The Lies Behind Her Eyes

Friday, November 9th, 2018

Karmen Sinclair

The first half is coming to an end. There are only thirty seconds left on the clock.

Riverside is down by three, and they have possession.

The ball is snapped.

Channing bursts through an opening straight up the middle untouched.

The crowd jumps up, shouting and screaming.

Forty-yard line.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Ten.

At the five-yard line, a defender wraps around Channing, but he still manages to cross into the endzone.

It’s his third touchdown of the night.

Cowbells ring. People cheer. Channing pulls off his helmet with a grin. It’s not the usual cocky grin, but something softer.

Happier.

His eyes scan the crowd until they find me, and he smiles like I discovered fire. I return it and form a heart with my fingers.

He needs to remember that I was here. In the stands. Supporting him. Loving him. He needs to believe that I will never leave him.

Riverside’s coach calls a timeout. Channing’s smile fades, his brows drawing together. The coach walks out onto the field toward Channing, his head down. He says something to Channing. Channing’s jaw drops, his hand covering his mouth.

It was about damn time.

I was wondering when they thought the right moment would be.

At the sideline, he throws his helmet on the turf. Tears glisten on his cheeks. He roughly wipes them away. Channing glances at me, his lips trembling. I rush from the bleachers and meet him by the locker room.

“Channing, what’s wrong?”

“He--My father,” he whispers. “He’s dead.”

My face falls. "What?”

“I--I don’t know,” his voice cracks. He runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. I grab his hand, tightly squeezing it. “I have to go.” He takes a step away before stopping. “Will--Can you come with me?”

I wrap an arm around him and pull him to me. “I’ll drive.”

In the car he does not speak. His attention remains fixed out the window. His phone lights up again and again. He doesn't answer it. He doesn't so much as reach for it. His knee bounces erratically. I place my free hand on it. It does not stop shaking.

We see flashing lights before the mansion comes into view. Yellow tape surrounds the mansion. Police cruisers block the driveway. There is no ambulance. Only forensic vans and officers moving through the house. Channing stares as if he doesn't recognize the only home he's known.

"Channing West?" an officer asks. Channing nods. "I'm sorry about your loss." He glances at the scene from over his shoulder. "This is an active crime scene. You're going to have to find somewhere to stay."

"Okay," Channing mumbles.

"Here." The officer hands him a card. "My contact info. We'll need you at the department in the morning to answer some questions."

Channing takes the card. The officer ducks beneath the tape and returns to the house. "Rhea..."

"Come on." I lead him back to the car. "Let's get a hotel."

This time, on the drive, he speaks. “My family… I’m the only one left."

"I'm here," I whisper, taking his hand in mine. "I won't leave you."

Even I have a hard time believing myself.

Everyone leaves eventually.

And those that stay will eventually betray you.

"My mother never missed a game. She loved watching me play."

"Even your bad games?"

A strained chuckle escapes him. "Especially the bad ones. She'd wait for me in the car with a list." We stop at a red light. He stares out the windshield. "I always felt like I was disappointing her. She always had high expectations."

"And now?" I ask.

"I’d give anything to have her back. She just wanted me to be my best.”

The light turns green and I drive. “My father was like that,” I confess. “Nothing was ever good enough for him, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss when things were simpler.”

“What was he like?”

I gulp. “He put me through a lot, but I still loved him.” I quietly laugh. “Because that’s what children do. They love their parents despite everything.” My smile fades. “I hated him, but I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for him.”

Channing sniffles as I pull up to the hotel. We get out and I give my keys to the valet. Channing doesn't move. He stares at the front doors. I take his hand. "Come on."

We check in, get the keys, and head to the penthouse. It offers more privacy than the other rooms. He doesn't make a smart comment or ask how I can afford a place like this. He says nothing at all. He only follows me inside.

Channing showers and changes. Luckily, he had a pair of clean clothes in his gym bag. He lies on the bed next to me, our arms barely touching.

“After she died, he changed. He stopped eating at the table. He never came to my games. Sometimes he disappeared for weeks at a time.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “And then he'd come home reeking of alcohol." He takes a shallow breath.

I pull him to me, running my hand through his wet hair. "How did you react?" I ask softly.

“I raced. Sold drugs. Skipped class. I buried all of it. Pretended I was fine. Then my father had his heart attack.” He sniffles. “I took over and everything fell apart."

"It wasn't your fault."

“Kendall was my fault," he says lowly. "She came along and she stayed. She believed in me despite everything.” His voice cracks. “And it got her killed.” His shoulders begin to shake. “I killed her.”

“Channing," I say, pulling away to look him in the eye, but he doesn't glance at me. “It wasn’t your fault." The words are sharper than I intend.

His eyes narrow briefly. “If it weren’t for me, dragging her to a fucking drug deal, she’d still be alive.” He exhales harshly. “I’m not a good person, Rhea.”

His red, puffy eyes find mine. "I’ve known far worse people than you.” I cup his face in my scarred hand. “You’re not a bad person, Channing. You never were. The guilt you’re carrying isn’t yours,” I whisper. “It belongs to whoever took her from you.”

"How can you know that?" His eyes search mine.

Then I feel it.

The cool breeze.

And then I see it.

Her blonde hair.

The scope trained on the back of her head.

The crosshairs perfectly centered.

A tear landing on my arm pulls me back.

“You made a reckless choice. That doesn't make you her killer.” He chokes back a sob. “Let it out, Channing. Grieve your parents. Grieve Kendall. Grieve everything.” I look away and catch my reflection in the mirror. “Keeping it inside won’t save you.”

And he does.

Not once do I look away from my reflection.

I almost convince her.

Channing sobs into my shoulder and I gather him in my arms. I rub his back as his body shakes with each cry. My shirt sticks to my skin, his tears soaking through the thin fabric. My own eyes burn, and I hug him tighter. I did not expect his grief to be this heavy. I blink back the tears before any can fall.

In the mirror, my reflection watches me with cold eyes.

She does not cry.

After a while, he trusts me enough to close his eyes and fall asleep in my arms.