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Alice calls me immediately.
“I kissed Carter,” I say at the screen and her answering scream makes me mute it for a moment.
“Was he good? Are his lips as soft as they look?”
I nod and flop back onto the bed, holding my phone above my face. “I got fuzzy tingles all over my body, like somebody was tickling me with feathers under my skin.”
“That’s so hot. The last time I kissed a boy all I got was dribble down my chin and an instant hatred for Cheez-Its.”
Giggling like a normal teen, I roll onto my side and clench with excitement. “Do you think this will mean we’re dating now? Or is he a boy who just likes to kiss girls?”
“I haven’t seen him dating anyone since middle school. He’s always too focused on his dance and crew.”
“Maybe he’s just really private,” I mumble, finding it unlikely that a guy like Carter hasn’t dated.
“I mean, there are rumors about all the girls he has slept with. Many wear that badge of pride.”
I cringe. “That’s gross.”
“Means he’ll be good for your first time.”
My heart stops and my eyes flash to the box on my desk, a constant reminder of the pain inflicted on my childhood. “I’m not a virgin, Alice.”
“What?” she gasps, her mouth opening, but then she looks up and deducts, “That’s actually not that surprising.”
As if sensing the pain thrumming through my body at the memories of my stolen childhood, Curlyfry licks my face and rests his massive head on the side of mine.
“That is so cute,” Alice says, using a baby voice. “Who’s a good Curlyfry?”
“I’m gonna go.” I give her a soft smile. “I’m beat.”
“More like you just want to see that handsome hunk’a teen fuck-boy tomorrow.”
“That too. See you later.”
“Byeeee.”
I roll over and hug the big beast of a dog, burying my fingers in his soft fur.
Then I close my eyes, lick leftover toothpaste from my lips, and sleep.
“Hey, Mall… Mallory…”
I peek open my eyes, holding my favorite teddy to my chest. It’s a puppy. I love puppies but Uncle says I’m not allowed a real one.
“Landon?” I whisper, looking into the face of my cousin. My eyes sting. I’m so tired.
I love my cousin, but he never lets me play with him. He says I’m too young to play with a big boy like him. He says seven-year-old girls are babies. It made me cry. I’m not a baby. He’s only twelve but he tells people he’s a teenager.
“What’s wrong?”
“Remember how you keep saying you want to be a big girl?”
I nod and sit up. His hand is on my thigh, my nightgown has bunched up around my hips.
“Do you want to be a big girl with me?”
I nod again, maybe he’ll start letting me play football.
“I saw this online. I want to try it, okay? But you have to be really quiet.”
“Okay,” I breathe, eyes no longer stinging.
“You promise?”
I nod eagerly and he grips the sides of my panties and starts to peel them down my legs.
A scream tears out of my throat, making it hoarse and sore. My door flies open so fast it hits the wall behind it.
“Mallory!” a man shouts, gripping my wrists.
“NO. No. No,” I beg, feeling my chest constrict with panic. “No. Please. No. No. No.”
“Mallory, it’s me, it’s Stanley. Wake up. WAKE UP!”
My eyes ping open when I realize I’m not back there again. I pull my arms free and look at my phone. I didn’t miss any alarms. There are no icons to say I missed them. It’s three in the morning.
“Who disabled my alarms?” I look accusingly between him and Lane, shoulders shaking with each ragged breath. “WHO DISABLED MY ALARMS?”
“We both did,” Lane replies and I feel a stab of betrayal. “We just wanted you to sleep well.”
“Sleep?” I whisper, pulling my knees up to my chest. “In my world there’s no such thing as sleep and there never has been.”
“Waking up every hour isn’t good for you.”
“It works fine for me,” I shout, feeling more and more irate by the second. “Why do you have to meddle?”
“We didn’t realize,” Stanley explains, his face illuminated by the glow of the moon through the window and the light from the hall that spills across my bed where he sits. Lane’s shadow casts across his lap. My shadow never leaves me, forever drenching me in darkness. “You don’t ever talk to us about your past.”
“I don’t like talking about it, what’s the point?”
“It might help.” Lane folds her arms tight across her stomach. “Talking about it might he—”
“It won’t help anybody,” I snap, shaking my head at her. “It won’t help me to talk about it, and it won’t help you to know about it.”
“But there is something?” Stanley asks, looking far more emotional than I anticipated for a guy like him. He’s always so solid looking, so strong, so to see his eyes water and his large chest tense just doesn’t make sense to me. “You were hurt.”
