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I don’t want to act like that. I’d rather not be popular than try out for football and go through whatever hazing is required to be one of them, and get a spot on the team because Mr. Montgomery leaned on the coach. I’d never make it off the bench anyway. My talents are strictly musical and do not extend to athleticism, coordination, or feats of strength.
Of course Amber doesn’t answer me, so I’m left alone with my thoughts.
She hasn’t spoken since the night of the gunshot. Mr. Montgomery promptly put her in therapy the second we got here, as well as music lessons with some big shot pianist, but I don’t know how therapy’s supposed to help if she doesn’t talk. Guess it’s not my business.
She goes to her room at home, and I cross the lawn, climb the tree, and drop into Gloria’s room. I haven’t fucked her in three days—the longest it’s been since I moved here. I actually tried the first day, but each time I stabbed into her, another horrible image arose in my mind. In the silence of Gloria’s spacious, clean, well-lit room, I heard the gunshot in the dark.
I saw the splatters on the wall.
I heard my sister screaming.
I saw my mother’s haunted, vacant stare as the judge told us we’d be going into the system.
I imagined a body swinging from a rope.
I heard my own voice when I finally snapped and yelled at my sister to shut up.
She did—permanently.
I realized I wasn’t fucking Gloria anymore, that I’d gone limp like some pathetic old guy with erectile dysfunction. I rolled off and walked out without a word to her. We haven’t spoken since.
Today she’s lying on her bed in a pair of sweats when I climb through the window. When she sees me, she lifts her hips and pushes them down without a word, like the only possible reason I could be here is to use her pussy. I hate myself for making her think that.
I hate her for making me hate myself for it.
“Have you left your room since I was here last?” I ask.
“Does the washroom count?”
“No,” I say, scowling down at her. “Look, I get it. I get it better than anyone. But you don’t get to just give up.”
“Why not?”
Her question infuriates me.
Because I didn’t, that’s fucking why. Because I had a little sister to protect when we went to our first foster home, and Amber wouldn’t say a word if someone touched her because she still wasn’t speaking, because I told her to shut up that night. Because my mother fell apart and gave up, and now she’s married to some asshole who buys me fancy cars and is probably creeping after my sister when I’m over here, and it’s my fault, because I’m the one who set all this in motion to get back to Gloria.
I won’t have her turn into nothing because then it’s all for nothing.
“Get up,” I say. “Let’s go get something to eat in town.”
She sighs and rolls up from the bed. A minute later, she’s in the shower and I’m sitting on her bed waiting. I glance over and see a little foil sheet with a circular ring of pills on her bedside table. I snatch them up, my pulse pounding in my temples. I count the empty places where she’s popped one out each day. There are five left. Have I been home that long? I can’t remember how many days. I don’t think it’s that many. Which means she was already on these, already fucking someone. No one takes birth control when they’re not having sex.
Rage blinds me as I sit there counting them again. Maybe it’s the right number of days, but if it is, she must have gotten on them the very next day after I showed up.
She should have fucking told me she was on these. It’s a decision we should have made together. I didn’t tell her she could take birth control. I wanted to make sure she was stuck with me, and now I find out she went behind my back and found a way to prevent it from the start. Why is she trying to get away from me so hard?
I’m seething as I think of what I’ve done for her. Gone along with her friends to their stupid parties. Sat at their table. Endured their bullshit talk, pretended their jokes were funny. Hell, I’ve even started selling a little for extra cash because they hooked me up with a connection and it’s better than taking money from Mr. Montgomery.
Which one of them is fucking my girlfriend behind my back?
I open my phone and scroll through, finding the number for my supplier. I shoot him a quick text, then stand and kick off my shoes. I’ve never done it in the shower, but if Gloria thinks she’s going to escape me by going in there, she should know better.
I watch her through the curtain for a minute, the shape of her body a tease, a blur of alluring curves and mystery. I hate that she has secrets I don’t know, that she has motivations she hasn’t shared, things she hides from me. Her boyfriend should know everything, her every thought and dream and secret, like I used to.
Knowing she didn’t hear me come in, that she doesn’t know I’m watching, makes me hard though. I quickly undress and step into the shower with her. She turns, her eyes widening with surprise. They’re red, like she was crying silently in here, but maybe it’s just the water.
“I’m on my period,” she warns.
