All In My Head (First Tracks Book 1) Read online

  The pillow was wet with tears. Her hands gripped the covers like a person dangling off the edge of a building.

  Avery?

  I kept talking, not saying anything important but trying to reach her with my voice. She didn’t wake up enough to talk to me, but her mind flew through the dream, the memory, not trying to keep me out. She wasn’t aware of me right now. It was just her life. I could see two images: her and Kyle intertwined together in a chair, whispering and touching, and then Kyle on her in the dirty bedroom. She was trying to fit the two realities together, to make sense of them, but she couldn’t make the puzzle pieces fit. They were pieces from two different puzzles.

  And all I could do was look at the mess.

  Chapter Eight

  Avery

  A massive 9.2 magnitude headache woke me up. Even the soft morning light felt like a pick ax splitting through my head. I slowly slid out of bed and crawled to the bathroom, eyes clamped shut, where I pulled myself up by the cabinet and felt around for a bottle of pain reliever. I downed three and a full glass of water and felt my way back to bed. Was this concussion fun, round two? It felt like I’d been sobbing half the night.

  Are you okay?

  I’ll make it.

  That was nice of Marcus. I didn’t dwell on it, though, just pushed my head under my pillow and prayed for sleep to return. The bed spun around, twirling, and I held on, counting to fifty over and over. What on earth brought this on?

  After several rounds of counting, the pain lessened enough that I just tried breathing and relaxing. It hit me that if my head was hurting this bad again, maybe it would erase Marcus. That was probably crazy talk, but it did seem fitting for my crazy situation.

  Not sure it’s gonna work.

  Worth a try, I told him, half joking. It wasn’t like I hated him for being here … unless he was somehow responsible. Still, I couldn’t convict him without any reason or proof.

  Do you want to talk about last night?

  Last night? I remembered the night before and checked for Kristina, but she’d left already. What else? So I almost kissed Nash. What’s the big deal? It’s my life. Sorry if my little life annoys you.

  You should never apologize for your life. Or being you.

  Uh?

  Rolling over on my back, I moved the pillow to keep it covering my eyes. Never apologize for being me. Was this the same voice talking to me? I came out and just asked him what was up.

  You had a bad dream.

  Oh. I tried to remember but couldn’t. My headache slowly got better. Marcus went off in a corner of my mind, singing songs I might have heard before but didn’t know. Rock songs. He hummed sometimes and then sang the notes instead of the words.

  Finally, I broke down and asked him what I’d dreamed about.

  Kyle.

  Something in his voice scared me, even in that one little word. I rolled over but I couldn’t roll away from him.

  Does Kristina know about that night?

  The air caught in my lungs and I sat up in bed, trying to breathe.

  You saw all of it?

  It’s okay, Avery.

  I couldn’t tell Kristina or anyone else. I was mortified and humiliated, and I had felt so stupid. I pulled my knees up to rest my forehead on them. Noise drifted in from the rest of the house but I felt cut off. Marcus seemed to hover all around me, restless and trying to push through, but to what I couldn’t say. He had to feel even more trapped than I did.

  Ave, that was all Kyle. He was wrong.

  “How would you know?” My voice sounded meaner than I meant.

  I wanted to help you but I couldn’t. I wanted to throw him across the room and pull you out of there. You couldn’t see me. Couldn’t hear me. I was right there but you didn’t know.

  I remembered dreaming about that night now, how it replayed over and over. Marcus hadn’t been in the dream, at least not on my end.

  What happened after that night, Ave?

  “Nothing,” I said sadly.

  But Kyle and Kristina are together. How did that happen?

  I pushed my pillow under my head now that my headache had gone away. I huffed a breath and told him. “After that night, I didn’t see Kyle for a long time. We just stopped talking. I thought about reporting him, but he didn’t actually hold me down or try to rape me. He was just really mean. He stopped when I said no.”

  Just barely.

