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Kenzie had never been a hero.
She’d been a liar. She lied constantly about where she went after school and who she was with. She lied about homework and she lied about her family. She lied about herself. Dressed it all up as a larger than life story, a tragi-comedy. Made people laugh. Made her friends laugh. Made Teagan laugh on the other side of the world through her letters.
She’d been a thief. Once she stole her mother’s favourite ring, one she’d inherited from her own mother, to punish her for not noticing when her father put out his cigarette on Kenzie’s arm. Jasmine had been distraught at losing the ring, but that seemed fair because Kenzie was distraught at losing the unblemished skin on her arm. If she’d been clever or brave she would have found a way to punish her father instead. Jasmine didn’t know. Jasmine never knew.
She’d been selfish. Rearranging the world to get the things she thought she deserved. Rearranging the truth to make herself the life of the party, the brightest star, the centre of the group.
Yeah, she went out of her way for her friends. She shouted at little cousin Micah’s bullies, she’d supported Sherlock and Jocelyn and the others when they were going through crap, she gave them her time and her heart. Of course she did. They were hers.
But she’d never been a hero.
Running away from the ghost of the bog man was natural. Of course she’d freaked out; he reminded her of Pat. His cold determination. He did want her to stay with him in the bog forever. He wanted Teagan. The first girl in a hundred years to look at him, to see him. Kenzie knew this. She could smell it on him, his loneliness, his heartbreak, the way that manifested into this desperate need to have them. Teagan could smell the muddiness of him, the physicality, but Kenzie was dead and she knew other things. She knew the world in a different way. He wanted Teagan dead, he wanted her with him forever.
Part of Kenzie understood that want. Understood it quite well.
But if Teagan died, Kenzie’s ride died with her.
So when Kenzie told Joss, as the ambulance pulled up, “it’s okay, she’s not dead,” the relief in her voice wasn’t entirely for Teagan.
And maybe she should have been more worried than she was, that she couldn’t find Teagan in her head any longer. Even as the hours passed, even as morning came. Her concern was only when Joss would wake up.
But she’d never been a hero, even when she was alive.
She’d been a liar. She lied constantly about where she went after school and who she was with. She lied about homework and she lied about her family. She lied about herself. Dressed it all up as a larger than life story, a tragi-comedy. Made people laugh. Made her friends laugh. Made Teagan laugh on the other side of the world through her letters.
She’d been a thief. Once she stole her mother’s favourite ring, one she’d inherited from her own mother, to punish her for not noticing when her father put out his cigarette on Kenzie’s arm. Jasmine had been distraught at losing the ring, but that seemed fair because Kenzie was distraught at losing the unblemished skin on her arm. If she’d been clever or brave she would have found a way to punish her father instead. Jasmine didn’t know. Jasmine never knew.
She’d been selfish. Rearranging the world to get the things she thought she deserved. Rearranging the truth to make herself the life of the party, the brightest star, the centre of the group.
Yeah, she went out of her way for her friends. She shouted at little cousin Micah’s bullies, she’d supported Sherlock and Jocelyn and the others when they were going through crap, she gave them her time and her heart. Of course she did. They were hers.
But she’d never been a hero.
Running away from the ghost of the bog man was natural. Of course she’d freaked out; he reminded her of Pat. His cold determination. He did want her to stay with him in the bog forever. He wanted Teagan. The first girl in a hundred years to look at him, to see him. Kenzie knew this. She could smell it on him, his loneliness, his heartbreak, the way that manifested into this desperate need to have them. Teagan could smell the muddiness of him, the physicality, but Kenzie was dead and she knew other things. She knew the world in a different way. He wanted Teagan dead, he wanted her with him forever.
Part of Kenzie understood that want. Understood it quite well.
But if Teagan died, Kenzie’s ride died with her.
So when Kenzie told Joss, as the ambulance pulled up, “it’s okay, she’s not dead,” the relief in her voice wasn’t entirely for Teagan.
And maybe she should have been more worried than she was, that she couldn’t find Teagan in her head any longer. Even as the hours passed, even as morning came. Her concern was only when Joss would wake up.
But she’d never been a hero, even when she was alive.
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