One Small Thing

by Erin Watt

  Still, that doesn’t mean something didn’t happen. Maybe we got dressed right afterward. Maybe—I almost throw up again—maybe we didn’t use protection.

  Tears flood my eyes. Oh my God. At least with Chase last week, I was completely sober. I knew what I was doing. Just because I regretted it afterward doesn’t mean I was coerced or forced into it. I wanted to have sex that night.

  This time...

  As panic courses through my veins, I give Jay’s shoulder a violent shake. “Wake up,” I beg.

  He’s midsnore when his eyelids pop open, and he makes a startled noise that’s a cross between a snort and a whimper. “What is it? What’s happening?”

  It would almost be comical if I weren’t two seconds from both puking and having a nervous breakdown. “What...what did we do?” I ask, imploring him with my eyes. “I don’t remember anything. Did we...” I gulp hard. “Did we fool around?”

  To my surprise, he just laughs. “Uh, no.”

  “No?” I’m skeptical, because then why else would I be in this guy’s bedroom?

  “No,” he assures me before rolling onto his side, facing me. His eyes fall shut as he adds, “I’m gay, Beth. Told you that like five times. You know, when you kept trying to make out with me.”

  Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Hazy memories begin to surface, and... Yeah, I remember him gently prying my lips off his neck and explaining that even though I’m a very pretty girl, I’m totally not his type. And then he brought me upstairs after I admitted that I didn’t have any way of getting home and nowhere to spend the night.

  “Now, come back to bed,” he says sleepily. “I was just starting to fall asleep before you attacked me.”

  Just starting to fall asleep? When had we come up here? It feels like it was hours ago. Squinting, I peer at the alarm clock on the end table: 12:34 a.m. It’s not even that late. And although I don’t have a phone, I do have some cash. I can call a cab and go home instead of crashing at the house of some guy I don’t even know.

  If my parents are waiting up, which I’m sure they will be, I’ll just pretend Jeff dropped me off. I’ll tell them the same dumb story Jeff planned to recite, about us falling asleep after building his stupid arbor. Either way, my parents will freak, but they’ll freak out more if I don’t come home on a school night. Missing curfew is better than staying out all night.

  At the thought of Jeff, anger mingles with the queasy knot in my belly. I cannot believe he left me.

  “Can I use your phone?” I ask Jay.

  His eyes stay closed. “Mmm-hmm. On the desk.”

  I climb off the mattress as quietly as possible, but the moment my body is vertical, a wave of sickness slams into me like a speeding train. Vomit races up my throat and instead of going to the desk, I run into the hall in search of a bathroom. I make it to a toilet just in time to throw up every single ounce I drank tonight, as well as the remains of the nachos I ate with Jeff earlier. I’m sure my retching noises probably woke up Jay and whoever else is in the house, but I feel a million times better once I’ve emptied my stomach.

  Well, kind of. Physically, yes, I feel better. Emotionally, I’m a fucking mess.

  Shakily, I get to my feet and wash up at the sink. When I stare at my reflection, I see bloodshot eyes, tangled hair and a paste-white face. A few tears leak out and trickle down my cheeks. I weakly brush them away with the backs of my hands.

  What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like I’m not even in control of myself anymore and I hate it. I hate the person looking back at me in that mirror. I was upset and panicked about Jeff abandoning me in this unfamiliar neighborhood, and instead of reacting like a levelheaded person, I went to another strange party and tried to kiss a gay guy.

  Fear flickers through me as a different scenario plays itself in my mind. What if Jay hadn’t been gay? What if he hadn’t been a gentleman? I drank way too much and passed out for hours. Something could’ve happened to me. Something really bad.

  More tears fall. I wipe them away. I take a deep breath and force myself to meet my own eyes in the mirror. Pure shame flashes back at me.

  “You’re not this person,” I whisper to myself.

  I’m still not certain who I am.

  I just know it’s not this girl.

