Breakable (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

 “I
have a theory,” Doc says, in that tone which I’ve learned means he’s about to
pontificate.

Peachy.

He
clears his throat. “I believe that human beings have a tendency to live up to
expectations: What we expect of ourselves, what we believe others expect of us.
I believe we
all
fit our lives to those patterns. And I wonder if that
hasn’t been part of your problem.”

I
roll my eyes. “Man, you’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

“The
rest of who?” he asks, coolly.

“
Them
.
Parents. Teachers.
Shrinks
. Whoever. Anyone who hasn’t had to walk down
a hall and fear for their life on a daily basis.”

“You
feel they are – were – all against you?”

“Not
against me, exactly. But they didn’t understand.”

Doc
leans forward slightly. “Understand what?”

I
consider not answering. But hell, I’m kind of curious to see what he’ll say.

 “Okay...
in high school
they
told me just to stay out of the way of the people
who targeted me. But it didn’t matter what I did – ignore them, fight back,
walk away – they’d just find me. Again and again and again.”

He
touches a finger to his lips. His face looks pinched. “Go on.”

“So
given your theory, I brought it all on myself? I pushed people beyond the point
where they couldn’t walk away – to a state so aggravated, they had to seek me
out?”

“And
if the answer is yes?”

Anger
flared, burning up my ribs. I swallowed it down. “I’d say you need to believe I
wasn’t the one doing the pushing. Because that’s what they did to me.”

“Pushed
you?”

“To
the point that I was ready to break.”

He
looks down at his lap, grimaces, shifts in his seat. “And your incident?”

I
glare. He doesn’t back off.

“I
know
I didn’t invite that.” I mutter. “I know because I wasn’t looking
for them. They came looking for me. In fact, it seemed like, those last few
months, it was always that way. They looked for me. And when they found me…” I
trail off.

He
knows.

I
woke the morning after the party to a tectonic shift in self-loathing.

My
head throbbed. Every time I moved my stomach lurched. Between Finn and Dex
there wasn’t a single redeeming memory. The night was a failure on every level.
I hadn’t gotten the letter back from Finn, Dex probably hated me, and…

Then
I remembered Mark’s stony face when he’d dropped me off. How he shook his head.
How he left the party to
deal
with me, then returned to Karyn…

I
made it to the bathroom just in time.

Gawd,
it was really happening. After ten years, Mark was finally getting sick of me.
He was finally going to dump me forever.

And
it was totally my own fault.

I
dragged myself into the shower, stood face-first in the hissing stream, praying
that somehow it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I prayed Mark would come pick me up
and be his nice, caring self, making sure I was okay, tell me the fight last
night was no big deal. And I prayed Karyn had gotten really drunk and cheated
on him with Finn and he’d found out.

I
also prayed that the earth had opened up and swallowed Dex.

I
stumbled out of the shower to dry myself, searching for a plan. What could I do
now? Even if Mark forgave me for last night, at some point Finn would give him
the letter and then it would be over. Mark broke up with girlfriends who got
too clingy. He’d run screaming from a best friend declaring love.

I
felt so black inside I couldn’t even cry. I wanted to curl up and die.

Walking
to my room felt like running a marathon. Then I looked at the big mirror on the
opposite wall and wished I’d remembered to cover it the night before.

“Rough
night?” Older Me stood in the reflection, arms crossed.

I
nodded.

“What
happened?”

“Which
part?” I dropped to the bed and stared at the roof so I wouldn’t have to see her
face. “The part where Finn caught me in his room and made sure I know how
pathetic I am? Or the part where Dex thought I wanted to have sex and I ended
up slapping him? Or maybe you want to hear about Mark beating on Dex because he
thought Dex hurt me – then getting mad at me for being in the bedroom with Dex
when no one knew where I was.”

Older
Me didn’t reply. That was so odd, I looked to make sure she was still there.

She
stood open mouthed, eyes wide. “You were in bed with Dex?”

“What?!
No! I went into a
bedroom
. Why does everyone automatically jump to the
conclusion I’m ready to rip my pants off at the first opportunity?!”

“I
didn’t think you were…” She kind of sagged. “Are you okay?”

I
shrugged. I wasn’t, but couldn’t see the point in telling her that. We sat in
silence for a moment, until my stomach clenched. I’d been about to tell her she
was right, that I shouldn’t’ have gone to the party. But then it occurred to
me…

“None
of this would have happened if you’d told me why you didn’t want me to go to
the party,” I said, discovering the truth of it.

She
froze. “Well, I wouldn’t say
that
…”

I
sat up, met her eyes. “No, seriously, let’s get this straight – you
insisted
that I shouldn’t go, but wouldn’t tell me why. You must have known this–” I
cut myself off, she didn’t know about the letter, “–some of this was going to
happen?”

She
sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “Stacy, I can never know for sure
what happened to me is going to happen to you. I’m trying so hard not to…to
push you in a direction that–”

“Bull.”
I said, and the anger started to burn. “You pushed. You pushed
hard.
If
you knew it was going to be bad, why didn’t you tell me?”

Her
face came up, her eyes red, dark shadows beneath them. “Because one of these
days, you’re going to prove me wrong.”

Her
words were heavy. Insistent. Like she was saying so much more than I could
hear.

“What…?”
I started, but couldn’t figure out what to ask.

We
sat, staring, silent for a full minute. It was difficult to think clearly
through the alcohol still tapping in my head. But one thought came to me
clearly.

“You
aren’t telling me something.”

