Someone I Used to Know

by Patty Blount

  I pause. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed that Mom likes two sugars and cream in her coffee.

  “Mom, I wanted to thank you.”

  She looks over her cup at me, eyebrows raised. “For?”

  “I saw all three of the table expanders out. For remembering how uncomfortable it was, getting knocked in the head every time Granny lifted her fork.”

  She nods and grins. “Yeah, I guess that was a bit annoying.” And then her grin disappears. “I’m sorry I yelled at you that time. And so sorry for everything else. I want—” She breaks off, biting her lip and looking out the window.

  I can see tears in her eyes, and I squirm.

  “Ashley, I want so badly to make everything okay. To make everything stop hurting you.”

  “I know, Mom.” I lift a shoulder like it’s no big deal, even though it is. “I have a favor to ask.”

  She lowers her cup. “Okay, what’s up?”

  “Could we please make this year a no-football holiday? It’s a trigger of mine that I’d much rather avoid.”

  At my use of the word trigger, Mom instantly nods, recognizing it as one of Dr. Joyce’s words.

  “Ashley, honey, of course. I’ll speak to Dad and your brothers. But what will we find for everybody to do while we’re waiting for the meal?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too. We could buy a game. Or a movie. Or maybe both.”

  Mom nods. “Okay. Let’s hit the stores after we eat.” She glances at the watch on her wrist and gasps. “We should hurry. There’s so much to do.” She puts her cup back on the saucer and slides toward the end of the booth, but I hesitate.

  “Mom, there’s something else I want to talk about.”

  The frown comes back. “Ashley, I promise you, Victor will not bother you. Dad and I are taking every legal step possible to make sure of that.”

  I nod. “Right. The restraining order.”

  “Yes. Plus a civil suit.”

  I nod and decide I should tell her. “Um, Mom. You should know I saw him. Vic.” God, even saying his name makes my skin crawl.

  The color drains out of Mom’s face.

  “It’s fine. Really. Sebastian got me home.”

  She pulls in a breath, and her nostrils flare. “Tell me everything.”

  So I do. I tell her we had hot chocolate right here in this booth and then went to the movies, and Vic was apparently in the same theater, but we didn’t know until the lights came back up.

  “Ashley, you cannot be alone. Not for a single minute, do you hear me? What if you’d gone to the ladies’ room? You could have bumped right into him by yourself.”

  I wasn’t even thinking about stuff like that. But I am now. “It’s okay. He didn’t approach. And Sebastian was right there.”

  Mom presses a hand to her mouth and shakes her head. “Baby, you shouldn’t have to go through this. I’m so sorry.”

  I wince. “I just wanted to forget it. The media keep calling him the former Bengals quarterback. God, that pisses me off,” I admit. “They used his yearbook photo. It’s not right, Mom! It’s just not right. They should use his mug shot, and they should call him what he is. A convicted sex offender. It should have been convicted rapist, but they believed him instead of me.”

  “Ashley,” she whispers, her voice high and choked.

  I lift my eyes to hers. They’re so blue, like ridiculously blue. I was jealous for so long that the boys inherited her eyes and I didn’t, but now I’m kind of happy I don’t share this with Derek, too. My eyes are deep brown like Dad’s. Sebastian says they remind him of melted chocolate, which is kind of funny because I get soft and gooey every time he says that. But right now, Mom’s eyes are worried. Anxious.

  Sad.

  “And then, all those magazine ads and catalogs… I just kept getting madder and madder.”

  “What ads?”

  I put my cup down. “It was in art class. We were looking through a bunch of old ads and catalogs to see how sex sells and I felt like I was going to vomit. It’s like I’m the only person in the whole world who sees them as permission slips, you know? Like, go ahead and rape. It’s okay. Dulcet & Marcus said so in this year’s holiday collection.”

  “You’re amazing, you know that?”

  I blink and shake my head because I’m not amazing. I can’t be. If I were, none of this would have happened. I sigh because there’s no way to ease into this, no way to make it hurt less. I go with the get-it-over-with approach. “Can I ask you something?”

