Something inside me quavers because he’s right. No one ever understood what I needed from Rudy, except Rudy. He must sense me softening because he talks faster. “Chris may be nice, but he isn’t like us.” His voice drops further. “You and me are the same, Tully.” His breath smells like cigarettes and mint. “You know that. It’s why we hooked up in the first place. Kindred spirits and all that.” He moves around until he stands in front of me, and it’s like a car crash. I can’t not look at him—his hair falling over his eerily dark eyes, those cheekbones that are the only thing saving his face from falling into plain. His hand comes up and I see the dirt under his nails before one of his fingers traces a line down my cheek.
“You need to escape, Tully?” he whispers. “I was thinking maybe I needed to find someone else. But if you want . . . ?”
I am horrified. Because he’s right—more right than he knows. And even though right now I can’t be touched, soon I will need an escape, a parachute, like I’ve never needed one before.
I open my mouth when a low voice, brimming with rage pipes up behind me.
“Get away from her. Now.”
There’s a split second where Rudy keeps watching me, then looks over my shoulder and that slimy grin snaps back into place.
“What a surprise,” he says sarcastically. “Captain America is here. Wonder how much longer he’ll be flying in to save you?”
Chris is between us in a flash, shoving Rudy back, then standing in front of me, hands clenched to fists at his sides. Rudy stumbles back a few steps, then rights himself, laughing.
“Keep moving, Rudy,” Chris warns.
Rudy backs slowly down the hallway, completely ignoring Chris. “He’ll see through you, you know, Tulip. And then who will you have left?”
Chris stays in front of me until Rudy’s out of sight around the corner, then he turns. “Are you okay? Why weren’t you in woodshop?”
I shrug.
Chris tries to take my arm, but I back away and head in the other direction. I have no idea where I’m going right now, but I can’t risk running into Rudy again, and I’m not sure I can take Chris’s protectiveness.
“Tully, what’s going on?” Chris stalks up behind me. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” I breathe.
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that, right?”
I lock my gaze on the noticeboard at the end of the hallway. “Actually, I’m a very good liar.”
A couple of girls round the corner, laughing—a few juniors I don’t know. One of them catches my eye and titters, patting Chris’s shoulder as we pass. “Hey, Chris.” She’s the kind of girl I think his mother would beam about.
Chris ignores her. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“What did Rudy say to you? Whatever it was, don’t listen to him. I don’t know why you’d let him get within five feet of you anyway.” Chris’s voice is getting darker.
I have to close my eyes for a second to find myself. Because if I could, I’d disappear into Chris and never come back.
“Tully, I know—”
“Would you let it go?” I snap.
Chris blinks in surprise. “What?”
“Rudy was friends with me for years before you got here, okay?” My voice is too loud, turning heads in the hall. Chris acts as if they aren’t even there. Somehow manages to look wounded and angry in the same moment. “He’s screwed up, but so am I. And sometimes . . . sometimes I need to be around people who understand that.”
Chris jerks his head back. “Wait, you wanted to talk to him?”
“Yes! No. I don’t know.” I throw my hands in the air. “The point is, you can’t walk into every conversation I have and decide you know better whether I should be having it or not.”
He steps in closer and I take a step back, letting my bag drop off my shoulder and into my hands so I can hug it to my middle. Between us. I suddenly feel like if I get close to him he’ll hear the truth even without touching me.
“Tully,” he whispers, looking around to make sure others can’t hear. “I know this weekend was hard. I do. But we’ll get through it. Okay? So, what is going on? If you can’t talk about it, give me your hand.”
“No.” That would be a terrible idea. “I’m . . . I think we should break up.” The words just come.
I’ll admit I expected him to get mad, or loud, or something. But he doesn’t do any of that. He blinks at me, then his face goes . . . stern. And he’s shaking his head.
“No,” he says simply, like I’d asked him to go to the mall.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. You’re upset. I get it. But we aren’t breaking up. We’ll get through this. You’ll see that it doesn’t have to be . . . doesn’t have to be a thing between us.”
“We’re breaking up, Chris.”
“No, we aren’t.” He steps closer, his jaw tight. “Once this is done, when we’ve gotten through it, if you want to dump me, I’ll accept that. But right now you need me.” His face drops. “Let yourself need me, Tully. I can handle it.”
It’s hard to steel myself, but I do. “I just . . . I need some space, okay?”
“Space?” he repeats.
“I can fight my own battles. I’ve been doing it for years before you got here.” I almost lose my nerve when I see his pain and confusion. He covers it quickly, looks at the floor, and clears his throat.
“I love you, Tully,” he says. “I’ll never just sit back and watch someone hurt you. No matter what. So, you can have your space, if you need it. But . . . don’t shut me out. Please.”
I ache with the longing in his voice. Almost grab him and threaten to never let go. But before I can move, he looks up. There are shadows in his gaze, dark spaces and fearful places, like his light is going out.
Then he does what I’ve asked and walks away.
Chapter 32
I’m in pieces all week.
