Clipped Wings

2

TENLEY

I pushed through the door to Serendipity, the bell above my head jingling. “Sorry I took so long. Hayden asked me to wait, and the jewelry Lisa ordered came in.” I touched the side of my nose, which had been a breeze in comparison to the other two. I made no mention of those.

“Oooh! Pretty!” Cassie said with genuine enthusiasm. “So you talked to Hayden?”

“A little.” I was still reeling. Hayden was dangerously beautiful. Every encounter with him affected me in a visceral way.

“And?” Cassie pressed.

“And what?”

“How’d it go?”

“He’s uh . . .” My cheeks puffed out and I expelled a long breath. I tried to think of an adjective to adequately describe him, but nothing that came to mind seemed suitable.

“He left that good of an impression?”

“It wasn’t . . . He’s not . . . It was interesting.” What else could I say about a tattoo artist who read the likes of Nietzsche in his spare time? Besides, I was afraid to verbalize the intensity of our interaction. If left unspoken, I could pretend I’d imagined his reaction to me and mine to him.

“ ‘Interesting’?” she said with disbelief.

“Mm-hm.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“Were you looking for a better descriptor?” I covered my unease with sarcasm.

“You read eleventh-century literature for fun, and the best you can do is ‘interesting’?” she teased.

I threw up my hands in exasperation. “You were right, okay? He’s completely overwhelming. And gorgeous, like off the charts, a raging inferno of hotness. Satisfied?”

Cassie burst into laughter. She even snorted. “Well that’s much more accurate than ‘interesting.’ ”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I said that. You’re his aunt.” Mortification made my face hot. “You can’t tell him.”

“Why not? I think he’d be flattered.” She smiled serenely.

“I highly doubt that.” Hayden didn’t strike me as the kind of man who responded to flattery.

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall, picking up the deposit bag. “You know he comes in here looking for you all the time.”

“He does not.”

“Oh yes he does,” she said. “Maybe he thinks you’re a ‘raging inferno of hotness.’ ”

“You’re not going to let that one go, are you?” I refused to entertain the idea that Hayden might find me attractive. It seemed ludicrous.

She shook her head and gave me a mischievous grin. “Probably not, no.”

The banter reminded me of high school days and fawning over cute boys with my girlfriends. I remembered the butterflies in my stomach, the hope I might be noticed, the excitement when I was. I longed for that innocence again; the simplicity of a schoolgirl crush. My life was so different now. Hayden had definitely noticed me. I just wasn’t sure if it was a good thing.

“Please don’t tell him. I don’t think I could deal with the embarrassment.”

Cassie surprised me when she pulled me into a tight hug. When she released me, she smoothed her hands over my hair. It made me miss my mother.

“I won’t say anything,” she said with sincerity.

“Thanks,” I replied, trying not to get caught up in the sudden rush of sadness.

After we locked the store, there was nothing to do but return to the prison of my apartment. I paced the worn hardwood floors, too wired to find comfort in the banality of TV. While I had grown accustomed to being alone, tonight the solitude proved a challenge.

Hayden was, in part, responsible for my inability to find solace. No matter how many times I spoke to him, the intensity of my reaction didn’t wane. From a single glance it was clear that he was fearless, unchained and unfettered by the confines of what society deemed acceptable; Hayden embodied everything I wasn’t but wanted to be. I spent my entire life trying to color inside the lines, only to wind up restrained by them. Hayden obliterated social constructs. His presence alone made a statement. I found him mesmerizing, which was why I attempted to keep a safe distance.

Regardless, I took inventory of his piercings when he inspected mine. Viper bites accented the left side of his mouth, an industrial slanted through the cartilage in his right ear, and a curved black barbell sliced through his right eyebrow. His hair was a dark riot; short on the sides and longer on top. It looked like a modified Mohawk, although he never wore it that way. His short-sleeved shirt revealed a canvas of ink covering his arms, his story laid bare. Beyond the tattoos and piercings, or because of them—I couldn’t decide which—he was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

The concept of instant chemistry had seemed absurd until Hayden’s recent appearance. I’d always thought it was a myth, a way to explain why people sometimes allowed their baser needs to dominate their actions. Now I got it. Every part of my body responded to the brief, innocent contact when he lifted my chin, intent on getting a better look at my nose ring.

