Delicate (27 page)

Trevor catches it.

“Are you laughing at me?” He steps closer.

“No,” I say meekly. I look back down at my hands again. “I think you should go.”

He continues toward me until I’m cornered against the wall. He hasn’t even touched me, but I immediately have to take smaller breaths. I look around him for an exit as I try to calm myself to make breathing easier.

“Are you
seriously
laughing at me?” His forehead rests against mine. His eyes are locked on mine.

I shake my head.

“Who do you think you are, Sydney? You’re nothing. Do you think you’re special because of the whole gymnastics bit? You lost, remember? Or your stupid TV show? Or that people should feel sorry for you because your mom died? Because I’ll tell you something, nobody gives a damn about any of that—or you. You were nothing before me. Nothing.” He laughs a low, malicious scoff. I’
ve
never heard anything like it. 

I feel my legs start to shake.
They’re
strong, but they are going to give out. I’m sure of it.

I
try
to speak. I try to tell him that he’s right. I am nothing.
Just please go.
But I can’t. My lips won’t cooperate.

His eyes narrow and his rage is growing, even though I haven’t said a word.

“Wait a second. You’re already involved with that asshole, aren’t you? That’s why you think you’re tough shit all of a sudden.” He reaches up and his hand presses on my airway.

I stare at him. Blankly. Because what else can I do? I need to lie.
Deny, I tell myself. Just deny it.
But I’m too paralyzed by fear to do anything. I stand
w
here
I am
. Mute.
Defenseless
.

He tugs violently on my arm and flings me to the floor, not like the ball of muscle that I actually am, but like a ragdoll. I gasp from the pain as my face smacks into the hard wood floor. Our eyes lock again. I know that
,
despite all of his anger, the Trevor I’d originally loved is in there somewhere. And, as if on cue, his face softens a bit.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper.

“Syd—”

“I’m really sorry things turned out this way,” I say. I’m dazed from the pounding in my head.
This must be what it feels like to be the bad kind of drunk, when it’s not fun anymore.

“I’m sorry too, baby. I just want things to get back to the way they were before…him.” Trevor reaches his hand out for me. He’s obviously misinterpreted my apology.

“No,” I whisper. He cocks his head to the side in confusion. “We can’t go back, Trevor. And right now, I just need you to go.” I start to get up off the floor, but am knocked back down almost instantly by a fist to my face. I feel like my body is deflating. The pain is so staggering and so unexpected.

I can’t be sure whether I lost consciousness or not. You don’t pass out from a single punch, do you? Still, it feels like a lot of time has passed since I heard the front door close.

My face is
throbbing. The room is swirly a
nd I can’t stop the sound of blood pounding in my ears. I don’t have the energy to find a mirror to inspect the damage, and really, I don’t care. I know I’m a mess. I feel like there’s a massive weight on my chest, making it impossible to take anything but tiny, shallow breaths.

I drag myself to the other side of the room. My iPhone is still on the coffee table where I’d left it after Maisy’s attempt at sneaking out. Could that have really just been a few hours ago? I think about calling Quinn, but it’s too much to have to explain. I can’t call Dad, he’d go crazy. I start to dial Grant’s number; he’s the one person that I
won’t have to explain anything to. He’ll just be here. But just as I start to dial, the room starts to spin again. I send him a quick text before everything goes
black.

It’s
s
imple. To the point. Just like Grant had been in his c
ard with the pearls. I know he’
l
l
understand.

Mercy.

-Twenty-four-

Grant helps me to my bed and props a pillow up behind me.

“All right, Quinn says Maisy can stay with her as
long as you need. And your dad
—
”

“Did you tell my dad?” I ask. I rub my temples, trying to soothe the ache in my head. It doesn’t help.

“The hospital had to call to get authorization to treat you, Syd. I don’t know what all they told him.”

“But he’s coming home, right?” I ask.

Grant nods. I can’t believe this is my life.

