If I Fall (6 page)

NINE

I didn't do either of those things.

I stood up shakily, straightening my clothes and smoothing my hair as I flushed the toilet. There was a tube of toothpaste inside the mirrored medicine cabinet and I squeezed out a small ribbon and rubbed it across my teeth. I cupped my hands under the faucet and splashed water across my cheeks and into my mouth. After drying my face, I took a tentative step out of the bathroom. The bed was empty, the pink comforter hanging askew on the bed, a small round stain in the center of it, a wet spot dotted with tiny flecks of red.

I felt a fresh surge of panic. Not at the mess in the room but the fact that I was alone. Abandoned. Had he actually left me at the party? I gripped the banister as I navigated the hallway and then the stairs, wincing at the tender ache between my thighs.

There were more people downstairs than I remembered, a sea of faces I barely recognized. I scanned the crowd. Desiree sat on the couch, a cup of beer in her hand. A guy I didn't know was next to her, his head inclined toward her as he talked. Scotty hovered in the kitchen, his hair hanging in front of his face as he pumped the keg. I gazed around the dim living room once more and spied a familiar figure leaning over the coffee table. Aidan lifted his head then, wiping his nostril with the side of his finger. He caught my eye and grinned.

“Hey, you.” He ran his finger along his teeth and his tongue followed the same path. “Want some?” he asked, nodding his head at the thin line of white powder that snaked across the table.

I shook my head.

“Suit yourself.” He re-rolled the dollar bill clutched in his hand and lowered his head once more.

I looked away, toward the couch. Desiree watched me with narrowed eyes, her lips twitching into a smile. I settled my gaze above her, wishing I could somehow transport myself away from this place
—to the movie theater, to my house—anywhere other than the place I now stood. If I'd had another wish, I'd beg for the hands of time to turn back, too. Anything to prevent me from walking up those stairs and going into that bedroom. I willed my eyes to stay dry.

Aidan was next to me then, his arm curving around my waist. There was nothing comforting about it this time. He leaned in and kissed my neck, a heated kiss that made my stomach roll.

“You were hot upstairs,” he whispered.

“
I want to go home.” I said it loudly, hoping he could hear me above the din of music and laughter.

He spoke fast, a rush of words. “What? Why do you want to go home? The party's just getting started.”

“I want to go home,” I repeated, hoping my voice sounded firmer this time.

He glared at me, his eyes bright, his pupils huge. “Fine. Let's go.”

He cupped his hands around his mouth and called to Scotty, “Be back in twenty!”

Aidan started toward the door without me and I followed him. He stopped at the bathroom in the front hall. “I need to take a leak.”

We were silent as we walked down the sidewalk to his car. The air was thick and wet with the scent of the ocean. A dog barked as we passed and a chorus of howls erupted in the neighboring yards. Aidan opened the door for me and I eased myself into the tiny space. He got in and jammed the key in the ignition but he didn't turn it.

“
I didn't know,” he said.

I fixed my gaze on the streetlight out my window and watched the moths as they danced and crawled around its glowing bulb.

“You should have told me you were on your period.”

“
What?”

“
There was blood...”

I stared at the streetlight and said nothing.

“Oh, fuck.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head slam back against the head rest. “Are you telling me you're a
virgin
?”

“
I was.” My voice was so soft, I wasn't sure if he'd heard me.

“
Shit.” He covered his face with his hands. “I knew that. I mean, I thought you might be...but you were so willing...and you didn't say anything...”

He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I could have been better....I would have been gentler.” His eyes were black, only the faintest hint of blue ringing his pupils. “
Are you pissed at me?”

I wasn't sure what I was. “I just want to go home.”

He nodded. “I know. I'll take you home.” He turned the key and the car roared to life.

TEN

The Re Max sign went up on Sunday, a blue and red sign with Cheri's name printed across it in big block letters. It was like a drop-kick to the stomach.
She
was going to be selling the house? The woman who'd stolen my dad out from under me was going to be hosting Open Houses and bringing prospective buyers through
my
bedroom? Through the bedroom my dad had shared with my mom?

I watched from the window as the man, probably some assistant, pounded the stake into the front yard. I wished my dad was underneath that sign, the sharp wooden spike driving directly into his heart. I stared at it for a minute before I picked up the phone.

“Come get me,” I told Aidan.

At least
he
had said he was sorry.

He pulled up in front of my house fifteen minutes later. I was standing outside, waiting for him. He leaned over to the passenger side and rolled the window down. Sunglasses hid his eyes.

“Are we cool?” he asked cautiously. “You forgive me?”

The bug's diesel engine idled as he waited.

I got in and fastened my seat belt. “Yeah. I do.”

I threw my purse on the floor mat. I did forgive him. We'd both been drunk and I hadn't tried to stop him. At least not in time. That's what I told myself, anyway. It was easier to believe that.

“Where do you want to go?”

“
Anywhere but here.”

He fiddled with the radio before shifting the car into gear. We drove down Mission, flying past the houses that flirted with the coastline before veering left on to La Jolla Boulevard. He turned left again, just past the tiny motel on the corner, and made a quick right before stopping in front of a small white cottage that looked as though it had been lifted from the pages of a fairy tale. Red window boxes framed the front windows, brimming with pink and purple geraniums. Dwarf palm trees and hibiscus plants bordered the golf-course green, matchbox-size lawn. Aidan got out.

“Whose house is this?” I asked as I followed him up the sidewalk.

