by Ashton Cade
“Me too, but with you,” I say, getting another soft laugh out of him.
Man, I love that sound.
“Say, you don’t have any skeletons in your closet, do you?” I tease, thinking of my conversation with Clary earlier. Eli’s perfect in every way I can imagine. It’s such a bizarre and ridiculous notion that I’m grinning again even at the thought of it.
But Eli stiffens and pulls back, frowning at me, propped up on one elbow.
“What? What’re you talking about?”
I shake my head and roll my eyes, laughing so he knows it’s nothing to be worried about. “Just something ridiculous Clary said earlier today. You and the election came up again, but the big secret’s out about me being gay—or close enough for this town, anyway—and he admitted there’s not much more harm our relationship can do to the campaign unless you’ve got a bunch of dark secrets waiting to be uncovered.” I laugh again, feeling light and unburdened with Eli here. With him next to me, there’s nothing bad in the world. Nothing wrong with my life.
Eli laughs too, but it’s a weird one. One that makes me sit up and open my eyes to take notice. He’s getting out of bed, licking his lips nervously as he goes for his clothes.
“What’s up?” I ask, suddenly concerned, those earlier worries coming back. I am getting the feeling that there’s something Eli’s not telling me. Why does it make me feel so sick?
Surely he’s not seeing someone else, right?
“I’ve got to go, I’m sorry,” he says, not offering more explanation.
“What? Don’t you wanna stay for pizza?”
“Some other time?” he asks, a strange, unsettling curve to his brow.
“Yeah, sure…” I mutter, getting up to follow him to the door, scooping up my discarded clothes on the way too. Eli stops at the door, makes a strange face at me, and kisses me on the cheek before he leaves.
He doesn’t say anything else or give me any explanation. I’m just left mystified, bewildered, hurt… Fuck, I don’t even know enough words to explain it. But it sucks. And I don’t even know what the hell just happened.
Eli
I shouldn’t have done that. I know I shouldn’t have. Running out on Garrett like that was the opposite of playing it cool. It was suspicious as fuck, and now I know he’s going to suspect something’s going on.
But he has no idea…
He couldn’t. That’s the thing. I never told him, and of course now it’s going to be a problem.
The skeletons in my closet could cost him his election. I can’t let that happen. No matter what it takes for me to stop it.
Even if it means giving in to Dr. Peterson.
I’ll do it for Garrett. I think I’d do just about anything for him.
I just have to keep him from finding out. It’s not a good choice—I get that, really, I do. But what other option do I really have? If I come clean with Garrett, I know his response. I know he’ll say it doesn’t matter, that he doesn’t care if he loses the election over it.
But I care.
And I know he does too.
He might act like it doesn’t matter that much, but you don’t just enter a race like this on a whim. It’s not something you do because you’re bored and you don’t have enough hobbies. I know Garrett wants to win this race way more than he’s letting on, and I know if I’m the one that prevents it from happening, there’s no hope for us to have a happy future. He’ll resent me. How could he not?
So I have to prevent that from happening.
As twisted and bizarre as the logic is, somehow, it kind of makes sense?
I still feel sick about it all night, tossing and turning in bed, hardly getting any sleep at all. I feel like shit when my alarm clock goes off, and the temptation to call out sick again is overwhelming, but I know there’s no chance of getting away with it another day. It’s time to face the music, loathsome though the tune may be.
My body’s achy and sore, and it’s not just from the lingering sickness—there’s the memory of Garrett imprinted on my body. The feel of his fingers on me, his lips seared to my skin.
The hurt in his eyes as I left in a hurry.
I feel like such an asshole.
But I panicked. I’ll admit it. He asked about skeletons in my closet and I freaked out. I couldn’t play it off, I couldn’t laugh about it. It took everything I had to not break down in a crying heap right there.
Today’s a new day, though. Even though I got hardly any rest, the sun’s up, trying its best to break through the hazy cloud cover.
