the warm air caressing my skin.

But, like my mother, the painting was now gone too.

My father, in one of his rages, had ripped it from the wall and torn it to pieces.

He regretted it the next morning, and I watched as he held the tattered remains in his hands like he was holding a corpse. His bloodied hands.

He didn’t leave the house that day. Instead, he just walked straight to the liquor cabinet and began drowning his sorrows away.

These were the memories that I tried to never relive, but Liam’s hand rubbing rhythmic circles on my back acted like a lever, opening the floodgates.

“How did it happen?” I heard him ask me. “How did she die?”

~The ringing of the gunshot.~

~The screeching of the tires.~

I lifted my eyes to meet him. “She was shot,” I answered simply, and his face fell.

“We were out walking one night. I had just had a fight with my father about something so stupid I can’t even remember. I needed some air, but she didn’t want me to go out alone.”

He reached for my hand and I slipped my shaking fingers between his.

“It happened so fast. She was standing beside me one second. And then a car pulled up next to us. I saw a flash of silver. And then she dropped to the ground. She died instantly.”

I dug my fingernails into his skin.

The tears began to fall again, and I was powerless to stop them.

They soaked into my shirt as I tucked my chin to my chest.

One of his strong arms wrapped around my waist and his other dried my cheek. He whispered soothing, inaudible words into my hair.

“She was murdered,” I said, realizing I had never said those words out loud before. “They killed her and drove away. No one ever had to answer for her death.”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me gently on the bridge of my nose.

When he pulled away, one of my tears was hanging off of his lip.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“How fucked up we both are?” I asked him, trying to calm myself down.

“We are both supremely fucked up,” he said with a sad chuckle. “Maybe that’s why we like each other.”

I smiled. It was nice to hear him finally say it out loud.

“So you like me, huh?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“Well, last night you left so quickly… If I was moving too fast…”

A smile cracked over his face and he nestled his chin into my neck.

“What’s so funny?” I asked him.

“I’m usually the one that has to apologize for that,” he said.

“So what was the problem?” I asked him.

“I don’t want to sound cocky,” he smirked, “but sex is the thing I’m good at.”

“Is that so?” I asked coyly.

“It’s all this emotional stuff that scares the shit out of me. I really don’t want to mess things up with you. Sex tends to complicate things.”

I tried to play it cool, but I couldn’t believe I was hearing these words come out of the mouth of one of the most notorious playboys.

“Besides,” he said, “I leave for the tour today.”

“Oh…right,” I sighed.

I knew perfectly well when he was scheduled to leave, but I guess I had lost track of time with the wedding and everything… And I wasn’t ready for him to go.

He rose from the bed suddenly and started pacing around my room.

“Listen, Freya,” he said, “you’ve been the most amazing pretend girlfriend. The PR scheme worked. All my shows are sold out and your job is done.”

He stopped in his tracks and looked at me. “But,” he continued, “it would be…cool if you were still here when I got back.”

I rose to meet him. “Cool?”

“Yeah—I mean—” He pressed my body into his and dragged his lips across my brow. “I don’t want you to leave. What do you say?”

I was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, and Wyatt’s voice boomed through the apartment.

“Rise and shine!” he called out. “Where’s my favorite rock star? We have a plane to catch.”

Liam and I locked eyes.

“I gotta go,” he said, and the reality of his departure hit me like a ton of bricks.

He could tell.

“What’s the matter?” he asked me.

“I’ll stay,” I said. “But what if it’s not the same when you come back? What if this is the last time it’s like this?”

“It won’t be,” he said. “I promise.”

I bit my quivering lip. “Take care of yourself,” I said.

“Take care of ~yourself~,” he repeated.

We kissed one final time before he walked out of my room.

Minutes later, I heard the wheels of his suitcase dragging through the hall. And then he was gone.

Just like that, I was alone in his apartment and would be for the next two months.

I felt another surge of gratitude for the paint supplies that would keep me company while he was gone.

I took a shower to remove the sweat and tears that were mingled together on my body.

When I got out, I threw on an oversize T-shirt and sweatpants and peeled the plastic off of a brand new canvas.

***

Only one day had passed since Liam had left…just twenty-four hours…and it already felt like a lifetime.

I missed the comforting sounds of his presence in the huge, empty apartment.

~His footsteps in the hall…~

~His fingers strumming on the guitar…~

~His voice saying my name…~

I wanted to talk to him, but he hadn’t called me yet.

The last thing I wanted to do was seem too desperate or clingy.

But when my phone buzzed, I lunged toward it excitedly, hoping it was him.

It wasn’t.

My heart sunk in disappointment…

Mason

Hi this is John. I work with Mason. You’re his sister, right?

Freya

Yes

Freya

What’s going on? Where’s Mason?

Mason

Mason is passed out in my living room.

Freya

And how did he get that way?

Mason

I’m sorry, didn’t know who else to contact.

Mason

I really need you to come get him.

Mason

I need him out of my apartment ASAP.

Freya

Can’t you just tell him to leave?

Mason

He’s still pretty out of his mind.

Mason

Please.

Mason

My ex is dropping off the kids in an hour and I can’t have him here when they get home.

Mason

Please, I’m begging you.