The Girl I Was Before

by Ginger Scott

  I smile and go right back to my beer, drinking the rest of it down. I feel that first one—thank god. I head to the keg, telling Cass I’ll be right back, but I think about her words while I wait in line. The fact that she thinks I could win an election like that feels nice.

  “So hot,” I hear a voice whisper behind me. I glance over my shoulder, not fully looking, to see a guy standing close with his friend.

  “I know, I mean…damn,” his friend says. I smile, but keep my concentration on my glass and the line ahead. Cass always hates it when guys talk about her, or any woman. She says it’s demeaning. But damn it feels nice to be noticed. It’s always made me feel sexy, even if it’s a chauvinist move, and I think tonight, I needed to feel a little sexy.

  When I finish filling my cup, I flip my hair over my shoulder and turn to face my fans, my eyes hazed and my lips barely smiling, just enough to let them know I heard them. But I look just in time to see one of the guys making the motion of a blowjob, and the other one laughing. They see me catch them, and don’t even try to hide what they were doing.

  “Hey,” the tallest one says, taking a step forward, getting close enough that I can smell exactly how many beers he’s had tonight. He’s taller than me, even in my heels, and when he looks down on me, I actually feel a little trapped. “You wanna head to one of the bedrooms and make a video?”

  “Fuck off,” I say, shoving past him.

  Well that answers that question. By morning, the inside source should pretty much be uncovered and discredited—I will be done. Funny how short my fantasy about running for student government lasted. It survived a five-minute beer line before burning up in scandal-ridden flames.

  I spot Cass’s back in the crowd and am thankful for my sister’s constant ponytail. I’m weaving through bodies, when I feel a guy run his hand over my ass, his finger hooking in the pocket of my jeans.

  “Okay, what the fu—” I stop when I come eye to eye with Chandra.

  “You never could resist letting a guy feel you up,” she says.

  There are a lot of words that run through my mind—none of them kind. I should use them. She deserves them. But I don’t want to stoop to her level, to argue about shit that doesn’t matter to anyone but her and me here, in front of people. So I don’t say anything at all.

  “Your little game—you and your sister? You’ll never win. Our lawyers are already picking apart that story,” she says. I notice the flex in her jaw while she waits for a response. She’s pissed, but she’s also nervous. Her lawyers aren’t picking apart anything.

  “My sister couldn’t care less about you,” I say, wanting to make it clear that Cass is no part of this war. She’s only a casualty to our warfare, an innocent bystander that I somehow keep hurting.

  “How about that boyfriend of yours? Is he here? Abandoning my niece so he can spend time with a slut like you?” The fact that she brings him up, and so quickly, strikes me. I don’t answer her immediately, taking a step away, working my tongue in my cheek, considering her question.

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” I say, and she rolls her eyes. I can tell by the way she swallows, though—by the way she keeps her gaze at the crowd of people near us—whatever she needs would be easier to get if Houston were my boyfriend.

  Leah.

  She’s going to use Leah.

  “In fact,” I say, hooking her. She’s looking at me again, waiting. I’m not giving her any weapons. I’ve gotten smarter than that. “He overheard me talking to the paper. He was pissed that I talked to them. Not because he cares about you, but he said Leah wouldn’t want to see those rumors spread around about her aunt. He told me to move out.”

  She leaves her eyes on mine, waiting for me to crack. I won’t though. I’m good at lying.

  “Well that sucks for you, doesn’t it?” she finally says. I chuckle, because her response is pathetic.

  “Yeah, Cee Cee,” I say, loving the way she winces when I use her family name. “Sucks for me.”

  I step away, leaving her alone in a crowd that eventually swallows her up and quits caring she’s here. I didn’t ask about how she’s here, if she’s out on bail, or if anyone ever brought her in for anything. It’s not like she was completely caught with possession, and she’s been dealing with the rumor of her drug abuse for months thanks to me. But things are getting harder for her. I like that they are. I can see she’s feeling the pinch.