I can try my best too. It’s all I’ve got.
When I get to Craig’s to pick him up on the way to Garrett’s, he’s not outside waiting for me like usual.
Frowning, I park on the street, an uneasy feeling creeping through me. Craig’s not the best kid, but he’s got his virtues—one of them being that he doesn’t usually make me wait for him or drag him out. Him not being outside waiting for me means something’s keeping him in there. Is his mom on a tear again? Did one of the new boyfriends hurt him?
My fingers twitch, the urge to call Ryan strong, but I hold back, deciding I need to see what’s up before I jump to any conclusions. I head up to the front door of the run-down little house—it looks like a farmhouse without any land attached that’s seen better days—and knock before trying the knob.
It’s locked, so I knock again, harder this time.
“Craig? You in there?” I call, straining for any sounds of him calling for help, any signs of distress. I pound on the door again and hear footsteps on the other side, shuffling, stumbling, crashing, things falling.
The door opens and Tina Shannon’s standing on the other side in a stretched-out, stained T-shirt, her hair sticking up at odd angles, an extinguished cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.
“People’re tryna sleep in here,” she screeches, bloodshot eyes struggling to focus on me as she sways in place, clutching at the door for support.
“Where’s Craig?” I ask, no time for screwing around with her, trying to make nice. Tina and I have already expressed our differences of opinions, not that I expect she remembers it all too well.
She narrows her eyes at me and I start to second-guess that assertion.
“You,” she growls.
“Yeah, me,” I huff, seriously losing my patience. I have this niggling feeling that something bad has happened to Craig and this woman’s too blitzed to give a shit about her own kid.
She scoffs, a humorless laugh escaping in a puff of whiskey-scented breath.
“Think your so much better’n me. Look how he turned out anyway,” she slurs, snickering to herself.
“The hell are you talking about? Where is your son, you miserable drunk?”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
“For fuck’s sake, Tina. Someone else gives a shit about your kid. Have some damn decency and tell me where he is.”
She rolls her eyes. “Calm your tits. He walked that girl of his home after she spent the night.”
I scowl, trying to figure that out.
It takes me a second to remember Garrett telling me about Craig and Libby Giddons huddled close together at school. Then a new rage grabs hold of me, making my voice tight and strained.
“You let your fifteen-year-old son have a girl spend the night? How reckless can you be?”
“Damage is already done, dipshit,” she growls, slamming the door in my face.
Part of me reckons I deserve that; I wasn’t exactly polite to her. But also, what the hell.
Talk about candidate for worst mother award. I always thought mine kicking me out was bad enough, but I guess there are some things worse than having no mother in your life at all.
Tina said that he walked Libby home, so that could mean that he’s gone off to work at Garrett’s without me. Better to cover all my bases before I start flipping out completely.
“Eli, I’ve been hoping you—”
“Garrett, I’m sorry to cut you off, but has
Craig showed up there?”
I can practically hear his frown when he says, “No, is everything all right?”
“I don’t know yet. I need to call Ryan,” I say, wishing I could explain things to him better, in a way that doesn’t leave him so out of the loop.
It doesn’t help that he’s probably still reeling from last night and doesn’t even realize that these are two separate issues.
Fuck.
Garrett deserves someone less complicated than me. He’s trying to get into politics and start a very public lifestyle. These aren’t the kinds of things he should be dealing with.
“Okay,” he says, sounding hesitant to let me go. “Let me know if I can help.”
“I will. Thank you,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as I can. He’s been so good to me, and here I am about to bring a world of a mess down on him.
Unless I can avoid it somehow.
One thing at a time. Right now: Craig.
I’ve still got Ryan’s number in my phone from the times when he was much more involved in Craig’s life due to his behavioral issues. It feels weird to be calling him now. He’s normally the one calling me, telling me the trouble Craig is in. Now I’m calling him, and I don’t know what the kid’s gotten himself into.