“
My mom's.” He opened the front door and led me past a living room furnished with white wicker chairs and sofas. Bouquets of pink roses decorated every horizontal surface. He walked down a wide, airy hallway and into a bedroom. His bedroom. I stopped at the door.

He must have noticed my expression. “Don't worry,” he assured me. “I'll be good.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and sat down on the bed, stiff and wooden like a soldier. “See?”

I couldn't help but smile. I stepped in to his room and sat down next to him, close but not touching, and looked around. It was sparsely furnished, his queen-sized bed taking up most of the floor space in the tiny room. There was a pine chest of drawers against one wall and a matching nightstand flanking either side of the bed. The butter-colored walls were littered with posters
—surfers, skaters, bands like MXPX, Insane Clown Posse, CKY, groups I didn't really listen to—and a pile of dirty clothes blocked the closet door.

“
You wanna talk about it?

“
About what?” I didn't think I was ready to discuss the events from the other night. I was actually surprised he was bringing it up.

He rolled to the other side of the bed and rummaged in the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. “About whatever the hell is bothering you.”

I shrugged.

He shook one into his hand, brought it to his mouth and lit it. “Have anything to do with that sign in your front yard?”

I ignored his question. “What about your mom?” I asked, motioning to the cigarette.

He exhaled a puff of white smoke. “She's not home. Even if she was, it wouldn't matter. She doesn't care.”

“Oh.” I thought about that and wondered if, in her current condition, my mom would care, either.

He settled back against the pillows. “So, tell me what has you all worked up.”

I hesitated for just a minute and then, taking a deep breath, told him. About my dad and Cheri. About my mom. About the house. All the things I couldn't tell Jada. I didn't worry about what he would think, what he would say. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't be judgmental. He smoked his cigarette, and then another, as he listened.

“
Wow,” he said when I'd finished. “You have some pretty serious shit going on, don't you?”

I nodded. Spelling it all out for him, hitting all of the bullet points, brought it all into focus. And it sucked even more.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes the best thing to do with stuff like that is to find a way to laugh about it.”

I stared at him. “I don't find any of it particularly funny, though.”

“Not yet,” he told me.

He got off the bed and walked the three steps to his dresser. He searched the top drawer and pulled out a thin Sees candy box.

He brought it back to the bed and held it out to me. “But you will.”

“
What is it?” I asked, looking at the tattered box. I didn't think candy was going to solve much of anything.

Aidan grinned and lifted the lid, exposing a collection of thin, hand-rolled cigarettes. “Wanna get high?”

They weren't cigarettes and he was right. After weakly protesting, I choked my way through a joint with him. I coughed and sputtered as the smoke seared my throat and burned my lungs. I didn't let myself worry about what I was doing, just sucked on the rolled up piece of paper. And pretty soon, everything became clear in a fuzzy, unimportant sort of way. I felt calm and silly, relaxed and alert. My jaw muscles ached from smiling so much.

“
See, I told you,” he said in a smug voice.

We were both laying down now, staring at the ceiling as we talked.

“Just think if Obama and Bin Laden had shared a smoke. The war on terror would have been
over
, man.”

I giggled. He was gorgeous and brilliant. And funny and sweet. And I forgave him completely. I told him this, throwing my arms around him as I said so.

“I'm glad.” He nuzzled my ear. “You're pretty hot, too. I love this,” he said, burying his face in my hair. “And your eyes. Reminds me of chocolate.”

My mood shifted and I nudged his head up so I could kiss him.

“Good God, Gigi,” he murmured, his hands weaving through my hair.

I pulled away. “Gigi?”

His smile was like an angel's. “You. My nickname for you. Good Girl. Gigi.”

I reached for him again. “I don't like nicknames. And I'm not feeling like much of a good girl right now.”

“Yeah,” he said as his hand closed over my breast and he lowered his mouth toward mine. “I noticed.”

I let him touch me and do all of the things he did to me at Scotty's house. I didn't think about it this time. I just let him do it. And I didn't know if it was the joint I'd just smoked or the mood I was in,
or the fact that I just wanted to escape from my life, but it was better the second time around. A thousand percent better.

ELEVEN

The sun was disappearing behind the thick marine layer that hung over the ocean when Aidan dropped me off. I grabbed my Coke from the cup holder in his car and leaned over to kiss him goodbye.

“
Thanks for dinner,” I said.

We'd stopped at Alberto's and gorged ourselves on rolled tacos and quesadillas. Mexican food had never tasted so good.

“No problem.” He stroked my leg, his thumb rubbing gently along my thigh as he kissed me again. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

I ignored the sign in the yard and let myself into the darkened house. A light was on in my mom's room. It shot a thin beam from under her door, casting an eerie glow in the hallway. I hesitated for just a moment, wondering if I should approach. Knock or tell her I was home or something. But then the light flickered off and my decision was made for me. I stopped in the kitchen to dump out my drink. The light on the answering machine blinked twice in rapid succession. I hit the play button.

“Megan. It's Dad. We're back from Miami. Give me a call.”

I deleted it.

“Megan?” Jada's voice. High-pitched. Worried. “What's going on? Why haven't you called me? Are you OK? I left messages on your cell. I'm worried!”

I sighed. I needed to call her. I hadn't talked to her since Friday afternoon. But, truthfully, I had nothing to say to her. Nothing I
could
say. I imagined the conversation we'd have.

“
How was your date? Your weekend?” she would ask.