Secret Life (RVHS Secrets)

by Quinlan, Bria

  I glanced at the tiny clock she kept next to her. We both pretended it didn’t exist, but times like this I was glad it was there. Unfortunately, it didn’t read late enough to know escape was coming soon. And, obviously, faking answers tonight was not really going to fly.

  “Not bad.” I mean, it could have been amazingly worse. It could have been dire.

  “But?”

  I really needed to switch therapists to someone who didn’t know when to push.

  “But…there’s this boy.”

  The next thing I knew, I was explaining about Chris and how he shoved his way into my life. She’d heard a little about him before because of the whole Amy’s-kind-of-ex boyfriend thing. But, I had to tell her the truth, to tell how he was too beautiful to look at but seemed to have his own thing going on. How we brought out the worst in each other…but that I was suspecting we were seeing the best too. Oh, yeah, I was all about the sharing tonight.

  I even admitted to the two clothing mini-attacks.

  “That seems normal. It seems like you’re dealing with high stress situations in good ways. Things that would have created full blown panic attacks before, have you finding your inner-window in time for you to escape an embarrassing or harmful situation.” She leaned back, looking at me as if she hadn’t seen me in years. “Rachel, that’s good. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but in a way, these are successes.”

  It took a minute to absorb that. Things seemed desperate all the time. Actually, they seemed desperate or they disappeared. Poof. Suddenly, something would just not be an issue…until it was again. But, life was getting to the point where I wasn’t dealing with the attacks constantly. I guess I needed that reminder that things were different.

  That I was different.

  But that didn’t mean that everything was better. I looked at my hands fisted on my lap and knew for sure that better was relative and everyday life got a little bit saner. Saner on a Rachel-sliding-scale kind of way, that is.

  “See you next Wednesday.”

  Of course. Every Wednesday for the rest of my life at this rate.

  Chapter 18

  I’m not sure why I was surprised to see Chris sitting on my front porch, his backpack next to him.

  After spilling my guts about having a beautiful boy around who wasn’t the least bit interested in me, I wasn’t really up for studying with said beautiful boy.

  I got out of the car and leaned against the side, watching him swat at the bugs attracted to the porch light.

  “I’m really not up for studying.” I hoped he wouldn’t argue. I knew I’d have to drive him home anyway.

  He stood, slung his bag over his shoulder and crossed to tower over me. Then he was looking at me, really looking. I hated it. I was raw already from the hour with Dr. Meadows. Chris looking at me was not what I needed.

  I dropped my gaze away, unable to watch him study me. Afraid of what I’d see if I could read his thoughts.

  When he finally spoke, his voice was low and telling me the one thing I could cling to. The one thing I hadn’t even known I’d wanted to hear. “Let’s go to the bridge.”

  ~*~

  The moon hid behind a rogue cloud, casting the bridge in a darkness that felt like the perfect outfit—comfy and safe. I wrapped it around me. Holding it to me, while Chris leaned against the pylon a few feet away. I could feel him watching me. This new awareness growing, growing beyond what I’d ever expected. Beyond what I’d ever wanted. But there on the bridge, it didn’t matter. It just was.

  This place was separate.

  And I…I was drunk on the darkness.

  Dizzy with carelessness, I faced him head on and asked, “What do you see when you look at me?”

  He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  I should have stopped. I should have backtracked and made some sarcastic joke that worked as well out loud as it did in my head. But moon-fever and exhaustion had canceled out any cues for emotional safety. I needed the truth from one person.

  “I mean, do you see all my…flaws?”

  His grin hitched up.

  “Do I see how pushy you are? How you kind of are always doing something in your head? How you aren’t what you try to make people think you are? How you have some weird obsession with lip gloss? Those?”

  Wow, not the answer I expected. And yet…how many other people would have pegged each one of those things?

  I pushed off the railing and strode toward the middle of the bridge. I almost kept my back to him, but that was the coward’s way out, so I faced him. The moon still hid behind a cloud, just enough light slipping through so I could make out where he was, if not his expression.

  “No. I mean, when you look at me.” I held my hands out by my sides. “What do you see?”

  I couldn’t believe I was asking. I can’t believe I put myself in front of the most beautiful looking person I’d ever seen and asked him about my appearance.

  He stepped away from the railing, not quite coming to me. Just easing the distance a bit and looked at me. Really looked at me again.

  My heart thudded heavily against my ribs, painfully so, and I knew I’d pushed my luck. It was too much.

  Hell, it probably would have been too much even if I hadn’t gone to my session that night.

  This was definitely a, What was I thinking, moment. Actually, add a couple creative curse words in there to up the accuracy level.

  “Never mind.” The words rushed out as I headed back to the car.

  “No. Wait.” He didn’t touch me, didn’t even move toward me, but the tone of his voice had me frozen mid-step. “I’m not sure why you’re asking. I mean, I think you must know you’re pretty. You’ve got great legs. Those shorts the other day…”

  His voice trailed off. I almost turned around to look at him, to try to see if he was lying. But the darkness would have hidden that anyway…hidden his lies like it hid my embarrassment. And shame.

