by Ginger Scott
And once I start, I’m not sure I’ll stop.
For once, it’s not my body that is caging me. My limitations, the ones I’m battling through today, are in my head. The ugly inside me right now is new. And I don’t deserve to have to have it there. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t go looking for it. But it found me anyway. I can’t deny that the last few hours have scarred me…again.
I shouldn’t have stayed. I should have just taken the F. But I can’t let my grades slip. That’s a deal-breaker for my parents. And just one F—risks it all.
Maybe I should have risked it? No…don’t let those thoughts in. Don’t think about it. Just think about the goal, your game—your mission. Your body is fine. Everything is fine. Your legs feel strong. You are winning.
Win. Win. Win!
I was the only one in the room. I knew that was wrong; it’s always wrong. But I slid into the small desk. I let him hand me the stapled packet for the retest. I wrote my answers, scribbling quickly, my mind too busy searching for answers and reeling from the excitement of finding them and knowing they were right. I didn’t notice how close he’d gotten. I didn’t see it coming.
And then his hand was on my thigh.
No. My body is strong—just forty-five more minutes of running. I want this. I can do this.
I jerked my leg quickly, startled, almost as I would be if a spider landed on me. A spider—this was so incredibly far from a spider. I would have gladly accepted venom instead. I can still hear it all in my head, his voice battling for dominance with my own. Every second, I fight to keep myself on top, to remain in control.
“Oh, I’m sorry Cassidy. I just wanted to check your work, make sure you were getting it this time,” he said. So condescending. His breath hot, the stench of stale coffee nauseatingly pungent.
I pretended it was nothing. I played along with the misunderstanding. I told him I felt pretty good this time, that I was sure my answers were right.
And then his hand slid back in place, his chair behind me pushed up against my own. His legs on either side of me, his fingers roaming up…slowly—he wasn’t going to stop. He. Was. Not. Going. To. Stop.
A single tear falls down my cheek. I catch it quickly, feeling it fast, and rubbing it away with the back of my hand. I open my eyes and am relieved that I am in a corner…alone. Coach has come in. I missed his entrance. I was lost for a few minutes, but I’m here now.
He’s drawing things on the whiteboard, and I nod when he speaks my name. But I’m not hearing any of it. It doesn’t matter—I will know what I’m doing on the field, whether I hear his plays or not. It’s a friendly—a match up with an OSU club team. Nothing counts here. Except everything counts for me, if I want to erase it all—get back on my map. I need to perform here. Forty-five more minutes. I can do this. My body feels strong.
I can shut this out just long enough. I can do it, because I deserve it. And he doesn’t get to take that away from me. When it’s all over, I’ll call my dad, and figure out what I’m going to do about breaking a faculty member’s nose.
The game stays on course. My mind stays sharp. The walls stay in place. And his voice—Mr. Cotterman’s, Paul Cotterman’s—it disappears long enough for me to do what I need to do.
I’ve learned her name—the girl with the jet-black hair. It’s Chandra. She’s good, as good as I assumed she would be. We’ve been playing opposite most of the game, and we work well together. The only flaw being that I’m pretty sure we share a mutual hatred for each other.
She hates me, because I’m better than her—a disruption to her comfort. I hate her…because she’s a bitch.
She knocked my water over when I set it on the table to adjust my shin guards. And she pushed her sharp cleats into the top of my foot a few times, just convenient enough to make it look accidental. But it’s not. I can tell. I can tell, because I would have played it the same way if I were strong enough to follow through with such a move. I’m getting there—strong enough? I was well on my way before this morning. But I’ve had a setback. Today, I’m only strong enough to get through a short soccer match.
I want my shower. I don’t want to stay and bond with the girls. I just want to go home and bury myself, hide. And I want to call my father. But coach has other plans. And Ty is waiting for me. And I want to go back to the space in my head when I was flirting with ways to tell him I loved him. But now I just want to be alone. I’m afraid if he touches me, I’ll recoil—for entirely wrong reasons. And I don’t want to explain them.
I don’t want him to look at me and see anything other than the beautiful girl in his drawing.
