Live Through This (14 page)

So he does know who I am. Somehow, that makes me feel better and worse at the same time. I want to cry with him, but I’m feeling too numb, too confused, too guilty. I can’t tell him what he wants to hear—I can’t say anything because that would mean that this is real—but I stop fighting. I lie perfectly still in his hold.

He lets out a loud breath and loosens his grip. His hands massage my back again, gentler this time. This part. This is exactly how it starts, how it’s started since I was seven and he was eleven. Backrubs that turn into front rubs that turn into everything-else rubs. I don’t have it in me to do anything except let it happen.

Over his shoulder, the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock switch from 11:10 to 11:11. I close my eyes and make a wish.

I wish I were with Reece. I wish that he had been on his pullout bed and couldn’t sleep. He decided that he couldn’t take it anymore; he had to be with me. So he snuck downstairs and let himself into my room. Now he’s here. Reece is in my bed, caressing my back . . . my shoulders . . . my sides . . . my stomach . . . my breasts . . .

It’s perfect. This is all very natural, being touched by Reece. It’s the sort of thing that a normal girl would totally want the guy she likes to do to her.

Keeping my eyes shut, I stroke his face and pretend that the stubble and dampness on his cheeks don’t exist.

Reece, Reece, Reece, Reece, Reece.

His lips keep hitting mine and just once—just for a second or two—I kiss him back.

Reece, Reece, Reece, Reece, Reece.

He takes off my pajamas and I don’t help him, but I don’t
not
help, either. The blankets keep shifting and the air is cold and I’m shivering in socks and panties. He undresses himself completely and we’re skin on skin and lips on skin and lips on lips and it’s happening so quickly and he rolls me onto my back and lowers himself over me and he’s moving on me, against me, and my underwear is the only thing between us, the only thing keeping him
out
of me and my heart is pounding and he’s going faster and faster and faster and hot pulsing takes over my body and he eases back and grabs my hand and uses it how he wants it, how he needs it, until finally—
finally
he collapses, panting and crushing me into the mattress.

I’m a shaking mess. It’s as if every inch of me is covered in Bryan. My tears mix with his from earlier, stream across my temples, fall into my hair and ears.

He catches his breath. “Coley, do you love me?”

I kind of hate him for asking the question, but after a few seconds, I whisper, “Yes.”

Because, in spite of everything, it’s the truth.

CHAPTER 15

B
ryan’s gone and I’m still shivering, but I can’t bring myself to cover up or get dressed—not when I’m all sticky like this. I dig around the blankets until I find my pajamas and then take them with me as I creep through the dark to the bathroom.

Inside, I lock the door and turn on the light. I can’t see anything at first as my pupils adjust, but then I’m startled by the messy hair, red eyes, and tear-streaked cheeks of the mostly naked person blinking back at me in the mirror.

Disgusting. I am a disgusting girl who lets her brother put his mouth and hands on her wherever he wants, whenever he wants. A girl who
just laid there
while he used her to get off. A girl who didn’t want this—did she?—but whose underwear tells a different story.

I slap my face as hard as I can. It hurts, but not enough. I make a fist and slam it into my cheekbone. This time, tears
pour from my eyes and drip onto my chest and stomach. My hand and cheek throb in sync.

I can’t stand to look at myself for another second, so I flip the light switch. In the blackness again, I peel off my socks and underwear and feel my way into the shower. The water is an icy blast that gradually turns to scalding. I lather, scrub, and rinse my skin over and over, pausing only to yank the lever handle from too hot to too cold and back again.

It doesn’t help.

CHAPTER 16

I
can’t go back to my room. I won’t. I’ll be quiet. I’ll head upstairs. I’ll sleep with Emma. Or on the floor. Or anywhere.
Any
where. I don’t care where.

I don’t care.

With my towel still wrapped around my hair, I make my way up the first and second staircases as silently as I can. A living room lamp is on and Reece is sitting up in bed with his computer on his lap and the stuffed giraffe that “kissed” me good night still propped up on the pillow beside him.

“Hey! Is it morning already?” he asks.

“No. I . . . got thirsty,” I say, turning and rushing into the kitchen.

