The Girl I Was Before

by Ginger Scott

  “I think she’d love it. You can show her when she gets home from school tonight,” I say, Leah’s mouth returning to the smile she was wearing when she first tried to walk down the steps.

  “What if we go with the sandals today, though—for safety?” my mom asks, holding her hand out for Leah’s foot. She takes each shoe off, rolling the socks in her hands. Leah nods a concession, and my mom walks her back upstairs to find her shoes, but she glances at me over her shoulder, that same concerned line of her lips.

  When they come back downstairs, I pick Leah up, propping her at my side, and kissing her cheeks, marveling at her ability to remind me of others—it’s strange looking at her and seeing Beth and Paige.

  After she and my mom leave, I pack my bag for class, and take off for my shift at the store. My classes are all late in the afternoon this semester. I’m only taking two, because one is an intense programming section, the other…Spanish. And even taking two is going to make my work schedule a challenge. There won’t be time to stop by the house often—no time to run into Paige.

  When I get to the store, I help Chuck unload a few boxes in the back from the late-night deliveries, and he notices when I protect my hand.

  “That from the other day?” he asks, remembering my run-in with Carson. Maybe not one of my finest moments, but damn, it felt good to put that guy in his place.

  “No, this…was a different incident,” I say, turning, because I don’t want to look him in the eye. This would have been a good time to lie. But I’m so bad at lying, I couldn’t think of anything quickly enough.

  “Is this becoming a pattern, Houston?” he asks from behind me as we walk through the storage racks. I don’t like the idea of Chuck thinking I’m a problem. I also don’t like him parenting me. He’s done it, on occasion—given me fatherly advice. I think he does it because he knows mine isn’t around to give it. But I don’t want to hear it from someone else. I’d rather go without.

  “No, sir,” I say. “This time there was a girl who was being harassed. I’d hope that asshole’s pattern is broken, so no need for mine.” I let my eyes go to his for a second, just so he sees how serious I am. He nods, and pats me on the back once as he heads inside.

  “Chivalry is always okay in my book,” he says.

  I smile thinking of how he treats Sheila. I catch them sometimes, in those small moments. The way she’ll let her hand run along his arm, squeezing his hand. Or the way he spins her in his arms to the music humming throughout the store—just to dance with her for no reason at all. It’s a far cry from the way my grandpa used to call my grandmother “useless” and “dumb” in front of others, or the way he used to tell my mom she would have gotten married sooner, or could have had a better husband, if she weren’t so fat. My mom never talks about it—the emotional abuse—but I know it’s left scars on her. I knew it was wrong when I was a kid, I only wish I were brave enough when my grandparents were alive to tell my grandpa how wrong he was—about everything.

  “Dude, burrito me!” Casey yells as he walks in through the side door. Chuck yells at him for coming in through the employee entrance, and Casey grabs the badge from my shirt, pinning it to himself. “That better?” he teases. Chuck grumbles something and heads into his office. I smack my hand across my friend’s chest, knocking the wind from him a little.

  “Why do you have to be like that to him?” I say, holding my hand out for my badge.

  “He doesn’t like me. I don’t know why?” Casey says, handing it to me.

  “Yeah, I wonder,” I mutter. I move to my usual duties, getting the deli ready, then spend a few minutes on my friend’s breakfast. I’m rolling the tortilla when he notices my hand.

  “What happened to your knuckles, bro?” he asks. I roll my hand over, and wiggle my fingers, buying myself time. Still unable to come up with a good lie, I opt for nothing instead, and shrug as I finish his burrito.

  When Casey takes it from me, he holds my gaze for a second, quirking a brow up in suspicion. “That’s bullshit,” he points at me, then takes a bite of his food. “And you’ll tell me eventually.”

  Maybe I will. Or maybe there’s nothing to tell, because on my short drive here, I decided that finding any reason not to run into Paige at the house—not to be alone with her—was a good move. I’m thinking about her too much, and Leah’s only been with her for a day and she’s already attached. There’s no stopping that, but I need to remember the arrangement. Paige lives with us, and she and Leah can be friends. And while I’m attracted to her, doing anything about it would open a Pandora’s box.

