Put Me Back Together (15 page)

My mother hadn’t been quite so eager to hear about my every worry then. In fact, she’d essentially ignored my distress for months until my father insisted they take me to see Dr. Lepore. As much as she said she wanted me to be honest with her, I knew my mother. She didn’t want to be the parent of a troubled girl again, to have to comfort me as I wept, to have to stop herself from screaming at me to get it together. She wanted a daughter she could understand, even if I had to study art instead of law, even if she could tell that all I fed her were lies. A daughter who lied about being fine was trying. That was far preferable to a miserable daughter who wasn’t trying at all.

Still, all that lying took its toll.

I placed my cell down on my desk and crawled onto my bed, lying down on my stomach with my arm under my cheek.

I’m fine
, I repeated silently to myself.
Fine, fine, fine.

But I didn’t feel fine. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spoken out loud about everything that had happened, even peripherally. It made me feel out of control. Like I was in a car about to drive off a bridge and though I was in the driver’s seat, there was nothing I could do to stop it. She’d even said Brandon’s name! I never let myself do that, never let myself think about Dr. Lepore, the trial, or, God forbid, that horrible day itself. If my mind drifted there, if I found myself picturing it—Tommy Wesley’s face, stained with tears, the last time I saw him alive. Brandon’s insistent voice,
“I’m doing this for you”
. The officer with his face in his hands when they found the body, so little, so bloody. My own hands shaking uncontrollably as they asked me what I’d seen. “
Did you see what happened? Did you see who it was?”
—I always, always yanked my mind away.

Those memories weren’t safe. Those memories were against the rules, out of bounds, completely off-limits. If I got lost in those memories, I might never find my way back out again. That’s why I didn’t watch the news or listen to the radio. That’s why I didn’t read the articles. Not because I didn’t want to know what happened. Because I knew too much. Because I knew so much that had never been told. Because I could drown in all the things I knew and couldn’t tell.

When the doorbell rang, I still hadn’t gotten dressed or put in my contacts. I drifted into the living room, pulling on a sweater to mask the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra under my pajama top, and opened the door.

Lucas stood in the hall carrying two pizza boxes, a Styrofoam take-out container, a paper bag, and a pretty adorable goofy grin.

“One of your neighbours let me in,” he explained. I took the pizza boxes out of his arms and moved aside so he could come inside. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got pizza, Cantonese chow mein, a hamburger, fries, and chicken nuggets.”

“And a turkey dinner?” I said, eyeing all the food laid out on my coffee table.

“Nope,” he said. “That’ll have to wait for next time.”

Next time. I wanted those words to make me giddy with happiness, but they barely made an impression.

I sat down on the couch while Lucas busied himself getting plates and cutlery out of the kitchen, another first. I actually didn’t think I’d ever had a guy inside my apartment before, except the super that time the radiator had stopped working. One nice side effect of my current mood was that I also couldn’t feel the insane discomfort Lucas’s presence so close to my dirty hamper and unflattering photos would usually have created.

“I thought we were going out,” I said as he handed me my napkin and plate.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” Lucas replied as he sat down next to me.

When he’d piled his own plate high with food and I still hadn’t served myself—I think I’d also missed a couple of questions he’d asked me—Lucas put down his plate and turned to face me on the couch. He had such kind eyes. That was what you noticed when you were teetering on the edge of the bridge, about to go over—the people who looked on you with kindness and the ones who turned away.

Lucas brushed a strand of hair off of my cheek. I wondered idly if I’d even brushed my hair that day.

“Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, and forced myself to sit up straight, to pick something to eat, to speak and move and live.

It was a quiet meal, but not a strained one. Lucas seemed to sense that I wasn’t in the mood for our usual repartee and didn’t question it, which meant more to me than I could say. My most talkative moment came when the cat popped out from under the couch and rubbed himself against Lucas’s legs, and I told Lucas I’d decided to name the cat Turner after my favourite artist, Joseph Turner.

“I guess he’s really yours, if nobody’s claimed him by now,” Lucas said.

“He’s yours, too,” I insisted. “You helped rescue him.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to come over all the time,” Lucas said with a grin, “to visit him.”

I almost managed a smile back.

Lucas chatted a little about his roommate Eric’s awful girlfriend—she’d stolen his credit card and maxed it out, twice—and his classes, keeping the topics to things I didn’t have to respond to with much more than a laugh or a “Really?” He made it easy for me.

When we finished eating, he put in a movie so I wouldn’t have to talk at all. We both leaned back on the couch under the same blanket and I put my head on his shoulder.

And that was easy, too.

10

“Maybe it’s not too late to call him and cancel,” Anita said. Even I could hear the desperation in her voice, and I wasn’t even really listening. I was gripping my head so hard I thought my skull might cave in from the pressure—it made listening a lesser concern.

“Chicks don’t cancel on Lucas,” a male voice said. “That shit just doesn’t happen.”

“Shut up, Matt!” Emily cried. “You are not helping. Why are you even here?”

“You invited me over,” Matt said.

“Maybe she should lie down,” Anita suggested.

“Don’t let her lie down,” Em said. “What if she swallows her tongue?”

“Oh shit, for real?” Matt said.

Anita said, “She’s not having a seizure!”

