“I’m sure she did. Probably more than one.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
We lapsed into silence, a heavy pause that filled my ears with the sound of my own heartbeat. Tom was still looking at me but in a different way. His eyelids were heavy and his lips were slightly parted. Something in me shifted. Despite the heavy veil of weed and alcohol swimming around my brain and my empty stomach, I knew exactly where this was going.
Tom leaned over and kissed me. Instead of treating the kiss as a single act, a one-off, I decided it was just the opening overture. When he leaned back, I leaned forward, my mouth a question that he answered with his own kiss.
With nothing to stop us, things escalated quickly, fueled by the recklessness that substances invoke. Hands began to slide up and down each other’s backs, the kisses coming harder and faster until our faces stayed together. I felt a hand on my back, firmly pressing me toward Tom. I knew what he wanted, could sense it in the way he shifted his body. I slid on top of him, glorying in how risqué I felt straddling a boy, even if our clothes were still on. Tom looked up at me and smiled lazily in a way that told me he’d had a girl on top of him before.
I leaned down and kissed him, aware that I was the one in charge. My hands grazed his jaw and I could feel the rough rasp of his stubble. My hands traveled down to his chest. Tom wasn’t particularly built, but I could still feel the firmness of muscle under skin, which reminded me that at seventeen, Tom wasn’t far from being a man. He did adult things like shave, have sex and smoke bongs. That thought should have terrified me, but in that moment, it was exhilarating.
Tom’s hands traveled up my back as I curved over him, his fingers rumpling my shirt. They moved down to the hem of my top and then slipped beneath it. I held my breath as I felt his warm hands on my skin. He was watching my face, waiting for me to stop him, but I didn’t. I just kissed him again.
His hands slowly slid up my spine, fanning out on my rib cage like wings. The new sensation was almost overwhelming, but I focused on kissing his neck, my head cocked to the side as if I was telling him a secret. I felt his fingers alight on the clasp of my bra. I could feel him hesitate. I reached my hands behind me to unhook it, light-headed at my own nerve. Tom’s eyes widened but he didn’t say anything as I fumbled with the clasp.
It was at that moment the doorbell rang. The sound was so unexpected that I nearly fell off the bed. Tom sat up and grabbed my hips.
“It’s the pizza,” he said, kissing me one last time as he pulled me off him. “They really have the worst timing.”
When Tom came back, he was carrying the pizza. I realized that I didn’t feel hungry anymore. I wasn’t the kind of girl who lost her appetite easily, but tonight food seemed like the least satisfying possibility. Tom casually threw the pizza on his desk, like it was more of an inconvenience than anything else. He picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one, his eyes watching me over the burning tip. The mood created by our brief flurry of lust had been broken, and I wasn’t sure if that was it for the night.
I was still sitting on his bed, my hair messy from the hands that had run through it. Tom’s hair was even more tangled, and his cigarette made him look especially deviant. I remembered what the vice principal had said about Tom being a bad influence. I wasn’t sure if that was true; I knew there were worse people at that school. I’d watched a lot of “good” kids in Thunder Creek hurt Chloe, and Tom was much sweeter than I’d imagined.
Tom finished his cigarette before either of us spoke. Then he smiled at me.
“Do you want another beer?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Do you have anything harder?” I only noticed the double entendre after the words were out of my mouth. To Tom’s credit, he didn’t make a joke.
“My dad’s got a packed liquor cabinet. What would you like?”
“Vodka Sprite?” I asked.
“No problem,” Tom said. He was back in a moment holding my drink and a tall glass full of ice cubes and whiskey. Tom took a deep swig, his mouth involuntarily puckering.
He sat next to me on the bed and handed me my drink. It was strong but sweet. I drank deeply as I watched him take another bong hit and chase it with whiskey.
“Do you want one?” he asked. I nodded, knocking back more of my drink as he arranged the bong for me. I’d reached that level of high and drunk where you’re consumed with an overwhelming need to smoke and drink more—almost as if the substances inside of me had formed a personality with an agenda all its own. Later, you look back on the night and wonder why you didn’t stop three drinks earlier, but at the time that would have been inconceivable. This night had a momentum of its own, and I didn’t think it would ever stop.
