From Where I Watch You (18 page)

I smell his soap smell. And stale beer. My back is still to him and I hope he thinks I’m asleep because I honestly don’t know what to do. The bed creaks again and I can feel him lying behind me.

“Sweet Kara,” Nick whispers so soft I almost don’t hear it. I feel his cheek against my arm, and the stubble on his chin that I didn’t notice when he kissed me earlier. He kisses up my arm that’s prickled with gooseflesh. The stubble scrapes my sunburned shoulder when he kisses his way to my neck, and I struggle to keep my eyes tightly shut.

I can’t breathe. God, where is Kellen? Please come, now, please Kellen!

He pulls back the covers and I feel his knees against my calves. I only have on a cami and the cotton shorts I borrowed from Kellen because my room was so hot. It’s all I can do not to shiver. My heart pounds out of control and he must feel it and know I’m awake. He runs his hand over my side, and then my hip, and down my thigh and back up again inside my thigh, as far inside as his fingers can get.

I don’t understand what he’s doing and I still don’t know if I should let him know I’m awake. But what if he hurts me?

His hand moves up to my hip again, and then I feel his fingertips creep down to my stomach and they feel so much rougher than when they were on my face when he kissed me earlier. I fake sleep even though I’m shaking. His hand slips down lower. My cheeks sting with the tears that are coming. I bite my lip enough to try to stop my shaking but I taste blood. I try and focus on the fireworks outside. Anything to take my mind away from what’s happening.

A minute later, I feel him shaking and he breathes heavy. The bed creaks when he leans over my arm, maybe to check that he hasn’t woken me up. I pray that he can’t tell I’m awake when he rubs my arm and kisses my cheek.

He stays there, for how long I’m not sure but it seems like a while. Tears slip over the bridge of my nose and slide down my cheeks and over my lips and drop onto my pillow. My nose runs and I can’t sniff or wipe anything because then he’ll know that I’m awake.

Every few seconds he’s kissing my shoulder or running his hand along my arm. I’m calmer because he doesn’t do anything but lay there. After a while I hear him sniffing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracked, and his breath catches when he speaks. “God. You’re just a fuckin’ baby, Kara. I’m so sorry.”

THE NEXT MORNING, KELLEN’S
asleep in her room and I have to wait half the day for her to wake up. I almost lose my nerve. I can’t tell Mom, and besides, she’s not going to be home for another day.

When Kellen comes downstairs she says nothing to me but grabs the coffee carafe and takes it to the sink. She has to walk past me to get the coffee grounds out of the cupboard and I notice her eyes—puffy and red, like mine.

She’s scooping coffee grounds into the filter when she says, “Tad dumped me.”

I swallow, unsure of what to say. Usually Kellen is the dumper.

She spins around, holding the empty coffee scoop in her hand. “Nick was asleep on the couch when I got back. He was drunk. I had to drive his drunk ass home, and fucking Tad had his car keys. I can’t believe I ever let that asshole into my life. Did Nick stay here the whole night?”

My lower lip quivers and I can’t stop it.

“Carrot, what?” She slams her hands onto her hips, the coffee scoop dangling from her fingers.

My sister is a blur.

“What’s wrong, Carrot?” Her voice is softer now and I hear the clank of the coffee scoop as it hits the counter.

The Mr. Coffee hisses, bubbling and popping as the first drips of coffee fall into the carafe and I try to stop crying.

When I do, I tell her everything.

SHE WAS FURIOUS AT
first and immediately she called Nick. When he didn’t answer she called Tad. When he didn’t answer, she threw a coffee mug against the wall, shattering it. After she calmed down she hugged me—the first hug I could remember in a long time.

“I’m so sorry, Carrot. I will handle it, I promise you, Carrot, I’ll kill that bastard, I promise.” She reassured me. “I’ll deal with him.”

