Pieces of Me

by Ann Garner

  She mentions my father briefly. I wonder if he's told her that he's started to email me once a week, much more frequently than I hear from her. She talks about the various committees that she serves on, mentioning how tired and stressed she is because of them.

  She never once asks me how I’m doing or how my classes are going. She does mention how selfish it is of me to not come home.

  She doesn't understand that I cannot go back to that town, and she wouldn't even attempt to comprehend that being here, surrounded by people whose treatment of me is not colored by events beyond my control, I finally have the hope I've always been looking for.

  I chew on my lower lip as I type out a quick response to her. Grace is stretched out on her stomach on her bed behind me, with her knees bent and feet swaying back and forth in the air to the music she has pumping out of her iPod.

  I close my e-mail, returning to the paper I am working on for my literature class. I'm having trouble concentrating on anything, as I keep thinking about Cole. In the several weeks that we have been dating, I have seen or heard from him every day.

  Except for today. He'd overslept and missed class. I felt guilty knowing it was because he had spent most of the night talking to me on the phone, something that had become a habit for us.

  Every time we talk, every time we touch, I find myself wanting to do more, to say more. I want to move beyond the kissing, and I know he does too, though he's never said a word.

  And even though I am more comfortable with him than with anyone else, I know that doesn't guarantee that I will be able to handle anything else. But the urge to try, to push myself further is nearly consuming me.

  Grace hasn't mentioned anything else about my slip of the tongue, and if she has said something to Cole, he isn't talking about it either. I catch her, on rare occasion, studying me with eyes that suddenly see more than before. I can see the words whipping around in her head, but she hasn't said them, so I leave it alone.

  “I think we should take a break.” Her voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “You always think we should take a break.”

  I hear Grace shift on the mattress, rolling over onto her back. “Tell me how much you've gotten done on that paper in the last thirty minutes.”

  “I've gotten a paragraph done,” I say defensively.

  “Oh, one whole paragraph? You're right, we should hang tight because you're totally on a roll there.”

  I save the little bit of progress I've made and twirl around in my desk chair. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I haven't a clue, but anything to get us out of this room for a few hours.”

  “It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday night, Grace. Our options are going to be pretty limited at this time of night.”

  “You sound like an old lady. Eight o’clock on a Wednesday night,” she says under her breath, shaking her head.

  “Can I just remind you that your last great idea resulted in your brother pulling you out of class a week later to bitch you out?”

  “Sure you can. As long as you keep in mind that it also resulted in you finally getting your head out of your ass soon after that.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  I stand up from my desk, stretching my arms high above my head, trying to work the strain out of my back. Twisting from side to side to ease the tension, I move to my bed, flopping backwards.

  “Well, if you're waiting for me to come up with a brilliant idea, you're screwed. In case you forgot, the social scene isn't really my thing.”

  Grace rolls her eyes. “You're a regular laugh a minute. There's a small bar not far from here we could go to. It’s about two steps up from a dive.”

  I arch one brow. “A bar, really? With our track record? You've high hopes, Gracie Lou.”

  “Don't call me that,” she says automatically with no real heat in her voice. “We could call Grant and Cole to meet us. I'm sure they'd be down.”

  I've already got my hand curled around my cell phone when she mentions their names. I had hoped that this conversation would head in that direction. Is it crazy to miss being with him this much? Crazy to think that I breathe better when I standing next to him?

  “What do you think?” she asks, then I hear the smirk in her voice when says, “Are you texting Cole?”

  “Nope. I'm asking Grant if he wants to ditch you and meet me for drinks.” I glance up at her. “We've been trying to find a way to tell you.”

  My phone chimes and I look down to see that Cole has responded. ‘A bar? You sure?’

  ‘As long as you're there.’ I quickly write back, ‘Otherwise Grace is on her own. And you know how much trouble your sister can get into on her own.’

  ‘So this is really a humanitarian trip to the bar.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  It takes him a few minutes to respond again. Then finally, ‘Ally and Holden are in. Meet us at Grady's.’

