Old Wounds (20 page)

I looked around as the classroom started to fill up with kids from Mr. Reese’s next class. “Where?”

He was noticing their arrival as well. “I-it’s a p-place I-I-I f-f-found.”

“Hi, Sophie!” I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Megan.

I nodded in greeting and watched as her eyes slid over to take Elliott in. She was looking at him in such a weird way that I turned to see his expression, but he was too busy studying his shoes. At some point, I was going to ask him about the great Simons/Dalton Bang, but this was not the time.

“I have to go. I need to be physically educated.” I wondered if Elliott needed any physical education, and if he’d let me play teacher. I sighed. I needed to get over this shit quick. “Later.”

Elliott left and I tried to leave too, but Megan grabbed my arm. “Andrea, Cierra, and I are going to Baltimore tomorrow to shop for dresses. You want to come?”

I really, really didn’t, but when Andrea asked me the next day to go with her, I couldn’t say no. I was going soft. She begged and pleaded. She said that if she had to be in a car alone with Megan and Cierra for an hour each way, her brain would melt.

I joked and told her that it would at least make her a few pounds lighter. She shook her head and kept begging.

That was how I found myself in the back of Megan’s crappy car, listening to Cierra brag about how she gave John Wozniak a blow job at some party last weekend. I mean, really, was that really necessary to share? I didn’t walk around telling strangers my sexual business. We weren’t even friends.

“I now have a new mental picture to use when I want to make myself throw up,” Andrea whispered to me as we walked behind Megan and Cierra into the dress shop. I smiled. Andrea was kind of awesome.

“Um, why aren’t you going to the dance again, Sophie?” Megan asked as she pushed up the strap on the orange dress for the third time and flipped her dirty-blonde hair over her shoulder. It was for a much bustier girl with a different skin tone, but Megan seemed to think that a simple padded bra and a spray tan would fix it.

“Because it sounds fucking lame.”

“Aw,” Cierra said as she turned away from the mirror for the first time in ten minutes, “did no one ask you?”

I gave her a smirk. “Dances just aren’t my thing.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “Exactly what
is
your thing, Sophia?”

I shook my head. “You couldn’t handle it if I told you.”

Before Cierra could say anything else, Megan turned to Andrea and said, “That dress is so cute.”

Andrea looked at herself in the mirror. She’d been avoiding it since putting on the tight black garment. Then she sighed and turned toward me, but kept looking at the mirror. “Sophie?”

“It’s nice.” I could tell by her face that she wasn’t happy with her body, her thin fingers picking at the fabric covering her abdomen. “I think you should get it.”

She finally looked at me, her eyes silently pleaded for something. “But…”

I shook my head. “You look really good in it.”

I stood up quickly, somewhat annoyed at myself for even caring about Andrea and her ridiculous body image. “I’m going to look around the square. I’ll meet you guys in an hour.”

Not waiting for their response, I left the boutique and wandered around the small shopping square. I could have gone to the bookstore, but once the cool fresh air hit my face, I changed my mind and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to be alone.

There was a park nearby, overlooking the water, so I found a nice secluded wooded area and packed up my one-hitter. I wouldn’t have lasted another second with Megan or Cierra unless I caught a buzz. They talked constantly and the topics of conversation were less than appealing.

I was all about getting your sexual freak on or whatever, but I surely didn’t need to hear about Cierra and John, and I would’ve died a moderately happy woman if I hadn’t gotten the scoop about Chris Anderson’s curved cock and his nipple rot.

Still, I was happy not to be stuck at home. My new fascination with Elliott had taken over most of my moments of mental freedom. Sitting at home thinking about the line of Elliott Dalton’s lips certainly wouldn’t help me with anything.

I was nice and high by the time I slipped the dugout back into my pocket and went for a walk in the square. I probably could have stopped with just two small hits, but I’d done six or so, which left me more than just slightly buzzed. I was having trouble focusing my eyes as I stumbled along. Usually pot didn’t mess me up this badly. The sidewalk seemed uneven and for being a cooler evening, there was a surprising amount of people I had to dodge. Maybe my sugar was whacked.

“You okay there?”