I had a hit and then Tom smoked another, and before we realized it, Tom had to refill our drinks. I couldn’t believe he was knocking back straight whiskey. It was such an adult preference that it seemed like an affectation for a teenager.
Tom and I split one final bong hit. We sat there in a haze of booze and pot. The air in the bedroom seemed thick and overly warm, like a wet blanket smothering us.
“Do you want any pizza?” Tom asked. He was sitting pressed against me even though his bed wasn’t exactly crowded.
“No,” I said, without breaking eye contact. “Do you?”
“No,” he said, staring back. I could smell the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath, a foreign aroma for a teenage girl.
Then we were kissing again, except this time the pace was accelerated. We had already laid the groundwork before our interruption, and within seconds I was back on top of Tom. The vodka filled me with artificial confidence and propelled me past my very real insecurities.
I was high enough that my spatial sense was confused. Tom and I bumped noses and pasted sloppy kisses on chins and the corners of mouths. But I liked how my intoxicated state made me feel as if I was melting into Tom’s skin, our molecules mixing beneath the surface.
I guided Tom’s hands under my shirt and placed them on my bra strap. He sat up and wrapped my legs around his waist. I felt him lean in to kiss my neck while he effortlessly undid my bra. I held my breath as a wave of heat washed over me, filling me with a longing I had never felt before. The band loosened around my chest and Tom’s hands slid up my bare back. I was still wearing my shirt, but there was something undeniably exciting about his hands being in a spot usually covered by clothing. I felt incredibly alive. How was it possible that I’d held myself back from such experiences before?
In a burst of confidence, I pulled Tom’s sweater up and over his head. His T-shirt went with it and I found myself kissing a shirtless boy. A half thought passed through my head—I wish I could tell Chloe about this—but it was absorbed back into the ether before I could feel any emotional reaction.
I was standing on a steep precipice and knew that I was getting closer to the edge. I couldn’t tell if the substances were giving me fake courage or merely sweeping aside the inhibitions I’d created to stop myself from becoming like Chloe. But in that moment, as I straddled Tom, I felt true lust for the first time. Without another thought I pulled my shirt off and slid my bra down my shoulders.
My breath caught in my throat as I pressed my chest to his. The only people I had been naked in front of were my mother and Chloe. Both had entailed a sort of distance: either because of my younger age or through the chaste averting of eyes. I had never been so close to another human being, with only skin separating our heartbeats.
Tom’s hands roamed over me, and eventually we kicked our pants off beneath the covers. We were dangerously close to having sex, two pair of underwear being the only things standing in our way. And yet, while our fingers breached the cotton barriers, neither of us moved any further.
Instead, we began to slow down. Our hands wrapped around each other in static hugs. Long pauses bloomed between our kisses, the furious pace now a distant memory. I began to feel sleepy from the alcohol, and I could tell that Tom was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Finally, we st
opped. I lay on top of him, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing. Our bodies fit together easily, and it surprised me how comfortable I felt even though it was my first time going beyond a kiss.
“Do you want the light out?” Tom asked, his voice slurring.
“Sure,” I said, my shoulders shrugging against the pillow.
Tom staggered as he got to his feet, his lean arm grabbing the desk to keep him upright. I watched him flip off the overhead light, leaving a small bedside lamp on.
“I’m drunker than I thought,” Tom muttered, crawling under the covers.
“How romantic,” I said. We were lying next to each other, and I could feel his skin on mine, a connection that began at our shoulders and ended at our ankles, with only our underwear interrupting it.
“I never said I was,” Tom said. I could feel him examining the side of my face, but I kept staring at the ceiling. Finally, he put his arm around me and cuddled up. My face lay nestled in the soft skin between his collarbone and bicep.
