The Crosswalk

The crosswalk is stained red.

Orion Baxter was crossing the road, not paying attention to the flashing orange sign, and was hit by a car. Cindy Penn swears she didn’t see him, that he appeared out of nowhere. One second the street was clear; the next Orion was another pothole. The cops tried and tried to get up the blood stains, but nothing would wash it away. So, it’s there as a reminder. A warning.

Karma will always get you.

Most would say I’m being callous, heartless even. But they didn’t know Orion.

He was the most eligible bachelor in our second-grade class. All of the girls loved him, sending him notes under their desks with little hearts encircling his name. By the time fifth grade rolled around, he had a fan club. The saga continued through junior high and then into high school. Everywhere he went people followed, like flies to manure.

Charismatic and handsome, he had everything going for him. His father owned the largest oil field in town, his mother a stay-at-home wife who hosted tea every Thursday at two. He didn’t have any brothers or sisters, so he had his family wrapped around his little finger. On his sixteenth birthday, he got to pick out his cars. Yes, I said cars. One for driving to school, a Tesla; the other for recreation, a hummer. By senior year, he had already been accepted at thirteen universities, all offering him full rides to play football. But that didn’t matter to him. His college was paid for before he was even born. Orion never struggled with paying for his school lunch, never had to work a day in his life, never had to ask twice for anything.

His life was the opposite side of the coin to mine.

If there were ever two people who were as different as night and day, it would be Orion and me. While he was Mr. Perfect, I was the ugly stepsister. I never had any friends, not one. I was a lonely child who preferred the company of barn owls to actual people. Books were my escape and I always had my nose in one, climbing up into the hay loft next door to read for hours. I also didn’t have any parents, unless you count the foster homes I jumped in and out of on a yearly basis. No one wanted me and, to be honest, I didn’t want them either. I preferred being alone. You can’t get hurt if you never get close to anyone. That’s what I always told myself.

Until him.

Looking back, I should have known. I knew better than to trust anyone but myself. I’d experienced so much loss in my life that I knew everyone was playing at something. Everyone wanted something. It would have been obvious to anyone else.

Stupid girl.

Orion, the big football star, the boy everyone wanted, walked up behind me while I was stuffing papers in my locker. I didn’t hear him, my mind far more interested in solving the riddle in my latest novel. A short cough caught my attention and I turned to find him mere inches from me, his teal eyes staring into mine. “Excuse me, but I think you dropped this.” He handed me a book, a torn red cover with golden text.

I shook my head. “That’s not mine.”

He looked down at it, flipping through the pages. “Really? I could have sworn you were reading it in the library.”

A chuckle left my lips. “Well, I generally don’t read antiquated misogynistic texts, but thanks for checking.” I tried to walk away, to put some distance between me and the guy who had never spoken to me before today. Maybe never even looked at me before. We’d been in the same class since elementary school, but I was always the girl in the shadows, the one who blended in with the wallpaper. I knew my place and it wasn’t anywhere near Orion.

“Wait, I… I’m sorry. I know you weren’t reading this. I just wanted to find a way to talk to you.”

I raised a brow. “Seems like you’re doing a fine job right now.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he pauses, struggling with his words. “I wanted to ask if you would go to prom with me.”

It took me a second to process what he said. “What?” I asked, my eyes blinking furiously.

“Lorelei, would you go to prom with me?” I thought it might have been the first time he had said my name out loud because he tripped over the ending, saying “lay” instead of “lie.” But that didn’t matter to me. He just asked me to prom. Orion Baxter just asked Lorelei Fisher to the biggest event of the year.

How could I refuse?

“I… I guess.” My voice was a whimper, the pitch coming out all wrong. Nothing was making sense. Why would the hot quarterback want to go to prom with me? I wasn’t exactly pretty. My plain brown eyes were hidden by dirty blonde hair cutting across my face from the bangs I cut myself. I didn’t have nice clothes, just something my foster mom found at the thrift store that was way too big for me. I wasn’t curvy or athletic, just skinny. Why in the world would he ask me to be his date?

He rubbed a hand through his brown locks, golden highlights appearing in the florescent lights of the hallway. He smiled at me and I couldn’t help but grin back, forgetting for the moment I had buckteeth the size of Texas. “Great. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven.”