  “So, hey,” Casey says, walking around to the other side of the counter to stand next to me. I make a face at him, but he shrugs me off with a whatever. Chuck hates it when he does this too; I look over to his office. The door’s closed, so I indulge my friend, hoping he’ll hurry up with whatever he’s all excited to show me on his phone.

  “The real reason I came this morning,” he says, and I laugh, folding up the paper from his burrito and tossing it in the trash. “Dude, yeah. The burrito was good. And that’s usually the reason. But Eli got this from a friend last night at some party and I had to show you. I’m…I’m not going to tell you, because I can’t wait to see your face when you realize.”

  He starts playing some video, and the moaning sounds are loud. I slap his hand away and look back over to Chuck’s office, the door still closed. “Case, what the fuck?” I say, as he’s fumbling with his phone, pushing buttons on the side to mute it.

  “Sorry, I had it up loud last time. Come on dude, I turned it down. Just watch. Trust me!” he says, holding the phone out again.

  I stare at him for a few seconds before I realize this is a battle I’m not going to win, and the only way through this is to watch this damn video. I take the phone back from him and push the play icon. The quality isn’t great, and the picture is pretty grainy. I can tell it’s two people having sex on some crappy dorm-room bed, and it looks like the entire thing was filmed from a laptop, the view of some chick’s bare back and a dude’s hairy legs. I watch for about fifteen seconds, getting the drift, not really seeing what the big deal is—college porn happens at McConnell all the time. I think there are even a few guys in the broadcast school who use the equipment lab for a side business.

  “Dude, I get it—a porn. Whatever,” I say, handing the phone back, but Casey pushes it to me again.

  “Just. Watch,” he says, the bend in his lips painting a sinister smirk that hits me the wrong way. I look back at the screen a second later, and then holy fucking hell!

  “Wait a minute! Is that…” I say, pulling the screen closer to my face, pausing it and taking the full frame in. It’s only from her side—so far—but there’s no disputing that’s Paige on the screen. Those are her eyes. Her lips. Her hair. Her breasts. There isn’t much left to discover.

  “Where did you get this?” I ask, dragging the video forward and rewinding a few times, wanting to get an idea of the full extent of what this is—what she’s done.

  “Right? I knew that would get you! Pretty fuckin’ hot, right?” Casey says, leaning over to look with me. I shut the phone off and clutch it in my hands, feeling my chest constrict and my throat burn with anger.

  “Where. Did. You. Get this?” I ask through gritted teeth. Casey’s brow pinches and he pauses before parting his lips to speak. He waits another breath, examining me.

  “I told you, Eli got it from some dude at a party,” he says.

  I shut my eyes, more pieces of Paige’s puzzle pulling together—the guys harassing her, the sounds they were making, her running away. What the hell did she do? I shove Casey’s phone in my pocket, and go back to my work, this time working a little faster, with a little more force to every movement. I can’t tell if I’m mad for Paige or at her.

  “Dickhead, give me my phone,” he says, and I point my finger at him, my lips a hard line, trying to hold back saying things I’d regret.

  “I’ll give it back to you later,” I
say.

  “What, wanna go home and watch it? I can just text it to you, ya know,” he says, and I point at him again, this time pushing my finger into his chest hard enough to make his breath falter.

  “What I want is to find out exactly what the hell this is, if Paige knows about it, and if there are…I don’t know…more?” I stop working again, pulling my gloves from my hands and tossing them on the counter, flipping the lids of the various food cases closed and finally leaning back against the opposite counter as I push my fingers deep into my temples. “Fuck, man? What if Leah sees this shit? What the hell is this?”

  The evil grin that was on Casey’s face a minute ago is now replaced with wide eyes and understanding. Yeah, Leah, asshole!