  The closer I get to Cass and Rowe, the more I also realize that I’ve made a choice, just like Joyce wanted. I’m moving out—it’s going to be ugly, because Houston is going to think it’s because of him. And while it’s really because of Leah, it’s not because I’m afraid to love that little girl and be a part of her life. It’s quite the opposite, really.

  I’m leaving because Leah deserves that money. And as long as I stay in that house, Chandra will threaten to run to daddy—to make it all go away, because of me.

  Stay or go. Either way, Joyce was right.

  I. Am. Devastated.

  Chapter 16

  Paige

  He waited up. I knew he would. I think that’s why I stayed out until now. It’s two in the morning. My feet can barely carry me. I stopped drinking around midnight, so now my head hurts. All I want in the world is to lie down.

  But I can’t. Because I have to walk into this house and tell the only guy whose ever made me feel cherished that I have to move out. I have to convince him that it’s for the best, and that it’s what I really want. I have to lie better than I’ve ever lied in my entire life.

  I told Cass it was just too uncomfortable living here. I also told her I missed her and wanted to spend the rest of the year living together, like we were supposed to. Most of what I said was true. A lot of it wasn’t though.

  Truth is, I’m almost too comfortable living here. When I think of home, this is where I want to be. But not if it costs Leah a future paved with opportunity—not if it causes pain for Houston. I can’t bring that on their house. Joyce wouldn’t want me to.

  “I was worried,” he says, his voice groggy from the other side of the sofa as I push open the door. The lights are off. He’s been waiting for me, in the dark.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I pull out my phone to check if I missed any messages, but he didn’t text. He’s standing close to me when I look up; just not close enough to touch. That’s good. This will be easier if he doesn’t touch me.

  “I didn’t text. I figured you wouldn’t see it until now anyhow,” he says, his grin that lopsided one he wears when he’s unsure of himself. He used to wear it a lot for me, in the beginning.

  “I’m moving out,” I say. I practiced this all the way home. I took a cab, but made it drop me off a block away so I had time to talk to myself as I walked down the street. Every time I practiced, this was always the best plan—to say it, and to say it fast.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asks, stepping closer. I step back once. He stops, and his eyes—oh god, they are so sad right now.

  “Houston, I don’t know what’s going to happen, with the video. But I need to be able to focus on that, when the shit hits the fan,” I say. I wish my head didn’t hurt. I need to be on my game right now, and I’m not. My words are thin—this isn’t enough. I’m not saying enough. Everything hurts.

  My heart…it hurts.

  “Let me help,” he says. He always has an answer for every worry.

  I close my eyes, but keep my hands up, guarding myself. I can’t let him touch me. I’ll never be able to leave if he touches me.

  “That’s sweet, Houston. But I think maybe we rushed into things a little. This…living here—it’s going to distract me. And it’s not your fault. ” I’m just saying words, trying to string something brave together.

  “I love you, Paige,” he says. The sound of his voice reaches into my chest and squeezes, so hard I think I might fall if I tried to walk. Joyce’s words play on repeat through my head, as does the flash of evil on Chandra’s face. If I stay here, can I promise
I feel the same? And is it worth his daughter losing everything?

  “No,” I shake my head. “You don’t, Houston. We were both…caught up.”

  He rushes me when I’m weak, his hands finding my face, his thumbs stroking my cheek, his eyes penetrating mine. I’m locked in his hold, held hostage by his stare, and I need to pass this test. If I fail, he won’t let me go—and then I’ll ruin them all.

  “Don’t run, Paige. And don’t lie—not to me. I love you, and you know I love you. You feel it. You feel it right here,” he says, pressing my palm flat against my chest, his hand over mine, my heart beating through us both. “And you love me too.”

  “I don’t,” I say quickly. That’s my plan. Say the words that hurt quickly.

  “Bullshit,” he says, his voice growing louder. He presses his lips to mine, his tongue working its way through my tight lips, which ultimately submit and betray me. His kiss feels amazing. It feels like home. And I have to stop it—now!