Was I having a seizure? I didn’t think so, but then what did I know? Maybe intense nausea, a pounding headache, and the desire to weep and scream at the same time were what a seizure felt like. Or maybe it was just what being a big, fat, terrified baby felt like. It was an either/or situation.

I was sitting on my sister’s bed in her room, flanked by Anita—it was her room, too—and Emily, with my head in my hands and my eyes squeezed shut. Earlier I had been screaming into a pillow, which had sparked Anita’s alarm. She’d never seen me like this before. Honestly, nobody had ever really seen me like this before. I’d only come to Emily’s room because I was seriously freaking the hell out and also I needed help with my hair and she had all the good hair products. And because I needed my sister.

“Why did you say you’d go with him if you didn’t really want to?” Anita asked as she rubbed my back.

“I want to go,” I replied miserably without opening my eyes. “This is me wanting to go.”

I heard Matt laugh. “Damn, girl,” he said. “You’ve got problems.”

“Get
out
!” Em cried, and I felt the bed shift beneath me as she got up and wrestled Matt toward the door.

“Hey,” he protested. “
You
invited
me
over.”

“And now this is me kicking you the hell out!” Em cried, slamming the door, presumably in his face.

I heard a girl’s voice outside the door say, “Dude, that’s harsh!” and some laughter. Poor Matt would probably be hearing about this for a while.

“God,” Em muttered. “I hate it when they keep coming back like that.”

“You invited him over, you idiot,” Anita said in an irritated whisper. “If you don’t want them to get clingy, then don’t be such a tease!”

“How dare you ignore my sister’s pain to chastise me,” Em replied haughtily, also in a whisper. “This is about Katie. Let’s take care of Katie.”

“Maybe Katie’s freaking out because her sister’s a dirty little skank,” Anita shot back. I heard a
thump
, which I was pretty sure was Anita being hit by a pillow.

“I’m a skank?” Em cried. “Who slept with Greg Ranski twice after he got back together with his girlfriend?”

Thump, thump
.

I had to open my eyes for that one. “Oh my God, Anita,” I said to her.

“That doesn’t make me a skank!” Anita protested, socking Em another time with the pillow from her bed. “That just makes me guilty of…bad decision making. Besides, that was first semester. We agreed that anything that happened first semester doesn’t count!”

“Oh yeah? Well, count this!” Em said, brandishing a cushion from the armchair.

A few minutes later, after a furious pillow battle that I think we all ultimately lost, we found ourselves lying on the floor in a row with our feet up on Manic Melanie’s bed, staring at the ceiling. I had a pink bunny slipper under my head.

“It’s a party,” I said. “You know I’m no good at parties.”

“That’s not true,” Anita said. “You’re good at everything.” I had no idea what she was basing this on, but it was reassuring, nonetheless.

“What if I can’t think of anything to say?” I said.

“Just think of what the coolest person you know would say in that exact situation and say that,” Em replied. “It works for me all the time. By the way, the coolest person you know is me.”

That one was a little less reassuring. If I were going to be Em at this party, I’d have to do some serious drugs to get through the night.

“What if they try to force me to play beer pong or quarters or do that thing where they make you drink beer out of a tube that kind of seems like waterboarding?”

“Then tell them to fuck off!” Anita and Em both said at the same time, and we all cracked up.

“What if they try to make me dance on a table?” I said.

“Nobody ever makes someone dance on a table,” Anita explained. “It’s kind of a voluntary thing. And I think we can all agree you won’t be volunteering.”

“Hell, no!” I said.

“I’ve got the perfect solution for all your worries,” Emily said. “Here it is: Drink as much as you can as fast as you can. Tada! No more worries.”

I expected Anita to dismiss Em’s solution as quickly as I did, but instead I heard her agreeing.

“Seems like a wise plan,” she said.

“Guys, the only thing worse than going to this party with Lucas would be going to this party and getting plastered and throwing up all over Lucas,” I said. Considering how quickly I’d gotten drunk at The Limo, that was a real possibility. “I reject your solution!”

“Seems like a wise choice,” Anita agreed in a bout of fickleness.

“Okay, then, let’s talk about Lucas. He’ll be with you the whole time, right?” Em said. “Just stay with him. I’m sure he’ll take care of you.” I ignored her unspoken question:
Because this is a date, right?

“Except Lucas is a man-whore who can’t be trusted,” I reminded her. “You’re the one who told me that, remember?”

“I once saw him go into a room with a girl at a party—I’m guessing to sleep with her—and then later go into another room with another girl—I’m guessing to sleep with her, too,” Anita piped up. “Then he went home with my friend Gretchen’s sister, but they didn’t sleep together. They just made out.”

“
What?
” I cried.

Emily half-sat up and glared at Anita. “Do you want to get the pillow again?” she threatened.

“What?” Anita answered, not the least bit intimidated. “He
is
a man-whore. Everyone’s heard the stories about Lucas. He’s done half the girls on campus, and probably most of the townies, too. Girls fall at his feet wherever he goes, and they always come back for more. That insane brawl in the cafeteria last year where one girl got a hunk of her hair pulled out and the other lost a tooth? That fight was over Lucas. Katie should know what she’s up against.”

I seriously felt like I was going to be sick.

“What if he tries to take me into a room?” I said. The idea was simultaneously enthralling and horrifying.