The Anti-Virginity Pact

by Katie Wismer

  I lock my jaw to hold the tears back. “I know that nothing I say now is going to fix this, but I just want you to know how sorry I am, Sam. You got caught in the middle of the mess that is my life right now, and that wasn’t fair to you. I wasn’t fair to you. And I don’t have an excuse. I just screwed up.” My voice shakes around the last four words. Unable to look at him, I keep my gaze trained on the tree line in front of us.

  “Thank you for apologizing.”

  I wait for him to continue, but we just lapse back into silence.

  Despite everything, I can’t help my curiosity. I clear my throat. “About what you said in the car…”

  The left corner of his mouth twists up. “I was wondering when you’d ask about that.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I was just—”

  “It’s okay.” He lets out a long breath. “It’s like I said, I wasn’t myself. My dad’s drinking started to get bad freshman year. Really bad. Worse than it is now. And I was angry. I was just so angry. So, like a punk, I started acting out. Drugs. Skipping class. Fighting. I almost got kicked out of school. Junior year, I realized I was basically turning into the man I was so mad at, so I started turning things back around. Well, I’m trying to.”

  I’d always assumed Mr. Johnson had a drinking problem, if dinner at our house was any indication. But hearing it aloud, and the raw edge to Sam’s voice when he says it, makes guilt tighten my stomach. It twists further when I think about all the times we talked about my problems, and how he was always there. How I don’t think I could say the same thing for me.

  “Sam, I had no idea any of that was going on. I should have—”

  “It’s okay,” he says quietly. “We’d stopped hanging out by then.”

  “I’m not just talking about then. I mean now, too. I’m just sorry you’ve had to go through it at all.”

  He shrugs. “Life, I guess.”

  “Life, I guess,” I agree quietly. I look at his profile, and I can tell he’s grinding his teeth. “About the pictures,” I blurt, running my sweaty hands up and down my jeans over and over again. “The ones on my phone. It wasn’t—there wasn’t actually anything going on there. I don’t even know him. He’s Ashley’s boyfriend—I went over there after the whole kidnapping thing to get back at her. I was just so mad. It was stupid—it was a stupid plan I made in the heat of the moment. Not that it’s an excuse. Anyway.” I realize I’m rambling and force myself to take a breath. “I just thought you deserved an explanation, is all.”

  He doesn’t say anything at first. He stares straight ahead, his jaw working.

  He doesn’t look at me. More than anything, I just want him to look at me, to feel that familiar sense of calm that washes through me when we lock gazes. When he finally does turn, I suddenly wish he hadn’t. There’s no anger in the lines of his face, but his eyebrows are pulled together, his eyes slightly wide. As if he doesn’t even recognize me anymore.

  I’m not sure if I recognize me anymore.

  I can’t think of a single thing to say that’s good enough, so I settle for, “Sam, I’m so sorry.” It comes out as less than a whisper. I know what I need to do. What I have to say next. But the words are in direct conflict with what my heart is screaming for, and the warring longing and logic have my chest so tight, I can barely breathe. “I think I have a lot that I need to figure out on my own right now.” My body feels hollow as I say it, like someone just punched a hole through my gut and let everything drain out. But Sam has already been through so much—his mom leaving, his father’s drinking problem, the problems at school. I can’t let myself become another problem. And right now, I don’t think I’m capable of being more than another item on that list. It wouldn’t be fair to him, but it also wouldn’t be fair to me. “And I don’t think I can do that if I’m with you. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

  He stares straight ahead and bobs his head once. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  The words sting more than I thought they would. Of course after all I put him through he agrees. But a small part of me hoped he wouldn’t.

  “This is probably for the best,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “We both have finals coming up, and graduation, and getting ready for college. Maybe we both need to just focus on ourselves.” The white light of the moon illuminates half of his face, sending the rest into shadow.

  I don’t know what else to say but desperately want to fill the silence and keep Sam talking. Because as soon as this conversation is over, he’s going to leave. And I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

  “I’m really sorry I put you in the middle of all of this.”

  The corner of his lip curls. “You certainly know how to keep things interesting, Beaumont.”

  A cautious smile prods my face. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for Squirt.”

  He bends his knees and loosely knots his arms around his legs. “You were right. It’s impossible not to fall in love with that little one. I’m just glad she’s alright.”

  Finally, he looks at me. And everything unsaid between us rests behind his eyes. I want to reach out and touch him, just to feel his skin one more time. I want to rewind and go back to our first date. Everything that felt so complicated then seems so simple now.

  He stands, brushes his hands off on the back of his pants. I stand, too, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “I guess this is it, then?” I ask quietly.

  Wordlessly, he steps forward and wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me against him. My throat tightens so much, I nearly choke on my breath, and I rest my head against his chest, arms still wrapped around myself. I feel his heart beating against my ear, steady and strong, feel the warmth of his body soaking into my own. His familiar scent washes over me, and I breathe it in as deeply as I can, trying to store as much inside of myself as I can before he leaves.

  I wonder if this is the last time. If this is the last time I’ll ever feel this. The last time I’ll ever be this close to him.

  All I can think is, I could have loved him. And it’s this loss, the loss of possibility, that hurts the most.

