Because of You Read online

  “No. She’s sleeping.”

  “Not for long,” he says, walking toward the door.

  I jump up. Block his path. “I said no.” My arms are crossed, my feet planted firmly.

  “Dude. What do you care? She’s played you. Treated you like dirt under your feet. Why are you protecting her? Let’s have some fun. She des—”

  “Evan, I swear to God. If you finish that sentence I’ll kick your ass into next Tuesday.” Obviously our little chat the other night meant nothing to him.

  Evan snorts. Shoves me. “You sayin’ you’d choose her over me? Over your family?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. Yes.” I nod once.

  “Her parents drove a wedge between my dad and yours. She’s doing the same to you and me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get you. And my dad is going to be pissed. He isn’t going to like it.” Evan moves to the door. “Don’t choose her over your family.” He yanks open the door. Slams it shut.

  Maddie

  I open my eyes and am surprised to see that it’s light outside. “What happened?” My head is woozy, my mouth tastes like it’s stuffed with cotton. Too much alcohol. I sit up and am shocked to see I’m still in my bra and undies. Plus I’m in Kyle’s room, not the secret room.

  Last I remember Kyle was touching me with a feather.

  I look around. Listen for signs of life. Kyle isn’t here. Flustered, I climb out of bed. Grab my phone. There are two texts from Gina. One from last night.

  Staying the night with Collin. Don’t worry.

  Then, this morning.

  Are you and KK still together? Still a V?

  There’s one from Kyle.

  Had an emergency. See you in class. Lock the door when you leave.

  My heart sinks. I feel terrible—guilty. Kyle and I were supposed to be together. He wanted to do things and I was going to let him. But I must’ve fallen asleep. Or did something happen and I don’t remember it? I shift my body, trying to see if there’s anything different. Whether I feel pain, discomfort. I don’t.

  The big V is still intact, I think, somewhat disappointed.

  I smack myself in the head. How can I be so stupid? He probably hates me. I can’t blame him. I’m so rude. The queen of rude. If there were an Academy Award for rudeness, I’d be the winner—hands down.

  “Dammit.”

  I quickly text Gina. Yep. I don’t go into details.

  I stare at Kyle’s number, trying to decode whether or not his text tells me he’s angry, or that he’ll be fine if he never sees me again. But he did say he’d see me in class. That has to mean he still wants to see me. Right? Ugh!

  I make a mental promise to stop drinking. I survived the first eighteen years without it. No amount of warm fuzzies is worth falling asleep on the only guy I’ve ever cared about while he was in the process of doing things to my naked body. Double ugh!

  The clock on his bedside table says it’s eight fifty-five. My English class starts in five minutes. I’m not going to make it. And since I have Kyle’s place to myself for the next hour at least, I decide to take a look around.

  On the desk in his room is a computer. The screensaver is an image of scrolling musical notes. A piano rendition of Titanium. I can hear the melody in my head as it crosses the screen. His window has blue curtains. They’re open. I peer out the window and can see the Bellam Springs campus. What few trees there are have lost all of their leaves. The grass is yellow. It’s windy out, a Bellam Springs standard. Most days are windy. A big tumbleweed bounces across the park, gets stuck on a silver slide.

  My stomach grumbles and I head toward the kitchen. Taped to the small white refrigerator is a piece of paper.

  Hungry? Try the strawberries. They’re delicious.

  I open the fridge and see them sitting in a ceramic bowl. Next to it is a smaller bowl of what looks like chocolate sauce. Underneath is the chocolate soufflé.

  The guilt in my chest grows bigger.

  “You’re such an idiot.” I grab a strawberry and pop it in my mouth. It is delicious. I get a bottle of water and open it. Chug half of it down. Place it on the counter and go to the bathroom.

  It dawns on me his apartment is big, especially for the poor son of a dirty cop. Douchebag Stuart’s words, but there’s a glimmer of truth to them.

  Three bedrooms, two full bathrooms and no roommates. How can Kyle afford this? Why isn’t he living with his dad? This is his hometown. It would make sense. And even if he wanted a place of his own, why wouldn’t he have roommates?

