Font Size:  

But I keep hearing what Frankie asked me. So you were a victim, but you don’t want anyone to know?

It feels wrong.

I’ve always believed I could do whatever I put my mind to, but if I want to get into law school with my sex pictures on the Internet—if I want to get through law school and out the other side, to practice and advocate for social justice, to run for office and become a legislator and change the world for the better—what do I have to do to make that happen?

My dad says this is what I have to do. Push through the suit. Wear the Jane Doe straitjacket.

I’m not so sure anymore.

At the long table to our left, a big group of students bursts into laughter.

I have to swallow, because my throat hurts. I wonder if I’m coming down with something.

“Caroline?” Bridget reaches across the table to cover my hand with hers. “Why are you doing this when it makes you so unhappy?”

I swallow again.

My throat aches, and my eyes fill with tears.

I don’t have an answer.

I wake up in the dark. The clock reads 2:48 a.m.

West is plastered against me, and he’s way too hot. The air in his bedroom is dry from the space heater running in the corner. I have one nostril that’s completely blocked, and the other is so desiccated I can only inhale a thin stream of overwarm oxygen.

There’s no way I’m getting back to sleep.

When I try to wiggle out from under his arm, it tightens for a second. “Where you going?” His voice is husky with sleep.

“Just out to the living room.”

“You need me to rub your head?”

It’s my favorite way to fall asleep—West’s fingers rubbing circles over my scalp. “Maybe later. I have to pee anyway.”

“Come back soon.”

“I will.”

After I visit the bathroom, I stop in the kitchen for a glass of water, then pad out to the sofa. I wrap myself in the ratty afghan on the couch and sit in the dark.

Untethered, my mind wanders.

I pluck at the holes in the ratty old blanket, which I suspect West’s grandma must have knit in the 90s. It’s got the color palette—maroon and forest green.

In the bedroom, I hear West turn over, rustling the covers.

I think about the depositions. How terrible they made me feel.

I curl into a ball under the blanket and close my eyes.

A spring creaks.

Seconds later, a telltale floorboard groans, and then I hear water running in the bathroom.

By the time he comes into view, I’m sitting up again.

He’s got nothing but boxers on, which seems crazy for December, but West’s internal furnace runs hotter than mine.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like