The Duff: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (18 page)

“Scrabble? I’m not an idiot. That must be some new code for… for oral sex!” Dad snarled.

I must have turned scarlet. How did he know? Could he see right into my mind? No, of course he couldn’t. He was just drunk
and making accusations, and looking guilty would only make things worse. So I laughed as if it were ridiculous. As if it were
a joke. Wesley, following my lead, did the same.

“Sure, Dad,” I said. “And intercourse is Yahtzee, right?”

“I’m not being funny!” Dad snapped, swinging his bottle and sloshing whiskey onto the carpet. Wonderful. I’d be the one cleaning
that up. “I know what’s up. I’ve seen the way your slutty friends dress, Bianca. They’re rubbing off on you, aren’t they?”

I couldn’t force the laughter any longer. “My friends aren’t slutty,” I whispered. “You’re drunk off your ass, and you don’t
know what you’re saying.” With a surge of bravery, I reached forward and swiped the bottle from his hand. “You shouldn’t have
any more, Dad.”

For a second, I felt good. That was what I should have done all along. Just taken things into my own hands and removed the
bottle. I felt empowered. Like I could fix things.

“I should go,” Wesley said behind me.

I started to turn around and say bye, but the words never left
my mouth. I felt the bottle slip from my hand and heard it smash on the floor beside me. I was knocked to the ground, but
for a second I didn’t understand what had happened. Then the delayed pain in my temple stunned me. It was like I’d been hit
by something. Something hard. Something blunt. Something like the palm of my father’s hand. I reached up and rubbed my head
in shock, barely feeling the actual pain.

“See!” Dad yelled. “Boys don’t stay with whores, Bianca. They leave them. And I’m not going to let you turn into a whore.
Not my daughter. This is for your own good.”

I looked up as he reached a hand down to grab my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel his fingers clamp around my
forearm.

But they never did.

I heard a loud
thud,
and Dad grunted in pain. My eyes flew open. Wesley moved away from Dad, who was massaging his jaw with a shocked look on
his face. “Why you little shithead!”

“Are you all right?” Wesley asked, kneeling in front of me.

“Did you just punch my dad?” I couldn’t help but wonder if I was delirious. Had all of this really just happened? Totally
bizarre.

“Yes,” Wesley admitted.

“How dare you touch me!” Dad screamed, but he was having trouble balancing enough to approach us again. “How dare you fuck
my daughter, then hit me, you son of a bitch!”

I’d never heard my father swear like that before.

“Come on,” Wesley said, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here. You’re coming with me.” He wrapped an arm around me,
pulling me close against his warm body, and ushered me out the open door.

“Bianca!” Dad yelled behind us. “You better not get in that damn car! You better not leave this house! You hear me, you little
whore!”

The ride to Wesley’s house passed in silence. Several times I saw him open his mouth like he wanted to speak, but he always
shut it again. I was in too much shock to say anything. My head didn’t hurt that much. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what Dad had done. But worse was the embarrassment. Why? Why did Wesley have to see that? What did he think of me now? What did he think
of Dad?

“That’s never happened before,” I said, breaking the silence when we pulled into the driveway of the almost-mansion. Wesley
cut the engine and looked over at me. “Dad’s never hit me… or even yelled at me like that before.”

“All right.”

“I just want you to know that wasn’t normal for us,” I explained. “I don’t live in an abusive house or anything. I don’t want
you to think my dad is some kind of psychopath.”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t care what people thought,” he said.

“About me. I don’t care what they think
about me
.” I didn’t know that was a lie until the words had left my mouth. “But my family and friends are different…. My dad isn’t
a psychopath. He’s just having a rough time right now.” I could feel the lump rising in
my throat, and I tried to gulp it down. I needed to explain. He needed to know. “My mom just filed for a divorce, and… and
he just can’t handle it.”

The lump wasn’t going away. It just kept growing. All of my worries and fears had been leading up to this moment, and I couldn’t
fight them back anymore. I couldn’t keep them bottled up. Tears started gushing down my cheeks, and before I knew it I was
sobbing.