  With a hard push, I break free from his hold and step away until my back is flush to the door I just walked through. Houston starts to step toward me again, but I hold up my hand.

  “Don’t, Houston. Please,” I say. My voice is forceful, but my emotions are in check. I won’t cry, even though everything inside me hurts and is begging to pound on his chest, to commit treason against all of those things I know I’m supposed to do. I can’t stay here; I can’t be with Houston just because I want to. That…it isn’t enough. I promised Joyce I wouldn’t string him along if I couldn’t love him as much as he loves me.

  I can’t. And even if I could—the Campbells would find out, and take away Leah’s trust.

  “Say it,” he says. He’s crying now. As dark as it is, I don’t need to see his eyes to know. I hear it—his voice is ragged, and desperate. “Say it, Paige. Say you don’t love me. Make me believe it.”

  “I’m sorry, Houston. But I don’t love you,” I say. I don’t cry. I don’t break. My words are calm and even, despite the absolute hell I’m living inside. I may as well have stabbed him in the heart with my words. He takes a step back, his face flinching in shock, and I know that I’ve sold it. He believes me.

  A full minute passes—time filled with nothing but the way Houston is looking at me right now. I stand in place, my arms folded across my body, my eyes open and on his. He leans back against the counter, stretching his arms to either side, his hands gripping the edge as he stares into me. He’s waiting for me to break, for both of us to wake up, and for this not to be real.

  That is never going to happen.

  “Don’t…do…this,” he whispers. I don’t answer. Standing here, looking at him. Not being able to go to him—to press my cheek against his chest and feel his arms wrap around me—it’s torture.

  More time passes. Minutes. All we’re doing is standing here in the dark, breathing. But if feels like we’re dying.

  “I’ll help you in the morning,” he says finally, his voice showing some resolve to the heartbreak I’ve just pummeled him with. I remind myself how much worse it would have been if I stayed.

  “You don’t have to. Nate will help,” I say. Houston looks to the side.

  “I can’t even help you move out,” he says, a sad smile crawling into place as he shakes his head.

  “It would be better if you didn’t,” I say. What I mean is it would be better for me.

  “Leah is going to be…” he doesn’t finish, and I’m glad he doesn’t. That was the only part of my plan that I couldn’t find a way to do quickly. Nothing with Leah could be fast.

  “I’ll leave something for her,” I say, grasping a little now. I breathe slowly, trying to hide it from him. “I’ll write her a letter. And I’ll leave her a present.”

  He smiles once, his gaze still off to the side, but it fades quickly.

  “Okay,” he relents. I know there’s a chance he won’t give it to her. He may hate me by the time this night is over. That would be better than what I think he’s feeling now.

  I wish I could hate him. That would make this easier, too.

  “I’ll be out by the time you get home from work,” I say, and he lets out a breath of a laugh. He still won’t look at me, and that hurts the most.

  “You can leave everything on the counter. You know, keys and stuff. And don’t worry about the lease, or paying for this month,” he says, his eyes coming to mine finally, but only for a second.

  I wait as he pushes off from the counter, my arms squeezing my body tightly, anticipating his approach again. But he stops after a step or two, his hands finding a home in his pockets, his body exhausted, his heart—broken.

  “As bad as this feels,” he says, lifting his eyes up from the ground to mine in a slow drag that cuts me in half, “I wouldn’t take it back. Not any of it. Not even this. For a minute there—I know you loved me. Even if you don’t now…I know you did.”

  His eyes give me one last challenge. I hold strong, and after a few painful seconds, he turns and climbs the stairs, switching off the lights on his way and closing his door behind him. I’m left alone, in the dark—so much of right now feels like the way my life began in this house. Only this time, I let myself cry.

  Houston

  Her things are gone.

  I knew they would be. I’ve learned never to doubt her. I left before she woke up. I brought my mom up to speed over breakfast, letting her know things didn’t work out, that Paige was moving out. I think my mom could tell I wasn’t in the mood to elaborate; she didn’t ask questions. My mom promised to have Leah out of the house for the day, too.

