I couldn’t say how many times I’d heard that song, but I probably listened to every version Elliott downloaded at least ten times.
After school started back up, he got a little better. He was forced to focus on something else.
Since Christmas, we hadn’t had many “almost-naked” times together, although it seemed like he was able to go further than before. His hands pretty much went wherever they wanted on my body, except my face. When he did touch my face, he was slow to initiate it and very careful to notice any signs of my discomfort.
As far as my roaming hands, I was able to touch his back, under his shirt, whenever I wanted. No matter how intimately he touched me, it still seemed impossible for him to let me touch him in a similar way.
I wasn’t surprised at that, but I was slowly working to change it.
I was, however, surprised at how restrained I could be. It was getting easier to hold back, to not jump on top of him and force the contact.
January seemed to pass crazy-fast. I had to have a check-up with Dr. Dalton. He said that he was proud of how well I was managing my diabetes now. Like I had any other choice.
Valentine’s Day was interesting. It was amazing to work the days leading up to it and see how crazed guys got over buying chocolates and flowers.
When I arrived at Elliott’s house, everyone was gone, with the exception of Wallace and Dr. Dalton. My boyfriend met me at the front door, smiling as he took my hand. We went straight up to his room and for the first time in my life, someone gave me flowers. They were beautiful and I thanked him, but what he gave me next was better.
“I w-was ggggoing to buy you an o-orchid, b-but thought this was fffunctional.”
I smiled at him as he handed me the potted aloe plant. It made me insanely happy that he remembered all the small conversations we’d had.
“Thank you,” I whispered. This was a nice, soft moment and I didn’t want my voice to break it. “I just got you gummy hearts.”
I pulled the package from my back pocket and you would have thought I gave him the best present ever with the smile he wore.
He moved to the bed with the candy and I set the aloe down next to the flowers on his desk. His laptop was closed. My fingers skimmed the top of it and found that it wasn’t warm.
“Did you …” I started to ask as I turned around, but stopped when he shook his head.
“Good,” I responded softly and moved to the bed. As soon as I sat down, he scooted back and folded his legs. I moved back and sat with my legs tucked under me, facing him.
The package of candy crinkled as he opened it. He held it out to me, offering me the first piece. I shook my head and watched as he ate a few.
Jesus, his jaw was nothing short of perfection. How did this guy manage to keep how hot he was a secret? It baffled me how the entire school, with the exception of Megan, had missed that he was the perfect representation of a Greek god.
I looked down and noticed his feet were covered by white socks and I wanted to take them off and look at his perfect toes.
When he looked away from the bag in his hands and locked his eyes on me, I gave him a little smile, which he returned. His was sort of playful and I couldn’t help but study every line of his face. I was incredibly happy that he was doing better.
For at least a week now, I hadn’t seen a religious book out and he hadn’t said anything that sounded Biblical. His smile, coupled with eyes that twinkled, gave me hope that he was much, much better.
It wasn’t the first time, but I wanted us to not have to deal with heavy shit and just have fun together like other kids our age. I hated that his dad fucked him up so much and that his mother did what she did. I hated that whatever happened with his brother hurt him so much that he could barely even say his name.
I hated that he had to deal with my shit at all.
Again, I just wanted to be normal with him.
“Is everyone at the dance?”
Elliott nodded as he twisted the bag to close it and then tossed it up to his pillows.
“I think we should have a super-crazy dance party of our own. You can turn the music up really loud and we’ll jump around like idiots.”
His smile widened and then he moved closer to me. His mouth found mine and he sort of forced me back until I was lying on his bed with him on top of me. He was careful not to put his entire weight on me. I absolutely loved that he felt comfortable doing this. I loved when he took the initiative.
Our lower bodies were pressed together as my legs wrapped around his hips and he buried his face in my neck. I noticed the last time we were like this that he could tolerate small hip movements that created friction, so I rolled my hips and tightened my fingers in his hair. I felt him draw in a deep breath and I continued my actions.
A half-hour later, he was sitting up, struggling to compose himself as I watched. I lost myself for a second there and moved too quickly. Now he was fighting an attack.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded as his breathing returned to normal. After a minute, he turned to me, smiling sheepishly. I sat up and pushed the hair away from his face.
“Come on, I’ll make you dinner.”
I tugged on his hands. I was happy they were healed now. Every once in a while I saw teeth marks, but nothing that tore the skin too badly.
When Elliott didn’t move, I turned back, fearful that my touch had done too much damage. “What?”
“W-w-we already hhhhave dinner plans.”
“We do?”
He nodded.
“Who’s cooking?”
He shrugged. “SSS-SSStephen hhhhired a chef.”
“Really?” I had never heard of hiring a chef for some asinine, made-up holiday like Valentine’s Day.
“Ffffffor hhhim and Robin, b-but we can eat, too.”
“With them?”
He smiled at my lackluster tone. “Up here.”