The residual effects created a slight vibration under my skin, like the aftershock of an earthquake. It was best to ignore the attraction Cassie implied might be reciprocal. My world was already chaotic enough.

As I looked at the clock, I realized that I would turn twenty-one in an hour, but I couldn’t see any reason to celebrate. I wanted a way to drown the ache in my chest, but there was nothing in my cupboards to facilitate that kind of reprieve. Raiding my parents’ liquor cabinet had been a priority when I’d packed my belongings and moved from Arden Hills to Chicago last month, but the few bottles I’d brought with me were long gone now.

Unopened mail from the past few days lay on the counter. Sifting through it, I paused at the large envelope with the familiar writing scrawled across the front. Trey hadn’t made contact since I moved—why bother now?

With shaky hands I slid my finger under the flap and tore through the heavy paper. Inside was a card with a cheerful design wishing me a “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Trey’s messy signature took up the space beneath the stock prose. I turned the envelope upside down and papers fell out, along with a stapled package. The card was a ruse. A handwritten note was fixed to the first page.

Tenley,

I hope this day finds you well. As you are now entitled to the full breadth of your inheritance, I would entreat you to review the legal documentation herein. Should you agree to the generous offer outlined, the ownership of the property which has been passed onto you through Connor’s will would transfer to me. As you have decided to leave Arden Hills to pursue other ambitions, I believe it is reasonable to request my brother’s property be relinquished. Since I am the sole living heir of the Hoffman legacy, it only makes sense that I assume responsibility for the estate in its entirety. Think of this as a way to simplify the matter. Once you have signed the document, please return it to my lawyer at the address provided and restitution shall be made in the full amount.

Regards,

Trey

I read the letter half a dozen times, unable to understand how Trey could rationalize such an unreasonable demand. His insensitivity astounded me. Numbed by a state of shock I thought had worn off months ago, I flipped through the legal papers. While the jargon made little sense, the intent was clear. Trey wanted possession of the house meant for Connor and me. It had been a gift from Connor’s parents. Had our flight made it to Hawaii, we would have been married.

Trey’s ill-timed letter served as a reminder that I was still here, putting the pieces of my fractured life back together while the world continued to turn.

I paced the perimeter of my living room, debating whether or not to call Trey and confront him. In my current state I would likely say something regrettable, and he would throw it back at me. How two men raised by the same loving parents could be so different was beyond comprehension. Connor had been gentle and patient, whereas Trey was coarse and unforgiving. Even at the funeral he showed only apathy, his eulogy bereft of emotion. At first I attributed it to the magnitude of the loss, but in the weeks that followed he never gave any signs of grieving. And now he wanted to claim the one thing that signified what should have been my present rather than a fragment of my past.

I felt a familiar stab of guilt as I pictured the house. If only I had made a different decision so many months ago, I wouldn’t be alone now.

The confines of my apartment were suffocating; I needed out. I changed my clothes and checked my reflection in the vanity mirror. Lack of sleep took its toll. No amount of makeup could mask the dark circles under my eyes. I rummaged around in the medicine cabinet for the concealer and tried to ignore the mostly full pill bottles. A vial of antianxiety meds fell out and dropped into the sink. I picked it up and rolled the plastic cylinder between my palms. It had been a long while since I’d indulged in the artificial calm they provided.

The first few months after the crash had been a downward spiral. Prescriptions to manage pain and control the endless anxiety had made the world hazy. As the physical and emotional pain had become more manageable, the medication had become less necessary. Things had improved further with the move to Chicago.

But tonight, I was on edge. And if I fell apart, there was no one around to help me pick up the pieces.

With trembling fingers I lined up the arrows and popped the cap, shaking out a tiny white pill. Regardless of whether or not I deserved the peace it would bring, I placed the tablet under my tongue. The bitter tang of chemicals provided almost instantaneous relief, the promise of serenity no longer out of reach as it dissolved.

Despite my initial attempts to keep to myself, the solitude was proving more of a challenge to maintain than I anticipated. I hadn’t been able to keep Lisa at arm’s length, as I’d intended. She came into Serendipity almost every time I worked, and she always stopped to chat. At first it was just pleasantries and introductions, but eventually it turned into discussions about books, piercing, and sometimes even Hayden. She was easy to talk to.

