Little Battles (3 page)

But I couldn’t take any of it back, and if I were truly honest with myself, I didn’t want to. I liked Elliott.

I finally lifted my head and gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

Instead of trying to push him out of my mind, I tried to focus on him to drive away the memory of a man’s voice telling me,
Shhhh! Quiet, Sophie. Don’t wake your mother.

After we left school, the ride to my house with Elliott was awkward and strange, but that seemed to be the usual. He was kind, too kind, and I was…well…I was whatever the opposite of kind was. He was so deserving of good things, and I was so not.

Our relationship had slipped into this murky gray pool of
what the hell
. He wasn’t my boyfriend, but he wasn’t just a friend either. I hadn’t had many friends in my life, but I was pretty sure I’d never tell other “friends” about a fork in my neck or having to learn to cook when I was just a little kid so I literally wouldn’t starve.

I didn’t know what to say to Elliott. I wished that I could pull back all of those words I’d said on Friday and Saturday; the ones that told him my mother had left me on my own to care for myself when she wasn’t too busy hitting me and making me fall onto dirty utensils. No good was going to come from people knowing that shit. Even Elliott.

There was a change in him. It was subtle, and stupider people might have missed it, but I saw it in his eyes when he studied me. The constant studying wasn’t new, but something in his gaze was. I heard the even softer tone his voice held when he talked to me now. I wasn’t glass, and I wasn’t going to break. I sure as hell didn’t need people thinking of me as “fragile.”

“Do you want some coffee?” I asked as he followed me into Tom’s little kitchen. It was my father’s day off from the firehouse, but he was working a shift as a paramedic, so Elliott and I were alone. I knew he liked coffee, and it would give me something to do. I didn’t understand why I felt so nervous around him. I was usually so confident in just about everything I did.

Tom’s house was kind of dumpy compared to the Dalton Palace, but I wasn’t really worried about Elliott seeing it. He didn’t strike me as one of those jerks who would look down on someone just because their house wasn’t on the “Tour of Homes” every holiday season.

“S-S-SSStephen doesn’t l-like me drinking it ssssso l-late.”

I whipped around and glared at him. Before I could hold it back, I snapped at him. “That’s not what I asked, Elliott.”

Damn, there was that stupid kicked-puppy look. I took a deep breath and tried again. “That’s not what I meant to say. I’m sorry.” I wrung my hands and closed my eyes. “Dr. Dalton isn’t here, so do you want some coffee?”

“Y-yes.”

Great. I was the perfect host, making my one and only guest feel like shit over stupid beans and water. I started making the coffee and tried to figure out something to say to him that wasn’t a total reveal of how messed up I was, or how stupid I felt now that I’d decided I wanted to go all gooey and share dumb shit with him.

With freshly made coffee in hand, I mentally tried to prepare myself for showing Elliott my room. It was nothing like his, and I was pretty sure he’d think it was stupid. I wasn’t used to having people in my room. In fact, the only other person I’d allowed to enter was Jason, and I’d only let him in there long enough for both of us to get off.

My hand rested on the doorknob and I turned around. “My room isn’t cool or anything, so don’t get your hopes up for some kind of interesting experience or whatever.” Before he could answer, I opened the door and walked inside. “See?” I said as he followed me in. I sat on my bed and watched him as he checked out my meager possessions, finally settling on my computer. “Yeah, it’s like fifteen years old or something. Plus, it’s a dial-up connection, so it pretty much sucks.”

He threw me a smile and it made me soften just a little. Even though it was strange having him, or anyone really, in my room, it surprised me to realize that I wanted him here. As I studied him, he took a seat in the old rocking chair in the corner, and I realized that he fit in my room. I didn’t know what that meant; if I was the one who made him fit, or if he just naturally did.

“D-did you ch-check your e-mail?”

I shook my head, glancing back at the computer. “No.” I felt like apologizing, but I didn’t.

Elliott said nothing, but just sat there, looking at my things. Turning around, he glanced at the books on the top of my dresser; the same dresser Jason did me on a few weeks ago. It was a natural progression of my thoughts to imagine being banged on that dresser by Elliott.

My thoughts not only made me nervous, they made me blush. I didn’t understand that at all. Most other males on the planet were fair game. I had no problem thinking sexual thoughts about almost anyone, but thinking about Elliott like that turned me into some kind of virginal girl that giggled every time I said the word “dick” in my head.

“Um, so, how’s Jane?” Talking about Elliott’s adopted sister, who’d cut herself before Homecoming, seemed better than being embarrassed about wanting to have sex with him.

“Sh-she’s good. L-like I w-wrote to you, they’re b-back to acting l-like it n-never hhhhappened. She and T-T-Trent are jjjust liiike that.” He shifted the topic. “I-I lllike your room.”

I felt gooey again. “No, you don’t, you’re just being nice.”

Elliott’s expression mirrored mine and I found myself enjoying it. He needed to smile more. “I-I-I do llllike your room, S-Sophie.”

“There’s nothing in it.” His brow creased. “Y-y-you’re in it.”

My smile faltered just a little when I heard the sincerity in his voice. Again, I didn’t understand how I could be perfectly fine making-out with random guys like Ian from Baltimore, but when Elliott said something all sweet like that, my insides tightened and I felt sick. Why couldn’t I just be like every other girl and eat that shit up with a spoon? Why couldn’t he be like every other guy and make non-subtle sexual innuendos and try to get me to touch his dick?

I wished I could just go and get high, but that would be rude, and I didn’t want to be rude to him. I was fine with being high around him, but for some reason I thought getting high in front of him, or around him, would be disrespectful in some way. He equated it with his mother’s heroin addiction and I didn’t want to throw that in his face. I was sure he didn’t want to be reminded of how addiction drove her to kill herself in front of him when he was only seven.