  “Yeah, well, legally speaking, I don’t think he broke the law. So I wasn’t sure if I should do anything about it, or if I should be that hurt.”

  You trusted him, and he treated you like shit. He should have never taken you to that dirty house. You deserve to be treated like a princess, not shown that kind of disrespect.

  I rolled on my side, taking in those words, thinking about what it’d be like to have a boyfriend like that.

  So how did Kris get with Kyle?

  “Kris started asking about me and Kyle because he wasn’t around,” I whispered. “The term was ending. I thought that was the end of it, but that summer Kristina asked me if I would hate her if she liked him.”

  They started dating then? You didn’t tell her?

  “They were already hanging out together, and when I saw them … they were super close and happy.”

  How can you stand to be around them?

  “Kris and I are closer than ever. It’s all in the past.”

  It’s not the past. It’s right in your face. And I’d bet money she was after him before you ever broke up.

  “What? How can you say that?” I asked while looking up and glaring. I hated talking to someone I couldn’t see. “Listen, Marcus, that’s ancient history, and I don’t think she was. I think she started liking him when things fizzled out.”

  One, things didn’t fizzle out. He was an ass. What he did was wrong. And two, Kristina saw her chance after that.

  “You’ve seen Kristina since you arrived in my head. Can’t you see how sweet and caring she is? How come you don’t like her?”

  Just a vibe. Or maybe Kyle started things with her.

  I rolled my eyes at him and checked the time. I needed to get up. I rushed through a shower, closing my eyes part of the time even though Marcus said he’d give me privacy. Afterwards, I dried my hair with the blow dryer for a few minutes, which only dried it halfway, but I needed to hurry. I put on a pair of jeans and a blue shirt, then remembered how my mom always said blue made me look sick. But when I changed the shirt, the jeans didn’t look right. I went through three shirts, looked at the clock and started to panic.

  Um, babe, just pick something.

  I yanked on a pair a stretchy black pants and a sweater.

  Whoa. You’re going to wear that?

  I stopped and looked in the mirror. The sweater was dark green and long, and I’d always thought it looked good on me.

  Well, good but not … great. It’s too loose.

  “I’m not trying to give everyone a hard-on during class.”

  Good point. Proceed.

  Laughing at him, I pulled on my high heel brown boots, grabbed my coat and bag and took off, speed-walking through the house to the garage.

  Hold up. What are you doing with the shoes?

  I paused mid-step to look down. They looked good. I asked Marcus, you mean my boots?

  Whatever they are, they’re not working. You’re going to cripple your feet. We can’t do this.

  “Welcome to my world, babe,” I said, laughing out loud even if one of my roommates could hear. “Just in case you thought it was easy being a girl, you now have the special privilege to walk a mile in my shoes.” I was still laughing as I started the car and drove to campus.

  The weather had been bouncing between warm spring and the bite of winter. Today was warm and balmy. The sun smiled down on me, making me feel like things were going to be okay. I could even believe it for a minute. I parked and put on the Bluetooth before I headed across campus to my building, ducking between other people in a hurry to reach their cl
ass too.

  Wanna skip?

  “No, not really. I actually want to learn since I’m paying quite a bit of money to be here.” I glanced around, half expecting someone to give me a weird look. Everyone was talking to someone else or their phone. No one seemed to even notice me.

  Actually, I almost wanted to skip too, but it was Friday. Just two classes and I had all weekend.

  Paying? Or borrowing?

  “Paying, thank you very much. Well, I have three academic scholarships and I’m paying the rest.”

  How’d you pull that off? And you have the private bathroom at the house.

  “Drop it.”

  I tried to push him out of my head as I reached the English building and went inside. I slipped into class amid four or five conversations. Ettore was telling a funny story about trying to horseback ride—it always amazes me how he can make anything funny, and in a way that you’re not laughing at him. He waved at me mid-sentence, causing the two guys by him to flick me a look. The English department has a few funny students, some that are always talking to everyone, and then a lot of quiet, writerly type people. (Which might be where I fall.) A few students were sitting by themselves quietly, a few others pretending to write, or actually writing, I suppose. Maybe I’m the only one that can’t ever get anything written.

