I open my mouth again to scream, but before any air passes over my vocal cords he lifts his hand and brings a devastating blow to my temple. My head dips and spins. He hits me again with something hard. Vomit builds in my stomach.
His rough hand reaches for my pajama bottoms.
Fight! my mind screams, but my body’s response is lagging and sluggish. My limbs are blocks of lead that refuse to move.
“You’re going to get what you deserve, and I’m going to give it to you.” He presses his lips against mine and forces them apart with his slimy tongue. He tastes like liquor and stale cigarettes.
My brain panics, firing on all cylinders to stimulate my body to react, but it doesn’t. It can’t. My eyes flutter closed, succumbing to the throbs pulsating through my head, threatening my consciousness.
His hands are snaking into my pants when his body suddenly crushes down on mine, limp and a complete dead weight. I pry my eyes open and blink a few times, trying to bring my vision into focus.
The moonlight filtering through my window casts shadows on Taylor. She’s standing over Stewart pale and wide-eyed, holding a purple kitchen skillet in her hand. It falls to the ground, and her hand flies to her mouth as Stewart’s thick red blood begins to flood over his head and onto my body beneath him.
In slow motion Devin appears behind her. He shoves her out of the way and grabs Stewart by the shoulders. Then he pitches him to the floor and shouts at Taylor, “Call 911.”
She doesn’t move. I don’t move. I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Taylor!” he yells louder. “Call 911! Charlie needs an ambulance...now!”
She springs to life, lunging for my cell phone and speaking frantically into it. Stewart stirs on the ground beside us and moans. Devin plants his knee firmly in my assailant’s back and presses him onto the ground hard.
The earsplitting pain in my head becomes all too clear, and I turn my head just in time to puke all over my blood-soaked bed.
* * *
I flit in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. I’m aware of the arrival of the paramedics. I’m loaded onto a stretcher and pushed from the house, and then I’m in the ambulance with blaring lights shining from above. And the paramedics are prying my eyes open, shining more lights into them. It’s awful.
“Stop!” I cry helplessly, trying to lift one of my lead arms. It’s quickly secured at my side.
My eyelids droop again, and when I reopen them Taylor’s long, blond hair is in my face. “You’re okay, Charlie. You’re safe. These people are helping you.”
Annoying stings of pain shoot up my arm. “IV access accomplished,” a strong voice reports beside me.
“Jackson?”
“No, Charlie. It’s just me—Taylor.” Her concerned eyes drift into view above me, and she clenches my hand.
“Oh.” I close my eyes. “I love you, T.” I’m aware that someone is holding my hand. It’s a strong hand, but it’s not Jackson’s. I would recognize his anywhere. It’s not Jackson’s, but it should be. I let go of the hand and drift.
The next thing I remember is rolling through a set of sliding glass doors with Emergency Room printed in bold red letters above it. Nurses in scrubs and doctors in lab coats instantly swarm me, grabbing and arranging and shining lights. What is the deal with these damn lights? I let myself drift again.
When I awake again it’s less hectic. I can’t move, and I can’t open my eyes, but I can hear. It’s Devin, and Taylor, and...my dad. They’re talking to someone. Who is it? They’re recounting the horrific events. They’re giving a police report, I realize. I shut my mind down and let the pain drown the memories that swarm my head.
Chapter Eighteen
Taylor breezes into my hospital room, beaming. “There’s my best friend!” She kisses one of my cheeks with a loud smack then stoops to smell the vase of yellow roses on my bedside table. They’re from my dad.
My lips turn up in a meek smile. “Are you here to spring me?” I know she is. I spent the morning signing discharge papers and going over orders with my nurses and doctors. The throbbing in my head is now only a dull ache that comes and goes. I imagine Stewart is suffering much more than I am right now. It took twenty-two stitches to close his head back up. Taylor really did a number on him with that frying pan, and that makes me happy. I wouldn’t have minded if she’d killed the bastard.
I don’t want to think about that—I’m going home today. That’s what I want to think about. Two nights in the hospital, and I’m good as new... Well, not good as new, but well enough to go home.
I can’t wait to be back in a normal-size bed. I can’t believe the twin-size pieces of crap they expect people to sleep in here. One roll to the left or right and you’re laid out on the floor. I’m not going to miss the food either. I would kill for a cheeseburger. Above all else, I won’t be missing the fuss. Isn’t the hospital supposed to be a place of healing? It’s hard to believe anyone gets well here. Someone always wants something from you, and there’s a plethora of machines that constantly make noise, beeping and alarming. A constant coming and going and switching on and off of lights.
If my nurse wasn’t bossing me to sit up in bed and take this pill or that pill, my doctor was in my room prompting me to follow commands like a circus monkey. It’s maddening. I know I shouldn’t be so ungrateful, but I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep and I’m downright grouchy.
I frown as Taylor steers me from the hospital in a wheelchair. “Is this necessary?”
She laughs lightly. “Of course not. I just wanted to see how far you’d let me get before you threw a fit.”