How had this happened? It felt like a bad dream. My father was the sweetest, nicest man I knew. He was naive and fragile.
This wasn’t him. Even though I’d heard his reasons for sobriety before—even though I knew, in the back of my head, that his
drinking was dangerous—it still didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem possible.

I felt like my world was finally spinning out of control. And this time, I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t ignore it. And I definitely
couldn’t escape it.

Wesley didn’t say anything. He just sat with me in silence. I didn’t even realize he was holding my hand until after the tears
had stopped. Once I’d caught my breath and wiped away the few salty drops from my eyes, he opened his door and walked around
to open mine. He helped me out of the car—not that I needed it, but it was still nice—and led me up to the porch with his
arm tight around me, like the way he’d guided me out of my house, keeping me close. As if he was afraid I might slip away
in the darkness between his car and the front door.

Once we were inside, Wesley offered me a drink. I shook my head, and we went upstairs like we always did. I sat on the bed,
and
he sat down next to me. He wasn’t looking at me, but he seemed to be deep in thought. I couldn’t help wondering what horrible
things were on his mind. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

“Are you all right?” he asked, turning to face me finally. “Do you need an ice pack or anything?”

“No,” I said. My throat was sore from crying, and my words came out kind of croaky. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He reached over and brushed the hair away from my face, his fingers barely grazing my temple. “Well,” he said quietly. “At
least now I know.”

“Know what?”

“What you’re trying to escape from.”

I didn’t respond.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your father has a drinking problem?” he asked.

“Because it’s not my place to tell,” I said. “And it’ll pass. He’s just going through a hard time right now. He hasn’t had
a drink in eighteen years. Just since the divorce papers came in…. He’ll get better.”

“You should talk to him. When he’s sober, you should tell him that it’s getting out of hand.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed. “And make him think I’m against him, too? When my mom has just handed him the divorce papers?”

“You’re not against him, Bianca.”

“Tell me, Wesley, why don’t you talk to
your
parents?” I asked. He was being a hell of a hypocrite, wasn’t he? “Why don’t you tell them that you’re lonely? That you want
them to come home? It’s because you don’t want to upset them, right? You don’t want
them to blame you for their misery? If I tell Dad he has a problem, he’ll think I hate him. How can I hurt him more? He just
lost everything.”

Wesley shook his head. “Not everything. He didn’t lose
you,
” he said. “At least not yet. If you don’t talk to him, he’ll just end up driving you away, and then he will be in far worse
pain.”

“Maybe.”

Wesley’s fingers continued to rub soothingly against my temple. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“Not at all.” Actually, the way he was massaging my skull felt pretty good. I sighed and leaned into his hand. “The things
he said hurt way more,” I murmured.

I bit my lower lip. “You know,” I said to Wesley, “I’ve never been called a whore in my life, and today two different people
have implied that I am. What’s funny is, I’m pretty sure they’re right.”

“That’s not funny,” Wesley muttered. “You’re not a whore, Bianca.”

“Then, what am I?” I demanded, feeling suddenly angry. I pushed his hand away from my head and stood up. “What am I? I’m screwing
a guy who isn’t my boyfriend and lying about it to my friends… if they’re even my friends anymore. I don’t even think about
it now, whether this is right or wrong! I’m a whore. Your grandma and my dad both think so, and they’re right.”

Wesley stood up, his face hard and serious. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly, forcing me to look up at him.
“Listen to me,” he said. “You are
not
a whore. Are you listening, Bianca? What you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical,
neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That’s what you are, okay? You’re not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar.
Just because you have some secrets and some screwups… You’re just confused… like the rest of us.”

I stared at him, stunned. Was he right? Was the rest of the world just as lost as I was? Did everyone have their secrets and
screwups? They must. I knew Wesley was just as messed up as me, so surely the rest of the world had its imperfections, too.

