Old Wounds

by N. K. Smith

  “The freakiest one in a big bunch of freaks,” a blonde-haired girl next to Megan interrupted. Instantly, I didn’t like her.

  “Thank you!” Chris exclaimed. “They’re all crazy or messed up in some way. That’s why they flock together like that.”

  “Didn’t you and Elliott have a thing?” the blonde asked Megan.

  Megan immediately blushed. “Oh yeah. For being a big freak, he’s very skilled. It must be those musician’s hands. Jackie says that Becca says whenever she’s over, he’s always playing music in his room.” My eyes trailed down Rusty Dalton’s body until they reached his hands. They weren’t overly large, yet the fingers were long and slender. I supposed they would be good for playing instruments. “No need for him to talk when there’s so many more interesting things to do with his mouth.”

  Chris rolled his eyes and lightly shoved Megan. “Whatever.”

  “Oh, don’t be jealous, Chris, you know I prefer you in the sack.”

  “Ew,” another girl with a jagged haircut said, obviously feeling like I did, that we were venturing into the realm of too much information. I didn’t want to know who was screwing who here.

  I turned my focus to a table where all the occupants were males. One of them was incredibly big, almost as big as David. “Who’s that guy?” I asked, letting my eyes point the way. “The big one?”

  “Oh,” Megan’s voice fell into a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s Jason Fox.” For whatever reason, the name seemed oddly familiar. “Total druggie.”

  That was all I needed to know. I tucked my water bottle back into my bag and stood up, looking around to see if the librarian was about to tell me to sit down again. “Where are you going, Sophie?” Chris asked, his voice anxious.

  “Um…” I couldn’t find anything to say, so I just shrugged and took off, making a quick line to Jason Fox. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I did.

  “Hey,” I said, drawing upon all of my confidence. What did I care what these people thought? None of them knew me.

  Jason looked up at me, his deep blue eyes narrowing as he studied my face. Damn, he was kind of intimidating, even if he was wearing a dirty hippie Bob Marley shirt. “Hey,” was all he said. His dusty blond hair wasn’t long, but I couldn’t exactly call it short either, and man, people said my eyes were piercing blue, but this kid might have me beat.

  He had to know that I was Sophie, the “new girl.” That he didn’t seem as happy or shocked to be speaking with me as everyone else in the school had, made me a little nervous. I shifted on my feet, shoving my bag back up on my shoulder. “Can I talk to you?”

  He continued to study me. “About what?”

  Ass. I knew he was holding. I could just tell. “About your shirt,” I said, using the snottiest voice I could as I narrowed my eyes back at him.

  Finally, ever so slightly, the edges of his mouth curled up. “So talk.”

  “Somewhere else.”

  When he sighed and stood up, his friends snickered and made a few crude comments. “Shut up,” he said and smacked the back of one of his friend’s head as he moved past.

  He guided me out of the library and didn’t stop walking until we were outside, with small pellets of rain dripping into my hair. “So?” he said, his long legs stopping as he allowed me to catch up to him.

  “So I heard that you might know where I can get some ganja.”

  Jason’s face was calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Shaking my head, I clicked my tongue at him. “Yes, you do.”

  “Tom Young’s your dad and you’re asking me on your first day of school if I can get you some pot?” I nodded. “You’re insane. He goes around to third-grade classes and tells kids the horrors of drugs. Well, mainly the horrors of meth, but still.”

  “Sometimes, but not right now. What does it matter who my father is?”

  “How stupid do you think I am?”

  I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the moist bricks of the school. “Well, you don’t look stupid, but since I don’t know you, I have no real way of knowing.”

  “You do know me.” I quirked my brow. “I know you. You’re Sophie Young, Tom Young’s daughter who used to come up every summer. We ran around in the forests together. You used to shove me off of rocks.” Again I intentionally formed a confused expression. “Jesus, you can’t remember our dads dragging us all over the damn state while they hiked? Well, back when my dad could still go outside,” he finished in a mumble.