“You looked at home out there,” Coach P. says. “I would never guess that you have MS.”
Shit. He knows. Of course, he knows. I bet that’s why he gave me this chance in the first place. I bet that’s how Ty sold me trying out. Everything feels cheap now, like a gift I didn’t earn.
“Yeah, well, you can’t really see MS,” I say, and I know I sound snarky. I can tell because Ty is here now, and he’s making wide eyes at me from behind coach. Tone it down, he’s saying with that face. Oh Ty, you have no idea how close Bruce Banner is to turning into the Hulk right before your eyes.
“I know. I didn’t mean…I…sorry, that was insensitive,” Coach says. “I just meant you look like you’re in top condition, like you haven’t taken any time off at all.”
“Yeah, well…that’s not what you said,” I say back, and hearing myself, I wake up a little from my trance. I might be overreacting. I need to breathe and remember where I am, what I want. And then take it. “Sorry,” I apologize quickly, but he shakes his head no and just pats me once on the shoulder, his touch heavy and sharp and as hot as fire. I shudder uncontrollably, but I cover it up fast.
“Bruise. I took a mean collision,” I lie. He buys it, nodding and crossing his arms while he looks down at his feet.
“There’s some paperwork involved. We’ll need to get some additional records. And real workouts don’t start until December. But I’d like to have you on the squad, Owens. Honestly…you’d be doing me a favor,” he says, and I let myself enjoy every word. He’s being genuine. And I was good. No…I was great!
“I’d like that,” I say, allowing myself this little break. I shake his hand and catch Ty’s smile behind him.
“Good. Well, we’ll see you next week. We work out on Wednesdays and weekends,” he says, patting me once more, but this time lightly, as he passes. The light touch—it’s actually worse. But I hold my breath and leave my smile in place, my teeth meanwhile grinding against one another at the memory of Cotterman’s hand, and how far up my leg it traveled before I stopped it. One hand had erased months of progress.
I’m still that girl—the dirty one. Just like the girls in the locker room said. And that’s all anyone’s ever going to see.
Chapter 17
Ty
“You were awesome. Seriously. I had no idea.” I’ve been gushing for the last hour. I praised her during the entire walk home. I waited in her room, waited while she showered, waited while she changed outfits several times—even though every time it was just a different long-sleeved shirt with jeans. I was the only one talking, just my mouth running off words about how goddamned good she was. It’s kind of starting to piss me off.
She smiles. Says thanks. But her reactions are that of a beaten puppy. I can’t tell what the hell is wrong. I haven’t talked to Kelly for a week, since our phone call. And I know I’ve been a little absent with Cass. I’m there, but I can’t help but let my head drift to Kel and Jackson, alone, while Jared is off somewhere…getting high. That pisses me off, to the point of punching things.
Everything in my path lately…pissing me off!
Today, I’ve been all Cass’s. I’ve been with her every moment. When I asked her if something was wrong—or if someone made her upset—she just said her body was tired. And maybe that’s it—but I kind of don’t think that’s it.
“You almost r
eady? We should get to Sally’s before it gets busy,” I say, knowing that we’re already going to have to wait an hour just to find a seat. I’m hungry. And that pisses me off, too.
“I’ll pack you a snack,” she says, almost a joke. I think that was a joke. Was that a joke? It wasn’t funny. And she’s not looking at me, smiling, laughing. I don’t think that was a joke.
“Okay,” I say, challenging her. She tosses me a granola bar, and I catch it and stare at her while she busies herself with her purse, her hair, her shoes. She won’t make eye contact, and it’s killing me. PISSING ME OFF!
I follow her to the door, and just before she opens it, I reach for her back pocket and tug, trying to get her close to me. Maybe also trying to add a little of her calming serum to my boiling blood.
“Ty, don’t,” she says, shrugging me off.
“Right. Got it. Wouldn’t dream of touching you, princess,” I say under my breath, moving by her to the elevator so I can be alone with her in an even more confined space. Yeah, tonight should be fun.