“Oh my God. Let me up!” I turn to scowl at her as we come to a stop at her car. “You’re crazy.”
“You love me.”
Yes, I do. A wave of emotion swells in me for my wonderful friend. I feel sick every time I think of what could have happened if she hadn’t rescued me from Stewart. He would have raped me, maybe even done worse. Thank God for Taylor, that’s all I can say. He must have wakened her when he crawled through the window in the dining room. Devin said he knocked a chair over in the process. That’s probably what did it. It doesn’t matter, because he woke her up, and she knocked his ass out with a frying pain. She saved me. She held my hand while I gave my statement to the police, which was maybe just as awful as the actual event—openly speaking about the events, having to replay the entire thing in my head, being forced to recall the details when the only thing I wanted to do was forget them. It makes me shudder.
And she didn’t stop there. Taylor was relentless throughout the course of my hospital stay, overseeing every last detail and spending every minute at my side. She works at the very hospital I was taken to, so it was something else, seeing her interact in her work environment. Sometimes I forget how brilliant she is, as she doesn’t show it much, but the past few days have been a constant reminder of her intelligence.
With Jackson being in New York, I really needed someone strong. And that’s exactly what she was for me. I’m not sure I would’ve made it through this without her. I sure as hell wouldn’t be smiling.
She starts the car and lifts her hand to shift into Drive, but I stop her with my voice. “Taylor.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” I say. “And not just for putting Stewart on his ass. For everything. For being my best friend. I love you, and I’d be lost without you. I wouldn’t have—” My voice gets shaky, and I have to stop.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s in our unspoken bond, remember?” Her smile is small, sincere. “But for the record, I’d be lost without you too.”
My father is one constant of my life, and my beloved friend is the other.
* * *
Taylor’s voice echoes down the hall and into the guest bedroom, where I lounge on the bed. “Your dad’s her
e with the Chinese!”
I head for the living room, glancing at my closed bedroom door in passing. Taylor won’t let me go in there—not that I want to. She moved all my necessities to the guest bedroom before I came home from the hospital, but just for the time being. She’s scheduled an appointment to have a cleaning company come in tomorrow and take care of my blood-stained carpet. Though I’m not sure if I’ll want to return to that room, even with the visible traces of the incident gone. The memories will always be there. A chill shivers around my spine. My safe haven is tarnished.
I plaster a bright smile on my face as I round the corner and come into my dad’s line of sight. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, cook.” He grins sheepishly and rocks back on his heels. He’s torn up over this, and I can’t stand it. I’ve done my best to reassure him that while it was terrifying, nothing traumatizing happened. Thanks to Taylor that’s partly true, but I’m not sure I would say it hasn’t mentally traumatized me. I can never let him know that, though.
Oliver’s paws click against the hardwood floor in excitement. I bend to pet him. “Hey, Oliver.”
Taylor watches as she opens oyster boxes and spreads them along the kitchen island. “So.” She grins at my dad. “When are we going to another baseball game?”
He brightens instantly. “Now, that sounds like an idea.” The two of them drift into a conversation about baseball. Taylor is most interested in the players, while my dad is more interested in the game. They make me smile. She’s always had a special place in his heart. He watched the two of us grow up together, and while Taylor was the catalyst for many of my more shameful moments, I think they’re the most memorable for all of us.
In the third grade she convinced me it would be a good idea to pull the fire alarm, because it would get everyone out of class for, like, a good ten minutes. I did. She ran. I panicked and stayed glued to the spot in front of the alarm long enough for an angry teacher to stick his head out his classroom door and catch me. That got me suspended for three days.
In the sixth grade she persuaded me into letting the classroom hamster, Gus, out of his cage. She put him in her backpack. Not sure what we planned on doing with him after that. We were ten minutes into our scheme when the teacher caught us. That little stunt earned both of us a five-day suspension.
When we were freshmen we were on the volleyball team, which involved overnight trips. Taylor hated that. She wanted to protest the trips, so I just kind of went along with it. She’d seen a special on Dateline about how all hotel rooms are supposedly covered in semen—the curtains, the sinks, the floors—everything. So that’s what we told our coach when she found us picketing in front of the charter bus, marching in circles while Taylor yelled, “We can’t see, but we know it’s semen. See semen, see!” Over and over and over again. And then we told our principal the same thing. It was all kind of dumb, because I actually liked going on the trips. But anyway, that’s how we got banned from all extracurricular activities.
And when I was a senior and I found out Manny was spreading rumors about me being naive (which I was), Taylor played “Bust Your Windows” by Jazmine Sullivan on repeat until I was convinced that smashing the windshield of his Jeep with a baseball bat was both (A) a great idea, and (B) totally badass. And that it would (C) right every single wrong that Manny ever committed against me. Except Manny somehow found out, and when we showed up in the middle of the night, armed and ready to do some damage, the cops were waiting for us. They handcuffed us and everything.
