Suicide // Haylor AU

Chapter 11

THURSDAY, MARCH 21
17 days left

Today is Rob's tenth birthday. We're all gathered in the back party room of Pirate Jack's Laserplex. Pirate Jack's Laserplex is exactly what it sounds like—a run-down pirate-themed laser tag facility. It's housed in a cement-block building that has small dusty windows and stained tiled floors.
Steve always has Thursdays off, and Mom used a vacation day. Kendall and I came straight from school to help Mom decorate the room with black and red streamers, eye patches, and fake gold coins. If you close your eyes, cover your ears, and spin around a few times, you could almost believe you were on a pirate ship, not stranded in Langston, Kentucky. Almost.

I'm currently seated in the back of the room, at a table by myself, balancing Rob's present on my lap and holding a plastic cup of orange soda in my left hand, trying to pretend like I don't feel ridiculous wearing a paper pirate hat. Steve sits in the front with his buddies, downing cans of cheap beer and applauding every time Rob opens a basketball or a baseball glove. Kendall, Mom, and some of Mom's friends sit at the table next to Steve's, gossiping about the cheer squad and lamenting how Christine Beth Thomas beat Sandra Dewitt in last month's beauty pageant.
Every once in a while, Mom glances back at me. Like I've said before, she, Kendall, and I all have the same eyes, but Mom has different eyelids. Hers are dusky and weathered looking. They have a sadness to them. She catches me staring at her and I look away.

Rob's ripped through his stack of presents like a tornado. Guess it's my turn. I reach out and carefully place my soda on the table. A sliver of sugary orange syrup sloshes over the edge of the cup and dribbles down my hand. I wipe my hand on my shirt and grip Rob's present. It's light in my hands when I want it to feel heavy, significant. I walk toward him.
Rob grabs the present from me. "Hey, Taylor," he says, his gray-green eyes lighting up. Rob looks eerily similar to Steve, a miniature version. They both have wavy blond hair, small and beady gray-green eyes, and sharp, pointed chins.
"Hey, Rob," I say. "Happy birthday."
The rest of the room has gone silent. Watching us. I wrapped my gift in E=MC2 paper. He doesn't seem to notice. He tears the paper away fast, and as he stares down at my gift, his small eyes stretch as wide as baseballs.
Mike squeals and waves the gift, a comic book, in the air. It's an edition of The Amazing Spider-Man, signed by Stan Lee. He clutches it to his chest and beams at me. "Spider-Man? This is awesome!" He stares at the cover and traces his finger over the signature like he's hypnotized by it. Then he carefully places the comic on the table next to him and stretches his arms out wide, pulling me into a tight hug.
My mouth feels dry and my stomach is heavy like a bowling ball. I weakly return his hug and run my fingers through his wavy hair. "You're welcome, buddy. I hope you enjoy reading it for years to come."
He squints at me like he knows that there's something wrong with what I just said. The problem is that I can't say what it is that I really want to say. I should tell him that I spent fifteen paychecks to buy him that comic book because I desperately want him to have something nice to remember me by. To think of me as kind, as cool, as caring. Not as the psycho offspring of a murderer who offed herself when he was ten.
I want to be more to him than that. I know that might never happen, but I have this daydream where, a couple of years from now, when I'm gone and Rob misses me, he reaches for the comic book, and as he reads it, he feels better. He feels safe. He knows he can beat his demons in exactly the way I couldn't.
"Hey," I hear a gruff voice call out.
I let my arms drop from Rob's waist and turn around. It's one of Steve's buddies. He has stringy brown hair that falls to his shoulders and he's wearing a camouflage-print trucker hat.
"Hey," he repeats. "Those things are expensive." He gestures toward the comic book with the beer that's in his right hand. "I hope you obtained it legally." He grins, revealing his crooked yellowed teeth. His stare lets me know exactly what he's thinking about: my father.
"No worries," I say. "Obtained completely legally. I bought it with my own hard-earned cash."
The man turns his head to glance at my mother. "So she takes after you, Andrea?"
My mom nods stiffly and walks to the front of the room. She places her hand on the small of Rob's back and turns to face me. "That was a very thoughtful present, Taylor. Thank you."
I swallow down the anger I feel thrashing around in my gut. I love my little brother. Of course I got him a nice present. Why do you have to act so surprised, Mom? I squeeze my jaw shut, afraid of what might come out if I open it.

Rob is the only one of them who has never acted like it was strange when I moved in. The first day I arrived at Steve's house, Rob was waiting for me on the front steps, his grin stretched so wide I thought his face might break. My heart swelled when I saw his gap-toothed smile, and remembering it now makes me ache. When I first moved in, I used to read to him before he went to sleep on nights when my mom worked late. And sometimes he would beg me to play with him in the backyard. We'd run around, kicking our mud-stained soccer ball back and forth. But recently, I don't have the energy for any of that.
My mom shuffles past me so she can stand behind the small table with the birthday cake. "Rob, come here and help me cut the cake."
Rob looks at her and then back at me. He gives me another tight hug and then bounds over to my mom He's all energy and smiles and love. Rob has always been that way.
My throat is dry as I walk back to my seat and watch my mom slice the chocolate cake. It has melted, droopy frosting. She encourages everyone to eat quickly since we are scheduled to play laser tag in twenty minutes.
While devouring the cake, Rob's friends take turns examining his presents. When one of them grabs for the comic book, his fingers coated with chocolate icing, Rob moves it away from his reach. "Don't get it dirty!"
He looks over at me and my heart seizes and I think that any second, it might explode. Sometimes I wonder if my heart is like a black hole—it's so dense that there's no room for light, but that doesn't mean it can't still suck me in. I'm going to miss Rob the most. I'm going to miss him so much, I almost can't stand it.
I stick my fork into my slice of cake and sigh. I stand up and head toward the door. Mom walks up behind me and places her hand on my shoulder.
"Where are you going?" Her heavy eyelids sag over her eyes, like any second they're going to snap shut so she won't have to see me anymore.
"Just to the bathroom."
"Okay, be back soon. You won't want to miss laser tag." Her words are simple. Benign. But I know what she really means is I'm not allowed to act like a mopey loser here. This is Rob's birthday party and I need to pull it together. And the thing is, she's right. It wouldn't be fair for me to go into the bathroom and sulk for hours.
I want to scream at her. She never bothers to ask what's wrong or what's going on with me. She doesn't want to know. Even though Mom never went through the Kentucky beauty pageant system, she's still learned how to put on a show. She's great at delivering a megawatt smile even when I know she wants to cry. Or speaking in a calm, measured voice even when I know she wants to scream. Sometimes I wish she would scream. Her always acting like everything's okay only makes me feel even crazier than I already am.
I wonder if her facade would finally crumble if I told her what I'm going to do. If she knew what Harry and I were planning. I shake that thought from my head. Telling her would do more harm than good. Nothing she has to say can save me. I need to remember that.
I walk down the hallway, staring at the specks of dirt that are sprinkled all over the tiled floor. I push open the door and head outside. I close my eyes as the cold wind smacks against my face.
I put my hands in the snow that hasn't completely melted. My fingertips freeze.

Seventeen days left.