“Yeah, at the shop.”
A ring. He’d made me a ring. My chest vibrated with questions I didn’t quite want to ask. But he’d put it on my right hand, not the left, and he hadn’t, like, proposed or anything. It was just a ring. A beautiful, thoughtful ring.
I held out my hand to admire it. Even the fit was perfect. “It’s amazing. Thank you.”
“You like it?”
“I love it.” I shifted closer and thanked him with my kiss. He kissed back and I instantly felt it—the two of us clicking right back into sync. Sometimes my insecurities and worries caused misunderstandings, or words fell short of expressing what we felt. But our bodies understood each other perfectly. This was a language we both spoke fluently.
Aiden flicked and teased his tongue against mine and I responded as his hands roamed the peaks and valleys of my body’s terrain. He tugged at the neckline of my shirt and moved his lips to the skin above my collarbone, sucking lightly at first, then harder. I laughed and squirmed away. “You’re going to give me a hickey.”
“So?” he said, moving back in.
I tried to nudge him off me, but he would not be deterred. “So I’ll have to wear a turtleneck all week.”
“Good,” he said between kisses. “Then no one else will be tempted by your delicious skin.” He sucked again, hard.
“Aiden . . . No, stop.” The ring I could tell my parents I had bought for myself, or pretend was a gift from Jo, but a hickey would be much harder to explain. I wanted him to want me, but I didn’t quite want this.
He lowered me onto the blanket and pinned me down with his hands and lips. “I want everyone to see it and know that you’re mine.”
I kissed back, relenting a little. “Everyone already knows I’m yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He hovered above me with a mischievous smile, then pounced. I shrieked as he flipped me over, pushed my shirt up, and sucked hard on my back.
“Aiden!”
“What?” He laughed and moved toward my neck again.
I rolled over and gave in.
Twenty-Nine
GOOGLING “HOW TO GET RID OF A HICKEY” RETURNED more than 436,000 search results, none of them the insta-cure I was hoping for. I ignored all the hickeys on my back, stomach, and thighs—those weren’t going to be visible to anyone who hadn’t caused them—and focused on treating the seven red marks along my neck and collarbone, and the five on my wrist and arms. I applied hot and cold compresses—a microwaved washcloth, ice cubes wrapped in a dish towel, a frozen spoon—brushed them with a stiff-bristled toothbrush, scraped them with a penny, massaged in peppermint toothpaste, applied aloe vera hand cream, and pressed them with rubbing alcohol and the inside of a banana peel. After all that, they maybe looked slightly better, but honestly it was difficult to tell. They certainly weren’t gone. I wore a high-necked sweater throughout the weekend, despite the sauna-like temperature at my grandparents’ house. I did not try the ham.
By Monday the hickeys had morphed from angry reds to greenish-purples, like an array of strangely placed bruises. I wrapped them as best I could with a scarf—the high-necked sweater was too ripe to be worn another day—and hoped no one would be looking too closely. With any luck, they would be distracted by the dark circles under my eyes. I had stayed up half the night messaging Aiden and half-assing a paper on a book I hadn’t actually read, and I was almost too tired to care about anything.
I lumbered through the halls, a zombie in search of a sugar rush. Why didn’t they have caffeine dispensers in schools? I fantasized about walking into the teachers’ lounge and pouring myself a cup of coffee, but even in this desperate state, I was still a rule-follower at heart. The caffeine wasn’t worth detention or expulsion. I dragged myself to the vending machine, stared at the choices, and cursed the school board for banning pop.
Jo bounced over. “Guess what guess what guess what guess what?” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “She said yes!”
“Who?”
Jo swatted my arm like I’d been acting confused just to tease her, but my brain really was that tired. It caught up the milli-second before she cried, “Sydney!”
Of course. Wow. I put both hands up for a double high five. “Amazing. Hooray!”
She gave me the play-by-play of asking while I dug in my pockets for change. I fed my quarters and a nickel into the machine. Damn—twenty cents short.
“Here.” Jo added two dimes and I hit the white grape juice button. “Don’t forget to subtract two bucks from your app,” she said.