I’m careful to keep the conversation on her game, on her training, and her plans now that she’s been offered the spot. She seems willing to talk about this stuff. But her answers are still clipped.
We get to Sally’s, and the wait is an hour. Surprise.
“Why are you so cranky?” she asks. Seriously? She initiates a conversation for the first time all night…and this? She asks me why I’m cranky? Pokes the fucking starved-ass bear?
“I was hungry…an hour ago,” I say, every acid-laced word that comes out of my mouth making me feel bad. Why are we fighting? Why can’t I stop? Why won’t she stop?
“I gave you a snack,” she says, standing from the wooden bench she’s been sitting on for the last ten minutes while we wait. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
I don’t say a word when she leaves. I do my best to smile, my inner voice coaching me not to make things worse. Maybe this can be a reset button—when Cass comes back, we’ll just start over. Begin at normal.
She’s gone for almost ten minutes, at least, that’s how long I’m guessing she’s been gone, because I realize that she still has my watch. Which, of course, pisses me off. I make sure it’s the first thing I ask when she returns.
“Hey, where’s my watch?” I probably could have said that better. I’d feel guilty, but she’s suddenly frozen, as in not breathing. Her eyes widen—it’s the slightest difference, but I see it. I’m a great poker player, and I look for these things when I’m reading someone. Cass just showed her cards, and she doesn’t even know it.
“My…watch?” I ask again, eyebrow cocked. Her eyes fade now, her mouth dropping into an even line. She looks sick.
“Ty, I…” she starts, looking into her lap where her hands are tugging at the edges of her sleeves, pulling the fabric over her wrists, her wrists where normally my watch should be.
“You have my watch, don’t you? Cass, this isn’t funny. Tell me you have my watch,” I demand. She doesn’t’ have it. I know she doesn’t. I knew it the moment her breath stopped.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t bother to hold her eye contact to wait for her answer. My hands are in my hair, my hat tossed on my lap while I try to imagine how I’m going to be whole again.
Somewhere…somewhere deep inside…there is still a faint voice that is telling me it’s just a watch. That voice is trying to be heard, trying to tell me that this isn’t Cass’s fault, accidents happen, it’s okay…and I might love this girl. Don’t fuck it up over a watch.
I step on that voice. Then I kick it in the groin, and shove it in an alley.
“Did you lose it? I mean…do you at least know where the fuck it is?” I ask. I’m lost to the asshole now. There’s no coming back out of this gracefully.
“Ty… please. Don’t talk to me like that,” she says, and for a small second or two, my voice, the good voice, pipes in telling me she’s right. I kick it again.
“Cass,” I take a deep breath, bringing my voice down to a calm tone because that’s really the least I could do. I don’t need to make this a show for everyone else. I lean forward to her, my hands folded together while my elbows rest on my knees, my wrist bare. “When you give someone something…let them borrow something…say something that might have a certain sentimental value to it—you kind of make this verbal contract. Do you follow me?”
“Ty, I’m sorry. I left it in the classroom. I’m sure it’s there. I’ll get it,” she’s talking, but I’m not hearing. All of my senses are closed off. The asshole has moved in, and he ain’t budging.
“Go on. Go get it,” I say, like there’s any chance that could really happen. Fuck, why can’t I stop this?
“Ty, you know I can’t right now. I’ll go, first thing Monday morning. I’ll get up early,” she looks flustered. Shit. I did this.
“Fine,” I say, sulking back into my chair. I watch her open her mouth to talk at least six times, each time lying back in her seat, unable to let the words out. I’ve stunned her, and I’m such an asshole that I’m proud of it. And then it comes crashing down all at once. I’m blinded by cold hands with manicured nails and a voice behind me hell-bent on ruining any hope I might be clinging to.
“Guess who?” she asks, her voice raspy, drunk. Why do girls do that, ambush you from behind and play this game, knowing the high probability that you’re going to guess wrong, and leave everyone feeling stupid?
“No idea,” I huff, and as her hands slide away from my face, I get a good look at Cass. She. Is. Livid. A girl with long brown hair slides into my lap. She’s dressed like one of the waitresses, and I recognize her. But fuck if I can remember her name.
