Read Online Shackled by Tom Leveen - Free Book Online

head and raced out of the kitchen, out of the foyer, and out the front door, not stopping to bother closing it behind me, all but running down the stone path to David’s car, climbing in, and slamming the door shut. My eyes had irised halfway shut, like tunnel vision.
    â€œGo,” I said.
    David set his book aside. “How’d it—”
    â€œStupid,” I said out loud. I was saying it only to myself.
    Winter sunlight warmed the interior of the car. I gazed slowly around at the neighborhood; at the various shades of tan paint coating all the look-alike houses, the cloudless sky overhead, the shiny cars parked on pristine white carports. The Jacobs home sat in a cul-de-sac.
    A dead end.
    This neighborhood, the Jacobses’ house, the calls to the cops. All of it.
    â€œSo stupid,” I whispered.
    I could feel David wanting to ask, wanting to know, wantingto do something. Finally, he did the absolute right thing: he tossed his book under his seat, started the car, and took me home.
    I didn’t say thank you. But I did try.

SEVEN
    I had David drop me off at home. We shared mumbled good-byes, and that was it.
    I scurried into the house alone. Closed and locked the door. Rushed to my room. Sat on my bed, got my gear, bared my leg. Drew the razor north to south down my calf, close to my knee pit.
    Burn, burn, burn.
    My heart stopped. Considered. Started up again, slower. Slower. Slowing . . .
    Better.
    I cleaned the blade and put it back into its case, which went back into my pocket. I dabbed the slice with tissue from the travel-size pack I kept in my bag. Never toilet paper, never a napkin. It’s got to be my own personal stash. Couldn’t say why. Maybe I was afraid of germs.
    Once the blood stopped draining, I plastered it with a bandage three fingers wide, rolled my pant leg back down, checked myself in the bathroom mirror, and, finally, tried to do math problems until Mom and Jeffrey would be home.
    It’s a lot of work being me anymore.
    A few hours later, as I was trying to get something ready for dinner, Mom arrived home with Jeffrey in tow, muttering about having to leave work early to go pick him up, and why couldn’t I just get my driver’s license like a sensible teenager so she wouldn’t have to drag not one but two of us around all the time. . . .
    So instantly my mood perked up.
    Just kidding.
    â€œWhy didn’t that guy David come get me?” Jeffrey wanted to know as soon as he walked in the door behind Mom.
    â€œBecause he had things to do,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to boil pasta for dinner.
    â€œWhat kinds of things?” Jeffrey wanted to know.
    â€œThe world doesn’t revolve around you!” I shouted.
    Jeffrey blinked up at me, wounded. He set his jaw and said, “You suck.”
    He marched out of the kitchen just as Mom marched back in from dumping her bag in her bedroom.
    â€œWhat on earth?” she said.
    â€œNothing,” I said, dumping mashed pasta down the disposal. It’s a mystery to me how I could fail to boil pasta correctly. I slammed the colander into the sink. “You’ll have to order in.”
    â€œWhat is the matter with you?” Mom asked.
    â€œWhat isn’t ?” I said back. “I just want to feel better , you know, just go back to how everything used to be, but no one will let me, and I miss . . . I just miss . . .”
    I suppose the most logical way to finish that sentence was with the name “Tara.” Only that wasn’t the first thing that came to mind. The first thing that came to mind was “me.”
    Mom listened to all this with her eyebrows raised.
    â€œHave you been taking your meds?” she asked. Just a polite inquiry. Just wondering , you know, just curious , no biggie either way.
    â€œNo,” I said as defeat dragged my shoulders down. “No, Mom. I haven’t. I got tired of being tired. I got tired