  A few vague memories came back to me. I looked up at Jason’s face. There was a boy I remembered shoving into the mud every once in a while, and then crying when he pulled my hair. “Smile.” I could tell by his expression he thought this was dumb, but he plastered a smile on his face. “Yeah, now I remember you.”

  He folded his arms over his massive chest and cocked his head. “You stopped visiting.” As his eyes wandered over my body, his smile shifted into something meant to be seductive. “You got all grown up, didn’t you?”

  He was not subtle. “So can I get some weed or not?”

  “How do I know that you haven’t turned into a narc? Your dad’s tight with the sheriff, you know.”

  “Did I tell him about the time you stole his beer when we were twelve?”

  He appraised me again and seemed to come to the conclusion that I wasn’t a narc. “So, about that pot…”

  Jason grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the bricks, and away from the school. I wasn’t really afraid, even though it seemed like a natural response would have been fear, especially since he was so much bigger than I was. We stopped just inside the woods that surrounded the park by the school.

  “I don’t have any for you to buy here. One more ‘infraction’ and I’ll be expelled, and your dad will stop pulling strings for me.” He dug into his pocket, pulling out a hard pack of Camel Lights. Flipping open the box top, he plucked out a perfectly-rolled joint. “But we can get high before going back into hell.” He nodded toward the school.

  “Thank God!” I exclaimed, finding a relatively dry fallen tree to sit down on. “I haven’t had any since leaving Tampa.” He lit it and took his time taking several long pulls; some to get it going, and others to take into his lungs. Finally, he passed it to me and I felt almost giddy at the feel of it between my fingers as I took a big hit.

  “So after school,” he said during his long exhale, “you can come back to my house and I’ll get you some of your own.”

  “Thanks.” We passed the joint back and forth a few times, and I started feeling fucking great. I ran my hands through my hair and let my eyes slip closed.

  “So, you already with Anderson or what?”

  I nearly choked. “What? No. He’s just…a puppy.” Jason’s smile widened and I could tell he was pretty fried too.

  “Well, then,” he said, leaning toward me. I felt a little confused, but did nothing to stop what I knew was coming. “Let me stake my claim.” Before I could even process his possessive words, he’d crushed his mouth against mine. It was a great kiss. Then he pulled away and said, “Bet you haven’t had any of that since Tampa either.”

  I smiled, letting a chuckle bubble out of me. Feeling warm and relaxed, I sized Jason up. He was tall and muscular. I should’ve at least been a little afraid of him, like I was when I saw Big Dalton, but something about having known him when we were kids made him seem safe. I licked my lips, tasting the remains of Jason and marijuana. Then I stood up and pushed him until he was sitting where I had been and quickly moved to straddle him.

  I hadn’t had any of that since Tampa. Taking the smoldering, almost-too-small roach out of his hands, I gave it one last puff before flicking it behind him, listening as it sizzled in the damp foliage. Jason’s hands moved immediately to my ass, cupping it, his fingers digging in. I kissed him again,
my hands moving to tangle wildly in his hair. Damn, I could get laid before Horticulture. I wondered if little Miss Megan could say that.

  He pulled back, still rubbing my ass. “No panties on the first day of school? Jesus, Sophie, you’ve really turned into a naughty girl, haven’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  A wicked smile played on his face, but Jason carefully stood me up, letting his hands linger on my hips a moment before brushing one of them in between my legs. “As much as I’d love to explore how much you’ve grown up, I can’t be late to class. Jerry would have a fit if I got expelled.” I assumed Jerry was his father.

  I backed up and grabbed my bag, watching as he rose to his full height. Dude must have been at least six-foot-six. “How is your dad?” I asked, trying to remember my manners, but not really giving a shit. I could barely remember the guy anyway.

  “Needy as ever,” was his reply as he led me out of the woods. “You know he has OCD, right?”

