Old Wounds

by N. K. Smith

  So why did my chest feel like it was about to explode? If she already confirmed we were friends, why was I dreading her rejection?

  “S-So-Sophie?” She looked up. “D-d-do y-y-you w-w-w-want t-t-to g-go…”

  “Elliott, don’t.” She cringed. “Please don’t.”

  Any and all hope I had that I could just be a normal person and have a normal friendship fell apart. I hadn’t even been able to properly ask her.

  “Please don’t ask me to that ridiculous dance. I don’t… they really aren’t my thing.”

  My hope swelled again. “I-I w-w-wasn’t g-g-going to ask a-a-ab-b-bout the d-dance,” I finished quickly.

  “Good,” she said, sounding relieved. “Because they’re kind of lame, don’t you think?”

  I just gave her a hesitant smile. What I had in mind didn’t require any dancing or streamers in the high school gym. I’d never gone to a dance. They might very well be lame, but I highly doubted going anywhere with Sophie would be lame at all.

  “What were you going to ask then?”

  “W-w-would y-you g-g-go sssssomewhere w-with me?”

  Sophie chuckled and before I could misinterpret, she answered, “Somewhere? That’s a little vague, Elliott. ‘Somewhere’ could be Mexico or ‘somewhere’ could be the library. Both of which I’d say yes to.”

  That made me happy. I felt triumphant, as if I had actually asked her to cross the border with me. “I-I-I d-don’t know w-where. Just ssssomewhere. Just to h-hhhhhang out.” I took a few deep breaths. The word “hang” was nearly blocked and I thanked God that I was able to get it out.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “D-do you w-w-want to g-g-go t-tomorrow?”

  She frowned. “Oh, shit, I can’t.”

  I must have made a face because she said, “I’m not just blowing you off, Elliott, but unless you want to drop some acid with me tomorrow, I’m going solo.”

  That wasn’t the response I’d anticipated. I was expecting the normal girl letdown responses. “W-w-w-why a-ar-are you g-g-g-going to d-dr…”

  “Because Damascus is a boring-ass town and I haven’t tripped in a while.”

  “Do y-y-you lllllllike i-it?” I sighed. Obviously she liked it. I was such an idiot. “I-I m-mean, w-w-why d-d-do y-you lllllike it?”

  Her expression changed and she got defensive. “Why don’t you tell Anderson to fuck off?”

  “I-I-I w-w-wasn’t j-j-judging you, S-SSSophie. J-just asking.”

  She flopped down on the couch and raised a hand up into the air, watching as she made her fingers dance. “You obviously don’t like that I enjoy drugs.”

  I wanted to protest and let her know I wasn’t judging her even though I hated that she did drugs, but she kept going, answering my question.

  “I partake in pharmaceutical and psychotropic drugs because I like that version of reality better. Have you ever done any drugs?”

  “Wa-wa-wa,” was all I could say, so instead I shook my head.

  “No painkillers or nitrous oxide at the dentist?”

  “W-w-well, yeah, I-I’ve h-had p-painkillers b-befffffore.” Sedatives more times than I could count.

  “Didn’t you feel numb, I mean, not just that it took away whatever was aching or in pain, but like, mentally numb?” I nodded. “I like that. It makes everything a little fuzzy around the edges. Acid’s awesome because reality shifts for a little while and the impossible happens. This reality,” she said, waving her hand around, indicating my room, my house, this town, this world, “is just an illusion, Elliott. Even something as simple as smoking a little weed taps you into something…more, something better.”

  I shook my head, not wanting to judge her, but needing to let her know I completely disagreed. “M-m-my mmm-mm-m-mom…”

  Sophie sat up and stared pointedly at me. “Your mom was a heroin addict. It’s not the same thing. I don’t do anything that’s addictive or could permanently distort reality.”

  I failed to see the difference, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “Look, I’ve done coke, but I wouldn’t touch smack for anything. You wouldn’t know, but rolling on ecstasy changes everything. I’ve never felt so loved and…loving.” Her face shifted into an expression of longing before she looked down. “I…I don’t expect you to understand it and if it’s not your thing, that’s cool, but I like it.”

