The Coincidence of Callie and Kayden

and over again as his eyes drift into a state of blankness. I fall to the ground and he kicks me as hard as he can, wanting me to get up. I don’t. I’m not sure I want to. Maybe it’s time for it to be over; there isn’t that much to be over anyway.
     
    I listen to my heart beat calmly inside my chest, questioning why it doesn’t react. It never does. I wonder if it’s dead. Maybe it is. Maybe I am.
     
    Then, out of nowhere, a girl suddenly shows up behind my father. She’s small and looks terrified, like I should be. She says something to my dad and when he looks at her, I think she’s going to run away. But she stays with me until my dad leaves.
     
    I sit on the ground confused and at a loss for words, because that’s not how things go. People are supposed to walk away, pretend this doesn’t exist, let the strange excuses make sense.
     
    Her name is Callie and I know her from school. She’s standing above me and looking at me with horror in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
     
    It’s the first time anyone’s asked me that and it throws me off. “I’m fine,” I say more sharply than I’d planned.
     
    She turns to leave, but I don’t want her to leave. I want her to come back and explain to me why she did it. So I ask her and she tries to tell me but it doesn’t make sense.
     
    Finally, I give up on trying to understand and ask her to get a first aid kit and an icepack. I go into the pool house and take my shirt off, trying to clean up the blood on my face, but I look like shit. He hit me in the face, something he rarely does only when he’s really pissed.
     
    When Callie comes back, she seems nervous. We barely speak to each other, but then I have to ask her for help to get the kit open because my hand won’t work.
     
    “You really need stitches,” she tells me. “Or you’re going to have a scar.”
     
    I try not to laugh. Stitches aren’t going to help. They fix skin, cuts, wounds, heal stuff on the outside. Everything broken with me is on the inside. “I can handle scars, especially one’s on the outside.”
     
    “I really think you should have your mom take you to the doctor and then you can tell her what happen,” she says refusing to give up.
     
    I start to unwind a small section of gauze, but using only one hand, I drop it like a dumbass. “That’ll never happen and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. None of this does.”
     
    She picks it up and I expect her to hand it back to me, but she unravels the gauze around her hand. She puts the gauze over my wounds, eyeing my scars, noting them and the wrongness they carry. There’s something in her eyes that looks very familiar, like she has something trapped in her. I wonder if it’s what I look like.
     
    My heart begins to beat loudly inside my chest for the first time in as long as I can remember. It starts off as subtle, but the longer her fingers are near my skin, the more deafening it gets until I can’t hear anything anymore. I try not to panic. What the fuck is wrong with my heart?
     
    She steps back with her head tucked down, like she wants to hide. I can barely see her face with my swollen eye and I want to see her face. I almost reach out and touch her, but then she’s leaving, double-checking to make sure I’m okay. I pretend not to care, but my heart keeps hammering inside my chest, louder and louder and louder.
     
    “Thank you.” I start to tell her.  For everything, for not letting him beat me, for stepping in.
     
    “For what?”
     
    I just can’t get there. Because I’m still not sure if I’m thankful.  “For getting me the first aid kit and icepack.”
     
    “You’re welcome.”
     
    Then she walks out the door and the god damn silence is back again.
     
     
     
    ***
     
    My hand has to be taped up for the next week and I got my ass chewed off by my coach because it’s fucking up the way I play. Things aren’t going as well as I planned. I thought now that I was finally away from home, I’d get over the darkness that possesses me, but I was wrong.
     
    It’s been over a week since Callie painted those beautiful words up on the rock. They meant more to me than she probably understood. Or maybe she did know, which is why I needed to pull back. That kind of emotion I can’t deal with.
     
    Near the end of the week, I’m feeling really down and my body is paying for it. I’m lying in my bed, getting ready to go to class, when Daisy sends me a very vague text.
     
    Daisy: Hey, I