I am the worst girlfriend
in the world
. Not even two hours into us making things official, I’ve already betrayed him in the worst way. I yank a water pitcher from the fridge and, out of the corner of my eye, see him making his way in and opening
and closing cupboards. When he finds the glasses, he pulls two out.

“You can’t sleep either, I take it?” he asks, setting them in front of me.

“No.” I pour the water and push a glass his way without looking at him.

“I have to say, I’m glad.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Because I would have hated to miss seeing you with that twirled towel on your head.”

I cover my face with one hand. “Don’t, okay? I look awful.”

“What? That’s crazy!”

I’m crazy. And awful. I’m a crazy, awful person and I can’t . . . breathe.

I stare at our bare feet, at the lines on the tile flooring, at the three Cheerios someone must have spilled this morning, at anything and everything that helps me avoid Reece’s gaze.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“Hey, are you okay?” Reece asks.

I shake my head so hard that the towel comes loose, slides down my face, and lands in a pile on the floor. My shoulders sink and my knees give way, and an instant before I hit the floor, he lunges forward and catches me under my arms. He lifts and pulls me against him. “What’s wrong? Did you get a head rush?”

I’m gasping and gasping and gasping, but I can’t get enough air. My arms are around Reece’s waist, but it’s only his firm hands on my back that are keeping me from crumbling onto the towel and the tiles and the Cheerios.

“Let’s sit you down,” he says.

I let him help me over to his bed. He moves his computer to the coffee table while I crawl under the blankets, squeeze my eyes shut, and make myself as small as possible.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe.

“You feel sick?” he says as he sits beside me.

The sickest.

“No,” I say, into the pillow.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

A dream. Yes. That’s what it was. I had another horrible, horrible nightmare.

I nod.

“What we were talking about earlier must have triggered it. I’m really sorry, Coley.”

I open my eyes. His mouth is turned down and his forehead is lined; he seems to think that he’s to blame for this—all because he asked me those questions about my father.

Now I’m sorry.

I am so, so sorry.

A sob escapes my lips and Reece scoots closer. I throw my arms around him, rest my face against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he says, rubbing my back as I cry. “You’re okay.”

He’s so wrong and he has no idea. It’s totally unfair for me to put him through this; I know that it is. Still, I keep holding on. I keep soaking his shirt with my tears. I can’t make myself stop.

•    •    •

I’m drifting in and out of sleep. I’m in Reece’s arms. I’m pinned beneath Bryan. I’m curled up alone. The locks are broken—always, always broken. The door won’t stay shut. This isn’t safe. I’m not safe.

Someone strokes my hair.
Who?

“I’m still here, Coley,” Reece whispers.

Reece. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here.

But he isn’t really. I’m alone with the giraffe. I can feel it.

I squint in the lamp light, close my eyes again.

My head pounds.

My cheek pulsates.

I hear quiet, terse voices from somewhere across the room.

Tony: “. . . 
not
grasping why you’d think this would be okay!”

Reece: “I’m sorry. I swear to you, it isn’t what it looks like. Coley had a bad dream and—”

Tony: “Really? I didn’t know she still had those. She hasn’t mentioned nightmares for years.”

Reece: “She was freaked and I didn’t think she should be alone. I didn’t know what else to do.”

. . .

Tony: “All right. Well, you need to get some sleep. You’ve got another long drive tomorrow. Obviously, her room’s empty, so why don’t you head down there?”

. . .

Reece: “I kind of—I don’t want to leave her, you know? If she wakes up and I’m not here—”

Tony: “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

. . .

. . .

Reece: “Well. Okay.”

. . .

Tony: “Good night, then.”

. . .

. . .

. . .

Someone kisses my forehead.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

I wrap my arms around Sterling.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . .

We float away.

CHAPTER 17

L
ayers of concealer, foundation, powder, and blush aren’t hiding the mark on my cheek, none of the hairstyles I’ve attempted will stay in place to cover it, and a bandage would only make my family ask more questions. I’m out of options. I’m out of patience.

There’s a knock on the door and my mother calls out, “Nicole, we need to talk!”

I’m out of time.

