Because I'm Disposable (5 page)

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Boy, have you changed. I like the new look!” He winked at me and rose. “I gotta get going, but I’ll get with you after school,” he said to Mona. Then to me, “See ya ‘round, Callie.”

Somehow, I knew he meant it.

*
* * * *

Link was nowhere to be seen when I boarded the bus that afternoon. Maybe he’d caught a ride with someone. I told myself I preferred that, so I wouldn’t have to face the same discomfort I’d felt that morning. I wasn’t about to admit that I actually wanted to see him.

When the bus was half-full—about as full as it ever got in the afternoons—the driver stepped on and took his seat. He started the engine and reached for his clipboard to scribble on whatever sheet it was that he scribbled on every day. I gave up on waiting for Link, stuck my ear buds in my ears, and turned to stare out the window once the music started. Halfway through the first song, a shadow fell across me. I knew before I looked up that it was Link.

I pulled one ear bud free and looked up at him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

God, he was cute.

I shook my head and slid my backpack off the seat to make room. The bus driver must have been waiting on Link, because the moment he sat, the bus lurched into motion and pulled away from the curb.

Link settled his backpack in his lap and rested his hands on top. “So, I saw you talking to Mona Fleming at lunch.”

He’d been watching me? “Yeah?”

“I, well
…” He trailed off, fidgeting with the zipper pull on his bag while he collected his thoughts. “She goes through a lot of friends. That’s all.”

He was worried about my feelings?

“At least she shows up when she says we’re going to hang out.” I clamped my mouth shut the second the words were out. I hadn’t meant to say that. I certainly hadn’t meant to use such an antagonistic tone. I hadn’t wanted Link to know how much it’d hurt me when he didn’t show. I turned back to the window.

“Callie, I’m sorry. I should have called, but I was embarrassed.” He did sound genuinely sorry.

I didn’t take my eyes off the passing scenery, but asked, “Embarrassed about what?”

He cleared his throat before answering. “I got grounded.”

“Grounded?” Parents actually did that?

He looked shamefully down at his shoes. “I stayed out past my curfew Friday night.”

“Curfew?” Apparently, normal parents did a lot of things mine didn’t. Of course, I’d probably never had a curfew because I never went out.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be in by eleven on the weekends, but I didn’t get home until almost midnight.” He shrugged. “So, my parents grounded me.” He lifted his gaze to look me directly in the eye. “Please don’t be mad at me, Callista.”

He looked and sounded sincere. I nodded, and he breathed a soft sigh of relief.

“I’m not grounded anymore. I was thinking maybe I could bring a movie over tonight. You know, if you still want to hang.”

Want it? No. I craved it.

Chapter Eight

Link was so close
on the couch
his body heat radiated into my skin. The movie had been playing for almost half an hour, and I had no idea what was going on. I was stiff as a board with my hands in my lap, and had been for the entire time. Try as I might, I couldn’t concentrate on anything except Link. Everything about him was distracting, even the way he smelled—like laundry detergent and evergreen—probably his shampoo or something. I was so acutely aware of him, I almost jumped out of my skin when he suddenly raised his arm up and rested it along the back of the couch.

He was probably just getting comfortable, but if I relaxed back, he’d pretty much have his arm around me. Inch by nerve-racking inch, I lowered my body toward the cushion behind me. A million years later, I was resting awkwardly against the cushion, and Link’s arm was so close it tickled the hair at the crown of my head.

Link took a deep breath and when he released it, shifted toward me. His arm dropped, and I leaned forward enough to let it fall into place on my shoulders. Was he planning this? This was what the boys always tried when they wanted to make a move on a girl during a movie, right? I didn’t know; no one had ever put the moves on me before.

Settling in against Link was easy. He was warm and comfortable, and my five-foot-two-inch frame fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. His body relaxed around me, pulling me closer. He rested his chin on my head and inhaled deeply.

He sighed. “You smell like honey.”

My stomach flipped over. “It’s my shampoo, I think.” Did that sound as dumb as I thought it did?

“It’s nice.”

I tried to bite back a smile, and when I couldn’t, I buried my face in his shirt. Link stiffened. I was suddenly a hundred times more self-conscious than I had been just seconds ago. Had I weirded him out?