  I jut out my chin, then march out of the bathroom and into Jay’s bedroom. I grab his phone, step back into the hall and call the only cab company whose number I have memorized. Unfortunately, it’s a tiny taxi service based in Darling, with only a couple drivers, so I’m told it’ll be at least twenty minutes before someone could get me.

  “That’s fine,” I tell the dispatcher. I guess at this point, it doesn’t matter if I come home at 12:45 or 1:00 or 1:15 a.m., now does it?

  I leave Jay’s house trying to make as little noise as possible. There are a few kids passed out on the couches in the living room, but nobody stirs at my footsteps. My head is still throbbing as I step outside into the cool night, but at least my stomach has settled. And my breath is minty fresh thanks to the mouthwash I swished in it from Jay’s bathroom.

  “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

  The entire street is so dead that I hear the girl’s voice carry even from several houses down. I jump in alarm and instinctively duck behind the row of hedges that separate Jay’s house from the one beside it.

  “Nah, it’s okay,” says a muffled male voice. “I’d rather walk.”

  I’m not sure what I’m afraid of. It’s obviously a few kids leaving the other party at Kav’s house, not some serial killer prowling the neighborhood for prey.

  I peek out, but I can’t really make out the shadowy figures. They’re too far away. Then a car engine hums in the night, and two red streaks illuminate the darkness as a small hatchback reverses out of Greg Kavill’s driveway. A few seconds later, the car whizzes past the hedgerow.

  Exhaling softly, I emerge from my silly hiding spot. The taxi is picking me up in front of Jay’s house. I decide to sit at the curb and wait, rather than loiter on the front porch. I threw myself at the poor guy more than once tonight—the least I could do is graciously get off his property.

  A mortified groan slides out and I drop my face into my hands. How is this happening? How did this night turn to such shit?

  Jeff left me. I got wasted. I tried to make out with someone.

  I moan, but that small sound is not enough to release all the awful things I’m feeling. So I scream into my palms. “Argghhhhh!”

  “Seriously?”

  My head snaps up at the sound of his voice. “No,” I whisper, more to me than him. “Just go away, Chase. Please.”

  “What are you doing out here? It’s almost one in the morning and there’s school tomorrow.”

  “You go to school, too,” I snipe. “Why are you allowed to be out late and I’m not?”

  “I can get by on no sleep. You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to pass out. Are you okay?”

  I ignore him by burying my face in my hands again. I can’t deal with him at the moment. Nice, right? I lost my virginity to this guy and I can’t even look him in the eye. And the fact that he sounds legit concerned for me only makes it worse.

  “Beth,” he says roughly. “Look at me.”

  “No,” I mumble against my hands. “Just move along, Chase. Nothing to see here.”

  “All right. Whatever.”

  I hear footsteps.

  My heart speeds up, because once he’s gone, I’m back to being alone out here so late at night. Not that I want him to stay or anything. I just...

  I don’t know what I want.

  The footsteps grow fainter, and I finally raise my head. He really is leaving. Just walking away. I stare at his black-clad back. He’s wearing a hoodie again. His jeans aren’t black, though. They’re blue, and so faded they look like they’ve been washed a thousand times be
fore. His tall frame gets smaller the farther away he gets. I keep watching, because what else am I going to do? I still have so much time to kill before the cab comes.

  When he reaches the end of the street, he halts at the same stop sign I raced toward earlier, when Jeff sped off like a total fucking asshole.

  I narrow my eyes. Chase remains still for several moments. Then, very slowly, he turns around and starts walking back in my direction. My pulse speeds up.

  By the time he’s in front of me again, my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest.

  His blue eyes scan my face, and his voice is slightly hoarse as he asks, “Did anyone hurt you?”

  I jerk my head no.

  “Are you sure? Because it’s obvious you’ve been crying.” He drags both hands through his messy hair, trying to slick it away from his face. “Why the hell are you here, Beth? You’re not friends with Kav or Maria or their crowd. And you sure as shit aren’t friends with Tanner’s crew.”