  “You’re kind of everything. Smart and pretty. It’s tough to know someone like you.” He cleared his throat. Twice. “Things aren’t good for me right now. I’ve always had everything and it’s been…not good. I don’t really like being me and it’s my own fault. But you. I know something’s going on, but still…you’re pretty and you’re smart. And you’re a good friend.”

  I hadn’t realized my hand had come up to cover my heart until I felt it racing beneath my fingertips.

  Nothing, since my diagnosis had been laid out before me, scared me as much as his words did.

  “There’s just something…” His voice trailed off, leaving behind questions I was afraid to ask and an odd expectation I was scared to name. Then, it was the weirdest thing—and, being therapy night, that’s hard to do—but when I turned back, he was grinning. “Plus, you have that whole mystery thing going on. That untouchableness.”

  I hooked in a breath, confused by all of it. I was mysterious and pretty and untouchable. Oh, and pushy. What did all that mean? I turned away from him suddenly afraid that, if I tried to explain, he might almost get it all. Afraid he’d listen. Afraid he wouldn’t listen.

  It was a long drive home. A very, very long drive home.

  Chapter 19

  There was a rap-rap-rapping at my window that sounded suspiciously like pebbles being tossed at it.

  I rolled over, ignoring them because I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Even Dream Me knew that I should be avoiding boys at all costs right now. I was obviously even more raw after therapy and accidentally becoming brain-dead…oh, and baring my soul to soulless boy.

  The pebbles came again and then my name.

  I wondered if Dream Boy would serenade me.

  Twirledtweetertwirled—I’m downstairs

  Twirledtweetertwirled—Come down

  Ok, so not Dream Boy.

  I thought about it. I read the texts over and over, the light from my cell feeling absurdly bright to my sleep-fogged eyes.

  I watched it another moment,
considering what could perhaps be the stupidest decision I could make.

  Twirledtweetertwirled—Please?

  I’ll admit it. It was the “please” that got me.

  I pulled on sweats—stopped to add a bra—and a baseball hat, then avoided anything reflective, and snuck downstairs to the sliding glass door in the kitchen.

  Chris stood in the backyard tossing a pebble in the air and catching it while watching my bedroom window.

  We will not discuss how Chris Kent knew which room is mine. It must be teen-girl-bedroom-radar.

  Scary thought.

  I watched him, embarrassed to see him. Embarrassed he could see me in more ways than I wanted him to. And it was my own fault for laying it all out earlier that night.

  Knowing it was best to get it over with, I pushed the door open just enough to squeeze through and pulled it shut behind me. My mom used to sleep like she'd been tranqued. I was reaaaalllllllly hoping she’d re-developed that habit since I got back from camp.

  “Hey.” I wasn’t sure what to say after that since I had no idea what he was doing there.

  “Hey.”

  We stood there, just looking at one another. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I was wondering how this guy—this mind-numbingly gorgeous guy—had somehow become a friend. Not just because we agreed to it, but because we’d fallen into it. Into something just slightly more than co-tutors, more than acquaintances.

  But something far less than sure of one another.

  I was glad for the darkness because I was pretty sure my skin was burning a streak of red across my cheeks.

  My heart stopped the moment I finally guessed why he was here. That friendship—the one I suddenly realized was important—he was going to end it. He was going to say dealing with me wasn’t worth getting his grades up. That it was time for plan b…or in his case Plan B.

  When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I asked, “What’s up?”

  He lifted his head to study me before climbing the three steps to the deck. When he spoke, his voice was a church-whisper, quiet and reverent.

  “Could we go to the bridge?” He sounded worried. “Again?”

  I froze. I mean, I didn't know what to do. I thought about the bridge and the peace it brought me. How it seemed to bring him something too. How the darkness there had let me ask a question I wish I hadn’t. How it had let him answer it…probably when he wished he hadn’t.

  My heart dropped into my gut and my chest shrunk, squeezing my lungs tighter than a hug.

  He was going to take back the nice things and add in some hard ones. Of course he’d tell me I couldn’t compare to Amy. That what he saw when he looked at me was a freak.

  Then I’d have to drive him home.

  Crap.

  “Rach?”

  He’d never said that. My name like that. Like we really were friends.

  What was I supposed to do? “Sure.”

  I have no idea what I was thinking, but I reached out and took his hand, pulling him off the porch and around the side of the house. As soon as we were clear of the windows, I dropped it—yeah, horrified is a good word for situations like this.

  At my car, I reached under the back passenger wheel well and pulled out the magnetic box with the spare key. Chris was already opening his door and climbing in.

  I let the car roll down the short driveway and a bit down the street before starting it…the joys of driving a stick.

  The ride was silent, just like before. Chris held the gate open for me to crawl through again and then walked us both out to the center of the bridge.

  There was a chill to the air. For the first time I could see my breath, and a fine mist was drifting up off the water. I zipped my pink North Face fleece up and stuck my hands in my pockets.

  This time, I lowered myself to the ground, settled against the railing, and watched him pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Occasionally, I’d see his silhouette stop and run its hand through his hair. But, with the waning moon and the overcast night, the darkness cloaked us again. It was like the movie theater before the previews. Dark and quiet. You had a vague idea of who was going to do what, but really, anything could happen.