Beyond that, I went across the hall to my neighbor Sarah’s apartment when she invited me in for drinks a few days ago. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to be rude, but in truth I was lonely.

I rummaged through my purse; along with money and identification, I found a black card in my wallet. Ian, one of the few people I spoke to in my program at Northwestern, gave it to me earlier in the week. If not for group work in my seminar class, peer interaction would be nonexistent. Ian’s email address was scrawled on the back of the card advertising The Elbo Room, a bar a few blocks away. The name seemed familiar, and I recognized it as the same bar Lisa had invited me to in passing last week. I’d declined, concerned about getting too comfortable around her. Although that seemed to have happened already, considering the piercings I’d indulged in this evening.

Tonight The Elbo Room seemed as good a destination as any to down a few shots and wait for oblivion to take hold. I closed the door behind me and glanced across the hall at apartment B. Considering the hours Sarah kept, I assumed she bartended somewhere close by, but I hadn’t thought to ask. I knocked anyway on the off chance she might be home. When there was no answer, I headed out.

Though it was after eleven, the lights were still on at Inked Armor, the Closed sign flickering neon. Through the windows I could see Lisa leaning over the counter. Hayden sat at his station, shoulders hunched as he labored over what I guessed was a design. He tossed his pencil down and stretched, running a hand through his hair. A part of me longed for him to glance out the window, notice me standing there . . . but I knew making a real connection with anyone—especially tonight, and especially with someone like Hayden—was the last thing I should do. I turned away and started downtown.

The bouncer carded me at the door and gave me the once-over. My hoodie-tank-jeans ensemble didn’t quite fit in with the four-inch heels or miniskirts of the girls who went in ahead of me. The dress-code violation must not have been too serious, since he mumbled a halfhearted “Happy birthday” and waved me in.

I squeezed my way through the throng of bodies to reach the bar. The heat of so many people in such a confined space felt oppressive. I shed the hoodie and stuffed it in my messenger bag. Ian was busy showing off behind the counter, flipping bottles before he splashed liquor into a line of shot glasses. His face retained its youthfulness, soft instead of angular. To some he might have been passably cute, but as far as I could see, he was just another boy playing at being a man. There were lots of those on campus.

Hayden, on the other hand, wasn’t playing at anything. Maybe that explained my fascination with him. He just was; no apologies, no pretense. Whatever life had dealt him hadn’t been easy, from the little Cassie revealed about him. Those crumbs of information only exacerbated my growing interest.

“Tenley!” Ian pulled me out of my head and back to the overcrowded bar. “I’m glad you’re here! Are you with friends?”

I shook my head. Outside of class and work, I didn’t socialize much. Cassie was one of the few people with whom I indulged in regular conversation. As my employer and landlord, she didn’t count.

I pasted on a smile, feeling out of place among the sweaty, drunken masses. “Three shots of vodka, unless you want to do one with me, then make it four.”

“All right, that’s my kind of girl.”

Ian’s apparent affinity for girls who drank liquor straight up was mildly disconcerting. He set four shot glasses on the bar and filled them. We toasted on the first shot, and I downed the rest of them, barely pausing to breathe. I welcomed the burn as the alcohol slid down my throat.

“You want to leave your stuff with me?” His calculating smile made the offer sound more propositional than friendly.

“Thanks, but I’m not staying long.”

The bar was packed, and I was taking up prime real estate for would-be drinkers. They were pushing, bodies closing in, elbows and arms, nudging and shoving. Despite the medication and vodka, the close contact still made me uncomfortable. Ian moved on to the next patron, so I gave him a wave and left.

A familiar song blasted through the speakers, the bass vibrating in my bones. Connor had hated this kind of music. He thought it was too aggressive. But our conflicting taste in music—and nearly everything else—was no longer an issue. I could listen to whatever I wanted now. The crushing guilt that always followed this train of thought made it hard to breathe, the effect of the pill already wearing off before the alcohol had even hit my bloodstream and dulled my senses. I moved through the bar, feeling less and less at ease with the sheer volume of physical contact.