  “Dude, how is she ever going to see this?” he says, laughing nervously and pointing to my pocket where his phone is still buried.

  “I don’t know, man. I…I don’t know,” I say, running my hand through my hair once. “But…if she does…shit! Case, she barely knows her and already she thinks Paige is her best friend. She dressed like her today—put on heels and everything.”

  “I’m sorry man,” Casey says quietly. I think he regrets letting me know. I regret knowing. But a surprise would have been worse. This…this was a surprise. But at least finding out this way, I feel like maybe I can do some damage control? All I know is—I need to talk to Paige before I jump to any conclusions.

  “Let me just have your phone for the afternoon. I don’t want to be sending this thing around places. Not until I know exactly what it is, okay?” I say. I feel the burn of the bruise on my hand as I ask, and I’m reminded of my brawl in her honor. I feel a little foolish about it now. And I also feel really fucking sad.

  Paige

  It doesn’t matter how many people have seen it. Now that I know it’s out there—it’s really out there—I’m expecting everyone to know. In my head, this low-grade video of me is a blockbuster. I walk back from my morning classes quickly, still hearing those guys from last night in my head.

  Nobody is around. But I imagine them there anyway. The sounds in my head carry me all the way through the front door of Houston’s house—my house. It feels so temporary, not at all like home. Not that the Delta House ever felt like home, I suppose. The only place that ever really felt like home—other than my real home—was the tiny dorm space I shared with my sister and Rowe for a month.

  I never should have left.

  All I want is to run upstairs and hide, to search for myself more on the Internet, just like I did all night instead of sleeping. Maybe I’ll sleep. Maybe, if I shut my eyes here, in this house, I won’t hear them taunting me.

  “We need to talk,” Houston says, stepping out of his room across the hall from me. He startles me, and my bag slips from my shoulder, dropping at my feet and spilling my books on the floor. I kneel down to pick them up, but Houston beats me, collecting my biology and algebra books in his hands then reaching for my bag. His hand covers mine, and I know I’m trembling and he can feel it.

  “Just…just give them to me,” I say, not looking at him, jerking the bag away and reaching for my books. I glance up and his brow is pinched. I know he thinks I’m trembling because of him. But I’m not. I’m nervous lately because of everyone. And I fucking hate it.

  “Look, this is awkward, and I was ready to confront you about this about an hour ago, but then I came home and have been waiting, and now I’m not really as mad as I was before, maybe just confused. Just…just tell me the truth. I need to know.” He’s rambling, but he lets just enough escape, his words giving me faint clues that point me in the right direction. My chest constricts, and breathing…it gets harder. “Is this…you?”

  When he hands the phone to me, a video displayed on the screen, paused in a close-up of my face, I feel everything inside of me ignite and then die all at once. Even with the rumors, I still hadn’t seen it for myself. I could pretend it wasn’t real then, pretend that it was all just words being passed around, without any visual proof.

  What Houston is handing me now, though—that begs to differ. What he’s handing me is real. It’s also a nightmare, a walking, digital nightmare, wrapped up and sent to me with the hope of taking me out of the equation.

  I pull the phone into my palms, stepping back a few strides until my back hits the wall. I need that wall there, to support me. I hover my finger over the screen, bringing myself to tap once. I hear the sounds—like the evil echoes that have been replaying in my head since last night—and I stop it instantly. My eyes close.

  “Paige?” Houston’s voice oozes disappointment. I won’t look at him.

  “Houston,” I respond, my eyes flickering open, but remaining focused on my feet, as well as on the phone in my hands. My voice comes out even. I’m working hard to make it so. My heart is beating wildly, hurting me from the inside. I think I may be sick.

  “No, you don’t get to do that,” he says, his indignation growing, stirring my emotions, making everything that hurts inside me right now feel messier.

  “Get to do what? Be angry? Because…ha!” I laugh once, the sound coming out in a punctuated puff of air, louder than I anticipated, and I glance at Leah’s door. It’s open, as is Houston’s mom’s. We’re alone, which means I can be as loud as I want. Like hell am I going to be the one wrong here.