The details weren’t really as important as the fact that we sat on the floor eating while we listened to music. If I were ever to live with Elliott, we would eat dinner on the floor every night.
His laptop was an arm’s reach away and when he was finished, he set our plates on the desk, carefully moving everything so that nothing accidently touched the dirty dishes. When he was settled back down, I moved to him, lying down and pillowing my head on his extended legs.
His shins weren’t comfortable, but I thought putting my head on his thigh at this point might start another panic attack. Elliott reached for the computer and I had an overwhelming sense of dread that he was going to start playing O Holy Night! again.
“Please don’t play that song.”
He gave me a questioning look.
“I can’t hear it anymore. Seriously, I get why you’re into it and all, but …”
“Mmmmy mmmmom w-would sing it t-to me all year llllong. It w-w-was the only song I ever listened to b-besides other Christmas hymns of p-p-praise.”
I sat up. “What?” I truly didn’t understand.
“W-we were only al-l-llowed to l-listen to mmmusic at Ch-Ch-Christmastime. Mmmmy mmmom sang that song to me w-when she wasn’t s-sssupp-posed to.”
He’d mentioned before that he was kept from music. It still made me angry that he was denied that kind of expression when it was clearly a part of him. I felt bad for her, too. She was obviously so gifted, just like Elliott.
“I’ve b-been r-r-remembering mm-mmmore lately.”
I remained silent. He rarely divulged this kind of stuff and I didn’t want to interrupt him.
“One t-time hhhhhe hhhhheard hhhher.”
“What happened?” I asked.
He turned away. “I-it w-was the l-lesson ffffor the n-night.”
“What does that mean?”
“He p-
p-p-punished her. N-n-no one c-could go to bed until sssshe undersssstood it was w-w-wrong to sing.”
I really didn’t want to ask but I knew that he’d stop talking if I didn’t. “What was her punishment?”
He didn’t answer. “B-b-b-but the next day, she still sang t-to mmmme.”
I smiled at the soft pride in his voice, but realized that he didn’t actually answer my question. “So you got her reddish hair, her musical talent, and her rebellious nature. I like those qualities.”
“Sssshe didn’t sing to J-J-J-J-JJJJJoseph.”
I took his hands in mine and rolled my thumbs over his scarred knuckles. “Why?”
“He t-t-told her t-to stop.”
Elliott never spoke about his brother. It was strange to hear his name. I wanted to understand. “He didn’t like her voice?”
“Hhhhe d-didn’t like hhher b-being p-p-punished. I w-w-was selfish.”
I tried to get him to look at me, but he wouldn’t. “You were selfish because your mom chose to sing to you?”
“I sssshould’ve …”
I wasn’t going to let him think that it was his responsibility as a little boy to save his mother from his asshole father. It was her right to sing to her babies if she wanted to and if Elliott had told her to stop, maybe she would have blown her brains out earlier.
“Joseph should’ve let her do what she wanted. It was probably one of the very few comforting things in her life.”
Elliott shook his head and finally his eyes locked with mine. “J-J-Joseph w-w-was the light of J-Jesus, Sophie.”
I just looked at him for a second, hoping to the fucking FSM that he wasn’t going to descend into another bible-quoting robot session again.
“And what were you?”
He did not hesitate. “The d-d-darkness of the D-Devil.”
I let go of his hands and pulled my hair to the side. I was so tired of Elliott thinking he was evil or wicked. “That’s your father’s whacked bullshit. It’s not true.”
He didn’t listen to me. “Hhhhe said I c-corrupted her.”
“No,” I said, drawing out the word while shaking my head. “Pretty sure it was his fucked-up rules and the heroin that did that.”
Elliott blinked. “Did you d-d-do okay on your English p-paper?”
I guess he was done with sharing. We spent the rest of our Valentine’s evening talking about school and listening to his iPod on shuffle.
“How are you, Sophie?”
I wanted to roll my eyes. She almost always started with the same simple, but loaded question. How am I about what?
“I’m all right.”
“Could we talk a little bit about your health?”
“Again?” We had spent time discussing my diabetes the last two sessions.
“Yes, again.”
“Why?”
I looked up as I heard paper shuffling. Wallace had a folder on her lap and was sifting through the contents. “I think managing diabetes is a fairly big task.”
I agreed with her, but said nothing.
“You weren’t given any help as a child, but only one of your many visits to the hospital was due to complications with diabetes.”
I remembered. I was probably only nine or ten. The ambulance had to take me from school to the E.R. Helen came later. She pretended to be so concerned with my dangerously elevated sugar, but couldn’t remember what I had eaten or how much insulin I used. I covered up for her, saying things like, “Remember, you told me not to eat that Pop-Tart, but I did anyway and I forgot my insulin?”
I spent the night in the hospital. Helen was mad because she had to stay as well.
“Is it more difficult here to manage it?”
