The Redemption of Callie & Kayden

on these situations. Otherwise I’ll end up feeling things I don’t want to, and then I have to take it out on my body just to cope. But I can’t here. They won’t let me anywhere near anything sharp, especially razors. My jawline and chin are extremely scruffy because I haven’t shaved in a week.
    “This is getting way too heart-to-heart for me,” I say and grab onto the sides of the chair to push myself up.
    He holds up his hand, signaling for me to sit back down. “Okay, we don’t have to talk about your feelings, but I want you to answer one thing for me.”
    I stare blankly at him as I lower myself back into the chair. “That depends on what that one thing is.”
    He taps the pen against the notebooks as he deliberates. “Why did you go to the party that night?”
    “It’s always the same question with you.”
    “Because it’s an important question.”
    I shake my head as my pulse speeds up with either anger or fear—I can’t tell. “I went there to beat Caleb Miller up. You know that.”
    “Yes, but why?”
    “Why what?” I’m getting annoyed, frustrated, and pissed off, and the anger snakes through my veins underneath my skin.
    “Why did you beat him up?” It’s like he’s stuck on repeat and I want him to shut the hell up.
    My heart knocks inside my chest like a damn jackhammer and all I want is something sharp or rough—anything that can calm my pulse down. I’m glancing around in a panic, searching for something, but the room is bare.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Fuck!
“Because he hurt someone.” My voice comes out piercing and uneven and makes me sound weak and pathetic.
    He sits forward in the chair. “Someone you care about?”
    “Obviously.” I shake my head, annoyed. My heart is still beating too loud and I can barely think straight.
    He raises his eyebrows. “Someone you love?”
    My pulse speeds even more, erratic and without a distinct beat. I feel it pulsating underneath every wound and scar on my body.
Love?
Do I love Callie? Can I?
“I don’t think I even know what love is.”
    He looks like he’s struck gold and found an insight into what’s locked away in my soul. “Can you answer just one more question for me?”
    I throw my hands in the air exasperatedly. “Do whatever the hell you want. You’re already on a roll.”
    He asks, “Do you think you deserve love?”
    “I already told you I don’t even know what it is,” I mutter and he waits for me to divulge more information. What does he want from me? To tell him that my dad beats the shit out of me? That my mom’s a drug-addicted zombie? That the only exchange of love I’ve ever gotten is from Daisy and that felt about as plastic and as fake as things can get.
    He writes down a few notes, then clicks his pen and tucks it away in his pocket before shutting his notebook again. “I think we might have made some progress today.” He checks his watch and then gets to his feet, retrieving his trench coat from off the back of the chair. “Keep it up, and maybe you can have visitors who are not family.”
    I slump back into the chair. “I’m not sure if I want visitors,” I mumble.
    He doesn’t seem to hear me. When he reaches the door, he slips his arm through the sleeve of his jacket, secures the belt around his waist, and sticks his hand into his pocket. “And Kayden, keep using this, no matter how many times it breaks. We can always get you a new one.” He throws a rubber band at me and I catch it effortlessly. For a second I’m back on the field, running and catching the ball, free from life.
    I wish I were back there, fixed and mended. But unlike the rubber band, I’m not sure I can be fixed so easily.
Callie
    “I can’t believe your truck doesn’t have a CD player,” Seth says with his arm extended across the front of me as he fiddles with the volume on the stereo. He has on a jacket, with the sleeves pushed up, and skinny jeans. “Or an iPod hookup. I swear I’m having flashbacks of mullets, spandex pants, and crimped hair.”
    “I think you’re going back a little too far.” Luke has his hood pulled over his head and a leather band on his wrist that has the word
redemption
on it. I wonder if it means something to him or if he believes in redemption. I wonder if I believe in it. He stretches his arm in front of me and flips open the glove box. “Back to the eight-track era.”
    I cringe at how close he is, but then release the tension, refusing to go back to that