“Eli?” Ryan answers, no need for further questions.
I sigh. “I’m sorry to bother you so early, Ryan, but Craig’s missing. Tina said he left to walk his girlfriend home, so I thought maybe if we could check to see if she got there?”
“Who’s his girlfriend?” Ryan asks. I love that about him. He’s bound to ask more questions, but when time’s not so precious. He knows what’s important and how to prioritize.
“Libby Giddons, I think. Garrett saw them hugging at school, and—”
“She’s in a foster home,” he says, groaning. I’m sure this isn’t what he wanted to wake up to. “All right, let me make some calls, check in a few places, and I’ll get back to you. Just go about your normal day and if I need any more info, I’ve got your number.”
The clawed fist around my heart loosens its grip a little bit, and I feel like I can breathe some more.
“Thanks, Ryan.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” he says before hanging up the call.
I stare at the screen, a voice in my head telling me to call Garrett back, to tell him what I know so far. There’s another voice though, one that chirps in saying I don’t know that much yet, and I should wait until I have something worth reporting to call him.
I know it’s cowardice, but I give in to it anyway. I let it lure me away from calling Garrett and facing his questions about my behavior from last night. Instead, I head to work, and I’m in the parking lot getting out of my car when my phone rings. Ryan again.
“What’s the news?” I answer, no need for anything else.
“It’s like we thought. Libby didn’t come home either. Neither one of them have made it to school. Any idea what’s gotten into them?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, thinking hard, thinking about the conversation with Tina this morning.
“Yeah,” I groan, putting pieces together. “Yeah, I think Libby’s pregnant,” I say, the weight of that realization pressing on my shoulders hard enough to bend my spine, to make me hunched as I walk. “And I’m willing to bet they’ve run away together or something equally stupid. Fuck,” I hiss, feeling completely responsible for this. All this shit’s been going on with Craig and I’ve been too busy to pay attention because I’m wrapped up in my own relationship drama.
And now look what’s happened.
My relationship is doomed. Craig’s life is screwed up, his future in jeopardy. Not only did I fail to have my cake and eat it too, I smashed the whole damn thing so no one gets any.
Good job, Eli. This is what you get for thinking you deserve more.
It’s that tiny voice, the one that’s always been there to criticize me, popping up to remind me of every failure again.
“Okay, that’s something to go on. We’ll put out an APB on them. They’re minors—they won’t get far. Don’t worry too much,” Ryan says, obviously trying to make me feel better, but it’s not going to work. My selfishness is to blame here. There’s no getting around it.
“Thanks Ryan,” I say with a sigh, hanging up and trudging into work, completely, utterly defeated.
Pregnant.
At fifteen.
I shake my head. They’ve got no idea what’s in store for them. Poor kids.
Heading inside, I do my best to distract myself with work until Dr. Peterson appears, making a whole other heap of problems collapse on me all over again.
I’d forgotten all about his ultimatum. Hard to forget about it with the way he’s looking at me now though, like I’m a piece of meat and he’s a hungry lion.
It’s not a good feeling.
He doesn’t say anything, though. He eyes me, he makes me uncomfortable as hell, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s close to closing time and I haven’t heard from Ryan—which means I haven’t talked to Garrett—and Dr. Peterson’s said nothing.
I’m starting to think that maybe I’m in the clear.
Maybe he realized how absurd he was being and decided not to mention it again if I didn’t.
That’s probably the best I can hope for, to be honest.
“Eli, exam room one needs your attention,” he says curtly at the end of the day. I’m not sure what he means by that, since I’ve already been through my rounds of restocking before close. The sign on the door is flipped, but it’s not locked. For some reason, that makes me feel better. Even though there’s no one else in this building, knowing I’m not locked in here with Dr. Peterson is reassuring.
“Yes, Doctor,” I mumble, shutting down my computer before I head in to check what’s so egregiously wrong with exam room one.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. The bottle of hand sanitizer is empty, and prominently standing upside-down on the exam table.