She
grimaced, then her head whipped around. She turned back, eyes wide. “I have to
go.”

“But–”

But
she was gone. Taking my anger and any kind of fuel I had to face this day with
her. Oh, geez. Should I go to the art room or not?

I
should. But, gawd, it was going to be hard. I think I actually grunted when I
pushed myself off the bed.

Slowly,
slowly, I dressed and twisted my wet hair up into a bun. Then I heard a knock
on the door. It had to be Mark. Nerves and relief hit in equal measure. I
practically ran for the door.

The
dark shadow behind the glass turned as I approached. I took a deep breath and
twisted the knob.

A
very sheepish looking, red-eyed Dex stood on the other side, hands shoved into
his pockets, hair still wet from a shower.

His
head was down when I opened the door. Only his eyes slid up to meet mine.

“Hey,
Stacy.”

“Dex.
I wasn’t expecting…you.”

He
shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you. Make sure you were okay. Can I come in?”

“Oh…
um… I don’t know.”

“Stacy,
please… I want to say sorry.”

I
took a beat, but couldn’t really think of a way to say no. So I swung the door
wide as an answer, and stepped back into the hallway. Dex shuffled inside, a
strange look on his face.

“I
was just about to make some coffee. Did you want some?” I said as we passed the
kitchen.

He
made a weird noise. “Don’t talk to me about putting anything into my stomach
this morning,” he groaned.

I
shrugged. “Okay.” I wasn’t about to admit my own stomach still churned. I
glanced over my shoulder when we reached the living room. His eyes were fixed
on me and his face looked tight. Indicating a chair for him, I dropped into the
nearby couch, pulled my knees up and hugged them.

Dex
settled into the big chair my dad used to sit in. He leaned forward, elbows on
knees. His eyes stayed on his own hands while he talked.

“I
thought you might not want to talk after last night.”

I
shrugged, unable to meet his eye. “I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me.
Sorry I slapped you.”

Dex
grimaced and rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it. You
aren’t that strong.”

There
was a loose thread at the bottom of my jeans. I tugged at it, pulling the seam
too tight, then focused on smoothing the thread out, so I’d have something to
do.

Dex
sighed. “About last night… I drank too much and acted like a moron.”

“We’ve
all been there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah,
for real, right?” He grinned and sat back like everything was better. “I’m glad
you feel that way, ‘cause I didn’t want it to end like that, you know?”

“Yeah.”
But I wasn’t feeling quite as forgiving as I apparently sounded. Was I? And
what did he mean by “end it like that”? End what? What were “we” even?

My
heart beat too loud. I felt scared, which was stupid. Dex wasn’t going to hurt
me. I kept picking at the seam, but watching Dex, trying to figure out why he
was here. A little voice reminded me what Mark had said about Dex and girls and
talking. But I pushed it away.

“Look,
I have to get to school, so maybe we could talk later?”

“School?
It’s Saturday.” He looked genuinely confused.

“I
have to go to the art room. I’m…I’m entering a competition and I have so much
work to get done before the deadline…”

Dex’s
face went blank for a second, then he smiled. “Oh, right, your art thing. Do
you want a ride? I don’t mind hanging out while you get ready. I’m going past
there anyway. I can drop you off.”

I
opened my mouth to tell him I was already ready. And that I didn’t want to get
in a car with him anyway. But it was getting so close to nine. And obviously
Mark wasn’t coming. Part of me wanted Mark to see me pulling up to the school
in Dex’s car, let him see that Dex stuck with me even when things got messed
up.

“Sure.
That’d be great. Thanks.” I smiled and Dex smiled back. “I’m almost ready… I
just need to grab my stuff.”

I
got to my feet and Dex did too. I thought he might turn on the television or
something, but when I started for the door to the hallway he grabbed my arm and
stopped me. “Wait.”

I
turned, surprised.

His
expression was serious. He’d leaned down to stare me in the eye. “Look, I
really am sorry. Last night was gross. I don’t want you to, you know, think I’m
a loser. I won’t do that again. I was just nervous.”

His
hand still gripped my arm. I nodded and part of me melted. I understood that
feeling.

“It’s
okay. It was my first party with those guys. I was nervous too.”

Dex
smiled, his eyes dropping to his feet, then tripping back up to mine. “You
don’t understand. I wasn’t nervous about being around them. I was nervous about
being there with
you.
”

I’m
uncertain what expression I managed in the face of that. It took me so off-guard.
Then without another word Dex leaned in, cupped my face, and kissed me – a
soft, gentle kiss like the ones we used to have. The ones that made my knees
shake and my heart pound for all the right reasons.

Too
bad underneath the mint of his toothpaste I could still taste the alcohol on
his breath.

But
once I got past that, I was able to remember why I’d enjoyed kissing him in the
past. Dex had a way of holding on, like he was keeping me away from the rest of
the world. His lips touched softly, his tongue barely tracing mine. Like he had
all the time in the world and he wanted to savor it.

When
I kissed him back his hands trailed down my arms to my waist and pulled me in
tight so I was curled against him. I wrapped my arms around his neck. If a
little part of me wished he was Mark, I could ignore that.

I
still felt all wound up after the party, but a tiny spot of warm, delicious
hope opened up on top of the fear.

Dex
had made a mistake. He’d recognized it and wanted to date.

I
think…

I
kept kissing him until one of his thumbs worked under the hem of my top and I
felt his skin on mine. His hand was warm and smooth, but as it flattened
against my side and slid up, I pulled away.