  I flip on the bathroom light. It’s nice. Thick forest green towels hang on the rack next to a glass shower. Inside are the necessities. Shampoo. Soap. Body wash. A razor. It’s pink, and I wonder if he put those there for me or if they’re standard for all female guests.

  When I finish peeing, I wash my hands and go into the spare bedroom. The secret room. The room I thought would be filled with all manner of kinkiness. Turns out Kyle isn’t kinky—not really. He’s wonderful.

  I’m practically drowning in guilt.

  The feather and the blindfold are sitting on the bed, laying there in all of their black glory as though they’ve been shunned, have died, and are displayed for mourning. I can’t help but sigh.

  The vodka is gone, probably put away. My clothes are folded and on the bed as well. I quickly pull them on, and debate whether I should leave, but then I remember the piano room.

  I want to play, lose myself in the music for a little while. The room smells like old paper, and Kyle. A heady combination. I sit at the bench and run through a few exercises. Limbering up my fingers. While I’m playing I allow my mind to wander. To think about my life and the way everything is topsy-turvy.

  I think about Gina. My aunt and uncle. The reasons behind why my aunt forced me to stay away from Kyle.

  After thirty minutes of playing, I stand. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off the closet. I have to know what’s inside. I open it and my nose is pummeled with dust. Crate after crate filled with old books and yellowing music. One is loaded with piles of sealed envelopes.

  That’s different. I pull the crate closer and peer inside.

  My breath hitches in my throat. They are letters. Addressed to me. I pull out a few from a stack of hundreds. They all have my aunt and uncle’s address on them. They all say, in bold letters, RETURN TO SENDER. None of them are open. All of them are from Kyle.

  The most recent letter has a date of three months ago.

  He never stopped trying! He never gave up! My heart pounds at the realization that I’m holding Kyle’s words in my hands. They are written to me. For me. An electric current rocks my body to its core. I have to know what’s inside.

  I pick up the crate, thinking I’ll carry it back to my dorm. But what if Kyle saw me? The crate is too conspicuous. I search frantically for a bag, something. Anything. I run into the kitchen and throw open cupboards. I spot bowls, plates, cups, wine glasses. Cereal, boxes of macaroni and cheese. Bread, peanut butter and jelly. But no bags. Finally, I spot a wadded up grocery bag on the floor near the trash can.

  “Yes!” I cheer.

  I shove all the letters inside. Seven years’ worth. The sheer number is overwhelming. When I leave his apartment, I lock the door like he asked, and turn the handle to make sure it’s done. At that exact moment I consider the consequences of my actions.

  Sooner or later he’ll find the empty crate I hastily stuffed back in the closet. And when he does, what will he do?

  “I’m an idiot,” I say, slamming my head against his door.

  “Hey, you alright?” Kyle’s cousin Evan is looking at me. His eyebrow cocked.

  “Oh, hey, Evan,” I say, casually hiding the bag behind my back.

  “Want a ride to campus? I’m on my way.” He moves to the staircase and heads down the three floors to the parking lot.

  I follow, internally debating.

  I want to say no, but it’s freezing outside. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.”


  His car is red and flashy, with big tires and large round lights on top. It’s an SUV of some kind. I think maybe a Ford, but I’m not sure.

  He unlocks the door with a click-click and climbs in. I open the passenger door and lift myself up. I think about Kyle and how I know he would’ve opened my door, helped me in. I wonder where Kyle learned his manners. Certainly not from his father.

  The engine turns over and roars to life. Loud country blares from the stereo. Evan doesn’t bother to turn it down. I quickly buckle up and clutch the grocery bag full of Kyle’s letters to my chest.

  “Whatcha got in there?” Evan shouts over the loud music. His eyes indicate my bag.

  Thinking quickly, I tuck it behind my back. “My phone,” I shrug. “And some other stuff.”

  “I still can’t believe Kyle bought you a phone. That boy is whipped.” He shakes his head as he laughs.

  I have no response.

  Evan’s driving is maniacal, and I have to resist the urge to grab the dash and hang on for dear life.

  When he reaches Irvine Hall, he screeches to a halt. Finally, he turns the music down. “Good seeing ya, Maddie.”