  When she nods, I blurt, “Are you and Dad okay?”

  The effect is instant.

  She lowers her eyes, hiding from me, and sits back in the booth as far as she can. Her lips tighten into a flat line, and when she opens her mouth, I know it’ll be a lie. “Of course we are, honey. Dad’s stressing over the business, and I’m stressing over the holiday. We’ll get past it. We always do.”

  I’m not talking about the business or Thanksgiving, and she knows it.

  “Mom, I know you guys are fighting. And I know it’s because of me and Derek. I’m really sorry.”

  Her eyes snap up to meet my gaze, and they’re still sad, but this time, there’s something else there. Something like…hopelessness.

  “Ashley,” she begins, then stops, bites her lip again, and shakes her head.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. You won’t understand. You can’t, not until you have kids of your own.”

  I lean forward and grab her hand. “Mom, tell me.”

  Her hand twitches under mine, but she nods. “It’s just…I love both of you. No matter what.”

  I pull my hand back, and that’s when her first tear falls.

  “See? I knew you wouldn’t understand. I feel like I’m in the center of this tug-of-war. I know he hurt you, but even I can’t understand what you’re going through, and I’m your mom. I’m supposed to protect you from pain, but how do I do that when it’s coming from another child I love as much as I love you?”

  “Do you?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. Mom looks at me, horror blazing in her eyes. “Derek always said he was planned, but I was an accident.”

  Mom’s expression wavers somewhere between amusement and outrage. “Did he? God, that explains so much.” And then she laughs.

  I’m glad one of us finds this funny.

  She leans forward and grabs my hand this time. “Ashley, it’s true you were a surprise for Dad and me, but you were never unwanted. I was—am—so grateful you were born and absolutely ecstatic I got a daughter.”

  She says the words, but I don’t believe them. “Then why didn’t you ever take my side? Why did you let Derek treat me like crap all this time?”

  Mom reaches out a hand to my face and traces my cheek. “Sweetheart, I’ve never let Derek treat you like crap. When I knew about it, when I saw it, I stopped him. He was punished a lot for the things he said and did to you.”

  Doubt that.

  “I eased off when it seemed to make him more frustrated with you.”

  Yeah, right.

  “Dad assured me it was a phase. He went through the same thing when he was a kid. He promised me Derek would outgrow it. We never had anything like it with Justin, so I wasn’t so sure. But Dad’s a middle kid, too, so I figured he knew what he was talking about and went along. At first, I agreed that Derek had a point. He was older than you and should be allowed to do things you weren’t. And yes, I agreed he should have his own friends and not be expected to entertain you all the time. I permitted that. But it wasn’t enough. The more he pulled away from you, the tighter you clung to him. I tried, Ashley. I tried so hard. I took you to dance classes so you’d have something to do that was just yours. But you didn’t seem to like them. And when he started high school, I thought that would finally be the end of the tension betwee
n you. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix this for you before—”

  “Yeah. Before.”

  Mom sighs. When she looks up again, her face is dead serious. “Ashley, tell me the truth. Do you honestly believe Derek knew what Victor was planning and didn’t stop him?”

  I slouch back in the booth and press my lips together. For so long, there was nothing—absolutely nothing—too mean for Derek to say or do to me. But that? No. Not even Derek could do that.

  I shake my head.

  “Then why can’t you forgive him?”

  “Because he’s not sorry, Mom.”

  “He’s apologized so many times,” she says, spreading her hands out.

  I want to forgive him. I really do. I can’t. “But he doesn’t mean it! He’s never once meant it. They’re just words he says because he knows how to work you and Dad over to his side.”

  Mom puts up a hand. “Okay, okay. He’s coming home soon, and I want him to. I need him home, baby. I know that feels like I’m taking his side, but I’m not. I promise you. I just need all my babies. Can you understand that?”

  No, I really can’t. “I’ll try, Mom.”