I just knew it was going to be like one of those reality shows on A&E, where they take a bunch of teen troublemakers and make them spend the entire night in jail to show them where they’re headed. And they all end up breaking down and crying in the corner and just completely losing their shit. But that didn’t happen. Manny filed restraining orders against both of us instead.
* * *
My dad pulls me aside before he leaves for the night. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“This Stewart shit is tearing me up,” he says. “I’ve been making myself sick over it.”
My heart cracks a little in my chest. “Dad, listen... It’s over now. Stewart’s in jail. There’s going to be a trial, and he’s going to be punished. Worrying won’t do us any good,” I say. “Let’s just focus on what’s coming to him.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I know. But it’s hard, really hard. I’d like to kill him. No form of punishment will ever make what he tried to do to you okay.”
I don’t know what to say to make him feel better. So I pull him into a hug and squeeze him tight. “I’m going to be okay,” I say. “You’re going to be okay too.”
Then he starts to cry. I don’t know if it’s because he feels bad or if he’s worried about me or if he’s worried it could happen again—but for the first time since Adam died, he cries, and I do too. Worse than what Stewart did to me is the fact that my dad feels this way about it.
* * *
Taylor and I sit alone in the living room later that night.
“Have you talked to Jackson?”
I shake my head. “Not since Friday night.”
“Charlie.” Her tone is disapproving. But there’s not much I can do about it. He won’t be back from his business trip for two days and not having the conversation about Stewart face-to-face feels wrong. Having the conversation feels wrong, period.
“I don’t want to tell him about this over the phone.”
“Well, you should at least call him. Or answer his phone calls. He’s been driving Devin crazy, asking about where you are, what’s going on, why you aren’t answering your phone. He’s worried.”
“He didn’t tell him, did he?”
“Of course not,” she chides. “Devin would never do that.”
I let my head fall against the couch cushion, cursing when it causes a spike of pain to shoot up my nerve endings. This is a mess. I don’t want to tell Jackson any of it. I feel dirty and damaged—tarnished and tainted in some way. Like my bedroom. What will he think when he hears how much more complicated my life has become? I’m in an internal war of head versus heart. My head tells me to stay away, because I’m going to get hurt. I’m damaged goods, and part of me feels like he won’t accept me after this. I’m a mess, and it’s just too much for any one person to take on. And deep down, I’m worried he’ll handle it the way he did when I told him about my dad. But all that aside, my heart wants him. More than anything else in the world, it wants Jackson.
Taylor brings my focus back to her. “What are you waiting for?”
I try putting on a reassuring smile. “Nothing.”
My eyes must be selling me out, because she isn’t buying it. And she wants answers.
“I’m just overwhelmed. My feelings for Jackson came too fast. I hate feeling this out of control.” And I hate that he has this much power. Like he could either give me the entire world or take the whole thing away from me.
“Being out of control isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
I release a sigh and shut my eyes. “It is for me.”
She scoffs. “So what are you going to do? Never fall in love?”
“Maybe.” Except I’ve already fallen, and it knocked me right on my ass.
She throws her head back and laughs like it’s the funniest word that’s ever come out of my mouth. “Oh, Charlie.” She shakes her head. “Saying you’ll never fall in love is like saying you’ll never smile.”
I scowl. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that no matter how hard you try, someone’s eventually going to make you.”
* * *
I stare down at my cell phone. Three missed calls from Jackson and one text message.
Call me, please? I miss you.
My guilt swells. I hit the green d
ial button and wait. One ring...two rings...three rings...four ri— “Hello?” His warm voice fills the other side of the line.
The sound of his voice alone makes my heart race. “Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” I can hear the smile.
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear your voice. I’ve been worried, really worried actually.”
“I’ve had a crazy few days... When will you be back again?”
“I’ll actually coming back a little early,” he tells me. “So Wednesday.”
“Good.” Only one more day, and then I’ll tell him.
“Can I see you then?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How’s your trip been?”
He sighs heavily. I can picture him, sitting in his hotel room, running his hands through his hair. “Dreadfully boring. Full of never-ending meetings.” I laugh a little. “How was work for you today?” he asks.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t, uh, go to work today.”
“Are you sick?” I can hear the frown now.
“I didn’t feel well this morning. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” His voice is troubled.
“It was no big deal, really.”
“Good.”
“I should probably be getting to bed,” I say. “I’m tired.”
“Alright.” He hesitates like he wants to say more. “I won’t keep you.”
“I’ll call you Wednesday,” I promise.
The line is silent for a few beats. “Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Jackson.”
My smile widens as we sit silently, breathing back and forth over the phone. “Hang up,” he finally says.
I laugh. “You hang up.”
“Okay.” He pauses. “I’ll hang up.”
A minute later I can still hear his quiet breaths. “I thought you were hanging up.”
He chuckles. “I thought I was too.”
I close my eyes and picture him here, beside me—which is where he should be. Running his fingers through my hair and smiling. I sigh. “I wish you were here.”
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