  She looked back up, seeming perfectly normal again. “So tomorrow I’m dropping acid and going on a little spirit walk in the woods.”

  My heart raced. My breathing changed and all of a sudden I felt panicky. “In th-th-the w-w-w-woods? S-S-SSSSophie, y-y-y-y…wwwwwhat if y-y-you g-g-g-get l-l-l…”

  “Calm down, Elliott,” she said, her voice soft, but full of concern. She was worried about me. “Seriously, slow your breathing down. You’re going to pass out.”

  I did my best to focus on my breathing, slowly dragging air in and letting it out even slower, but I still felt shaky. My lungs were tight. Sophie was going into the woods alone while hallucinating. People got lost in the woods all the time without acid to disorient them. She couldn’t do that. I didn’t want to hear about her going missing, and I didn’t want to watch as people searched for her.

  Why would she do that? Why was she so casual about drugs, as if every kid our age was into it?

  “S-S-SSSSophie.”

  She stood and crossed the room. Before I realized what was happening, I felt her hand in my hair. Instantly, that chemical thing between us happened and I closed my eyes, my body relaxing just a little. My breathing slowed, as did my heart rate. How did she know how to do that?

  “Elliott, I’ll be fine. I promise. The woods near my house. I swear I won’t go far.”

  Once again, I sat in front of Robin, waiting for her to get to the point of what she really wanted to talk about. We’d been dancing around the topic for the past twenty minutes. Finally, she said, “It was a difficult week.”

  Even though she didn’t phrase it as a question, I knew she was asking me to validate what she’d said. “Y-y-yes.”

  “Because you don’t feel normal? You feel different than the other kids?”

  I looked down, but nodded.

  “Do you only feel different because of your speech issue?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to tell Robin anything. I wanted to be in my room; however, it didn’t matter what I wanted because my mouth opened, as if on its own, and I heard myself say, “I t-t-told S-S-Sophie a-a-ab-b-b-b,” I paused, but I couldn’t take it back. Robin would make me finish the sentence, so I continued. “A-a-about m-my mmmmmm-mm-mom.”

  Looking up, I saw the surprise on Robin’s face. “Oh?”

  I nodded.

  “How do you feel about that?” she asked.

  I shrugged, not really knowing how I felt.

  “Sophie is obviously someone you feel you can trust. That was a big topic for you to discuss with her.”

  “Y-yeah.” I shouldn’t have told Robin. Now I’d be forced to talk about it.

  “How did she react?”

  I thought about her loud voice and the scowl on her face. “Sh-she w-w-was m-mad.”

  “At you?”

  “A-at my mm-mm-mom.”

  “And how did that make you feel?”

  I closed my eyes. It was always easier to answer Robin’s incessant questions when I wasn’t looking at her. “She d-doesn’t kn-know.”

  “What doesn’t she know?”

  “M-my mmm-mm-mom. Sh-she th-thinks my mmmmmom w-was b-bad.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  I opened my eyes and shook my head. “B-but m-my mmm-mm-mmom w-w-wasn’t b-bad.”

  “No. Your mother wasn’t bad. She was sick.”

  “I-I d-don’t think S-S-Sophie understa
nds th-that.”

  “Addiction and depression are illnesses. Your mother didn’t make the choice to be sick.”

  I suddenly became conscious that my breathing had sped up and my fingers ached. I looked down at my right hand and saw that they were digging into the arm of the chair. My knuckles were white and I had the urge to do something else with them. “I-I kn-know.”

  “Breathe deeply, Elliott.” I closed my eyes again and tried to do as she asked. “Did you talk to Sophie about your father?”

  Every muscle in my body seemed to tighten. My lungs seized and I gasped for breath. “N-n-n-n-no. P-p-p-pleeeeease d-d-don’t, Robin.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was soft and soothing, the way a mother’s voice would be. I forced my thoughts away from my parents and wondered if this was what Robin sounded like when Rebecca was young and had a bad dream, and she tried to comfort her.