For my sixteenth birthday, Dad had given me an app that tracked expenses and earnings, and charted them by category and subcategory, down to the last penny. It was weirdly addictive—and stunning to see how much I spent on root beer before Aiden introduced me to the joys of coffee.
The can clanked and thudded out of the machine. “A dollar eighty, actually. Twenty cents of that was yours,” I said. She grinned.
I used the edge of my scarf to wipe the top of the juice can clean before popping it open. I tipped back my head and took a long swig, waiting for the fructose to hit. Instead, I got a brain freeze. Too cold. I rubbed the pain at the base of my skull and grimaced.
“What’s that?” Jo was staring at my chest.
I looked down. No spills. “What?”
She nudged my scarf aside and touched a cluster of hickeys at my clavicle. “That.”
I smiled a little. “It’s from Aiden.”
Her whole body went rigid. “Oh my god. He hit you?”
“No! They’re hickeys. Calm down.” She narrowed her eyes and examined them closer. I stepped back. “I promise,” I said.
“Did it hurt?”
“No.”
“Well, it looks awful.”
I rolled my eyes and took another sip of the juice. “Thanks.”
“I take it your parents didn’t see those.”
I shook my head. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”
“Fair point.”
“I just hope they’ll have faded by Saturday so I won’t have to wear a Snuggie to the dance.”
“They will,” she said with all the confidence I’d hoped to find on the internet but hadn’t. At the mention of the dance she was beaming again. “Are you borrowing my blue dress?”
“Yes, please.” I would be the best-dressed fifth wheel around, but I didn’t mind. Whatever sadness I had about not being able to bring Aiden was eclipsed by my gladness for Jo and her maybe-a-real-date, maybe-not, but-so-what plans with Sydney. It didn’t sound like intentions had been made totally clear in the asking or the response, but the ambiguity didn’t seem to bother Jo in the least. She had gotten the girl. She was practically doing cartwheels.
Her initial glee expanded into a giddiness that escalated to elation as she became increasingly hyper throughout the week. When she intercepted me at the juice machine again before last period on Thursday, her smile was so huge it was probably visible from space.
“I got it!” she crowed. She danced around, holding something up in front of my face, but it wasn’t until she added, “I am officially licensed to drive” that my confusion cleared and I finally caught on.
“Congratulations!” I hugged her. I had completely forgotten she was retaking her driver’s test—that explained where she’d been during lunch. I hoped my face hadn’t shown it. “My little girl’s all growed up.”
She jingled the keys in her other hand. “Let’s go for a ride after school.”
Shit. I would not be winning any Best Friend of the Year awards, but I already had plans with Aiden. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, come on. Just a quick spin. Your parents will never know.”
I hesitated. He’d been kind of moody and distant the past few days, as if his happiness and Jo’s were inversely proportional. We were just planning to hang out at his place for a couple hours while I got some much-needed studying done, but still. He wouldn’t like it if
I canceled. We’d already gotten into sort of an argument last night, with him pushing me to give up Geneseo and stay here, and getting pouty and kind of belligerent when I admitted I really wanted to go. It was one of the highest-ranked colleges in the whole SUNY system, and I loved its ivy-and-brick campus so much it was the only place I’d applied. But it was true there were plenty of schools closer to home, and I could probably get part of my deposit back. Maybe he was right and I was being selfish.
Annoyance flashed in Jo’s eyes. “Don’t tell me Aiden can’t spare you for one measly hour so we can—”
“No, it’s—” I couldn’t tell the truth or blame it on my parents’ rules; she already had her fighting face on. “I have a dentist appointment,” I lied, pushing away the guilt. “My dad’s coming to get me, like, right after school.”
“I thought that was tomorrow.”
It was. “It got moved.”
“Damn.” She shrugged it off. “Well, you’ll get to witness my mad driving skills on Saturday, so don’t cry.”
I shook the empty juice can over my head. Two small drops splashed onto my cheek. “I’m not crying, I just spilled grape juice on my face.”
Jo laughed appreciatively. “You dork.”
I wiped my cheek clean with my sleeve.