  “I hope everything works out for you, Mare,” he says into my hair. “I really do.”

  I don’t respond. I can’t.

  And with that, we break apart. I watch as he climbs into his car and hesitates before pulling out onto the road, waving at me once through the windshield. He pulls out of the driveway before I have the chance to wave back.

  I stay out on the porch long after he’s gone. It isn’t until I start shivering from the cold that I finally coax myself into going back inside. Harper and Jo are in the living room, The Princess Bride aglow on the screen in front of them.

  None of the nearby vets or animal hospitals are open at this hour, so I leave a message at the one closest to Jo’s place so we can take Squirt in the morning. Until then, Squirt seems content enough, curled up with a blanket on the plush chair in the corner.

  Harper’s folder sits on the coffee table in front of us, its contents strewn across the surface. She finished the illustrations for Sam’s book, and they’re amazing. She used watercolors, so the images seem to bleed onto the page gracefully, the colors beautifully blended and rich.

  Sam never got to see them.

  We all technically have school tomorrow—well, today, I guess. In fact, my alarm back home should be going off in a few hours, but I don’t think any of us are planning on going. With graduation being so close, it doesn’t matter all that much for Jo and me. I do feel a little guilty about being a bad influence on Harper, but after everything we’ve all been through, I think we deserve a mental health day.

  One more thing to check off your list, I think wryly. Ditching school with your friends.

  Jo and Harper look up when they hear me walk in, both taking in the sight of me, alone. Jo just holds out an arm and makes some room for me on the couch. I crawl in, tucking my
self into the leftover corner of the blanket, and the three of us stay like that until eventually we all fall asleep.

  ✦✦✦

  “Where is she?” Jada edges into Johanna’s house before I have the chance to fully open the door. A bright red scarf is knotted around her hair, a perfect match to her silk pajamas. My eyes are still half glued shut with sleep and I stumble aside as she hurries through the door. I blink a few times and realize she’s barefoot.

  “Who is it?” Johanna garbles from the couch.

  Jada starts toward Jo as I glance at the clock on the wall. Not even 5:00 a.m.

  “You got my message?” I ask, shuffling after her, my words coming out slow like my mouth isn’t awake enough to form the words yet.

  “Of course,” Jada chirps, her energy identical to her usual demeanor at the shelter, as if the fact that the sun hasn’t risen yet doesn’t bother her in the least.

  Jada heads straight for Squirt, who is still cuddled up with a fuzzy white throw blanket on the leather chair in the corner. Harper and Johanna wrestle out of the blankets and roll to their feet.

  Squirt stirs from the noise, and her tail gives a few hopeful wags at the sight of Jada.

  “Hi there, baby girl,” Jada coos, crouching in front her to inspect her injuries.

  “She seems okay,” I say, pausing beside Harper and Johanna by the couch. “But we were going to take her to the animal hospital when it opens at eight.”

  Jada makes a humming noise as she gingerly touches Squirt, inspecting the blood dried in her fur and the scratches on her face. She lets out a low whine when Jada picks her up, but doesn’t try to stop her.

  “They look like minor injuries,” Jada says, turning back to us. “But you should definitely still take her to the hospital just in case.” She swallows, meeting my eyes. “When I saw the news about Ryan, Mare. I swear, my heart dropped into my stomach. I had no idea—but you did. I should have listened to you. I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s okay,” I cut her off, my eyes suddenly burning. Everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours threatens to burst out of my chest in the form of ugly sobs and heaving breaths, but I’m not about to do that in front of an audience. I wrap my arms around myself like I can physically hold it all inside. “She’s okay, and that’s all I care about.”

  “Where’s Sam?” she asks, looking around. Sam had been the one to leave her the voicemail in the car since I’d been too shell-shocked to be of much use.

  The room gets very quiet, and for one horrible second, everyone looks at me. Johanna and Harper look away when I meet their eyes, and sensing the energy shift in the room, Jada nods slowly.

  “I’m going to go make some coffee!” Johanna announces.

  “I’ll help,” Harper adds, almost immediately, and the two disappear into the kitchen.

  I stare after them a little too long, just so I don’t have to meet Jada’s gaze again. There’s something about the way she looks at people, like she can see everything and just chooses not to comment on it. And I know if she looks at my eyes, she’ll see everything I don’t want to talk about right now. About my parents, and Sam, and the dog fights. We didn’t give her any specifics on the phone, just that Squirt was hurt and we weren’t sure what to do, but pairing that with the news report on Ryan, she’d clearly put two and two together.

  In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion that she’s put two and two together about a lot of things.

  “Sit down,” she says, her voice soft and kind, though it’s definitely not a suggestion.

  I sink into the couch, pulling the blankets around myself for an extra layer of protection as she perches in the chair across from me. Squirt settles into her lap, her head propped on Jada’s forearm so she’s facing me. She closes her eyes and lets out a small sigh.

  I wait for the words to come. Wait for her to ask me. But she just looks at me, a slightly sad smile on her face, as she strokes Squirt’s fur. “You look so sad, my love,” she finally says.