I took in a sharp breath, forcing myself to look away from his near-flawless face, grabbed the large portfolio folder beside my bed, and got up to hand it to him. “You wanted to see my pictures.”

I focused on his hands as he reached out to take it. His fingers were long and elegant, and his nails looked like they were kept better than mine. I’d touched his hand before; as a matter of fact, I’d held it. I knew exactly how soft the skin of his palm was compared to the slightly rougher skin of his knuckles. But I didn’t know how that skin would taste.

I wanted to lick the back of his hand, to suck his fingers, to rake my teeth against the heel of it.

My jaw clenched. I was supposed to be showing myself that I could control all that shit. That Elliott was nothing more than any other guy.

Just another guy who was quiet and shy; who was sexy and drove me crazy with his hazel eyes and rusty hair. Just another guy who read complex literature and could play any number of instruments perfectly.

I was failing.

Forcing myself to move, I went and sat back down as Elliott opened the portfolio. I had stolen it last year. Helen wouldn’t get me one, but my class required it and I couldn’t just tell them that my mom wouldn’t buy me one, especially since she wouldn’t even buy me testing strips or lancets to monitor my blood sugar.

“I-is that your ear?”

I nodded, knowing which picture he was looking at.

“Why d-d-did you t-take a picture of your ear?”

Sighing, I sat back a little on my bed. I didn’t know what it was, but somehow I always felt less guarded around him. Everybody always wanted or expected something from me, but Elliott wasn’t like that.

“The assignment was a self-portrait based on a feeling the teacher gave us.” I shrugged. “I got ‘loneliness.’”

“Ar-are ears l-lonely?”

I answered, “Of course they are. They have a mate, a thing that is exactly like them, only it’s on the other side of the person’s head.”

“A-are you lonely?”

Elliott and his prying questions.

“Sometimes.” He flipped the photograph and came to one of a wooden chair. “I won first place for that one.” He looked up and smiled. “I l-l-llliiike it.”

Why did the fact that he liked a picture I took make me so happy? It was just a photo I’d taken messing around with my camera and then when I developed the film, everyone was all like “that’s so good.” It made no sense. I agreed the lighting and shading was good, but other than that it was just an old chair sitting in the waning light of the afternoon.

Typically all the pictures that I thought were toss-aways, other people said were their favorites.

“W-w-what is this one?”

“That’s my favorite Palmetto in Tampa.”

“Y-you have a f-ff-fffavorite P-P-Palmetto? Is that a t-t-t-tree or a b-bush?”

I smiled in answer. “It’s a tree that looks like a shrub.” “W-why is it your f-ff-ffffavorite?

“It was right outside my bedroom window,” I said, picturing it in my mind. “I spent a lot of time looking at it.”

“W-why do you w-wonder wwwhy I w-want to be friends with you, SS-Sophie?”

I was shocked by the unexpected shift in our conversation, and I recalled the e-mail questions I had sent him last night. “Because I’m not a good person like you are.”

“How d-do you know that?”

I fiddled with the bottom of my shirt. “Because I can see that you’re a good person.”

“How d-do you know that you’re n-not?”

I sighed deeply. He didn’t really want to know how I knew. It was evident that I wasn’t a good person. He didn’t really want to know about the guys I’d had sex with and the shit I’d done. If he
did
know, he’d rethink his friendship with me because he’d realize that the only thing I’d do was bring him down.

“Do you want to help me make dinner?” I was clearly changing the topic and I was thankful that he let me.

“Ssssure.”

It wasn’t time to make dinner yet. Tom wouldn’t be home for a while, and I knew that if Elliott were any other guy I’d jump him in the meantime. But he wasn’t any other guy. He was Elliott and I wanted to brush the hair away from his face and make him smile. Maybe even laugh.

As much as that dance scared the shit out of me, I couldn’t help but want to be close to him like that again. Most of me didn’t care that it was wrong. Most of me wanted to break all of my rules, but there was still a part of me that was terrified. I was terrified of the change he brought and petrified of the risk of hurting him.

I was pretty sure that no matter what I did, I’d end up hurting my very own flawed Greek god with the hazel eyes and shy smile. He’d put my portfolio on the dresser and was just looking at me, waiting for me to move. “W-w-why are you sssso ssssad?”

“I’m not a good friend for you.”

He froze for a moment, looking like a wounded puppy. “Y-you d-d-don’t w-w-want to be mm-mmmy friend?”

My body felt heavy when I heard the sadness in his voice. “That’s not what I said.”

Elliott shook his head and suddenly I felt like I needed to warn him again. I needed to get him to go away, to not want to be my friend, to not give a shit about me at all. I needed him to abandon his quest of getting to know me.

“I’ll ruin you.”

His voice was softer than before. “I-I’ve been r-r-r-ruined for a l-l-long t-t-time now.”

He wasn’t understanding me. “No, you’re a good person, Elliott, I don’t want to corrupt that.”

“Y-you’re a g-g-g-good p-person.”

Damn him. He didn’t get it. He should leave. “Don’t be blind, Elliott.”

The look of panic wore off his face and it shifted into something like anger. “I-I-I’m nnnnot. I c-c-can ssssssee your f-f-f-flaws, S-Soph-phie, b-but they d-don’t make you a b-bad p-person.”

He was probably the only person on the planet who would sit here and argue with me about if I was a good person or not. It was pretty damn clear that I wasn’t. I wish I knew what he was thinking, so maybe then I’d know how to change his mind. “Please…”

“P-p-please w-w-what?” he asked.

I shook my head. “You don’t even know me. No amount of e-mailing will change the fact that I’m not good for you.”