She promised to take care of me. The whole day she tried to make me feel better with junk food I couldn’t manage to eat. She tried to play my favorite DVDs but all I saw was a screen with things moving all over it. Kellen braided my hair and painted my nails and did everything she could to get my mind off what happened. For a few days after, she kept asking me if I was okay, always hugging me and reminding me she’d handle it. It felt like I had the kind of sister that Gaby had.

It didn’t last long.

“HE SAID HE DIDN’T
do anything, Kara!” Kellen yells at me, a week later. She had figured out when Nick got off work and planned to confront him in the parking lot. Before she left she kissed my cheek and told me she might even go to the cops after she talked to him.

“I can’t believe you! How could you take his side? I’m your sister!”

We are sitting on my bed. Mom and Dad aren’t home from work yet.

“He said it was you! You had a list of first times, or first . . . things you wanted to do and kissing was one of them. He said you enjoyed it, Carrot! He said you tried to seduce him, that you practically had your hand on his crotch!”

“Seduce? How would I know how to do that? I kissed him, that’s it. He did that other stuff later, Kellen! The kissing was one thing, but everything else? I didn’t want any of that! I was in bed, asleep and you know it! You believed me when I told you, I can’t believe you’re doing this to me!”

“Nick denies doing anything but kissing you, down on the basement couch. As if that’s not enough for me to deal with, and try not to remember every time we’re together down there!”

What is she talking about? She doesn’t have to deal with anything—she wasn’t messed with, and she’s used to boys. “That night was my first kiss, Kellen. I wouldn’t have let him if I thought he would do that other stuff!”

“You’re just a baby; you don’t know what you’re talking about. When you told me, you didn’t even make any sense. I knew you made it up. I was mad because of Tad breaking up with me. You shouldn’t lie about this kind of stuff, Carrot. You could get Nick into serious trouble if you keep this up!”

18.
Cool completely
.

..........................................................

Charlie paces, his face the color of flour as he runs his hands through his hair.

I shouldn’t have told him.

He exhales, puffing his lips out, before disappearing into the kitchen.

I stare at the floor, counting the panels of oak. Dust bunnies converge around the base of the floor lamp. He turns on the water in the kitchen and I hear a glass filling up.

He thinks it’s my fault.

When he walks back into the room, he sets the glass in front of me and sits down.

“So, you didn’t even tell your mom or anyone else?”

I’m starting to get mad. Charlie can’t even say anything to make me feel better about this terrible thing I’ve never shared. “My own sister didn’t believe me, Charlie! How could I expect anyone else to? Kellen told me she’d handle it and then she didn’t. The night that she died, before we knew, Mom and I went for dinner and a movie. She’d just won a big case. She was giving me a little more attention. I almost felt like I could tell her, but I didn’t. Then of course she got the call from campus police the next morning and everything changed.”

From the corner of my eye I see him nodding. The silence coming off him feels heavy and judgmental, and I know what he’s thinking—that I’m totally messed up. I hate myself for trusting him. Maybe I’ll just stay in San Francisco.

The old furnace hums and then rumbles to life, sending heat into the room. We both look toward the grate on the wall by the kitchen. I bolt for the apartment door, swinging it open. “Obviously telling you was a huge mistake, so you can go now. Besides, you have to get back to work anyway and I’m not feeling so great.”

He stays. When he makes eye contact I whisper, “Please, go. I need to finish packing.”

I look away, down the steps. But when he passes me I know his eyes are on me.

THE NEXT AFTERNOON I
take the Metro to the light rail station at Westlake. On the train I clutch my carry-on and suitcase close. I watch everyone: a grandmother, a toddler, it doesn’t matter. The pepper spray tucked into my bag gives me a little comfort, but it’s sweet relief when the train gets to the airport. There’s no way Mom can stop me now. She wouldn’t be able to find me. But I hope the note I left her will suffice.

Mom, please don’t worry, I’m fine. I’ll be back in a few days.

