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“Withpeople?!” he asks. “How were you planning to get home if we weren’t there, then? A flying saucer?”
“I missed the last bus.”
“Ignore him,” Mila says. “He has problems.”
Tristan pulls up to the bus stop and puts the car in park. “You sure you don’t want me to drop you off closer? It’s raining.”
“No, this is good,” I tell him, opening the door. “Thanks.”
Even though it’s pouring when I get out of the car, I don’t bother hurrying. I drag myself the short distance home and slip my shoes off before I enter the dark house, closing the door softly behind me. I’m relieved Grace is already asleep, even if she is passed out on the couch in front of the TV. Quietly, I creep upstairs, eager to get out of my clothes and wash away the evidence of what happened. I’m pretty sure I’ve got pink frosting in my hair, too.
I don’t put on the skull hoodie before I lie down in bed.
I don’t think I slept at all last night.
I get off the bus, walk into school like a zombie, and head straight for my locker. The smell hits me before I see it—the greasy brown paper bag sitting on top of my books. My stomach twistsand pangs with hunger, reminding me again how long it’s been since I’ve eaten.
Biscuits and gravy. My favorite.
I want to cry. And I do.
I grab the bag, head to the restroom, then sit down on the toilet and let the tears fall while I scarf the bag’s contents. My body is so painfully empty it hurts when the first couple of bites hit my stomach, but by the fourth, it adjusts.
I skip P.E. and head straight to the computer lab, finding a spot near the back and logging in using Devon’s student ID and password. I’m pleasantly surprised it still works. I open the search engine and look for women’s shelters in Western Washington and write down the phone numbers inside my sketchpad.
I stuff my shoe into the door when I step outside the building and start dialing the numbers. The third place I call—in Everett—tells me they have space for me on Sunday. I give them a fake name and head back to the computer lab to look up a bus schedule and find a route that gets me close.
I make it to second period just a little bit late. My eyes flutter open and closed from the lack of sleep and lack of drive to pay attention.
I’m doing it. I’m getting out. It’s different than what I planned—hell, I don’t have a plan at all. I have no money, it won’t be smooth or easy, but it will be better than this. Ithasto be.
I get to lunch a little bit later than I want, and Audrey approaches me in the line.
“What you did was really fucked up.”
“Which thing?” I ask, not looking at her.
“Ummm…the one where you attacked me! Look at my face!”
“You look fine,” I tell her, paying the cashier. “And Devon doesn’t like you, Audrey. I’m not saying that to hurt your feelings—it’s just true. He was just trying to make me mad. Surely, you realize that.”
I linger only for a second, waiting for a reply, and when I don’t get one, I leave her there and look for somewhere else to sit.
“Hey, Laurel,” I say. “Can I sit with you guys?”
“Of course,” she says. “Scoot over, Mila.”
The two other girls eye me suspiciously—like I’m a disease—but ultimately say nothing. They return to their conversation—something about cheerleading and the bus that I don’t really pay attention to. When I see Devon come in and start scanning the cafeteria, I pull the hood of my jacket over my head and hunch down over my food. If he sees me, he doesn’t say anything. I know I’ll have to see him after school for detention. I also know it will be the last time I’ll ever see him.
It helps that I’m mad at him; that makes it easier to leave, but I won’t be able to forget. The vile things we’ve done to each other and the way we loved each other are seared deeply into my brain, both as raw as they ever were, and I don’t see that changing. I don’t think these are the kind of things you can just forget about or cut out. They’re the kind of things that haunt you when you’re old, the kind that will keep you up at night, squeezing your heartwhile you ruminate over all of the ways you could have done things differently and wonder how it could still—after all this time—possibly hurt so much.
The kind of things that will become the dark circles under your eyes. The scars you don’t wear, the ones that no one sees unless they know exactly where to look. And I’ll never show anyone again.
“Ally?” Laurel says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “The bell rang. Did you hear it?”
“Oh…sorry. I didn’t.”
“Are you okay?”