Thirty
I TEXTED AIDEN TO COME LATE SO JO WOULDN’T SEE him pick me up after school, and lingered at the end of Calculus to keep from encountering her in the hallway. It sucked to sneak around behind my best friend’s back, but at least I was avoiding pissing anyone off.
It was surprisingly nice out, the kind of summery spring day that made it hard to remember what winter had even felt like. I sat on a bench by the parking lot with my book and pushed up my sleeves to let the sun warm my skin. The hickeys were nearly faded now, just yellowish patches with a few red dots you had to look closely to see, except for the big one still purple on my back.
“You need a ride?”
I looked up from my book to see Tyson standing above me. He shifted, blocking the sun, and I tugged down my sleeves, just in case. “No thanks. I’ve got one.”
“Cool.” He plopped down as if he had every right to share my bench. “How’ve you been?”
I leaned away almost involuntarily, but relaxed when I heard the familiar rumble of Ralph approaching. I gave Ty my sweetest smile. “Great! Way too busy for small talk. See you around.” I stood, gathered my stuff, and turned to give Aiden an extra-long kiss. We soared off without a glance in Ty’s direction, and my heart sang a little song of victory all the way to Aiden’s apartment.
I put down my bag and Aiden closed the door behind us. “Who was that black guy? Is he the reason you stayed late?” he asked.
“Tyson? No, he just happened to come over right before you showed up.” I stretched my arms toward the ceiling, releasing a kink in my back. “Isn’t it gorgeous out? Maybe we should take our books outside.”
Aiden hung up his jacket. “You guys sure looked friendly.”
I swallowed. He must have seen the way I’d smiled at Ty. Of course it had looked like flirting. Maybe it had been flirting. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid, especially after yesterday’s fight. I fiddled with the ring on my finger, my new nervous tic. “He’s my ex. Very ex. Believe me, there’s nothing left between us.”
He frowned. “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”
My pulse quickened. “I promise I want nothing to do with him. I’ll never talk to him again if you don’t want me to.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“No! I told you, no.” I stepped toward him, my head swarming with regret. “Forget him; he’s nothing. Please.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is he going to be at your little dance on Saturday?”
I threw my hands up. This was ridiculous. “Who cares?”
He reached out suddenly and gripped me by the arms. My heart jolted as he gave my body a shake. “I care. Why the fuck can’t you see that?”
“Aiden, stop. You’re hurting me.” It felt like his fingers might press right through my flesh. They dug in farther as he shook me again. My biceps burned and my knees began to buckle.
“Not nearly as badly as you’re hurting me.” He shoved me away, fast and hard, knocking me off balance.
I stumbled backward and fell against the counter. My head throbbed on impact, but I was almost too startled to register it as pain. I blinked, seeing nothing but my own shock, and only realized I was on the floor when Aiden rushed over to crouch by my side.
“Bee, baby. My Bee.” His voice was as stunned as my heart. He pulled me into his arms and kissed my face gently, murmuring my name over and over as his cheeks grew wet with tears. Whether he was crying from the scare of watching my fall or the emotional overload that had caused it, I couldn’t tell. I barely understood what had happened, couldn’t trust my own mind to determine what was real. I couldn’t comprehend being a girl whose boyfriend would knock her to the ground on purpose. The rage I’d seen in his face and felt in his grip didn’t match the story of us in my brain, didn’t fit with the tears he was crying. The Aiden I knew wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Yet here I was, on the cold tile floor, aching inside and out. “You know I would never hurt you,” he said. “I love you so much.”
I love you, my heart echoed. I love you.
I felt his hand on my back, warm and tender, rubbing calm, soothing circles into my skin.
The clouds in my brain dissipated, and guilt seeped in as he cradled me against him and soothed and pleaded. The words settled over me, a blanket, a salve.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. You fell. It was awful. You’re okay. I’m so sorry.”
I let my body melt against him, felt the love pouring out of his embrace. But I felt something else now too. His desperate fear of losing me. My own sudden fear of what he’d proven he could do.