Chris and I haven’t broken up, but I’m putting him off at every turn. I ignore him in woodshop, I walk home instead of letting him drive me. I don’t answer the home phone in case it’s him. And every morning his face is a little darker. A little more lined. His eyes more sunken, more gray. I know I’m hurting him, but I can’t stop.
Even though Dad’s gone and the house is quiet, I can’t sleep. Every time I let myself nod off, the nightmares come for me. I’ve woken up shaking and gasping so many times in the past few days that I’m afraid to close my eyes. Chris can see me fading. Every time we’re together he asks if he can hold my hand. I’ve taken to pulling my sleeves over my hands or keeping them in my pockets.
And Rudy . . . Rudy knows me well enough to know that something’s up. He’s grinning and winking and making crass suggestions every time we see each other. He wants to hook up. I shouldn’t do it because a bad drug test could put the apprenticeship out of reach. But the urge is there. And even though he’s pissing me off, weirdly, it’s a relief. He’s still Rudy. He still sees me as I am. He doesn’t love me, or care, even. He just wants to get off, and he knows I’m good at doing that.
He wants me for reasons I can control. And that feels safe right now.
And that’s where I get the idea.
It had been crawling around in the back of my head ever since I talked to Rudy at my locker. I think that’s why he keeps grinning at me. I think he’s sensed I’m coming back. And I am. I know I am. I just . . . every time I look at Chris, something inside me screams.
Chris still smiles when he sees me. But it’s hesitant. The darkness in him is growing, and I’m the one who put it there. He won’t leave me, but if we keep going like this, I’ll destroy him completely.
Luckily, I know how to make him leave me.
~
Rudy lives on the edge of town, where homes are barely houses, and situated far enough
apart that the neighbors can’t make out the words when you’re yelling. His trailer is bigger than most around here. The outside used to be cream, but now it’s gray with cobwebs, dirt, and mold.
Early Thursday morning I climb the stairs in one step, open the dented screen, and knock hard on the door. At first there’s no sound from inside. I turn around and eye the dirt driveway, wondering if I should leave. I can feel the walls of the inevitable closing in, and even though they are closing under my own hand this time, the weight is crushing. For a moment, I am transported to a place where this doesn’t have to happen. Where I’m not decomposing on the inside, where Chris doesn’t need to leave, and we can have our Always.
But then there’s a click, and a creak, and the door opens into the shadows of the house.
“What the fuck, Tulip?” Rudy’s voice is as gravelly as the driveway and twice as cold. He isn’t wearing a shirt, just pajama pants.
“I need to talk to you.”
He rubs a hand over his face, still puffy from sleep. “You do realize it’s not even seven, right?”
I hadn’t, actually. “I needed to see you before school.”
“Knew you couldn’t stay away.” He pulls the door wider with a knowing grin. “Wanna come in and make up for lost time?”
My skin crawls. “Never mind,” I snap. I can’t do it. Can’t beg him to help me hurt Chris when he’s wearing that smirk. It’s too hard. I turn on my heel and step down onto the dirt. “Forget it.”
“Wait!”
I’ve only gotten two steps away when he darts in front of me to stop me from leaving. The greasy sneer is gone. His expression is serious. His bare toes curl into the dirt and he folds his arms. “I’m messing with you . . . What’s up?”
I exhale and push the words out before I can change my mind. “Come to my house tomorrow. You bring my escape, and I’ll give you yours.”
“Your house?” He lets out a low whistle. “What about Golden Boy? Does he know we’re getting together?”
“You worry about your end of the deal. I’ll take care of Chris,” I say, biting off the words.
Rudy snorts, but there’s a feverish light in his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then.”
I stab a finger into his chest. “Tell no one, Rudy. If I hear one whisper, I’ll never come to you again.”
Rudy’s nostrils flare. “I heard you the first time, Tulip.”
I grit my teeth and head back down the driveway. I hate that name. But in the end, I do feel grateful. Hating Rudy gives me something to focus on so I can forget the awful thing I’m about to do to Chris.
Chapter 33
I wake Friday with a pressure on my chest, pinching my ribs, suffocating me. I suck in and sit upright, blinking in the early morning light.
Today’s the day.
I get out of bed like I’m dragging a boulder, let the sheets and quilt trail me onto the floor. My room feels like a picture I’m walking through; the chair in the corner covered in all my clothes, the dusty corners on the floor, the unused jewelry on my dresser, most of which used to be Mom’s.
A hollow buzz covers everything as I shuffle down to the bathroom and shower. My body feels numb. Like it doesn’t belong to me. I keep flashing on Rudy’s face, and Chris’s, but feel nothing. My hands shake when I reach for the shampoo bottle, but even that seems to happen outside myself.
I get ready for school like a robot, telling myself this is all for the best. I need to get back to my place, where I know how life works and I’m getting through the days until I can leave. Having Chris around distracted me from that.
In case Chris shows up to get me, I leave the house ten minutes early. It isn’t until I walk through the gates and onto campus that I regret the decision. There won’t be a chance to talk alone now until it’s happening and . . . frankly, at that point I’d rather not.
I can’t believe I’ve had my last kiss from him. I can’t believe he won’t ask to hold my hand again.