Slowly, so heartbreakingly slowly, I moved my head away from his chest and trailed my gaze across his shirt, up his neck. I snuck a glance at his slightly-parted lips before finally looking him in the eye. His normally bright green eyes reflected pale, almost iridescent in the soft light of the television. His lids shuttered halfway, and he broke eye contact to stare at my lips, then licked his own.

He was going to kiss me. The realization struck me hard, and I would have sworn the room spun for a second before everything came into sharp focus: his eyes closing, his soft inhale, the way th
e corners of his lips curved—a hint of a nervous smile.

Was
I supposed to close my eyes—that’s what people did when they kissed right? Our lips connected. I clenched my eyelids shut, and my lips parted on a tiny gasp. His kiss was delicate, brushing over me, light as air. For the longest time, he didn’t move, just stayed there like he was waiting for me to do something. Maybe he was.

I darted my tongue out to dance across his lower lip. Then, his hand was in my hair, and his mouth was hot on mine, pressing insistently. Link’s tongue stole into my mouth to tangle with my own.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, how to kiss him back. Where should I put my hands? Was my breath okay? I set my hands against his chest and hoped my breath was up to par. Link’s kiss was smooth, like he’d been practicing his entire life. Had he?

He broke the kiss to suck in a shaky breath and pressed his forehead to mine. “Callista,” he whispered against my mouth.

“Hmm?” I didn’t trust my voice enough to speak.

Link pulled away enough to scorch me with a heated look. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

I wanted him to do it again. “Why didn’t you?”

He brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ears. “I didn’t think you would kiss me back.”

I blushed and lowered my eyes to his shirt.

Link cleared his throat. “So, you probably already know this, but my birthday is Sunday. I’m not having like a real party or anything, just my family and stuff. But I was hoping you would come for dinner.”

I hadn’t expected him to ask me to a family dinner. His birthday dinner, no less. Did that count as a date? I peeked up at him.

He was watching me expectantly, hopeful.

“Uh, sure. I guess I can come.”

He smiled and leaned in for another kiss, but before he had the chance to follow through, Corrine danced into the room.

“Hey, lovebirds! How’s the movie?”

I wanted to tell her to leave, but I bit my tongue.

Link sighed and removed his hand from my hair. “Hey, Corrine.”

She nodded a casual greeting, then plopped into th
e armchair—Dad’s chair. I almost choked when her butt connected with the seat, and I waited for the yelling to start. My body went on high alert—pulse racing, muscles tensed to act, ready to defend Corrine, if need be. My father was gone; he wasn’t going to come storming in ready to punish us for invading his space. But the fear was ingrained, inescapable.

Corrine didn’t notice my moment of panic, but Link certainly did. His eyes bugged, and his head whipped around toward Corrine, then back to me so fast the movement was a blur. Warm fingers settled on my knee in a gesture I could only assume was meant to be comforting. I jumped at the contact, vaulting toward the other end of the couch and out of his reach. His mouth opened in a silent “O” of surprise.

The exact moment Link comprehended the extent of my panic was obvious. He speared the chair with a scowl before raising a softened version of that scowl to Corrine. When he lifted a shaky hand toward me, I almost took it, almost crawled into his arms and basked in the comfort he offered. But I didn’t want his pity. I squared my shoulders and sat up straight. Trying to affect an air of steely strength I didn’t actually feel.

Corrine, blissfully oblivious, had tuned into the movie, and only at that moment noticed something was amiss. “Don’t stop on my account! I promise not to pay attention to you two smooching.” And just like that, she returned her attention to the TV. Heat crept into my cheeks, and I looked down at my bare toes.

Link shifted closer, once again placed a hand on my knee. This time he moved slowly enough that the contact wouldn't shock me into bolting. “Will you go for a walk with me?”

Was I ready for the questions he was sure to ask?
I nodded, but took my time getting off the couch and finding my boots. I slipped them on my bare feet, wiggling my toes into the fur lining and wishing I could disappear inside them. I was so small right then, so young and helpless.