  The lies just tumble from my lips these days.

  TWO YEARS AGO

  BELLFORD, OHIO

  Mom tries to pretend everything’s fine…that I’m fine. Dad goes along with it and so do Justin and Derek. Nobody mentions the R word, and that seriously annoys me, but fine. Whatever.

  Granny and Pop arrive right after Aunt Pam and Uncle Phil. Granny hugs me extra long and cries a little, but Paige obviously doesn’t care what happened to me, because the first words out of her mouth are, “What’d you do to your hair?” Her words are accompanied by an equally offensive sneer that leaves no room for interpretation just what she thinks of my new style.

  Mom does damage control. “We decided to cut it after Ashley left the hospital.” She puts an arm around me and gives me a squeeze, then shoots Aunt Pam one of those looks Aunt Pam usually exchanges with Aunt Debra.

  We did no such thing.

  I did it because I woke up one morning after a night of almost constant bad dreams and remembered Vic had wrapped my long hair around his hand. There were a lot of things I couldn’t remember during the day. But at night, the memories came out to play.

  I got up and cut off as much as I could. By the time Mom got the bathroom door unlocked, it was up to my jawline.

  She screamed. Dad came running. They held me and kept promising me I’d be okay, but I didn’t believe them.

  Here it is, a month later, and I still don’t.

  Mom gives Aunt Pam side-eye, and Aunt Pam quickly jerks Paige out of earshot and threatens her with—I don’t know—a painful death, maybe?

  Whatever she said had Paige crossing her arms and muttering, “Fine.”

  Everybody tiptoes around me. They make sure I’m comfortable and don’t need anything, then disappear because it’s too uncomfortable to be near me. The aunts and Granny join Mom in the kitchen, and the guys all head outside.

  When Derek comes downstairs in a jersey and carrying his football, my anxiety levels hit the redline, and I end up passing out.

  These anxiety episodes are getting worse, not better.

  After the first one, Mom called one of the numbers the hospital sent us home with and got me a therapist. Her name is Dr. Christine Joyce. I think it’s cool…like a pen name. She’s pretty cool, too. I have antianxiety medicine now. It makes me feel strange, but the nightmares aren’t as bad, so I keep taking it.

  After my attack, we all just sit in the family room instead, trying to pretend that I wasn’t raped a month earlier. I hear Paige whisper something and immediately hear Aunt Pam’s loud, “Shhh!”

  “But what if—”

  “It’s not your business.”

  “But what if she is?”

  From my corner of the large sofa, where I’m tucked in with a nice warm blanket, I scream, “I am not pregnant, Paige!”

  Mom and Granny come running in from the kitchen, Dad and Uncle Phil look murderous, and Aunt Pam’s face goes red. About fifteen minutes later, they’re in their car, heading for Aunt Debra’s house, this being the same Aunt Debra who claimed she wasn’t feeling well and couldn’t come this year.

  Mom cries, and Granny hugs her, then she takes her back into the kitchen.

  Derek glares at me from across the room. “Way to go, Ashley.”

  I shut my eyes and go to sleep. Thanks to my new medicine, sleep is the only thing I’m good at now.

  NOW

  BELLFORD, OHIO

  When the bell rings on Wednesday, I blow out a long, slow breath, and my shoulders fall a bit. Four whole days of holiday vacation, four whole days of family togetherness.

  Yay.

  At the sound of the bell, the school is evacuated within five minutes, like someone announced it was summer vacation instead of Thanksgiving. I take my time, strolling through the corridors. Don’t get me wrong; I’m psyched I have the long holiday weekend, but…Derek is coming home.

  Justin’s been home for weeks, and for the most part, he leaves me alone, and I leave him alone. He checks in, makes sure I’m still breathing, and goes off to do Justin stuff, which is apparently being the Perfect Son. He helps Dad at the garage and helps Mom do all sorts of stuff he never wanted to be bothered with in the past.

  It’s all so phony, I can’t stand it.