  “What’s wrong with Jay?” I demand, oddly defensive of a boy I hardly know. But he was nice to me tonight, and I don’t like the contempt in Chase’s voice. He has no right to condemn anyone.

  “Nothing’s wrong with Jay. It’s his brother’s crew I’m talking about. Dave’s a drug dealer,” Chase says flatly. “But I assume you already knew that, since you were chilling at his place tonight.”

  I didn’t meet a Dave, as far as I recall, and I’m suddenly glad Jay didn’t introduce us. I feel a bit faint, though, because the revelation that someone in that house deals drugs just confirms what I already knew—I might’ve gotten really hurt tonight if Jay hadn’t taken care of me.

  “Well, nobody hurt me and I’m fine. So you can go away,” I tell Chase. “I’m waiting for a cab.”

  He nods. But he doesn’t leave.

  “Just...leave,” I spit out. “We don’t have anything to say to each other. You made it clear, okay?”

  His tone is wary. “Made what clear?”

  “That just because we had sex doesn’t mean there’s some kind of bond between us. You want nothing to do with me. I want nothing to do with you.” My eyes feel hot all of a sudden, stinging so badly my throat tightens.

  “Do you want there to be a bond?” Now he sounds incredulous. “Because that’s just screwed up, Beth.”

  Like water crashing through a broken dam, my tears pour out.

  He’s right. It is screwed up. The very fact that I can look at this guy without wanting to rip his throat out is screwed up. To want to form any kind of connection with him? That’s beyond screwed up.

  But if there’s no connection, no bond, then that means what Chase and I did meant nothing.

  “I get it, okay?”

  His pained words draw me back to the present. “Get what?”

  Chase lowers himself beside me and kicks his long legs out. In the moonlight, the scruff on his jaw looks blonder. “You were a virgin,” he mutters.

  I don’t see the point in denying it, so I nod.

  His expression grows more upset. “I should’ve figured it out, picked up on the signs, but I...I was too...” He trails off.

  “Too what?”

  “Too into it, okay?” Shame colors his voice and hangs in the droop of his broad shoulders. “I hadn’t been with a chick in three years, Beth. I wasn’t a virgin last weekend, but I might as well have been, considering how bad I wanted it and how eager I was.”

  I bend my head to mop up my tears with the sleeve of my T-shirt. The action means I can’t look at him, and that’s a good thing. I don’t want to see his face right now.

  “I get it,” I murmur. I still won’t look at him, though.

  “But the only way to move forward is to put it behind us. It didn’t mean anything, right?”

  A whimper slips out. I bite hard on my bottom lip and valiantly try not to cry again.

  “Beth,” he says in frustration.

  I stare straight ahead.

  “Fucking hell, Beth. What do you want to do?” Chase stumbles to his feet and starts pacing the pavement. The shards of light from above emphasize the agitated crease in his forehead. “You want to start going out? Hook up again? I went to fucking jail for killing your sister.”

  My face collapses. My shoulders sag, unable to support the weight of guilt bearing down on them. “I’m a terrible person,” I whisper.

  His blond head snaps toward me. “What? You’re not.”

  “Yeah. I am.” I don’t bother wiping my tears anymore. I let them stream down my cheeks and dribble off my chin. “I’m the slut who slept with my sister’s killer.”

  “You didn’t know,” he says roughly. “And you’re not a slut. No girl is for having sex or liking it.”

  I know this, but... I weakly meet his gaze. “Then why do I feel like one?”

  He has no answer for that. He doesn’t try to comfort me. Doesn’t move toward me, touch me. He simply stands there, staring at me with regret in his eyes. I stare back, wondering what he sees when he looks at me. Wondering why I can look at him without wanting vengeance for what he did to Rachel.

  Pain slices through my heart. Rachel. God, why did she have to die? I miss her. I really... I banish those thoughts to that steel-walled dungeon in the very back of my heart. Thinking about Rachel is pointless. It just hurts to do it. And missing her won’t bring her back. It won’t change the fact that this boy in front of me is the reason my sister isn’t here.