  I open the door, and slide out. “You too.” I give him a tight smile and slam the door. Once I’m inside I heave a deep breath, grateful for the ground and my ability to be walking on it.

  Maddie

  hen I get inside the room I spin in circles, trying to figure out what I want to do. Hide the letters? Read them?

  “Read them now,” I say aloud, and plop onto my bed. First I want to organize the letters by year. As I touch each envelope, my hands tremble. I’m terrified. If I open these there will be no going back. Kyle will know I’ve read them, even if I were to somehow sneak them back into his apartment. But if I come clean now, maybe he’d give them to me. Let me read them anyway. I should’ve asked him instead of stealing them. He’ll probably be mad. I’ve invaded his privacy, broken his trust. Stolen from him.

  I’m a rotten, no good thief.

  And I’m about to pack them all up when I notice one with a single heart drawn in black pen on the front.

  A heart.

  My heart speeds, and beats against my chest. I have to read it.

  Just this one. Then I’ll take them back. With a pair of scissors I cut off one of the short sides of the envelope, blow inside, and carefully slide the three ring binder paper out. I unfold it and read:

  Dear Maddie,

  I turned fourteen today. Didn’t do much. Hung out with Evan. We saw a movie. Ate. Listened to music.

  I kept thinking about you. I never stop.

  When we went to the movies, I ordered Junior Mints because those are your favorite. When we ate lunch, I ordered a chicken sandwich instead of a cheeseburger because I knew that’s what you would’ve ordered. Evan asked what my problem was, but I ignored him.

  You were everywhere today. I swear I saw you six different times. Your brown hair tucked behind your ears. But then the girl would turn around, and it wasn’t you.

  I kept looking. I’ll keep looking. I won’t stop.

  I wished you could’ve spent today with me. We probably would’ve done the same thing me and Evan did, but it would’ve been a lot more fun, because it would’ve been with you.

  Remember the cake you made for my eleventh birthday? It was chocolate with chocolate icing. You put sprinkles on it, and eleven candles. At the time I think I acted kind of embarrassed, like I didn’t really like it. But I want you to know, it meant a lot to me. It still does. Every birthday since I’ve thought about your cake. You. I’m sorry if I was mean.

  And Maddie, whatever I’ve done to make you mad, I’m sorry for that too. Really sorry. Like every day I wake up and for one moment I’m happy because I haven’t remembered that you’re gone yet. But when I do, it’s a struggle to get out of bed, do what I have to, because you aren’t here. My life was so much better when you were in it.

  This may sound weird, but I think I love you. And not like best friend love. Even though I feel that way about you too, but my heart hasn’t been the same since you left.

  I miss you.

  Please talk to me. Write me back.

  Kyle

  I read it once. Then again. And a third time. Studying each word. Each sentence. He thought he loved me. At fourteen. I hadn’t seen him in three years. I press the paper to my nose and inhale. It may be my imagination, but I swear I can smell his delicious scent on the paper.

  I refold the letter and tuck it back into the envelope, then set it on top of the pile for 2009. I stare at the letters, written by the boy I’ve missed almost as much as my parents, and I realize I can’t give these back. Not yet. I have to read each and every letter. Each and every word, sentence, and paragraph.

  I pick up the one with the most recent date stamped on it. Slice the edge with a nail file and pull out the paper. It still looks new. And before I read, I smell it. Definitely Kyle.

  Dear Maddie,

  This will be my final letter. I’ve known for a couple of years you wouldn’t respond. It used to drive my father crazy that I sent you letters in the first place. After a year he told me to stop, but I couldn’t. So my cousin Evan snuck me stamps from his mom’s purse.

  Anyway, I think I finally get that you aren’t a part of my life anymore. I didn’t want to believe because it hurt too much. Writing made it easier. I would think about you reading my letters. What you might do, the way your face would light up while you read.

  But it’s not meant to be. Whatever it is you’re doing with your life, I hope you’re happy. I’ve tried to be happy. Piano has helped. Evan thinks I’m girlie for playing, and I blow it off as a hobby, but the truth is, it means the world to me. I sit on the bench and play, and play, and play.