“Jenny, I just want to tell you, you’re amazing, and if I was sticking around, I’d ask you out properly but—”
“You’re finishing school, I know,” I interrupted. It was a nice sentiment, but ultimately, it meant nothing. I hated when people called other people “amazing” or “fantastic.” Those words were meant for the truly jaw-dropping—like seeing a giant waterfall or an incomprehensible magic trick. Teenage girls like me weren’t generally that awe-inspiring. I felt my heart drop into my stomach. For a moment, I’d let myself believe that somehow this night had changed things between us, but Tom seemed more clinical about it.
“Yeah, day after grad, I’m going to backpack Asia. I’m finally going to use those guidebooks,” Tom said. He was trying to sound calm, but I could hear the excitement bubble up in his voice. I frowned.
“What? How do you have the money for that?”
“Over the years my mom sent me money for birthdays and Christmas and stuff like that. I never spent it. Then my grandpa died last year and he left me an inheritance. It should be enough if I live cheaply. Honestly, I’ve been dreaming about this for years. I can’t believe it’s going to happen,” Tom said, his eyes shut as he whispered. I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Wow,” I said. I was jealous, and that bitter fact wedged a distance between us. I also felt a measure of embarrassment about what we had just done and how little it seemed to mean to him. “Guess it’s good I didn’t fall in love with you.”
Tom didn’t say anything. I glanced up and realized that he had fallen asleep. I sighed and turned off the lamp. Only moments before I had felt so powerful. Now I was just a silly girl again, reading too much into a hook up. There had been a tenderness in our night together, but maybe I’d misread that as something bigger. All I felt now was ashamed of how much more he mattered to me than vice versa.
It hurt me somehow to think that Tom was rushing out of Thunder Creek right after graduation, that all of my fantasies about summer road trips and concerts had never even crossed his mind. I knew that he was following his dreams but it still stung. How could he claim that I was so special when he didn’t want to spend even a single extra moment with me once he was free?
I laid my head on his chest, hating myself for feeling so addicted to someone who saw me as nothing more than a pleasant distraction. I would have salvaged my dignity and left right then, so that my heart wouldn’t hurt when I saw Tom in the morning and remembered that he was leaving me, but I was in no shape to drive. All I could do was lie on the bed, mad at myself for savoring the warmth of his skin and the way his breath gently rustled the hair on the top of my head.
I fell asleep wishing that I could be stronger.
Chapter Twenty–Eight
March 26, 2006
I woke up in a panic, as if someone had clamped a pillow down on my face. It was the middle of the night and the room had become unbearably hot. I knew that if I didn’t get fresh air I was going to puke on Tom’s floor. I had an image of us in our underwear, scrubbing the ground while I apologized wildly. That kind of humiliation was too horrifying to even imagine. I slipped out of bed and pulled on my clothes, then quietly left the bedroom.
I stepped out the back door and paused on the deck of the house. It was dark, but the full moon illuminated the silver lake and a path leading from the deck to the shore. The sky was bursting with stars, hanging above me like stationary snowflakes frozen in time.
Suddenly, another wave of sickness passed through me and I ran to the edge of the deck. I retched over and over until my stomach was empty and I could taste bile in my mouth. I found myself staggering down to the shore, afraid that my violent vomiting would wake Tom. I didn’t want him to see me like this.
I broke into a run on the path, hopping down uneven ground as I gained momentum. When I reached the beach I tore down the shoreline. My feet sank in the frozen sand, which glittered with ice crystals. I turned away from the shore and sprinted across a field. It was crazy to be out at night in my current condition, but the idea of finding my way back to Tom’s and my normal life made my heart sink. I passed through the woods until finally I stopped, gasping for air. It occurred to me that I was now officially lost.
I was in a small clearing surrounded by trees. It was full of mud that had frozen as solid as cement. Drifts of snow still clung to the bottom of the trees as if left over from a lackluster spring cleaning. I hadn’t been this drunk in a long time, and I found myself sinking to my knees as my vision tipped and churned. The night sky was dark, the milky moon full, and the stars glimmered dully behind a hazy veil. My vision slowly tilted toward the tree line, where I realized that I was staring at the tower of St. Mary’s.