  “Paige!” he says in a loud whisper, his hands flying to his forehead, pushing through his damned perfect hair, his eyes wide. “How could you do something like this?”

  “You think…I’m…I’m sorry…you think I purposely did this?” I laugh again.

  “I don’t know what to think. All I know is those guys the other night; that was about this, wasn’t it? And I…goddamnit Paige, I defended you against them. But they were…” his voice grows weak before he finishes that sentence, so I step in and finish it for him.

  “They were what, Houston? They were…right? Is that what you meant to say?” I push off from the wall, my hands folded in front of me. I turn and kick my bag of books into my room, so I can close the door on him as soon as I want to and not have to come back out for anything.

  “Well they weren’t exactly wrong, Paige,” he sighs, his hand rubbing at his neck. I want to punch him. The longer he looks at me, like that—like I did something wrong—the more blood pumps through my arms and fingers and neck and legs. Every limb, every muscle feels strong. Houston is twice my size, but with the energy I feel right now, I’m confidant I would kill him if I tried.

  “Watch it,” I seethe, pointing a finger at him, my eyes narrowing. To think there were times when I actually let myself indulge in the thought of kissing him—of crossing the line with him, of making an exception and breaking my rules about dating boys who can only get me somewhere. “You don’t get to judge me,” I say, my voice picking up strength with every word, every sentence. “And that video…this video?” I hold the phone up. He reaches for it, but I shake my head no, pushing the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Uh, no. I’m taking this copy, and you can have the phone back when I’ve erased it.”

  “It’s not my phone,” he grumbles.

  “Well then, you shouldn’t care how long I keep it,” I say, folding my arms again over my chest. I can feel the steady drumming against my skin, my heartbeat now in a cadence, a pissed-off, ready-to-slay-someone cadence. “This video is out there to hurt me. I didn’t make it. At least not knowingly. And the fact that you ever thought I would…means I was way wrong about the kind of guy I thought you were.”

  “What, the kind of guy who wants to make sure he didn’t move a porn star in with his four-year-old daughter? That guy’s not good enough for you?” he laughs. His arms are outstretched, and now his arrogance is fueling me. I take one more step backward in the direction of my room—I’m a foot away from closing the door on him and locking him out. My mouth is watering, and my lips are tingling. This sensation, it’s not the kind you get when you want to be kissed. It’s the kind you get when you want to say something hurtfu
l. The urge is familiar, and I’m not very good at controlling it.

  We stare at one another, both of us breathing hard and even, like a bull and a fighter in the ring. Then Houston waves a blanket of red, and my instincts take over.

  “How could you be so careless, Paige? So…so stupid?” he asks, his eyes smaller, his gaze locked with my own, his head shaking in disgrace.

  “Says the single dad who knocked up his high-school girlfriend.”

  My words fall out, all at once. They were purposeful. They were meant as an attack. They were meant as a defense. They were meant to destroy, to puncture his heart, and make it bleed—to wreck him where he’s most vulnerable. Houston’s eyes never leave mine, and the shift within them is subtle, yet intense all the same. The green color grows darker, and the hurt washes over everything else.

  “Houston…” I start, my eyes falling closed, my heart no longer beating. The guilt stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

  “Don’t, Paige. Don’t try to make that better. You can’t,” he says, holding a hand up as he walks away. I stand still, watching as his hand reaches his door. He never turns to face me, but he pauses, leaning his head against the wood. “Just slide the phone under my door whenever you’re done.”

  I nod in response, even though he can’t see me. My voice, so strong seconds before, fails me now.

  “Oh, and Orr,” he turns his knob, pushes the door open, and slowly steps inside, his body facing mine again. He looks up from the ground, and the disappointment I thought I saw on his face earlier is nothing compared to the look he’s wearing now. “My last name’s Orr. So is Leah’s.”