  “Focus on breathing, Elliott. Relax and try to calm down.”

  She was silent for awhile as I did my best to regulate my breathing. It wasn’t until I opened my eyes again that she spoke. “Have you written anything new?”

  I knew she was asking about music compositions. I shook my head. “D-D-David ssssays B-B-Becca’s p-p-planning a t-t-t-trip t-to SSSSSSp-SSSSpain.”

  Robin smiled. “She’s got enough money saved, and so does David from what I’ve heard. Of course I’ll be worried about them, but they’re eighteen, and are entitled to go off on their own. Does Sophie mention her mother?”

  I sighed and then shook my head. “N-no.” Besides drugs, Sophie didn’t really mention a lot about anything.

  Most of Saturday was spent lying on my bed, worrying about Sophie doing drugs and being alone in the woods. I had never dropped acid before, but I didn’t think it was necessary in order to know that it was an incredibly senseless idea when you could get lost so easily.

  When I wasn’t actively worrying about Sophie, I was thinking about how she ran her hands through my hair. No one but Jane knew how just that simple act could calm me down. How had she known?

  Sophie and Jane shared Photography class, but there was no way Jane would tell her something like that, and it’s not like Sophie would ask her about it.

  It didn’t matter. Her fingers sliding through my hair felt utterly fantastic. I wondered how I could get her to do it again.

  I felt like a creep. Like a creepy creep planning out various ways to get a girl to touch him.

  Then I felt worthless. Thinking about Sophie and touching wasn’t going to lead to anything productive, and I knew from past experience that it would just prove painful and send me into a fit of depression. I didn’t need to spend another night hoping to all that was holy that my erection would fade.

  On Sunday I waited until eleven to call Sophie. Stephen had Mr. Young’s number written down in the address book in his study. I thought eleven was enough time for someone to recover from tripping on acid. I dialed, going over what I -planned to say.

  Although I thought about music in an attempt to calm myself, when I heard Sophie’s father answer the phone, I froze.

  “Hello?” There was pause and I tried to force words out of my mouth, but I only seemed to be able to make a clicking sound. “Hello?” he said again, this time in a more irritated voice. He sighed heavily before hanging up.

  I couldn’t even use the phone like a normal human being. I hated being me.

  Trying again, I redialed the number. “Hello?” His voice was booming and more than just a little scary.

  “H-h-hhhhhh…”

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and let Schubert’s Opus 90 Number 3 fill my head before I opened my mouth to speak. “MMMMMister Y-Y-YYYYoung? Th-th-this is E-E-Elli-Elli-Elliott D-D-Dalton.” I hated my own name coming from my mouth. “C-c-c-c-can I t-t-talk t-t-to S-S-SSSSS-SSSS…” I choked on her name.

  “You want to talk to Sophie?”

  “Y-y-yes, sir.”

  “Hold on.”

  There was a rustling sound and footsteps, and then a few knocks. I could hear Sophie’s father saying something about sleeping all day and then nothing for nearly a minute. “Mmmm?”

  “S-S-Sophie?”

  There was a deep intake of air. “Elliott?” Her voice was rough and slightly scratchy. “’Sup?”

  “I-I-I j-just w-w-wanted to make sure y-y-you w-were okay.”

  A breathy chuckle answered me. “Of course I’m okay. I told you I would be.”

  There wasn’t much more for me to say. If I had any courage, I’d ask her to do something with me today. If I was really forward, I would ask her to run her hands through my hair again. If I could speak like a normal person, I would say anything just to keep her on the line.

  Since I wasn’t courageous, or forward, or normal, I settled for, “O-o-okay. Sssssee y-you t-t-tomorrow.”

  I hung up without waiting for her to say goodbye. I was just as awkward on the phone as I was in person, and she shouldn’t have to be subjected to that.