Kara

ONCE I’M SITTING AT
my gate I breathe easier, but my mind wanders to the pepper spray again. I had to stick it back into my suitcase, so now I feel less safe, like everyone’s watching me, wondering why I’m traveling by myself.

All the seats facing the window are taken so I’m forced to sit and watch the main drag that runs through the terminal. My heart beats too loudly, someone will hear it, I know. Even my breathing seems unusually loud. It’s like my body is trying to call out, telling the whole airport I don’t have permission to travel anywhere, and that my mom thinks I’m at school.

It’s not until the plane’s wheels lift from the runway that I feel safe. And free.

I’m on my way to the only thing I need: my future.

For the two-hour flight I go over my contest plans, making notes for each step so that I maximize my allotted time. My heart pounds when the pilot announces our descent into San Francisco International Airport.

THE CONTESTANTS WHO CAN
afford to stay at the fancy hotel where the contest takes place get a free shuttle from the airport. The rest of us poor bakers have to catch a bus or taxi to San Francisco State University’s campus, where we get to stay for free in their dorms.

Thankfully, there are only five of us financially challenged contestants, so when I check in I’m told that I get an empty room to myself, but have to share the bathroom down the hall.

The small room feels big in a weird way, with two of everything: wall-mounted bookshelves, desks, and dressers, all in light wood. Is this what college is like? I can’t imagine spending four years in a place like this. Thank God it has a microwave because I don’t have money to eat out. My suitcase full of Cup Noodles and Pop-Tarts will be breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

A HALF HOUR LATER
I hear a knock at the door.

“Miss McKinley?” a voice asks.

I walk quickly to open it because I recognize the voice of the woman who checked me in. Her face doesn’t show the kindness it had earlier.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” I ask her.

I hope she doesn’t want me to switch to another room. Her eyes are narrowed. Oh God, she knows I’m here illegally.

“Miss McKinley, I’m sorry to bother you but I just wanted to let you know that a boy your age stopped by downstairs a few minutes ago. He claimed to know you?” She tilts and shakes her head a little. “He said he came here with you, but I’m sure I remember you told me you came alone, from out of state, right?”

I swallow hard. I think of pepper spray. I think of blue-gray envelopes. The fear that I’d managed to chalk up to paranoia on the plane is back. “Yes, I did.”

She nods, her eyes locked with mine, reading my expression. “That’s what I thought. I told him you hadn’t checked in yet, and when I asked if he wanted me to leave you a message, he left.”

I can’t respond. I’m not even sure what I’d want to say.

“Do you need me to call someone?” she asks gently. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

My nose stings. I bite my lip and shake my head.

Her forehead creases and she reaches out to touch my arm. “If you need anything, call me. The number for campus security is on a sticker on your phone by the bed. They are very fast, so no need to worry.” She gives a half-smile and turns to leave.

I close the door and lock it. My body feels shaky and weak. Could my stalker know I’m here? It sounds crazy. After I get my things ready for the morning, I fix myself some noodles and crawl into bed. I’ve never been on my own like this. I’m far from home, far from a soul who knows me. But I’ve longed for this, wished for it for so long. I dig in my carry-on for the last note I got, the one left at Justine’s check stand. I put off reading it because I’ve learned to lie to myself—that if I don’t read the notes then my stalker isn’t real.

The paper feels so familiar now, and I pull it out and tear it open.

Don’t think you’ll ever find a place I can’t reach you.

I cram it back into my bag and crawl into bed. Then I get up to make sure the door is locked. I try to sleep but of course I can’t. Does that mean he followed me? But how? Justine only gave me the note yesterday. How can he know about the contest? I’ve hardly told anyone.

There’s noise outside in the hall so I sit up. College girls giggle and chat with each other as they walk by my door, the sounds fading as they move on down the hall. The space between the floor and the bottom of the door is illuminated by the light in the hallway. A third of the gap is dark, right in the middle.