  He finally stopped a few feet from me. I could tell by the tilt of his head that he’d moved to look down toward me. With the dim light of the moon showing through scrapes in the clouds, I knew he saw far more than I did.

  “My mom kicked my dad out.”

  Well, that was not what I expected. I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around them, letting my chin drop to my knees. Waiting. Listening.

  “He’s never been around a lot.”

  I rummaged through my mind for what I could remember of Chris’s dad. The only thing I could think of was how pissed Amy used to get at him. She’d point him out with the anger only a girl who’s had a crush on you for years could.

  Mr. Kent would be stalking the edge of the field, shouting at Chris. Shouting at Coach. Shouting at the refs. Chris couldn’t come off the field without his dad grabbing the scruff of his neck like a puppy who’d peed on the rug and forcing him to listen before Coach got to him.

  His dad was obviously around for games. And I’m guessing any other competitive moments Chris was involved in.

  “The Acura is my mom’s car, but she’s let me drive it the last couple years. She does freelance ad stuff from home and can walk to downtown.” His head tilted back and sighed a sad sound I hadn’t heard from him before. “But then, when we had that flooding a few weeks ago?”

  I nodded before I realized he wasn’t really looking at me.

  “Yeah.” I mean, who could forget having to sleep in the school gymnasium with half the town for two nights.

  “Yeah,” he echoed back and started pacing again. “I was hanging out with the guys. I just expected my dad to get her on the way there. But the longer I waited, the more worried I got. All the circuits were crazy and I couldn’t get through. Eventually my mom showed up with the fire department. And my dad showed up with his mistress.”

  The pacing stopped for a moment. Yeah, if that was real life, no wonder all the soap operas were getting canceled. It was nuts. Whose dad does that?

  Chris gave a half-laugh. “Ironic that neither of the women in his life had a car. That’s why I leave the Acura at the house now. She feels better with it there.”

  Oh my God.

  I guess part of me remembers the whispers and argument going on in the Kent corner. But how was a girl supposed to notice that when so much drama was going on around her—and in her?

  “It only got worse. That woman wasn’t the only one,” he continued. “Apparently, she wasn’t even the only one right then. My mom always drank. But after that it became pretty much non-stop instead of just the bingeing.”

  Chris turned and crossed the narrow bridge to the far railing. He braced his hands and leaned out over the water. His voice came back muffled and low.

  “I’m just like my dad, Rachel.”

  The water below us lapped softly against the bridge’s pylons and a bird chirped off to the side, silencing the peeper frogs for a short moment.

  And I sat wondering what the hell I was supposed to say to that?

  He turned toward me, his back against the rail. “That’s why I’m the last guy you should be asking for help. The last guy who should be out here trying to tell you you’re pretty and everything. The last guy you should be out here with, period.”

  “You’re not like your dad.” He couldn’t be. I refused to believe he was.

  He rolled his head back, bracing it against the side of a low wooden beam. “What if I can’t tell you everyone I’ve had sex with?”

  My stomach rolled. Two weeks ago this wouldn’t have bothered me—it wouldn’t have even surprised me. Now? Now it was making me sick.

  “What if there’ve been so many girls that I couldn’t name them all?”

  I wanted to cover my ears, block out his words. Make him the guy he’d been last night again.
/>   “I’m sure that’s not true.” I forced a laugh, trying to lighten up this horrible night. “I mean, how many girls could you have slept with in, like, a year?”

  He straightened, and even in the dark I could tell he was looking me straight in the eye.

  “Three.”

  I sighed inside. I might have even sighed aloud. Granted, a place inside me I was just beginning to admit was there hated hearing he’d been with anyone, but three wasn’t anywhere near where I thought it would be.

  “See? Three isn’t that bad.”

  “No, Rach.” He was still looking straight on. Forcing me to look back when I would have dropped my gaze. “How many girls could I have slept with in the last three years?”

  I was going to be sick. My stomach couldn’t share a spot with my heart and not want to throw everything up. I struggled to my feet, my hands fighting not to fist at my side.

  “What the hell were you doing sleeping around at fourteen? God, fourteen, right?”

  His gaze finally dropped. “Yeah, fourteen. Barely.”

  “Well?” I demanded as if this were something I had a right to know. As if he owed me an explanation.

  He slid down the railing and braced his back against it.

  “I made varsity freshman year. No one had done that before. And I was starting in home games. My dad was pushing. All the time. I felt like nothing was good enough. I mean, how much better could I get? But he wanted to know why I wasn’t starting in all the games. And high school was harder, you know?”

  I nodded even though he wasn’t looking at me. High school had been harder. Just being there.

  “I’d had this huge fight with my dad that day after a game. Then I’d gone with the guys to this party. I was the only freshman. And there was this girl. She was a senior and I was at this party…”

  I think I did raise my hands to my ears then, but he kept going.

  “I may have drank something. I don’t remember. Or maybe she put something in my drink. I don’t know. The next day my head…And then I was in this room. Jesus, I’m not even sure whose house it was, and she was tugging at my clothes and she had taken off everything but her bra and panties and I don’t know…I forgot.”