I knew why she was asking. A few weeks ago, after Valentine’s Day, my sugar spiked through no fault of my own. I had taken the right amount of insulin and had eaten the right foods. I monitored my sugar, just like I was supposed to, but it happened anyway.
I couldn’t focus on anything and Elliott had to get the insulin from the refrigerator and prepare it for me. I almost had to ask him to inject it, too, but finally I was able to do it myself; however, I had to do it in front of him.
He sort of panicked.
I didn’t know if it was the needles and he was remembering his mom banging or if he was just worried about me.
He finally calmed down and got Dr. Dalton. Elliott almost let him into his room, but I stood on shaky legs and walked to the door. Dalton did what he could to check me out, but I had to go to his office the next day.
Tom was freaked-out again and was hovering over me constantly. He spoke with the damn school nurse and she checked in with me three times every day.
It was annoying.
Nothing had happened since.
“I don’t know that it’s harder here, but I have more distractions, I guess.”
“It was easier to focus on in Tampa.”
I nodded.
“Why was that?”
I shrugged, in part because I didn’t know and also because I didn’t want to expend the energy to think about it.
“Okay,” she said. She’d been letting me get away without talking about every little thing. It was nice. Now she switched topics easily, but sometimes it was a “careful of what you wish for” situation because her next topic could be something I really didn’t want to talk about. “Which do you think is worse? What your mother did to you or what her boyfriend did to you? ”
“My mom.”
“Why is that?”
I thought for a second, trying to find words for my wordless feeling. “Because men I understand. I mean, her boyfriend. I looked like something he wanted, so he took it … um, I mean … took me. But with Helen, I don’t know why she liked hurting me. I don’t understand why she couldn’t love me. I tried everything. I tried really hard to … I mean, I wanted to show her that I could be what she needed.”
I picked at the imaginary loose string on the bottom of my shirt. “But I never was.”
We talked a little bit more about how confusing it was to have a mother that hated me and wouldn’t explain why. I even shared my theories with her, most of which had to do with me being defective, but there were a few that Wallace seemed more interested in that were about deficiencies in my mother.
Near the end of our session, she put her notebook to the side and gave me a small smile. “I need to ask you something important and I need you to be honest.”
I was nervous.
“Do you feel comfortable with me as your therapist, even with my relationship to Elliott?”
It was an oddly placed question and I struggled for a moment to analyze it. Why was she asking me this?
“I guess so. I mean … why?”
“My only goal is to help, and I feel that perhaps my relationship with Stephen puts our dynamic at a disadvantage. I don’t want to do a disservice to you, even if I’m doing this pro-bono.”
I dissected her words. Was she feeling guilty? This question would have made more sense if she’d asked it months and months ago. I felt relatively comfortable with her, I mean, as much as a kid can be comfortable with an adult asking highly personal and sometimes shameful questions.
“We’re cool.”
Again, Wallace smiled at me. “I think you’ve done such a great job, Sophie.”
I looked away and crossed my arms over my chest. “Whatever,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
It was mid-March and it was raining as I sat at the Dalton dining room table and ate the roast I’d prepared. Tom was working a shift and couldn’t join us. It was okay with me because if he were here, it would probably have turned into a therapy session.
Wallace and Dalton were noticeably absent. She’d told us to start without them and everyone seemed to be in
a good mood.
I thought it was the first time I’d seen Becca laugh … ever.
Even Elliott seemed comfortable. He smiled at David’s joke and while there seemed to be a noticeable distance between him and Jane lately, tonight they seemed to be jiving well.
It was evident when the two adults came into the room that the good-natured evening was about to change. Wallace seemed like she had steeled herself, and was prepared for anything. Dr. Dalton, on the other hand, was a hot mess. He looked like he’d been crying.
As soon as he sat down, David asked, “What’s wrong, Dad?”
Dr. Dalton rubbed his eyes and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He started and stopped several times. Whatever was wrong, it had to be bad.
“Dad?”
Finally, Dr. Dalton looked from David to Wallace and then spoke with a very calm and collected voice. “Kate was killed on her way to work this morning. It was a head-on collision.”
Jane asked, “What?”
I looked at Elliott, worried that this would send him into a panic attack, but remarkably, he didn’t seem all that upset. Even still, I thought the universe needed to give the kid a break.
In fact, he seemed calm, even in the midst of Jane’s cries and David’s vocal disbelief.
Dr. Dalton talked about what was going to happen next, assured Jane that it would be okay and told David that their one-time adopted mother probably felt very little pain with the type of collision it was. The only thing Elliott did was lay his fork quietly down on the table and move his hands to his lap.
I wanted to reach out and hold one of them, but they were clasped tightly together.
Plans were being made for the Daltons to miss school for the next four days to attend the funeral.
I wondered where Elliott was mentally, and was shocked when he finally spoke. “I w-w-won’t go.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment, until Jane said, “But you have to. Kate’s,” her voice broke, “dead.”
“I’m n-not going to a ch-church.”
I was suddenly uncomfortable being here.
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