I looked up to find green eyes staring directly into mine. I stumbled back and took in the man before me as his hand shot out to steady me. He was clearly older, but not too old, with shaggy blond hair. Both ears were pierced with hoops running through them and he had his labret pierced too. His arms looked strong and were covered in a full sleeve of tattoos. I bet Pinny Dalton would’ve thought he was sexy, even though her own boyfriend was about as cookie-cutter as they came.

“I’m good,” I finally said, my voice much softer than usual.

“Hi Good, I’m Ian. Damn, your eyes are…”

With a smirk, I batted my eyes exaggeratedly. “Yeah, I know. Genetic freak.”

I knew it was wrong. I knew I should’ve just walked away, and gone back to the dress shop, but this guy was cute and it wasn’t hard to understand what he wanted with the way he was looking at me. If I wanted to get over my immature crush on Elliott, this was my chance.

It was getting late and I knew that I had to meet the girls soon, but I was enjoying the time I was getting to spend with my new “friend.” Ian and I had found a bench to sit down on and we fell into easy conversation.

His hands were clean, but the fingernails were black underneath. When I asked him why, he confirmed my suspicion. He was an auto mechanic. Looking at his hands gave me another insight into who this man was; Ian wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It figured.

As much as it should have, the fact that he was married didn’t deter me in the slightest from making subtle sexual innuendos, and it sure as hell didn’t stop him from returning them, or putting his hand on my leg.

When he asked, I said that I was from Gaithersburg and that I was nineteen. He didn’t ask much else, and it wasn’t difficult for me to recognize that he wasn’t exactly interested in discerning the truth. Nor was he interested in anything much beyond what most men were.

In all honesty, I didn’t mind. I was pretty high and enjoying it all.

It wasn’t long before I was pressed up against the side of a building with his hands moving all over my body. I was still clothed and there was no flesh-on-flesh action except for his mouth attacking my neck. I wasn’t going to have sex with him, but his attention felt wonderful.

We were like that for a good long while until his cell phone rang. He muttered, “Shit,” before easing me down so I could stand. While he lied to his wife on the phone, I straightened out my clothing and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“What time is it?” I asked when he hung up.

“A quarter to eight.”

“Damn. I have to go.”

He pressed me up against the wall again and whispered against my neck, “Me too.” His hands moved to my tits as he ground his pelvis into my stomach. “Give me your phone number.”

I shook my head. “Give me yours.” A sound came from his throat before he nibbled on my earlobe. “I’ll call you, I promise, but I have to go.”

It was only after another couple of minutes of dry humping that he finally let me go, writing his number down on an old receipt. After saying goodbye to him, I hauled-ass back to the dress boutique. When I got there, Megan and Cierra looked annoyed, while Andrea seemed genuinely relieved.

“What the hell, Sophie?” Cierra snapped.

“Sorry.” I shrugged. “I lost track of time.”

“We were worried,” Megan added. “I mean, it’s a safe area and all, but then we couldn’t find you at the bookstore and--”

“Sorry,” I said again, making sure they knew I was annoyed right back.

“Whatever,” Cierra sighed. “Let’s just go.”

The rest of my week quickly fell into the same vicious cycle: School, home, sleep. At school, I got high, smiled at Elliott while trying to talk to him as casually as possible, and only paid enough attention in class to not fail. Once I got home, it was all cleaning and cooking to stave off boredom, and talking to Tom on his off-days just enough to keep him moderately satisfied and off my back.

Sleep consisted of me barricading my bedroom door and letting myself get so exhausted that I finally couldn’t keep myself from slipping into unconsciousness.

Friday was the only exception. I had to do the Screw-Up Club thing again. I couldn’t wait until I didn’t have to sit down with Bitch Wallace every week, but just like last time, I found myself facing her.

After asking me again about school, she hit me with, “Did you have fun in Baltimore?”

I sighed. “Why do you have to keep talking to Tom? Isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

She smiled and I cringed. “It’s against the rules for me to tell him what you say, but he’s free to tell me about anything that’s troubling him. He’s concerned that you don’t have friends, but he was happy that you went out with those girls on Tuesday.”

“They’re not really friends. I just went for something to do.” I didn’t want to have another conversation with anyone about who was or wasn’t my friend, so I tried to change the subject. “I’m concerned that Tom doesn’t have a girlfriend. Why don’t you talk to him about that?”

“What concerns you about it?”

