A kiss to tell ( jenlisa ) (GIP)

Part 3

J

I'll never forget her screams.

The second I hear the front door open as Lisa leaves, it's all I can think about.

As I set down my tea on the kitchen table, not even Lisa's lingering heat and scent can provide an adequate distraction. No, the moment she brought up my mother, I knew the memories would come back and they wouldn't leave.

Lisa never stays for long. Never. No matter how much I wish she would.

Closing my eyes and gripping the edge of the chair, I take in a deep breath. I know I need to lock the door, but I'm desperately trying to calm and steady myself.

At war with the memories of that night my mother died are the thoughts of Lisa having been in my house just now.

She was here for business. But whatever the reason, she doesn't want me to say anything, and so I won't. I don't have anything to say to the cops regardless, but I am emotional, and I could see myself spewing all sorts of hate for the dead man whose murder could easily be pinned on me.

Whatever Lisa is involved with, and whatever her intention is behind telling me to keep my mouth shut, I'm grateful for it.

This addition to my tea, however, I don't know what to think about that. I don't know what it is, and I don't believe her when she said it's something I could get at the drugstore. I may be attracted to her for some unknown reason, but I'm not fucking stupid. The thought resonates with me as I turn the locks on the front door.

It was the nightmares that led her to me the first time. Or my reaction to the nightmares really. The constant crying.

It was five years ago when I was in ninth grade and she was in tenth. I turn around as a chill flows up my arm, traveling to the back of my neck and causing every hair in its path to stand on end. I'd sag against the hard door if my body wasn't frozen at the memories.

Her scream. Screams. The shrill sound still wakes me up at night, tears streaming down my face as I try to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest.

When it happened, I was cross-legged on the floor of our townhouse one block down from where I am now, and my friend Andrea was on the sofa.

Justice Street. Ironic isn't the right word for the name of the street I grew up on. It's pathetic and riddled with agony that the word is allowed to exist in this city. I know now that she was nearly two blocks away, in the alley right across from both the park and the bars she had frequented.

The fact her screams carried that far, is evidence enough of how desperate she was for someone to help her.

The first scream came at 11:14 p.m. I remember how the red lines of the digital display shone brightly on the microwave's clock.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Andrea asked me with wide, disbelieving eyes as she slapped the phone from my hand. It fucking hurt. The memory brings the sting back, making my left hand move on top of my right. Absently I rub soothing circles over it, staring straight ahead although I don't see the hall to my uncle's home. Technically, it's mine now, but I don't want to feel any sense of ownership for a damn thing in this city.

She coughed on the hit she took from her blunt and I remember the sound so clearly.

All I see is Andrea's angry expression, but fear was also evident as she locked her eyes with mine. My heart beat faster back then, knowing I needed to call someone to help whoever it was that was screaming. But now it beats slow at the memory as if my body wishes I could stop time. As if it's doing everything it can to try to make that happen, to go back.