  The music allows me to forget the hurt at losing my mom, you, and my dad. Not that he was around much. Not that I even liked him around. He wasn’t my favorite person, not even close, but he was my family. I see how important that is. And it makes me sad. For me, and for you.

  Man, I miss you.

  I think about what you must look like. If you’ve grown taller. Whether your hair is long or short. You had the most beautiful legs. I’m sure they’re even better now.

  I get why you went to live with your aunt and uncle. They are all the family you have left. I’m living with Evan. Him and his mom and dad have been good to me. But it isn’t the same.

  Shit. I hope you’re okay.

  I’ve driven to Sugar River lots of times. I’ve even gone past your aunt and uncle’s house. Once I sat in my Jeep, across the street, for hours. Your aunt finally came out and told me what I already knew. You didn’t want to see me.

  But I want you to know I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped caring. And I hope with all of my heart that you are living life to its fullest. That you are happy. That’s all I wish for you.

  Always,

  Kyle

  Tears drip onto the page. My heart is soaked with sadness. For many reasons. Giving up on Kyle, harboring so much hate for his dad. But it’s more. I feel so badly that I wasn’t around for Kyle when his father died. And I’m not even sure how to feel about his dad being dead. I’m devastated. I guess because a part of me believed I would have my revenge. That justice would be served. The man is dead. But I still feel lost, hopeless. It doesn’t seem fair.

  I wipe my eyes and steel myself. I should be happy, ecstatic. But I’m empty. I feel nothing. I am nothing.

  And I realize all my life, everything I’ve done: piano, tattoos, college, it’s all been because of Kyle’s father. I need to know how Chief Hadley died. I need to see his grave, spit on his gravestone.

  How? I can’t ask my aunt. I can almost hear her: “Why would you want to be within a hundred feet of that evil man’s grave? Even in death he’s probably causing trouble. Stay away. Far, far away.” What she doesn’t understand is that I can’t. I have to see for myself that he’s dead.

  I wonder if she knows he’s dead. Even
as I think it, I know she does. I doubt my aunt and uncle would’ve let me go to college otherwise. When did he die?

  I’m sure I could ask Kyle, but I’d rather read his letters. They’re mine anyway, addressed to me. I bet in a court of law, the judge would declare me the owner. Never mind that I swiped them from Kyle’s apartment without his knowledge.

  As I ponder my predicament, the door opens. Gina stumbles in. Her eyes are glazed. A strange smile coats her lips.

  “Hey, Maddie. Maddelena. Maddie-mad-dog. How are you?” She falls onto her bed, and stares at the ceiling.

  I do my best to hide the letters, but there’s a lot. When I’m satisfied, I walk over. “Hey, Gina. How was your night with Collin?”

  She rolls onto her side. “So good. So, so good. He’s a rock star in bed. Sweet. Kind. Plus, he took me to dinner. We partied, just the two of us.” Her smile gets big.

  She’s higher than a kite. It isn’t cocaine. I’ve seen what she’s like on that. Maybe pot? I’m not sure. “What are you on?” I ask, sitting next to her, taking her hand.

  Gina looks at me. “Aww, Maddie. Don’t look so worried. They’re called recreational drugs for a reason. They’re fun.” She closes her eyes, inhales slowly. “I mean look at me. Do I look like I’m having a bad time?”

  Before I can say anything, she answers herself, “No. I feel great.” She lifts her hand and waves it slowly, mesmerized by the movement.

  I try to calm down. Take deep breaths. She’s right. She doesn’t seem sad or in pain, but mellow. “Okay.” I pat her on the arm. “I’m going to the library. I need a book for my research paper.” The truth is I want to read Kyle’s letters in peace, without interruptions.

  I stand, but Gina grabs my arm, pulls me back down. “Wait. Don’t go. Tell me about Kyle. How was he? From everything I’ve heard, you can’t still be the big V.” She makes her hands into the shape of a V in the air.

  “Yeah. It almost happened, but I…” I can’t tell her. “Soon. I wasn’t ready.” And after I passed out and stole his letters, he may never speak to me again. It might never happen. Maybe I’ll join a convent, or a monastery. I can be known as the tattooed nun.