“Hey, you,” she says. “I just got off. You wanna take me home?”
Oh wow. This is really happening.
“Hi, yeah. So…I’m on a date. With my girlfriend,” I say, doing my best to encourage her to get off of me. She slides awkwardly down my leg, her stupor causing her to slip and fall on her ass, her skirt sliding up enough to show off her thong, and everything around it.
Cass looks disgusted. She should be. I’m disgusted. I’m disgusted at myself. But I still want my watch. And I can’t bring myself to forgive her for leaving it behind…carelessly.
“You know what? It’s fine. He can take you home. Because it turns out I’m not his girlfriend,” she says, standing and dropping a ten dollar bill on the small table in front of me to pay for her drink. I blink again, and she’s gone.
“Excuse me,” I say, pushing through this mystery girl’s gaggle of drunken groupies.
I find Cass quickly. She’s not even trying to run. She’s walking fast, but more angry than running away.
“Hey! What the hell?” I yell, and she halts fast, spinning on her heels and closing the gap between us, her arms crossed in front of her body to fight off the night chill.
“Go on,” she says, waving her hand to direct me back inside. I get it; she’s imitating me, and how I told her to go get the watch. It’s almost funny. But it’s not.
“Cass, you’re being unfair,” I say, and she laughs. Hard.
“Oh really? I’m new at this, Ty. Explain to me, how does a girlfriend usually react when some hooker practically lap dances her boyfriend in front of her?” she asks.
“She’s not a hooker,” I say, rolling my eyes. I mean, please—I have standards. Cass is leaning on her hip, her lips pursed. Clearly, she doesn’t think I have standards. “Before I met you, I dated. You know this.”
“Yeah, boy do I know this,” she says, throwing my past in my face. I don’t like apologizing, and I won’t apologize for things I can’t change.
“Hey, you’re throwing a lot of stones for a girl who could live in a glass house for all I know,” I say back, my gut sinking again at the thought of my lost watch. I can’t let go of it.
“What does that even mean?” she says, tossing her head to the side and yelling to the sky, her hands stretched out to her sid
es.
“It means that I’ve had a past. But for all I know, you’ve had one too. I mean, are you going to tell me that you’ve always been a sheltered little princess? That you’re that good in bed just because? That you maybe haven’t slept with a few guys who have taught you a thing or two so I can reap the rewards?” I’m getting nasty, pushing where I shouldn’t push. I can tell I’ve pushed too far when her hand flies at my face—my head cracks to the side on impact from her slap. My cheek stings, and the cold air only makes it hurt more.
I like the hurt.
“You asshole,” she seethes. “You can go fuck yourself! And go buy a new fucking watch, too! That one was ugly.”
I hold my tongue as she walks away, but before she gets too far, I throw one more nail in our coffin. “Yeah, maybe we should take a break. I think we were getting too serious,” I mutter, just loudly enough for her to hear. Like I even need to say this. I watch her walk away and hold two middle fingers over her head, like pistols shooting me through the heart.
I’m not sure when I started to cry, but it happens. Nothing over the top—there’s no sobbing, no sniffles. I’m in the dark of night, and no one will ever know I’ve even done it. But I do. Three whole tears slide down my cheek, and I let them fall into the collar of my shirt before I swipe my sleeve across my eyes and chin.
“Goddamn it!” I say, loud enough that the girls who have just stumbled out of the bar look my way. “Yeah, yeah. Dude in wheelchair talking to himself. Mind your own goddamn business!”
It’s just a watch. And I can live without it. I know I don’t think I can. But I can. I’m not so sure I can live without Cass, though. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’ve messed up. I know I’ve messed up. It was like a fire I lit over the desert, and every piece of brush in its wake went up in flames. All I’m left with is smoke. And it’s suffocating me.
I pull my phone from my pocket and text my brother, because he’s the only one who won’t judge me too harshly. He’ll judge, but it will come with sympathy. When he texts back, I tell him to meet me at the bar. I head inside and order a round of beer and shots, then don’t bother waiting for him to show up before I down his drinks and mine.