  No, I didn’t know that and I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I stayed silent. When we reached the edge of the campus, he turned to me. “So, after school, meet me out front.” Guess I’d scored on my top two priorities.

  I nodded in agreement before moving down the path that I thought would take me to the greenhouse. The bell rang just as I entered. Lazily, I walked over to the teacher, holding out my class slip. Chris Anderson was glaring at me. I gave him a little smirk and then shrugged my shoulders before the teacher introduced himself as Mr. Reese and pointed to my seat.

  It was then I realized that my table partner was none other than the skilled hands- talented mouth, Rusty Dalton. He looked way too nervous as I approached and was breathing hard, like he’d just been having some rough sex. His eyes flicked toward me for just a moment before moving to the front of the class and then out the window. Okay, so the dude was strange. I supposed if he didn’t try grabbing my shit during class, I could deal with strange Rusty Dalton.

  “Hey,” I said, giving him a tentative smile. I didn’t want him to think I was a prick like Anderson and was somehow still pissed at him for running into me. He looked sick as he glanced up and merely gave me a little nod in greeting. “I’m Sophie,” I continued quietly as Mr. Reese began talking, bringing the class to order. Rusty Dalton gave me a small half-smile before moving his eyes to the front of the room. I guessed that it was all I was going to get. It was customary to give your name in return when someone introduced themselves to you, but whatever; I already knew it anyway.

  I pretty much zoned out until Mr. Reese called on Rusty Dalton. When he hesitated before answering, I tried to remember the question so I could whisper the answer to him. That was a nice thing to do, right? But suddenly he took a very deep breath, his hands clenching together on the desk before his head rose just slightly. “A-A-A-Act-t-tinomycccccetes,” he finally said and blew out a breath of relief as Mr. Reese indicated that he was correct.

  Chris Anderson turned around and narrowed his eyes at my table partner. “V-v-very g-g-good, D-D-Dalton,” he said and broke out in quiet laughter.

  Rusty Dalton sighed and lowered his head, looking at his clenched hands. So, what? He had a stutter, which made sense now after hearing Chris and Megan’s comments. Jesus, high school sucked.

  I narrowed my eyes at Chris and when he turned to me, I said, “Don’t be a dick.” He glared at me, but thankfully turned back around.

  The rest of class was boring. When the bell rang, Rusty Dalton packed up his books and left without saying a word. P.E. went by without incident, except for when I “accidently” slammed my elbow into Chris Anderson’s head when we were playing basketball. He was a dick, and while I never really had violent tendencies before, I wanted him to hurt for being an asshole. I wasn’t really clumsy, but it never ceased to amaze me how much the other gender would let me get away with. All I had to do was give him big doe-eyes and bat my eyelashes and he was over his momentary anger and sending me puppy eyes back.

  Just as promised, Jason was waiting for me out front and gave me a ride to his house in his old beat-up Cavalier. His house felt familiar, but I didn’t get much of a chance to remark on that since Jason took me directly into his room where he proceeded to show me his extensive collection of buds and paraphernalia. Before I could get him to reveal his pricing, he swept me into his arms and proceeded to resume where we’d left off this afternoon.

  Mere moments was all it took for me to be spread out on his rickety old desktop, my shirt pulled up, bra cups down, pants hanging off of one leg, my head thumping against the wall. Jason was really good. It seemed such a waste for one teenage boy to be so good at this, especially in Damascus, Maryland, where it wouldn’t be appreciated.

  He looked so cool too. Most boys had some kind of epileptic fit, but not Jason. There were a few grunts and “oh, yeahs” thrown in for good measure, but he maintained his cool even through his orgasm. His eyes were on me the entire time, even as he withdrew and peeled off the condom, tossing it into the trashcan.

  As I tugged my shirt back down and watched him pull up his pants, zipping them, but leaving the top button unbuttoned, I felt the need to let him know the deal. “Just FYI, Jason, don’t go all romantic on me or any shit like that, okay?”

  A smile played on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not the girlfriend type, so don’t think that what we just did means anything more than what it was.”