“What am I going to tell him?” I ask.

He puckers his brow. “Why not the truth?”

I wish it were that simple. The truth is ugly. And embarrassing.

He reaches
over and his hands cover mine, taking
over for me, rubbing my head softly. His touch
does
help take the edge off and I
finally
close my eyes.

“You don’t know how hard it is for me to sit here and look at you like this and not go and find him…” He lets his incensed voice trail off when he feels me stiffen.

“He didn’t mean to,” I say softly.  I really d
o
believe that he
didn’t
intentionally hurt me like this.

“Syd,
don’t
defend him.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I can’t hold on to the tears anymore, and finally, I let them fall.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he murmurs. “
He
hit you. He gave you a concussion. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice is soft again.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“Stop.” We both stay quiet for a long time, until finally Grant clears his throat and speaks again.

“What happened, Sydney?”

I close my eyes and try to put the pieces together. I remember waking up and Trevor was there. I remember him backing me into the corner, but I couldn’t fully recall what had sparked the argument.

“I don’t really remember.”

“I can’t believe that he did this to you
,
Syd. Every single piece of me is
screaming to go after him.” Grant’s
shaking his head in disgust.

I bite my lip nervously. “Please don’t.”

“I’m not leaving you.” It’s not a promise that he won’t go and find Trevor later, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“When I found you lying on the floor, seeing you like that…”

“How did you know to come over?”

“You texted me.” He holds up his phone as proof.
Now I remember. The text. Me conceding that I couldn’t do it anymore.

“You can’t go back to him.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious Sydne
y, I know I said that I’d
be here for you
,
and I will, but I really don’t know how to sit by knowing that you’re in danger…” his voice trail
s
off as the door open
s
.

Dad.

Quinn sits behind me on my bed, intricately braiding my hair while we watch TV. We’re
watching a
ridiculous reality show that does little to distract me. It more so reminds me of the
show
that I was supposed to be a part of. The one I had to drop out of—Dad’s orders.
Nothing that would cause me any stress for a while, he said.
Luckily, Grant and his ‘connections’ made it a little easier to deal with.

Quinn has been here day and night since “it” happened. Telling
Quinn
about Trevor had been easier than telling my Dad. Of course she was shocked, even though she’d been perceptive enough to realize that there was something ‘off’ about Trevor from the beginning. She couldn’t understand why I didn’t confide her. We’d been friends since we were kids —we’ve never kept secrets. I think that my silence hurt her more than
she lets
on.

“I have something for you, although I’m not sure that you’ll want it,” Quinn says as she wraps a rubber band around the end of the braid.

“What is it?” I ask, eyeing her nervously.

She crosses the room and grabs her backpack. She reaches inside and pulls out a thick, hardcover burgundy book and hands it to me. My yearbook.

“I had everyone sign it for you,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say. “That was really awesome of you to do, you know, with you hating people and all.” I smile.

“You know it!” Quinn laughs.

I set the book on the bed next to me. I’m not sure I’m ready to remember the last school year. It had started out with such promise, and ended so abysmal
ly
.

“Hey
,
Syd,” Quinn starts.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Course.”

“I can’t
stop
thinking about this, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but—why didn’t you fight back?
You’re like the strongest chick I know.
I mean, hello, those abs?
You totally could’ve taken him. Hell, I would’ve done it for you!”

I force a small smile for her benefit.

“I just couldn’t,” I say. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just froze. I was too scared and too shocked, and just…paralyzed.”

“I wish you would’ve told me.”

“Yeah, me too.” I run my hand across the bumpy cover of the yearbook. “So, how are things at school?” I
’m
purposely being vague.

“I kept my promise, if that’s what you’re asking – I didn’t say anything to him.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey,
I can behave when I have to, no matter what you’ve heard!” She grins.

“How…” I struggle with the next question. I have to know, but I kn
o
w that she won’t like it. “How is he?”