I can’t believe I have to touch Rudy instead.
The floodgates open and the decay leaches into my bloodstream. I’ve been pressing it back for weeks now. But I can’t anymore. I need it now. I need to feel dead inside.
My breath catches, so I force the thoughts away and keep walking.
Chris isn’t everything.
~
The numbness holds until woodshop when he’s in front of me. Then it’s hell. I’m on one side of the bench, trying to remember how to sand while Chris sits across from me, a weird flatness in his expression. He keeps glancing at me. Our eyes meet and hold once, and the urge to change the plan is suffocating.
Chris’s forehead crinkles and he looks like he’s about to say something when Rudy saunters up from the front of the class. I see him coming this time and inwardly plead for him to change his mind. To take the high road. I almost have to laugh at myself.
When Rudy makes it past the machinery, Chris tenses. I open my mouth before he can say anything that will wreck what I have planned for tonight.
“What do you want, Rudy?” I snap.
He gives me that sly grin, the one that slides up my spine like an ice cube. “Just making sure you’d heard about the party tonight. You’re invited.”
I glare at him. “Great. Feel free to leave now. Bye-bye.”
Rudy grins again and I want to slap it off his face. Then he cuts a glance at Chris. I’m about to open my mouth again, to verbally shove him down the aisle, when his grin widens. He spins sharply and wanders down the rows without looking back.
Chris watches him until he’s settled at his workbench. Then he turns to me. “You’re going to a party tonight?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
His brow furrows and he leans toward me. “Why would you go anywhere Rudy is going to be?”
I pick up my sanding block and a lower gauge of sandpaper, something to keep my hands busy. “Sorry, Dad, but I’m bored.”
He flinches, physically responds to the barb, and I hate myself a little bit more. It’s for your own good. You have to see what I am.
“So, that’s it? You’re going back to that? Because you have a Friday with no plans?” His voice is loud enough to be heard easily over the tools and scraping and echoing of this room.
“You’re invited, too, you know,” I say, like it’s no big deal. “Come by my house first and we can go together.”
“Good to know,” he grumbles.
I think he’ll leave it at that, that I’ll have to make another attempt at getting him to show up at my house. But I underestimate him.
A couple of minutes later his hand is on my forearm—gently, but firmly.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he says in a voice I don’t recognize. A voice of resolve, underlined by fear. A voice that’s telling itself to be courageous.
I stop sanding and glare at his hand until he takes it back. Then I force myself to look at him. “Nothing,” I lie. “I just feel like cutting loose. And like I said, you can come, too. Pick me up if you can blow off your parents. We can go together.”
Relief loosens his shoulders and I officially despise myself.
“Well, of course I can pick you up,” he says carefully. “But . . . Does it have to be the party? I have another idea.”
I sand furiously, probably leaving gouges in the soft wood. I can’t do other plans. But if I say no, he’ll ask why. “Sure, whatever. Come to my place at eight. We can always drop by the party later.”
“It’s a date,” he says, but his brow is still lined. I ignore his intensity. Ignore the heat he brings to my skin. Ignore the urge to kiss him, to be with him.
We had our time, and now it’s over.
Chapter 34
I have traveled back in time and returned to my roots. I have become darkness and shame. I am a shadow of myself.
I’m standing in the
middle of my room, examining myself in the mirror—my lanky blonde hair dripping down my neck because I don’t have the energy to do anything to it. The black tank top and tiny, flirty skirt I haven’t worn since the last time Rudy laid his hands on me. The same red plaid shirt. It seemed fitting to go back to that night when everything changed, to return to the skin I shed when Chris rolled over my life.
But now I’m seeing myself for what I am, for what Chris is about to see. All I want to do is weep. The girl in the mirror is a husk, with her thick eyeliner and tired eyes. Her hands are always clenched, because you never know when you’ll need a fist.
She never says no. To anything.
I hate her because she feels wrong to me now and that’s so unfair. She used to be me. I hate Chris for making it seem like I had I choice in who I am. I hate his parents for wanting the best for him—and for knowing that isn’t me. And I hate myself for being this way.
There’s a crunching sound in the driveway, quickly followed by a demanding knock on the door. Rudy.
My hands quiver as I open the door. He is grinning and he’s actually put in some effort. His hair is slicked back, his jeans are clean, and he’s wearing the blue shirt I once said looked good on him.
“Tully,” he says.
“Come in,” I say, though Rudy’s already in the hallway, scanning—the dusty floor, the bare walls, the rickety doors. He runs a hand through his hair. “So this is your place,” he says, never quite looking at me.
I shrug. Enjoy the view. You’ll never see it again.
He pushes his hands deep in his pockets and saunters down the hallway, poking his head into my room. “I always wondered what your room was like,” he says quietly, stepping inside.
I’m having trouble forcing my feet to move, my body to follow him. But I have to do this. I bite my lip and follow Rudy, step inside my room with my arms folded because it feels like a violation that he’s here.
I shouldn’t have done this here. I should have done it at the barn. Met Chris there, too. I could have made it work somehow.
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