  I start to slide my phone back into my pocket when it chimes again. ‘Don't try and go in without me. Make Grace wait.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Grace is already up and moving, changing out of her yoga pants and t-shirt into a pair of dark blue jeans and a pretty pale pink sweater. I opt for more casual, stone washed jeans with a white tank top and a gray hooded jacket. I slip on a pair of pink and gray Toms and tug my hair back away from my face so it falls back over my shoulders.

  “Grant is going to meet us outside in about five minutes.” Grace looks over at me from where she is standing in front of the full length mirror running her fingers through her hair.

  “You've been wearing your glasses an awful lot lately, are your contacts bothering you?”

  I feel the heat slip through me just at the thought of Cole’s reactions to my glasses. To Grace I just smile, “Nah, I'm just too lazy to put my contacts in.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The excitement of getting to see Cole outweighs the unease of heading to a bar. In the few short months that I have been here, in the few weeks that I have been with Cole, I have found the start of what I was looking for.

  Only I know it is based on lies and half-truths.

  I struggle every day with the need to tell him, to tell Grace.

  But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to take another step towards putting my life together again. I'll deal with the rest later.

  As promised, Grant is standing on the wide porch of Howard Hall when we step outside. He smiles at me as he leans over to kiss Grace.

  “Hello, ladies,” he drawls. “A little bored were we?”

  “Grace was bored. I was working on a paper.”

  Grace snorts. “You were staring at the one measly paragraph you'd managed to write in between checking your email and daydreaming about Cole.”

  “At least I was attempting to do school work instead of reading a gossip magazine.”

  Her eyes narrow. “They can be very educational.”

  “Really?” I challenge, raising my eyebrows. “How's that?”

  Grant steps between us. “Jesus, I'm sorry I asked. The two of you do need a time out.”

  Grace and I start laughing at the same time, before Grace says, “I think it was the close quarters. The walls were starting to close in.”

  “I think next year we should get a place off campus together. That way when we get pissy we can go into another room.”

  “Oh, that sounds great,” Grace inserts. We've reached the parking lot and Grant opens both the passenger side doors so we can slide in before heading to the driver’s side. “We should try to get a place over by Cole. Grant is going to stay with him next year since Holden will have graduated.”

  We talk more about the possibility of moving into a townhouse next year while Grant maneuvers through traffic. He pulls into a small parking lot next to a rundown building that only has a smattering of cars parked in it. I shiver when I see that Cole’s truck is parked right next to where Grant has pulled in.

  He is leaning against the
brick wall near the front door of the bar, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, wearing a gray hoodie with the CMU logo stretched across the front. His smile grows the closer I get to him, and when I am close enough he reaches out and grabs one of my hands, pulling me against him for a kiss.

  “Hello, beautiful.”

  I can feel the rumble of his words from where I am leaning against him.

  “Hi.”

  “You really love torturing me, don't you?” He asks, flicking his finger over my glasses where they sit on my nose, as I lean back.

  “It has its perks.”

  Laughing he pushes off the wall, linking his hand more firmly with mine, as he pulls me into the bar. It’s dimly lit, with some soft unrecognizable music playing from hidden speakers. It isn't very crowded inside and we are able to get a table in the far corner.

  I slide into a chair next to Ally, and across from Robby, who is sitting next to a pretty blonde who I vaguely recall seeing around campus before. She doesn't look anything like his usual type.

  She looks normal.

  “This is Lacey,” he says, before introducing the rest of us.

  Cole leans over and whispers in my ear, “Do you want a beer or anything?”

  I shake my head. “Just bottled water.”

  He moves off to the bar with Grant so I attempt to tune into the conversation around the table.

  “What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Lacey?”

  I hadn't necessarily forgotten that Thanksgiving was quickly coming up; it was after all the latest stunt I was pulling that left my mother with heart palpitations, since I refused to go home.

  I wondered if it occurred to her that the reason I didn't want to go was that the three days immediately preceding Thanksgiving this year would be the anniversary of the worst three days of my life.

  Probably only when she was drinking for free at the country club as her ‘friends’ listened to her tale of woe.