  The rest of my day was spent listening to music and thinking of Sophie. She was my friend. Finally I had someone besides Jane who wanted to be friends me. Despite all of the differences, between us with her drug-use and my inability to fully communicate, we were friends. That thought would carry me through until I could see her again

  I opened the door to put the phone back after Elliott hung up and found Tom standing right outside. He hadn’t been home at all last night and must’ve come home early this morning.

  “What?” My voice was rough and raw, even to my own ears. It had been cold and damp in the woods, and after tripping all day yesterday, I’d probably come down with a cold. That, or I’d been yelling and screaming the whole day, but I had no recollection. “Your boyfriend has a pretty awful case of stuttering.”

  I sighed and pushed the phone at him. “Way to state the obvious, Tom.” I shivered when his hand brushed against mine as he took the phone. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “You’ve been here a few weeks now and you haven’t had one phone call. Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, this delinquent of yours calls. The same delinquent you went to D.C. with, mind you, and you’re going to tell me he’s not your boyfriend?”

  “Whatever, Tom.” I’d almost closed the door in his face, but then opened it again. “He’s my partner in Horticulture, okay? He’s the one your wonderful, extraordinary Wallace paired me with for therapy, got it?”

  “So he’s not your boyfriend?”

  I just stared at him for a moment, giving him my best “duh” look. “Yep, you can keep your shotgun on its rack for a little while longer.”

  “It’s okay if you do have a boyfriend though, Sophie.” He looked flustered and shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, it’s okay if you have friends.”

  “Whatever,” I said again. Usually the best thing about Tom was how little he spoke to me, and now it seemed like he wanted to be my best friend and have a heart-to-heart.

  “Do you?” he asked quickly.

  “Do I what?”

  “Have friends, Sophie.” I was too worn-out to express my annoyance. “I mean, you don’t bring anyone over and you never talk about—”

  “We,” I said, pointing to him and then back to myself, “don’t talk. It’s not our thing, and it doesn’t matter if I have friends. I don’t need them and if I had any, you’d just call them delinquents.”

  “Sophie, you know I don’t—”

  I cut him off, already tired of his voice. He had about as much right to know shit about me as Wallace did. “I’m going back to bed.” I stepped back and pushed the door closed, making sure to barricade it once more.

  I couldn’t really get back to sleep. I kept thinking about Elliott. I’d been trying to call him Rusty Dalton again in my head, but
to no avail. I’d been doing just fine ignoring him, and my growing feelings for him, until the end of group therapy on Friday. I’d made him work for it that time. I didn’t make the first move.

  And he did it. He’d met my challenge.

  With just a light nod of his head toward the stairs, he’d managed to make me come undone. Then he played guitar for me and it was exactly what I thought it would be – Perfect.

  I’d never been one to go all mushy over musicians or, hell, anyone for that matter, but when he played guitar for me, looking all nervous and shy, I melted. I, Sophie Young, melted like a twelve-year-old girl at a Jonas Brothers concert.

  It was… disgusting. And embarrassing. And fucking wrong, but intimate and special too.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, he asked me if we were friends. What was I supposed to say? “No, we’re not friends because I’d like to see your naughty bits?” The worst part of it all was that I didn’t just want to do him. I wanted to hold his hand and shit. I wanted to touch his face just to feel it.

  I was so silly about this boy.

  So when he asked me if we were friends, of course I said yes. Elliott walked around every day with this look on his face like he’d just had to put his puppy to sleep, or someone just insulted his dead grandmother. I didn’t want to be the cause of that look. I wanted him to be happy.

  I felt so silly. I couldn’t believe I was having urges to hold someone’s hand. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t natural and I hated it all.

  Monday came ridiculously fast and I did my best to muddle through. I smiled at Elliott in the hall and tried to keep my thoughts platonic. When that didn’t work, I tried just thinking him as a purely sexual being, but that seemed off too. Why couldn’t I see him as just another high school boy? Why the hell did I have these impulses to be sweet and romantic with him?

  It was wrong; so fucking wrong.

  Despite my conflicting emotions, I promised myself that I would talk to him more than I had last week. He seemed to want it. Maybe he needed that. Thankfully I wouldn’t have to worry about talking to him until Horticulture.