  He looked unimpressed.

  “What?”

  “In case no one told you, Sophie Young,” he began in a light voice “I’m not the boyfriend type, so we should get along just fine.” Then he sat back down on the edge of his bed as I pulled up my pants, shoving my feet back into my shoes. “So about this weed you want…”

  Jason had cut me a fantastic deal on the quarter I took home, basically just charging me for an eighth. It wasn’t ditch weed either. Little to no shake in that bag. He loaned me a bowl, but it would rarely get used, and gave me a dugout and a one-hitter too. Before dropping me off at home, he took me to the store so I’d actually have food to cook for dinner, and he offered to pick me up for school the next day. I happily accepted, after reiterating that despite the great orgasms we’d given each other, we were not romantically involved. He agreed, saying his life was complicated enough without a girlfriend hanging on him.

  After dinner, and a nice soothing walk with the one-hitter, I barricaded myself in my room and waited for the morning to come when I had to go to another, boring day at Damascus High.

  I woke up with the worst headache I’d had in a while, which wasn’t helped by David’s voice booming in the hallway, loud enough to cause the window panes to rattle. He was yelling at Jane to get out of the bathroom while pounding on the door with what sounded like his fist. I would never understand why he didn’t just make the short trip to use the bathroom downstairs.

  “And don’t think I can’t tell that you’re listening, Elliott. Get your ass up. We’ve got less than an hour before first period and I’m not going to be late because of you again.”

  I swore he was like the glue that held everything together around here. To the outsider at school, he probably looked like the one sane guy in the house of the loonies, but Jane and I knew different. Even our adopted father Stephen knew.

  David’s coping mechanism was being perfect at everything. He got straight A’s in every subject, on every paper, and on every test and quiz, and was Captain of every major sport at Damascus High. He was going out with Rebecca, the best-looking girl at school, and managed to be Vice-President of the student government. He’d probably be asked to be valedictorian when he graduated too. Everyone loved him, which was exactly what he was going for.

  Jane was a bit different. She wasn’t really popular like David. She was friends with Rebecca, but wasn’t a cheerleader like she was and most of those girls tho
ught she was weird. Jane molded herself to be as likable as possible, to as many people as possible, so she made a lot of “friends.”

  But Jane had a harder time with keeping up the prefect façade than David. She had “dissociative episodes”. At least, that’s what Stephen and Robin called them. Robin was a licensed therapist as well as being Becca’s mother, and a friend of Stephen’s. Basically, the episodes were just periods of time Jane “zoned out.” Unfortunately, even with medication, they still occurred.

  As far I as I knew, there wasn’t a definitive trigger for Jane’s “episodes” and no real way to stop them. She would never tell me what went through her mind during that time, but I didn’t blame her for keeping it to herself. If it was something bad and the adults found out, she could go back to the institution and I knew how much she hated that place.

  “Elliott, I’m serious! Tick tock, I’m a clock and that means get your ass out here!”

  I sighed, knowing that if I didn’t move, David would attempt to open the door. That would not help my headache, so I swung my feet over the side of the bed, rubbed my hands down my face, pulled a shirt over my head, and stood up. Then I opened the door as I scratched my neck and cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that look, Elliott.”

  I shook my head. “I h-h-have a heada-a-ache.”

  “Suck it up, dude. Take a hot shower. That’ll help.” He turned back to the closed bathroom door and started banging on it again. “That is, if we can get Jane out.”

  “I’ll g-go d-d-downstairs,” I mumbled, pulling my door closed. I always closed my door. My room was the only place that was mine, only mine, and no one else was allowed in unless I was dying. Stephen promised me that.

  The shower, toast, and coffee ended up relieving some of my headache, but the two Tylenol helped even more. As usual, David was behind the wheel of his old International Harvester Scout while Jane sat in the passenger seat, complaining that we never took her car. I sat quietly in the back as usual. There wasn’t much I ever really needed to say.