Connor’s face flashed through my mind, at first the way I remembered him, but then an uninvited memory floated around the edge of my consciousness and came clear. I had been trying to find a way out, choking on smoke and fumes. I’d found Connor when I’d been sifting through the dead. Everything beautiful about him had been broken. When I blinked, the world was blurred, a fusion of present and past.

The noise, the people, the memories; it was all too much to filter. As the booze clouded my thoughts, I couldn’t separate what was inside my head from what was in front of me. The bar didn’t seem to be a good idea after all.

I needed to get home. I pushed against the flow of bodies, the glaring red Exit sign a beacon for my freedom. Halfway there, someone caught my arm. Fingers wrapped around my biceps and held me in place.

“Hey there, pretty thing, where you headed?” he slurred, spit showering my face as he moved in closer. He was tall, his over-gelled hair spiked into a horrific faux-hawk. His wiry arms were littered with haphazard tattoos. The word patience was misspelled on his forearm, the i in the wrong place.

“I’m leaving.” I tried to shake free, but his grip tightened.

“Want some company?” His breath reeked of beer.

“I’m good, thanks.” I pried at his fingers. “Care to let go?”

His cheek brushed mine, coarse stubble unpleasant as he yelled in my ear. “Aw, come on, you know you wanna party.”

Either he was too drunk to notice that I wanted to get away from him, or he didn’t care. Regardless, my ability to maintain composure evaporated with the unwelcome touch. Today had already been too much. Red-hot rage flared, bubbling up like lava through my veins. Without weighing the consequences, I slammed my fist into his throat. It had the desired effect; he sputtered and choked, releasing me. He coughed out a vulgar expletive.

I spun around, and familiar artwork caught my attention back at the bar. The hand attached to the colorful arm held a beer, poised to tip. Twin rings pierced the left side of a set of full lips. Pale blue eyes met mine, filled not with shock but something closer to fascinated concern. But before he could react, I turned and shoved my way through the crowd until I burst through the door and was spat out onto the street.

The heat gave way to cool wind and a flash of lightning zigzagged through the sky. I shivered and pulled my hoodie on. My hip protested as I broke into a jog, but the ache kept me grounded. The growing discomfort muted the effects of the meds and the liquor. It had been stupid to think I could manage being inside a packed bar. Confined spaces and crowds posed too much of a reminder of my experience. By the time I got home, my hip was screaming with pain, and I permitted myself one painkiller to take the edge off.

Sleep came eventually, and with it the memories I tried to suppress.

A thunderous noise shocked me awake. Disoriented, I looked around. Connor wasn’t beside me. The seat-belt sign was flashing, and a voice crackled through the speaker system. Panic set in as I buckled the restraint, craning to look for Connor. He’d only gone to the bathroom or something. He couldn’t be far.

The lights flickered, and the belt at my waist tightened painfully. Bile rose in my throat, and I gritted my teeth against the wave of nausea.

“Connor?” I called out. Fear overrode every other emotion as we were all subjected to another violent heave.

I looked to the couple on the left. They were holding each other’s hands tightly. Several emotions passed across the man’s face until sorrow settled in his eyes. Before everything went black, he turned to his wife and told her how much he loved her.

I woke up screaming, my tank top and sheets soaked with sweat. The images were still flashing like a slide show in my head. All I could see was the tortured look on the man’s face. The fear and the grief as the plane spun and plummeted. I gripped my hair in my hands and yanked, as if the action would wipe out the memories forged into nightmares. And still I screamed.

When my voice gave out from the strain, I crawled out of bed, my stomach churning. The clock on the nightstand read five in the morning. At least I could justify getting up. I hoped the walls were soundproof, or my neighbor would think I was being tortured. Or insane. Both were not far from the truth.

A small light illuminated the bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face, waiting for the nausea to pass. It didn’t. The contents of my stomach spewed into the sink; the taste of vodka made me retch again. When I was capable of moving, I pushed up on weak arms and met my reflection in the mirror. The ugliness had forced its way from the inside out. My fingernails pressed hard into my palms, but the pain barely registered. Despair made the ache inside unbearable. I slammed my fist into the glass, shattering my image. Now it matched the rest of me.