  I haven’t seen Derek since August. Three months. That’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing my brother, and there’s that stupid little pang in my chest at the thought. God, I hate it when my body reacts one way while my mind says something else. I hate him.

  Pang.

  I loathe him.

  Pang. Pang.

  Okay! So I love him. Big deal. He still hurt me, and damn it, I’m tired of being hurt.

  I wonder where to go. Maybe the library. It’s quiet there, and it’s not far. I start walking, wondering where else I can go after the library closes because home isn’t where my heart is anymore.

  • • •

  Tires squeal and a horn blares as I walk along Blaine, kicking my heart rate into the stratosphere. When I look over, I’m not entirely surprised to see Dad’s truck at the curb, but I am kind of surprised to see both of my brothers climb out of it, wearing twin expressions of rage.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Justin reaches me first. “Mom’s actually calling hospitals.”

  Guilt creeps along my skin, along with a hot flush. “Wasn’t in a rush to get home today. For obvious reasons,” I add with a pointed look at Derek.

  “Yeah? Even with Victor Patton out of prison?” Justin shoots back, and all the blood freezes in my veins. He rambles on. “He lives barely half a mile from here, and you’re just out strolling, not even a phone call to let anybody know where you are.”

  “J. Back off,” Derek murmurs with a jerk of his chin toward me.

  “Ashley, are you trying to get hurt?” Justin demands, and that kick-starts my system.

  “No. I just forgot about Vic.”

  Justin’s blue eyes bulge behind his glasses. “You forgot? Jesus, Ashley, Mom almost put out an APB on you. Why didn’t you tell her?”

  Rolling my eyes, I pull out my phone. “I did.”

  “That was hours ago!” Justin crosses his arms, and I blink. He looks fierce, like he might take on an army. And, jeez, when did he develop actual biceps? “Could you please get in the damn truck so we can pretend we’re a normal happy family?”

  Pedestrians walking on both sides of Blaine are staring at us, so with a huff, I climb into the back seat.

  Derek doesn’t say anything. He looks exactly the same. I don’t know why, but I expected him to look different somehow. Less like my brother maybe. There’s a blotch of red on his throat—a classic sign th
at Derek’s upset. It gives me a perverse thrill. I like knowing he’s anxious about seeing me, too. He starts the truck and merges into traffic.

  “Mom’s pretty pissed off at you,” he finally says.

  I shrug. Who isn’t pissed off in this family?

  “I get that you don’t want to see me, but we need to try to get along, for Mom’s sake.”

  I swivel my head to stare at him. “Oh, for Mom’s sake. Right.”

  He makes a left turn, and even in the dark, I can tell his fingers are white on the steering wheel. He drives for a few blocks in silence and then clears his throat.

  “So I heard about your BAR rally. That was a, um, really great idea.”

  I say nothing.

  “I signed a pledge form myself.”

  I resist the urge to swirl my finger in the air.

  “I joined this group called GAR at my school. Guys Against Rape. How lame is that?” He laughs, but it’s fake and forced, and oh my God, the great Derek Lawrence is actually nervous. I want to keep ignoring him, but he keeps talking. “We meet a few times a week and pledge to do our part to end misogyny and add our voices to protests.”

  Wow. What a load of crap. “Well, good on you, Derek.”

  Justin flicks me a look of frustration, but Derek ignores my obvious sarcasm and keeps babbling. “Oh, it really is good. We do stuff like shut down sexist jokes, remind guys they’re not owed a damn thing. Oh, and I volunteered to speak.”

  Is he bragging? Is he actually bragging about what a great non-rapist he is? Fuming, I sit in the back seat, counting the blocks until we’re home. By the time Derek pulls into our driveway and turns off the engine, a very angry Mom is waiting on the front steps.

  “Wonderful. All three of you are present in the same space. Go inside. Sit at the table.”

  “Not hungry,” I tell her as I get out of the car.

  “Then you can sit and watch the rest of us eat. Table. Now.”