Flipping my hair in front of half of my face, I pull the bathroom door open.

Mom is in the hall with her arms crossed in front of her. “Tony tells me you were upstairs with Reece after being told
twice
to go to bed last night?”

There’s an edge to her voice. I don’t know what I expected, but seriously, couldn’t Tony have at least tried to sell her on Reece’s perfectly legitimate-sounding, bad-dream explanation?

“It isn’t what you’re thinking,” I tell her.

“Oh, I think it’s
exactly
what I’m thinking.” Her voice is rising with every syllable. “I can’t believe that you would be so disrespectful and inappropriate and, oh my God, Nicole!”

As always, she sees threats where there are none and misses what’s real.

Frustration ripples through me. “Nothing happened, Mom. I promise.”

She shakes her head. “I knew I shouldn’t have let that kid come. I should have trusted my gut.”

“You aren’t listening to me! We didn’t do anything, so get over it.”

She opens her mouth, but no words come and we stand there, glaring at each other. Finally, she speaks in a quiet voice, “I think the girl who snuck out of her room to be with a boy last night needs to watch how she speaks to her mother. And you’d better believe that after he’s gone, we’re going to be having a long discussion about your behavior.” She turns away and shouts on her way up the steps, “Bry-yan! Breakfast is getting co-old!”

I can’t leave Reece up there to deal with my mom without me, so I give myself one last glance in the mirror, adjust my hair, and start after her.

Bryan’s door flies open and we reach the stairs at the
same moment. He’s a stubble-faced, messy-haired wreck in jeans and a T-shirt that look like they’ve been smashed under a couch cushion for a month. We both hesitate, and then he waves for me to go first. I run full speed to the top.

Upstairs, everyone’s eating. Emma’s on the couch with her foot propped up, Tony, Jacob, Zach, and Reece are at the table, and Mom is on a barstool at the island. Bryan and I maneuver around each other in the kitchen, grabbing plates, scooping up eggs and fruit and potatoes and bacon, pouring juice.

Over the years, we’ve had dozens of mornings after, but this one is different. Because of Reece, but mostly, because of Bryan.

Because of how he was last night.

Because he spoke while he was with me.

Because he kissed me on the lips.

And all the rest of it. Everything he did.

He’d never done any of those things to me before. He’d always let me sleep—or pretend to be asleep—while he touched me. But last night he made sure I was awake. He made it so that everything
he
was doing,
we
were doing.

Bryan takes a seat on the stool next to Mom and I make my way to the table. There’s worry on Reece’s face when he looks up at me, but his lips are upturned. I can tell that he still likes me, he still wants to be with me. It’s so much more than I’m worthy of. I force myself to smile back.

“How are you this morning?” Tony asks me as I settle in between him and Reece.

I’m going to live through this. Somehow. I’ll put it out of my mind. I’ll fool myself into believing it never happened, that it was a bad dream. Because, truly, how
could
it have happened? Bryan’s my brother. It doesn’t even make sense.

“I’m embarrassed about the nightmare I had.” My voice sounds surprising calm. “But I’m feeling much better now. Thank you for asking.”

“That’s good to hear.” Tony goes back to his paper.

For the next couple of minutes, the only sounds are my heart hammering in my ears, silverware scraping plates, and Jacob’s loud gulping.

I can feel Reece watching me, but I can’t keep my eyes off Bryan. Bryan squeezing ketchup onto his potatoes. Bryan chewing, swallowing, chewing, swallowing. Bryan catching me looking. Bryan’s eyes asking, “What’s up?” even though we both know that he knows.

Or maybe . . . he doesn’t know. Maybe he was so drunk that he had no idea what he was doing.

If Bryan has no recollection of last night . . .

If I was pretending to be with Reece . . .

If, in our minds, neither of us were truly there . . .

It couldn’t have happened. It
didn’t
.

Across from me with a mouthful of eggs, Jacob asks, “Hey, Coley. What happened to your face? You have a bruise on it or something.”

“Oops.” I touch my cheek absently, as if I didn’t spend half an hour trying to cover it up. “I guess I must have hit it on the chair lift when I fell getting off yesterday.”