“Bianca,
whore
is just a cheap word people use to cut each other down,” he said, his voice softer. “It makes them feel better about their
own mistakes. Using words like that is easier than really looking into the situation. I promise you, you’re not a whore.”

I looked at him, into his warm gray eyes, and suddenly understood what he was trying to tell me. The message hidden beneath
the words.

You’re not alone
.

Because he understood. He understood how it felt to be abandoned. He understood the insults. Understood
me
.

I pushed myself onto my tiptoes and kissed him—really kissed him. It was more than just a precursor to sex. There was no war
between our mouths. My hips rested lightly beneath his, not pressed tightly. Our lips moved in soft, perfect harmony with
each other. This time it meant something. What that something was, I didn’t know at the time, but I knew that there was a
real connection between us. His hands stroked gently through my hair, his thumb grazing my cheek—still damp from crying earlier.
And it didn’t feel sick or twisted or unnatural. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I slid off his shirt, and he pulled mine over my head. Then he laid me down on the bed. No rush. This time things were slow
and earnest. This time I wasn’t looking for an escape. This time it was about him. About me. About honesty and compassion
and everything I’d never expected to find in Wesley Rush.

This time, when our bodies connected, it didn’t feel dirty or wrong.

It felt horrifyingly right.

I knew something was wrong the instant I opened my eyes the next morning.

The sky looked dull and cold outside Wesley’s window, but I felt warm. So warm. Wesley’s arm was draped over me, holding me
against his chest, and his soft, rhythmic breathing heated the back of my neck. It was so peaceful. So perfect. I felt safe
and content.

And that was the problem.

I caught sight of a pink sweater lying forgotten in the corner of the room. It had been there for weeks. Property of some
nameless girl. One of many Wesley had brought up to his bedroom. Seeing it, I suddenly remembered exactly whose bed I was
in. Who was holding me.

I shouldn’t have felt
safe
or
content
. Not here. Not with Wesley.
It was wrong. I should have been disgusted. I should have been repulsed. I should have wanted nothing more than to push him
away from me. What the hell was going on? What was wrong with me?

And just as I asked myself the questions, the answers hit me like a tidal wave. An icy tidal wave that left me wide-eyed and
shocked.

I was jealous of the other girls he talked to.

I was willing to do anything to make him smile.

I felt safe and content in his arms.

Oh my God
, I thought, half panicked.
I’m in love with him
.

I had to shake myself then. No, no, no. Not love.
Love
was a big word. Too big. Love took years upon years to develop… right? I was
not
in love with Wesley Rush.

But I had feelings for him. Feelings other than hatred and disgust. It was more than a crush. More than anything I’d felt
for Toby Tucker over the past three years. Maybe even more than I’d felt for Jake Gaither all those years ago. It was real.
It was powerful.

And it was terrifying.

I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t let myself fall into this trap. No matter how I felt about Wesley,
he would never feel the same.

Because he was Wesley Rush.

And I was the Duff.

There was no way in hell I was going to torture myself that way. I’d learned my lesson with Jake. Getting too close just led
to getting hurt, and Wesley had plenty to hurt me with. Last night
he’d seen me at my weakest. I’d let him in. I’d opened up. And if I didn’t leave now, I’d pay the price.

No matter where you go or what you do to distract yourself, reality catches up with you eventually.
Mom had said that about herself and Dad.

A bitter smile spread across my face as I reluctantly crawled out of Wesley’s arms. Mom had been right. Wesley was my distraction.
He was supposed to be my escape from emotions. From all the drama. And here I was… feeling nothing
but
emotions.

I crept around the room, trying to get dressed without making any noise. After yanking on my sweater and jeans, I grabbed
my cell phone and slipped out onto the balcony.

Before I could talk myself out of it, or convince myself that she wouldn’t answer, I dialed Casey’s cell phone number. I knew
she’d still be pissed at me, but I couldn’t think of any other options. No matter how mad she was, I knew Casey would help
me. She’d help anyone. It was just part of her nature.

“H’lo?” she grunted sleepily after two rings.