  And that’s all it takes. The tears come, fast and hard and violent. They stream so quickly down my face, it feels like a downpour, and I wipe a sleeve across my face, trying to absorb some of the moisture.

  “Oh, no, baby girl, there can’t be anything in this world worth that many tears.” She gently sets Squirt on the chair and gets up to come sit beside me. She tucks me into her side, like she can shield out the rest of the world. I lean against her shoulder, the tears on my cheeks soaking into her silk pajamas and leaving gross, eye-shaped imprints.

  But still, she doesn’t ask about it.

  Honestly, I’m not sure what I would say if she did. There’s too much. There are just too many things wrong to point a finger at any one thing anymore. It’s all accumulated and grown and amassed to encompass everything.

  “Will you come to the police station with me?” I whisper, sniffling and wiping my face again. “After we drop Squirt off?”

  Her body stiffens. “What on earth did you get yourself into, child?”

  I laugh a little, though it comes out sounding more like a sob. Because that’s all I’ve been asking myself for weeks.

  31

  The hardest part is leaving Squirt at the vet’s office. They said she’d be all right but wanted to keep her overnight for observation, just in case, and gave us a couple of different medicines to use until her wounds heal.

  After leaving the vet, we head straight for the police station, Jada, Jo, Harper, and I tucked neatly inside Jada’s sedan, the only noise the faint rumble of the AC. I stare out the window as we drive, my mouth dry and my mind in overdrive. I’m not sure what I’m dreading more, dealing with my parents or Ashley’s brother. It occurs to me that I’m constantly referring to him as Ashley’s brother, even in my own head. I guess I don’t want to remember his name. I don’t even want to think it. For whatever reason, it feels marginally easier to deal with a nameless man than an actual human being as my attacker.

  Attacker.

  I feel guilty calling him my rapist, since it wasn’t as bad for me as it was for Melanie, and who knows how many other girls. Then I realize how stupid that is—that I am the one feeling guilty about this right now.

  My parents and the officer from last night are all standing by the front desk waiting for us when we enter the station.

  Jada gives my hand a firm squeeze as I leave her and Jo outside to wait. The officer leads me and my family into one of the private rooms and shuts the door. The seat is cold beneath my legs and I grip the bottom of it with each hand, zeroing my focus on the bite of the metal against my palms. Harper reaches over, pries one of my hands from the chair, and intertwines it with her own under the table.

  Honestly, I’m not even sure what I want the outcome to be in all of this. As much as I don’t want Harper in that house, possibly in danger because of something about herself that she can’t help—but Maman and Papa would surely try to change if they knew—I also don’t want her taken away from her family. Where would she finish high school then? With a foster family? I don’t want that for her. And it’s not like she can come with me to college.

  “I think the last thing anyone wants is to bring child services into this,” the officer says, spreading his hands on the table. “But if your daughter wishes to press charges, and she does have the right to if she so choses, then—”

  “I don’t want to press charges,” I say quietly, the intense anger I’d felt last night ebbing away. I still feel hurt and betrayed—I don’t think those feelings are going away for a long time—but I don’t want revenge. It hasn’t done me any favors before. “I won’t press charges,” I repeat, louder this time. “But if, and only if, the two of you swear to me you’ll never pull something like this again. Not on me. Not on Harper. No one.”

  “Yes,” Maman agrees immediately, her eyes darting to Harper, visibly shaken by the mention of child services. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to them earlier that their actions might cost them their
kids. In their eyes, they really did think they were doing the right thing, no matter how twisted it was. Papa reaches for Maman’s hand on the table, but she pulls away, tucking it into her lap.

  “Papa?” I demand.

  He won’t meet my eyes, and at first I think he isn’t going to reply. But then, quietly, he says, “Of course.”

  “I need your word. A written statement,” I wave my hand at the officer, “swear on the Bible. Something. I need to actually believe you aren’t just lying again.”

  Hurt flashes across his face, but he nods. “I’ll do whatever you ask me to do, as long as it means we won’t lose either of you.”

  I glance at the officer, who looks back, eyebrows raised. The decision is up to me. “I don’t need a written report of what happened last night. But I do want a written statement from him. And if I ever find out that you lied and pull something like this on Harper when I’m gone, I will press charges.”

  They both look so shocked that this is even happening that all they can do is nod. Once the officer finishes up the necessary paperwork, my parents stand to leave the room, but Harper and I remain seated. Harper reaches over and takes my hand again.

  Maman pauses at the door, looking back at us quizzically.

  “There’s something else we want to talk to him about,” Harper explains.

  The officer just raises his eyebrows in surprise.

  “We’ll be out in a bit,” I add.

  Once the door closes and we’re alone with the officer, I feel the weight of that night crash back into me. The memory of his hands on my skin, his weight pressing me into the mattress, the helpless hysteria I felt when I realized I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off if I had to.

  The sight of Melanie bent over in the library, trying to silence her crying.

  Ashley’s threats to stay quiet.

  “What did you want to talk about?” the officer asks, spreading his hands out. He looks friendly enough. Understanding, even. But that does nothing to lessen the absolute terror of not being believed. If I have to hear one more time about how any of this was my fault, or how I was asking for it, I think I very well may just disappear.