The air outside was brisk. I should have taken the time to grab a sweater. I dug my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans and shuffled along next to Link. The road was quiet and mostly dark, save for the occasional circle of light from the sparse street lamps. To my tortured imagination, the scraping whisper of my boots scuffing the pavement sounded like a quiet chanting of “No. No. No. No.” Like my footsteps were warning me to keep my mouth shut, to not give up my dark secrets when Link asked. And he was going to ask; of that I was sure.

We walked in silence for so long, the tension worked my nerves. But I did nothing to end the silence. Finally, he did.

“He hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. And I didn’t answer. Link had already deduced my father’s true nature on his own. “How often did he
…?” He made a nondescript waving gesture with his hand as his question trailed off.

“Often enough,” I replied.

Link’s hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist at his side. We walked for almost half a block before he spoke again. “The time you broke your wrist—that wasn’t a basketball thing, was it?”

I shook my head, but kept my mouth shut.

“Last year, you didn’t get that black eye at a concert.”

“No,” I whispered.

“And a few weeks ago, when you fell and cracked your ribs?” He stopped walking.

I stopped too, but refused to take my eyes off the blacktop. “You know about that?”

“Our moms talk.” His voice was barely audible. “Were those the only times?”

Tears pricked the corner of my eyes, and I lifted my head to stare out into the night, at the cookie-cutter houses, probably filled with cookie-cutter families. But I knew firsthand the secrets all-American families kept. “No.” I turned around and started a slow amble home. Link followed, keeping pace with me.

I took my time gathering my thoughts, working up the courage to share what he already suspected. “I don’t remember when it started. I think maybe I was too young to remember. Or maybe I blocked it out.

“It didn’t really get bad until a few years ago, I don’t know, seventh grade maybe.
When Grandma Harris had her stroke and he lost that job at the factory for taking too much time off. That’s when he started trying to hurt Corri, too.” My voice sounded fragile, like a strong breeze would break it, would break me, but I kept talking. “I tried my best to make sure we stayed out of his way, did what he expected. Most of the time, it worked. But, sometimes …” My voice trailed off and so did my thoughts, drifting away to the last time my father had hurt me.

My brain rattled inside my skull as I hit the dining room wall and slid down. My thoughts were foggy for a few minutes, and I was helpless to defend myself when he charged me again. He lifted me by my upper arms and tossed me like a ragdoll, pinning me against the eighties, floral wallpaper. “Didn’t I tell you to have dinner ready when I woke up from my nap?” His face was barely inches from mine, and his words rumbled through me.

“Yes, father,” I used my softest, most submissive voice and avoided looking him in the eye.

“Well, get it done!” He yanked hard on my arm, sending me sprawling toward the dining table. The edge caught me just above my waist, and pain spiked through me. The impact knocked the air out of my lungs; I couldn’t get another breath in. My whole right side throbbed, every pulse beat sending new waves of pain cascading through my body. I crumpled to the floor with my left arm cradled against my ribcage protectively.

Dear God, please don’t let him kick me, I prayed. His attacks always left me vulnerable to more pain, and his booted foot was so close to my injured side.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I squeezed them tightly shut to stave off the flood fighting to escape. The sole of his shoe whispered across the wood floor. I tensed, prepared for a new onslaught of agony.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

I’d never been so happy to hear my mother’s voice as I was at that moment. I opened my eyes, but didn’t move. My father stepped away from me, then toward the living room. “The clumsy girl fell and hurt herself.” His answer was calm, guiltless.

When I looked up, my mother was on the floor between us, hovering over me. “Is that true, Callie? Did you fall?” She looked and sounded so concerned I almost considered telling her the truth. Then my father shifted his weight, and the rustle of movement made her flinch, left her trembling the tiniest bit—and I knew she wouldn’t confront him, wouldn’t protect me.

“Yes,” I tried to get up, but only made it to a sitting position before the pain was too much. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”

“Callie, are you okay?” Link’s hand on my shoulder pulled me out of my memory. I’d stopped walking and was now standing in the middle of the street.

“I’m fine,” I answered and rubbed at those freshly-healed ribs, trying to rub away the memory of the pain. He pulled me into a hug, resting his chin on my head. I wasn’t fine, but in that moment, wrapped in Link’s arms, I finally started to believe I would be.