I had just been bluffing, but now I tried to come up with something. “Don’t you think it’s strange for a man to live his life without, you know, a woman, or women, around?”

“How do you know he doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “He hasn’t introduced me to anyone and there’s no evidence anywhere in his house. I mean, tube socks on the living room floor doesn’t impress the ladies, so clearly he has no--”

“Did your mother have boyfriends?”

Instantly, I felt tense and angry. “I don’t want to talk about my mother, or her boyfriends.”

“Why? You seemed okay to talk about your father and his lack of girlfriends. What’s the difference?”

“The difference is that I don’t want to talk about my mother and her boyfriends,” I repeated, this time louder.

“I heard you.” Bitch Wallace took in a deep breath. “I just didn’t know if there was some reason
why
you didn’t want to.”

I looked down and lied. “No.”

“Have you spoken to your mother since you’ve been here?”

“No.”

“How does that make you feel?”

I sighed, hating these questions and how I felt like I had to answer them. “I’m happy not to talk to her. I have nothing to say and I don’t think she’d have much to say either. I’m sure her life is a whole lot better now that I’m not there.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because she doesn’t like me,” I answered quickly. “Can we talk about something else, please?” Why couldn’t she understand that I had no interest in talking about my mother?

She paused for a moment and then asked, “There’s a dance at school coming up, are you planning on going?”

Damn, what was with these Damascus people and this pointless dance? “No.”

“Don’t like to dance?”

I gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t like stupid shit.”

She just looked at me for a moment, a seemingly genuine smile gracing her features. “What’s your earliest memory, Sophie?”

“What?”

“The first thing you can remember.”

“Why?”

“I find memories interesting,” she answered. Sitting back, she folded her hands over the notebook that sat in her lap. “My first memory is of my father opening the front door. I couldn’t have been very old because I remember how big he was, silhouetted against the setting sun. I remember running to him and hugging his leg.”

I let myself relax just a little, resting back against the overstuffed chair. “I don’t remember anything like that.”

“But you do have a memory of something. What is it?”

I cracked my neck before dragging a hand down my face. “If I tell you, will you not call on me during group?”

“It’s a deal.”

“I don’t know how old I was, but I can remember a very long car ride. I was crying and I remember my mother was in the front seat.”

“Was it day or night?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark inside the car, but lighter outside.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

I let the memory play in my head again. It was hazy and warped as I watched my mother’s hair billow in the wind. “Helen’s hair was long.” Taking a deep breath, I shook my head. “Why’s this important? Why do you give a shit about some stupid car ride?”

“I don’t know if I give a shit about it, Sophie.” My eyes widened at her use of the word “shit.” “I just wanted to hear about it.” She leaned forward. “What’s your best memory?”

I swallowed. Even if I didn’t want to comply, my mind was already scanning the past. There were very few good memories and of those, it was difficult to discern the best. “I don’t have one.”

“Do you have a worst memory?”

“There are too many to choose just one.”

As my finger ran along the ridge of the now-worn spine, I smiled when I saw Elliott’s copy of
Of Human Bondage
. Obviously, he’d read it. “Did you like it?” I asked, turning to him.

He eyed the book. “Y-y-yes.”

“I thought you would.” I turned and then flopped down onto his couch, staring up at his ceiling. “I like your room.” I had told him that once before, but it was worth repeating. His room was calm and peaceful. There was nothing soothing in Tom’s whole house, much less my room.

I glanced up at Elliott. Like most Friday nights, he sat on the edge of his bed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. I didn’t quite understand why he didn’t just sit on it like he owned it. I fought the urge to push him back so he’d look like a normal guy hanging out in his room. As tempting as it was, it’d be hard not to straddle him and run my hands over his chest. Everything about his posture screamed that he was anything but relaxed.

I wondered if I was the one who made him like that. Perhaps he typically sat on his bed cross-legged and looked all kinds of comfy. I didn’t know, and had no way of ever finding out. I couldn’t just
ask
him if I made him uneasy.

Turning my eyes back up to the ceiling, I figured I might as well talk about something. “Dr. Wallace asked me about my earliest memory. Does she ask you about your memories too?”

“Y-y-yes.”

“Do you tell her about them?” I turned back.

He shook his head.

“She wanted to know my best memory and my worst memory. Why would she want to know that shit?”