  “Are you even sorry?” I find myself blurting.

  He looks startled. “What? For what happened Saturday? I—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “For what happened three years ago.”

  Stunned silence crashes over the darkened street. Chase runs a hand through his hair again, the movement quick and stilted. His gaze drops to his scuffed sneakers and I can see his chest rise and fall in a quick rhythm, as if he’s breathing hard.

  Still he doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t answer the question. A stupid question, really. Because even if he’s not sorry, it’s not like he’s going to admit it.

  The silence drags on, finally broken by the sound of an engine. Two huge spotlights point at Chase’s back, blinding me. I stand up. Chase quickly moves to the side to allow the taxi to pull up to the curb.

  “Beth?” the driver asks after rolling down his window.

  I nod. “Yeah, that’s me.” Without acknowledging Chase, I open the car door and slide into the back seat.

  Before I can close the door, Chase steps forward.

  “Beth,” he says gruffly.

  I bite the inside of my cheek. “What?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  He visibly swallows. “Yes, I’m sorry for three years ago. More than you will ever know.”

  My eyes start stinging again. I tear my gaze off Chase and address the driver. “Can we please go?”

  He steps on the gas and we leave Chase in the rearview mirror.

  14

  To my complete and total shock, Jeff is waiting on the curb when I arrive at my house.

  “Where have you been?” he whispers, grabbing my arm and dragging me away from the front walk.

  I jerk out of his grip, still stunned at the sight of him. “What do you mean? Where should I have been? You left me on the street!”

  “I went back, and you weren’t there,” he accuses.

  My head pounds. “I have to get inside. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” I’m not sure how I’m going to sell this to my parents, but I’m going to have to try.

  He grabs me again before I can leave. “You can’t go inside. I already covered for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I called them after I couldn’t find you and told them you fell asleep in the family room and I didn’t think I should wake you up.” He p
oints angrily to his Audi parked half a block down. “Come on. You’re crashing at my house and I’m driving you to school in the morning. That’s what I told your parents is happening.”

  I rub my fingers in my eyes, trying to sort out my feelings. Confusion is my default state these days. I sift through my choices, but Jeff’s right—his plan is the best one, because that’s the one my parents are supposedly on board with.

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  He arches a brow. “You’re not going to thank me?”

  My jaw drops. “Thank you? You left me in Lincoln!”

  “Keep your voice down,” he orders sharply, but his eyes have softened. “I know I did, and I’m sorry. I really am. I just can’t control my temper when it comes to that killer.”

  I don’t entirely forgive him—I could have been seriously hurt tonight, thanks to Jeff abandoning me—but it’s too late and I’m too hungover to have this argument. So I nod and mumble, “Whatever, it’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

  * * *

  I wake up at 8:00 a.m. in an unfamiliar bed. It takes several seconds and a lot of blinking to remember where I am—Jeff’s sister’s room. He dragged me up here last night when we got to his house. And I think he mentioned his parents were out of town, which is a huge relief. How awkward would it have been making small talk with my dead sister’s boyfriend’s parents over breakfast?

  But there’s no breakfast in the cards. I’ve just finished washing up in the private bath when Jeff knocks on the door, announcing it’s time to leave.

  I stare down at my wrinkled, day-old clothes. “But I’m wearing the same clothes I had on yesterday,” I tell the closed door.

  “Raid my sister’s closet” is his response. “There should be something that fits you.”

  In the walk-in closet, I rifle through a couple skirts and several tops in varying shades of floral and pastels. Jeff’s sister must’ve really loved pink in her high school days.

  Five minutes later, I’m dressed in a pink skirt, a white polo and a deep pink, sleeveless V-neck sweater vest. I tie my hair in a ponytail as I duck out of the bedroom. Jeff’s waiting in the hallway, and he appraises my outfit with a grin.