At that moment, the wind began to pick up, shaking loose a raspy noise from the trees. The wind grew more and more ferocious, tearing at my hair and wrapping it around my face and neck. The shifting of the trees became a fearsome noise, rising to a roar like an ocean wave crashing over my head. The snow began to fly, swirling around me and obscuring the tower and the looming trees. I was glad to watch Thunder Creek disappear for a moment.
The wind grew even stronger and the snow stung as it hit my face, but I stared directly into the vortex of swirling white. Before me, shapes appeared in the snow. Human figures began to emerge from the cacophony. I felt a gasp tumble from my mouth, snatched away by the winds, as I realized I was seeing children. They looked as if they had been sculpted from the snow, ghostly apparitions in thin dresses and short pants. They were all Native, and their faces were small and sad, their eyes boring into me with dread. My gaze slowly traveled down their forms to the ground in front of me. These woods were on the grounds of St. Mary’s. I heard Helen’s mother’s words in my head, about the children who died at the school. Some of them probably ended up in the graveyard, but that was a tiny cemetery. Maybe the rest were hidden where no one could ever find them.
These children were beneath the ground, with no one to visit them. I felt tears sting my eyes as I curled my fists into my legs and cried at all the horror this world brought and all the pain we inflicted on each other. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!” I screamed over and over into the wind, never hearing my own voice reach my ears. Finally, I slumped over and pressed my forehead against the cold ground. I wept and wept, the wind scoring my back with icy blasts.
I felt the chill in my body as it shook from the ice and snow. Then the wind stopped as suddenly as it had started. The air became calm. Slowly, I opened my eyes and sat up, unsure if any of this was real or if I had finally lost my mind.
I looked across the clearing and felt my heart momentarily stop beating. Chloe was standing on the other side. Her eyes were fixed on me with concern, but she was smiling in her secretive way. I stayed as still as I could, afraid that any change would make her vanish. She was standing between two trees, wearing the clothes she’d had on the night she disappeared: a blue wool coat over a teal dress. I noticed she wasn’t wearing mittens
.
In that moment, Chloe began to fade away. My tears fell harder as I begged her, “NO! Please, stay! Please stay!” But she only gave me one last smile before turning away, her figure dissolving into the shadows. I stayed there for a long time, hoping that she might come back but knowing she wouldn’t. Finally, I stood up, shuddering at the knowledge that I was on a mass of unmarked graves.
I slowly walked out of the clearing, carrying the heavy knowledge that at only sixteen, I had already lost so much. And yet, somehow, I felt less alone.
Chapter Twenty–Nine
I managed to find my way back, picking across frozen patches and examining the silhouettes of the houses looking for Tom’s place. I spent the rest of the night lying in bed next to Tom, listening to him sleep as I stared at the ceiling. The next morning I was gone before he woke up. I felt like a criminal sneaking around his room as the first rays of light set the Venetian blinds aglow. I wrote a hurried note, explaining that I had to get home before my mother came back from her night shift. It wasn’t true—my mother had been home the night before and was probably about to leave the house for her morning shift—but it was plausible.
Every turn of my neck made my head ache. The hangover I was nursing only became more lethal when combined with smoke-raw lungs and bruised knees. My whole body felt stiff and sore from my time outside, and I knew that I couldn’t discount what had happened as a dream.
Before I left the room, I paused at the door and examined Tom. His face was turned toward me, and yet sleep somehow made it unfamiliar. The muscles were slack except for the smallest of frowns puckering the skin between his eyebrows. He looked younger asleep, but nowhere near as special. I realized that Tom had fairly average features; it was his personality that animated them, molding them into something more exotic and appealing.
It was strange to think that even though we hadn’t had sex, physically no one had ever been closer to me. I wondered if the morning would have felt different if we’d actually had sex. I already felt changed, but I knew that had more to do with what I had seen in the clearing than getting to third base. I was glad, though, that I hadn’t gone further with a boy who already had one foot out the door. I didn’t know how many people I could handle leaving me, or whether it was worth getting involved with someone when you knew you would get hurt. It was hard, not wanting to be alone but also not wanting to depend on other people. I was pretty sure I was failing on all fronts.
The Lives of Desperate Girls Page 18