I stared after him as he walked away, my heart and stomach fluttering. I had just been asked to prom by the hottest guy at school. What are the chances? He gave me one last look over his shoulder before stalking off with his buddies. I went on to my next class in a happy haze, a cackle of laughter sounding somewhere behind me.

That should have been a clue.

What happened the following night is something I don’t want to talk about. Something that will forever haunt me. But how else will I bury this? How else will I put this story to rest?

It needs to die.

I had found something to wear in the dark confines of my closet, a strapless blue dress with tiny beads on the hem. I tried to do something with my hair, using a blow dryer to give it some volume. It turned out more frazzled than fancy, but it was better than usual. To finish it all off, I put on some of pink lipstick and some glitter eyeshadow. I stood in front of my mirror with a smile that could have lit up the world. I was pretty and I was going to prom with Orion Baxter. It couldn’t get better than this.

And it didn’t.

Two hours later, I was limping home. My dress was torn, my hair a tangled mess. My lipstick was smeared across my cheek from where he tried to kiss me. At first, I thought he was just being sweet. He put his arm around me when I got in his hummer, had told me how hot I looked. Everything was going as I expected until he turned off of the main road, heading down a dirt path.

“Hey, isn’t the school that way?” I asked, curiosity more than fear sounding in my voice. What did I have to be afraid of?

A shrug. “No one shows up on time to prom. Besides, I thought you and I could get to know each other better.” The car stopped beneath an old oak tree, a faint hooting in the distance.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?” I brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear, ready to converse about anything. I’d even done some research on football that afternoon, that way if he brought it up I would know the difference between offense and defense.

He placed his hand on my knee and squeezed. “I’m not very good at talking.” Without warning, his mouth was on mine in a hard kiss. That’s when time sped up. Minutes turned to seconds in a blur, in a mess.

I tried to push him away. I tried to say no. I hit, I scratched, I yelled. But nothing I did made him stop. He just kept going and going and going and…

I don’t know how long it lasted. When he finally got off of me, I curled into a ball, my cheeks stained with tears. I think he glanced at me once then said, “You should probably get out now.” I sucked in a breath before slipping out, my legs shaky and sore. He drove off, leaving me in the middle of the dirt road.

No matter how many showers I took, how many times I scrubbed my mouth, I couldn’t wash him off of me. I couldn’t wipe my memory of what he did, of what he took.

Some might say I should have reported him. Told the cops about what he did. Broadcasted to the world how he hurt me. I considered it, playing through that scenario as I lay in bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

He’d get off with a warning at the most. Because he was rich. He was powerful. But, I realized, he was not invincible.

Days, weeks passed. He wouldn’t look at me in the hallway, no acknowledgement of my existence. Back to the usual, or so everyone thought. Rumors had spread that Orion Baxter had deflowered some girl on prom night. His football buddies would leer after me as I walked by, and it wasn’t hard to guess why. I was the black sheep again, but now I had a reason to cower in the hay loft with my owls. Shame was a blanket and it covered me night and day.

It’s no wonder I snapped.

Planning someone’s murder takes a special kind of psychopath. That’s what all the books say. For me though, it was simple.

I waited patiently. While his friends were laughing, I was watching. Looking for my opportunity. It came on a warm Saturday night. I wasn’t invited to the party at the local pub, but I knew he’d be there. I sat on a park bench across the street, waiting for my chance. I knew he would stay until everyone else left. Knew he would paid the bartender to look the other way when he took a six-pack home. So, when he came out of the place, looking like a drunk hero, I was there.

I was ready.

No one saw me push him. They didn’t see me walk away, my dark hoodie blending into the night. My foster parents didn’t ask me where I was, wondering what I was doing out so late. My head hit the pillow and I slept soundly for the first time in months. A dreamless sleep, free from the nightmare I’d been living.

Next morning, I got ready with a pep in my step. I couldn’t hide my smile as I walked to school. People were lined up on the road, pressing in to see why dozens of cops were holding buckets of soapy water. But no matter what they do, it won’t change anything.

The crosswalk is stained red.