  Cole slides a bottle of water in front of me as I listen to Lacey talk about returning home to Charleston for the nine day break from school.

  “Are you heading home, Delaney?”

  I look up at Robby who asked the question. “Oh, no. I'm staying here.”

  Under the table I feel Cole’s hand settle on my leg, just above my knee. We've talked about this, several times, over the last few weeks. He wants me to go home with them.

  I won't go, but not for the reasons he thinks.

  “All by yourself?”

  This comes from Lacey, who has a bit of a southern pull to her voice, which I'm sure only makes her that much more appealing to Robby.

  “It'll give me some time to catch up on some work, and to start prepping for exams.” I say with a roll of one shoulder. Robby leans over and whispers something in her ear and then the conversation switches to some local band that is going to play here at Grady's next week.

  “Your first class is at ten on Thursdays right?” Cole has leaned into ask the question and the warmth from his breath tickles against my ear.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He stands up. “Del and I are going to head out.”

  We are? We've just barely sat down. But he's looking at me in a way that heats my insides, even with everyone watching us. And when he grabs my hand, pulling me up, I let myself be lead from the bar. It's not until we're settled in his truck that I realize I hadn't even said goodbye to anyone.

  “I still think you should come with us.” He says, reaching out to turn the heat on in the truck full blast. It's not all that cold outside, not like the fall weather I'm used to, but I welcome the warm air as I prepare myself for this conversation again.

  “I wouldn't feel right,” I start, “invading on your family time like that.”

  “Ally will be there.” He points out.

  “You know Holden is about three seconds from asking her to marry him, so that's not even remotely close to the same thing.”

  I don't question where we’re going as he pulls out of the parking lot. I assume it’s back to his place. I actually really hope it is.

  “I don't like the idea of you being here all alone.”

  “I won't be.” I insist. “There are other students who will be staying on campus, and the food court is going to be open until lunch Thanksgiving day, and after that I'll live on microwave ramen noodles.”

  “Not exactly a traditional Thanksgiving meal.”

  “Last Thanksgiving I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” I say dryly. “The food court will be an improvement.”

  We've pulled up in front of the townhouse and he is staring at me. “Peanut butter and jelly? You're serious?”

  “What's wrong with a good PB&J?”

  Cole studies me for a moment and then shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing. Let’s go inside.”

  He waits for me to come around the front of the truck before moving towards the house. With every step we take our arms brush against each other. I don't want to think about Thanksgiving dinner and how disappointed he is that I won't go home with him.

  Honestly, I want to kiss him. I find myself thinking about kissing him all the time. And now that

  I know we are going to be alone in the house?

  I'm only thinking about it more.

  Cole unlocks the door quickly and we slip inside. He starts to move towards the couch but I stop him with a tug on his hand. He looks back to me, a question on his gorgeous face. I glance up the stairs.

  I know I've caught his attention by the way his body straightens, his hand squeezing mine just a little bit tighter than before. I also know that he won't make the first move up those stairs.

  It has to be me.

  Even before I reach the first step I feel the low simmer of arousal snake through my body, a feeling that has become more familiar over the last few weeks.

  When we reach the top of the stairs I have to wait for him to move around me. I've never been up here before and have no clue which room is his. Still silent, he leads me to the end of the hall and through one of the closed doors.

  Now that I'm actually standing here, in his room, I'm not quite sure that I'll be able to stay. There is a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, but I'm determined to try not to let it stop me.

  Soon I will be thrown back. I won't be able to stop the flood of memories that will assault me, except those few precious hours of untouched sleep the sleeping pills I have tucked in my dresser will give me.

  I despise medication in all forms, even as I fully understand the necessity of them. My hatred is deep rooted in the fact that four years ago, for three achingly long days I had been drugged against my will, fully aware of what was happening to me, while unable to do more than quietly cry while it happened.

  But every year during those three days I take sleeping pills, because without them the nightmares become too much. The memories too real.

  But tonight I want to push those lingering memories away and make new ones, happy ones. I'm afraid that if I wait until after the macabre anniversary of my rape, I will have regressed back so far that his touch alone will send me into a panic attack.