  I grabbed my normal desk and finally got to check my phone. I’d been in a rush since climbing out of bed after talking to Marcus all morning. Nash had texted, and just as I saw that, he walked in and sat next to me.

  “Just saw your text. I almost didn’t get up in time today.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “That’s okay.”

  We just looked at each other, me thinking, Wow, he is so hot. He could go emo with his dark looks and black clothes, except he didn’t take it that far. No piercings or tattoos that I knew about … yet … but he had a gaze that could stop you and make you forget what you were thinking.

  Look at me, not saying a word. Please take note of my good behavior so it’s not wasted.

  Shhh.

  The professor strolled in and wrote a topic on the board, and then promptly began talking. Everyone settled in to take notes and participate. Marcus went quiet—it was a miracle!—and let me focus for a while.

  Then, mid-class, I realized that instead of paying attention, I was looking down at my notepad, sketching instead of taking notes or even trying to listen. It took a few slow seconds for me to see that I was drawing myself. And I don’t draw.

  I stared in horror like it was a dead rat. Holeeee hell. Really, I can’t draw at all, and this was pretty good. Really good. I mean, it looked like me, even with expression. I snuck a look at Nash. Good, he was actually listening to the lecture.

  Marcus, is that you drawing?

  Oh … sorry. Bored out of my mind.

  You’re good.

  Wow, is that a … what do you call that? Oh, a compliment.

  I scanned the few people around me, besides Nash, who could see my desk. No one was looking my way.

  How do you know what I look like when you’re on the inside, looking out?

  I’ve seen you in the mirror.

  He got all this from a few glances in the mirror? Marcus had a fine memory.

  You have very striking looks. Now can I please get back to my artwork?

  Worried and yet fascinated, I watched my own hand move the pencil in confident strokes, filling in my lips. When had Marcus been able to study me that much? The only time he saw my face was when I looked in the mirror. Speaking of my face, it got hot—for several reasons. First, I was drawing myself. I’d die if anyone noticed. Second, it blew up some of my theories about Marcus, or what was causing all this. If I can’t draw, I can’t make up a person who can, right? And third, he was drawing me in a certain mood. I looked … suggestive.

  Excuse me, Marcus, but when have you seen that look on my face?

  I have an imagination. A very vivid one at times.

  Apparently so.

  I love your eyes but I’m not sure I can do them justice in pencil. Or your freckles. You can’t draw freckles. They just look stupid on paper. Not your face, though. I love your face.

  He loved my face? Why couldn’t a real flesh-and-blood guy say that to me? I couldn’t take my eyes off the drawing as he worked in the shadows.

  It did something to me physically …

  This is turning you on?

  Conversations started up around me. Class was over. I slapped the notebook over, realizing only then how angry I should be.

  Marcus, you can’t do things like that! What if someone saw? Imagine if Nash saw that!

  It’s not like he’d know some other guy is drawing pictures of you. I don’t think anyone is going to guess you have another person in your head.

  Nash was standing next to his desk, slowly pulling his laptop bag over one shoulder and waiting for me. I waved to Ettore, who was slipping out the door. Sometimes we all walk together but today I was dragging my feet.

  “I gotta run,” Nash said, sounding let down. “Talk to you later?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled, frustrated that I couldn’t summon anything intelligent to say. Leaving class, I wondered what he’d think if I actually told him the truth.

  I can tell you what I’d think if some chick told me she heard voices.

  I sighed as I left campus. Marcus was right. If I told anyone, it’d set things in motion, and I was trying to get back to normal, not locked up.