  Paige left a gift behind for my daughter. I read the letter. It was…perfect.

  Miss Leah,

  I had to move out because my sister was sad not living with me. You know how you said your dad was good at making your bad dreams go away? Well, I do that for my sister. And she does that for me. We really need each other. But I wanted to make sure I left something behind for you, since you are the princess of the house. I hope you will enjoy what’s in this box.

  Love,

  Paige

  It’s that L word that mesmerizes me. She wrote it here, so easily. I don’t open the box. It wouldn’t be right. Instead, I move the gift and letter to Leah’s room, setting it all in the center of her bed.

  My mom let her come to her book club night. There’s another little girl at the house that’s hosting; she’s a year older. Leah will be so happy with a friend. I hope what’s in the box will help her get over Paige not being here when she comes home.

  I dump out the things in my backpack, knowing I have Spanish tomorrow. Things are just starting to get challenging in that class. I didn’t even get to take advantage of Paige’s tutoring. I have a feeling I won’t make it through this second semester.

  I sit at the table, the house completely quiet, and slide my things out in front of me. Paige’s handwriting is on a few note cards I’ve saved from my first semester; I pull them into my lap, looking at her handwriting. The things I’m left with are pitiful. I stack the few small notecards and tuck them in a side pocket on my bag. I won’t throw them away.

  After about an hour of trying to study for my Spanish quiz, I give up. I am no more prepared than I was when I first cracked the book open. I pull out my phone, scroll through my contacts, and press to dial Casey.

  “What up, fool?” he answers. I hear Eli in the background. It’s a Sunday night—they’re playing video games.

  “Not much. Paige is moving out,” I say, rubbing my eyes. They’re so tired. I’m tired. I lay in bed last night and stared at my ceiling for five hours until I had an excuse to get up and leave the house.

  “Dude, come over. We’re playing Madden. Madden makes everything better,” Casey says.

  “I don’t really feel like hanging out with you and Eli and playing video games, Case,” I say, leaning back in my chair, propping a foot on the table.

  “Cool, and bring us sandwiches,” he says, hanging up.

  I smirk becaus
e I know he heard me. I’ll go even though I don’t want to, and he knew I would. And I’ll probably have a better time there than here. Casey is good like that.

  After a quick pass through our kitchen, I decide I’ll have to stop by work because we’re out of everything. I catch a glimpse of the orange cooler, still sitting on the counter in the corner. I grab it on my way out the door. Stopping by the metal trashcan by the curb. I toss it in, then hop in my car to go to the store and make my best friend a sandwich.

  By the time I get to Casey’s, he and Eli have moved on from video games to watching one of those reality shows on MTV. I toss him his sandwich and put three more on the table in front of us. Casey looks up at me, holding up four fingers.

  “I know what you like, but I wasn’t sure what Eli liked. I made one of each,” I say, letting my body flop into the yellow easy chair that I helped Casey move in when he found it on the side of the road. It’s quite possibly the most disgusting chair in the world. It’s also the most comfortable.

  “Sweet,” Casey says, leaning forward and picking up a second sandwich.

  “Dude, I made one the way you like it,” I say as he unwraps both sandwiches in his lap.

  “Every sandwich you make is the way I like it. And I’m fucking hungry, yo. I’m eating two,” he says, taking a bite of the roast beef first, then wiping the mustard from his mouth along his sleeve.

  “You’re a goddamned animal, and it’s more like you’re eating for two,” I say. He laughs with his mouth full, the yellow mustard and lettuce dangling from his lips, then flips me off, and continues to munch on his sandwich.

  “Thanks, Houston,” Eli says, leaning forward and picking up the remaining two sandwiches. He opens one a little then looks up at me.

  “That one’s ham, the other one’s turkey,” I say.

  “Cool,” he says. He picks the ham. I grab the turkey from the table, but I don’t unwrap it. I’m not even close to hungry. We’re watching a guy on TV try to put out a fire on his pants. Casey finds it hysterical.