That’s not what happened. That’s not what happened, my brain pulsed with each twinge. But which truth I was disputing, I didn’t even know.
I tasted tears in the back of my throat—metallic, sharp—before I felt them press at my eyes. My head throbbed. My chest burned. I tried to remember to take in real breaths.
“It’s okay,” I said, “I’m okay,” hoping the words would calm us both. I knew he needed to hear it, and I wanted to believe it was true.
Thirty-One
ALONE IN MY ROOM THAT NIGHT, I UNZIPPED MY hoodie, pulled the long-sleeve shirt off over my head, and faced the mirror. Five purple florets bloomed on each bicep, reminders implanted by Aiden’s fingertips. I pressed the marks with my own fingers—they were tender, but I almost welcomed the pain. It pulled me out of the relentless buzzing in my brain, the mix of shock and adrenaline that had taken over my system, and gave me something tangible to focus on. Nothing made sense, but when I pressed those bruises, I knew: These marks were real. This pain was real. Aiden had really done this to me.
I let go and felt confused and intoxicated.
I slept hard through the night and when I awoke, the high was gone. My body felt heavy. Drained. Sticky with the residue of an emotional hangover. Examining the bruises in the light of day, I barely recognized my skin or myself. They no longer hurt, but the rest of me—my insides and ego, my stomach and heart—ached through and through. Unanswerable questions and deep sadness swirled and pooled with the humiliation rising up in my throat like bile. How could I have let this happen to us. How could we have gotten to this place. How was I going to hide the marks from Jo?
I groped for the distraction of my phone and saw the middle-of-the-night text I had slept through. I love you so much. He’d repeated it dozens of times yesterday, until the words lost their meaning and became something else, a burden I couldn’t reject. An obligation to say and feel it too.
I did feel it too. I loved Aiden. But what did love even mean if it could push us to a place like this?
I clicked off the screen.
I should tell someone. My parents, J
o. But I knew I wouldn’t. I couldn’t stand for them to think they’d been right about him.
They weren’t right. They didn’t know us.
I wished, suddenly, deliriously, that I could tell Eric what had happened. Eric, who, unlike Jo, would listen without judgment. Who would be calm and reassuring, irrevocably on my side. Who wouldn’t blame me for being the person I was now.
Of course I couldn’t tell Eric. I couldn’t tell anyone. But I could make sure this never happened to us again. I would love Aiden better, be more careful not to hurt him, so he’d never again be pushed to hurt me in return. That much was the least I could do.
I love you too, I typed back, and willed my fingers to stop shaking.
I pulled myself together enough to go through the motions of a regular Friday, which meant, in effect, that’s what it was. By paying real attention in my classes, indulging Krystal’s obsession with Rasputin and the Romanov dynasty at lunch, giving Eric a high five each time we passed in the hallway, and joking around with Jo like everything was normal, normal, normal, I managed to stay focused on the present and avoid thinking about anything else. Nobody seemed to notice that my surface was bruised and my insides were crumbling. Nobody except Rufus, who that morning had leaned his full weight against my legs, placed his head on my lap, and stared up at me soulfully through breakfast, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed in that part of the kitchen. But my parents had both left early for work, so there was no one to yell at either of us about any of it.
Even getting around my lie about the dentist turned out to be easy, since when my dad came to pick me up for my appointment, Jo was already in the library doing peer tutoring for our school’s community service requirement. But as I sat across from the receptionist’s desk, tuning out the world and the waiting room chatter, all the feelings I’d been keeping so firmly sealed out began to leak in past my defenses. They flooded the infinitesimal cracks in my resolve and streamed into the back of my throat, forcing me to swallow hard against them.
I grabbed a parenting magazine from the stack on the table in front of me and flipped through it slowly, trying not to think about the hundreds of other fingers that had touched its pages or what else they’d touched before that, but my brain could only block out one terrible thing at a time. I fled to the bathroom to wash my hands with soap, in water turned as hot as it would go. When I emerged, I felt calmer. I made it through the mandatory small-talk with the hygienist, settled back against the dental chair, closed my eyes, opened wide, and gave myself over to her control.
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