“You’ve gotta be—” The words die in my throat when I hear the door close behind me. I grab the empty bottle of hand sanitizer and swallow, my throat tight as I turn.
“So you see the problem, then,” Dr. Peterson says, eyes gleaming with dark malevolence.
“I’ll just go—”
He’s not letting me move, trapping me between him and the exam table.
“You thought you could avoid the inevitable, calling out yesterday,” he says, a mean grin twisting his face into something almost unrecognizable. “I’m going to have to punish you for that, Eli,” he says, hands going to his belt buckle.
The sound—that distinctive clink of metal on metal—sends me falling back into memories. Nightmares, more like it. Only they really happened. Dr. Peterson forcing himself in my mouth, down my throat, hard enough that tears sprang to my eyes. Yanking on my hair hard enough he pulled big tufts of it out. Choking me if he felt my teeth, so I’d open my mouth so wide my jaw would be locked for days after his “visit.”
I can’t do that again.
I won’t.
“No,” I say, finding my voice, shaky though it may be.
His eyes flash dangerously, but he’s still smiling. That smile makes my skin crawl. It makes me want to find the nearest hole to hide in, to get far, far away from him.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I say, firmer.
“You will if you don’t want everyone to find out what a whore you are, and always have been,” he sneers, not letting my refusal stop him from undoing his belt.
Hopefully he underestimates how good I can be at hiding my emotions, and doesn’t realize how worried I am when I bluff him.
“You can’t reveal me without revealing yourself, too,” I toss out, heart hammering at my ribcage. He’s still trapping me, still keeping me from going anywhere, but I still want to think there’s a way out of this besides physically fighting.
Dr. Peterson grins, and my stomach sinks. Nothing that could make him look so pleased could
be good for me.
“You think I haven’t thought of that? You were a patient of mine at the ER back then. Stole my wallet when I tried to help you—the only reason I remembered you at all, to be honest.”
My stomach twists and turns and I try to find a flaw in it. I try to figure out how I can poke a hole in his plan, but he’s a step ahead of me.
“I’ll come out smelling like roses,” he says, unzipping his pants. “Just. Like. Always.”
Time for the only thing I’ve got left. I take a deep breath.
“You really want me to make a counter-plea that you solicited from a minor?” I ask, hoping he doesn’t hear how my voice is shaking.
For a moment, just a moment, I see the carefully-crafted facade of Dr. Peterson slip away. I see him pale, doing the math, trying to calculate if I’m telling the truth.
The distraction is my only chance. There’s enough sanitizer left in the bottle for one pump, and I’m going to have to make it count.
“You little shit,” Dr. Peterson curses, finally sorting out the truth, that I might have something on him he hadn’t considered. No clue if it’s enough to help, but it’s enough of a distraction for me to bring up my hand, aiming the 99.9 percent-alcohol sanitizer at the doctor’s eyes.
Unfortunately, his glasses get in the way of me doing much damage, and all that I’ve done is angered him.
Dr. Peterson roars, his face going red, contorting into a mask of rage like I’ve never seen. He lunges at me, fury and venom, and it’s such a shock I don’t have time to bring up my hands to shield myself until he’s already landed enough blows to have my head ringing, spots dancing in front of my eyes.
“You worthless, piece of—” he grunts, whaling on me over and over again. I don’t even have a chance to register any of the pain because all I’m feeling is pure terror. The need to protect myself, to find an escape. There’s no escape though, so the only choice I have is to bury my head under my arms and hope he stops.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I cry, not even sure if he can hear me. All I can hear are his animalistic cries of rage and the awful ringing in my head, the throbbing of my pulse as blood leaks out of my ears. I’m sure that’s what that warm trickle is. “I swear I won’t say anything,” I cry, breaking down, willing to do anything to stop him. He kicks me, knees me, grunting and cursing, while I plead with him.