  I reached the corner crossing and turned towards the parking lot. On the other side of the street, tiny cracks ran all through the sidewalk under my feet, something I hadn’t noticed before, at least not like this. I watched them as I passed over, how they crisscrossed, connecting, separating, all interwoven. Like the things in my life.

  A soft whistle caught my attention. “Nice ass.”

  It’d come from some guy walking the other way. It wasn’t a compliment; his voice blasted resentment. Why say anything at all? Why be so mean?

  I picked up my pace like the smart girl that I am, but then I paused and threw a nasty look over my shoulder. His surly smirk faded into anger.

  Why did I do that? I turned with my back prickling, walking faster.

  “Bitch.”

  A crack of fear ran up me, but righteous anger filled it. I swiveled around and marched up to him, finger out. “Got a problem, buddy?” I didn’t stop a few feet away—I walked right up into his face, even as he backpedaled. “I didn’t think so. Maybe you should watch your language. And your eyes.”

  He almost fell backwards on his ass. Ha! Who’s a piece of crap now? I started to turn away when I heard him spit.

  When I came back at him, it was fist first. My arm swung up and my knuckles plowed into his face. The impact jarred my arm and knocked his head back.

  “Fuck! You crazy bitch!” Spit sprayed as he screamed, a hand on one eye while the other gave me the death glare.

  I didn’t move as he walked away backwards, yelling more obscenities at me. Three or four other people stared but I made a point of not looking at them. I waited until he’d gone around the corner before going to my car, breathing fast through my nose. Marcus, I can’t believe you just put me in danger like that! What if he fought back? What if …

  I would have handled him.

  Don’t you get it? You are NOT here. I am here. You are just talking in my head.

  I threw the car in reverse and ripped out of the parking space.

  Chapter Nine

  The shaking started once I busted in my front door and slammed it shut. Thankfully no one was sitting in the living room to see me fall apart.

  That wasn’t me.

  First the drawing and now that … what was that? I totally charged that guy, ready to fight, and made him back down. He had been scared of me. But it didn’t feel bad.

  Because you want to act like that.

  Was there any truth to that? I wanted to have control of my life. I should have been livid at Mar
cus for taking control of my mind and even my body at times, but it felt better than how I’d been doing. I felt empowered but confused.

  My knuckles started to throb. What had I done? What had I been thinking? What if that guy called the police or campus security on me?

  Babe, you’re going to hyperventilate again. Take it easy.

  With my eyes pressed shut, I practiced breathing the way Marcus had shown me. Even without someone watching, I needed to hold it together. I retreated to my room and shut that door too, sadly knowing I couldn’t shut out my problems. My lungs started convulsing again, yanking in quick breaths in rapid succession, acting on their own.

  Lay down.

  Without arguing, I lay back on my pillow, eyes shut, focusing on breathing slowly as if it were some world cup competition.

  Know what I imagine when I’m stressed? Fresh snow. White and pure. And I get first tracks. Picture we’re shredding the fresh pow. Cutting left. Imagine you’re cruising, just taking in the ride.

  As he talked, I could actually see the trees flying by, feel the rise and fall of the snow. It was quiet except the sound of the board on the snow, cutting a track into the pristine perfectness. The crispy air—it was energizing, not cold. My body stayed flexible, absorbing the ups, then twisting.

  Let’s hit some jumps.

  Jumps?

  Okay, fine. Just a fifty, fifty. Here comes some rails. We’re jumping … up … got it! Now the fifty, fifty.

  He turned the board out and then back straight again as we lifted off the other end of the rail, sailing for five seconds and landing on the snow.

  I’ll show you a halfpipe ride.

  He envisioned a halfpipe just like skaters use but this one was icy. We went up and up one side, almost to the top, before sliding down and up the other side. The second time, he kicked the board up above his head and grabbed the rim with his hand.

  Whoa! It was cool, and actually not scary, because he knew what he was doing. He made it look so easy. We headed up the other side.

  We’re switching—it’s for this jump. Check it!