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“I take it something happened between the two of you,” Gianni pushes.
Something.
I wish it were that simple.
“Yes.”
“And he has found you and wants some sort of revenge,” Gianni guesses.
“Something like that.”
“Would you care to tell me why?”
“I want to, but I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Ready?”
“It happened a long time ago, and I told so many people I never wanted to talk about it again. And I still don’t want to talk about it.” I stare at Gianni, his expectant face waiting for me to confess.
Carl’s actions brought me instant fame. Before the locker incident, I’d been popular as the daughter of a wealthy family and Frank Daniels’s little sister.
The locker changed everything.
It isn’t just the kids. The teachers are behaving differently toward me. I imagine rumors flying around the staff room with a tub of Quality Street.
My art teacher, who I thought I had a great relationship with, came into the art room the next day and looked at me as if I was a completely different person. There was a blankness behind her eyes as if she’d removed her glasses and now couldn’t see me at all.
And my locker had only been the start. The graffiti is spreading around the school like a virus. Tables, benches, walls, nothing seems immune, even in the girls’ bathroom. I have a variety of STDs. I am a whore, a bitch, a cock-tease. I am frigid. I am dirty. I am a slut, a tramp, and a freak.
And it isn’t just words.
There are drawings.
There are pictures of me doing things to men, women, and animals.
There are doodles of me that leave nothing to the imagination for those times when passersby don’t have time to read.
I know the power of a drawing.
Everyone knows who it is. The timing is no coincidence.
The staff doesn’t want to get involved. They are out of their depth just as we all are.
People put their heads down when they see me. I’ve become someone to be ignored because no one knows what to do about Carl.
It is remarkably simple when it comes down to it.
Everyone is afraid of him.
“Chloe.” Gianni strokes my hand, pulling me out of the past. “There’s one thing I know, and it’s that there always comes a time when you’re ready to talk, and the important thing is to have someone there ready to listen.” He squeezes my hands, “I’ll be here, Chloe, ready to listen.” I smile, but it is weak. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to tell him.
“I’m sure that works both ways.” He drops his head, knowing if he wants me to open up to him, he needs to be able to do the same with me.
“You should try to get back to sleep,” Gianni whispers.
I settle back in the bed, and Gianni pulls the sheet over me. I notice he isn’t under the sheet with me but lying on top, wearing boxer shorts and nothing more. Why is this? Is he trying to distance himself after our intimate moment? Is he trying to clarify he’s simply helping me out and nothing more? I fight this thought, but sleep begins to pull again as Gianni rests his back against the headboard, studying something on the far wall. I close my eyes, questions floating around like a lava lamp, and theories and ideas morphing into different shapes as I drift off.
ChapterTwenty-Two
