Old Wounds (12 page)

Then the bitch smiled at me and I wanted to kick her teeth out. “Well, we can call our session over for the week. I would like you to think about what has you so angry. I usually bear the brunt of it, but very seldom is it about me.” She leaned toward me, her hands clasping together as her elbows rested on her thighs. “Everything you say in here stays with me, unless you tell me you’re going to hurt yourself or others.” She paused and licked her lips, her eyes softening. “The bad things that happen in children’s lives are not their fault. I’m not here to punish you, Sophie. I’m here to help.”

Standing up, I couldn’t help but shake my head. “I’m not seven. Stop talking to me like I’m a child. It’s awesome that you and Dalton have put together this little Screw-Up Club, but you don’t have anything I want and you can’t help me with shit.”

“Sophie…”

“You think because you have a degree or whatever, that automatically you’re qualified to help me with shit you have no clue about?” I made my way to the door, but then stopped and turned back around. “Don’t ask me about my sex life again. Go watch some internet porn or get spanked by the good doctor, but don’t think I’m going to give you
any
information about what I do and who I do it with.”

I stomped downstairs and ignored everybody. Even when Jason came and stood next to me, I didn’t look at him. “For shit’s sake, what the hell happened? You’re radiating hate.”

I didn’t say anything, but just gave him a pointed look instead. It was great that he was an excellent sex partner and could give me the mad hook-up and all, but I wasn’t about to get all touchy-feely with my emotions with Jace. Leaving him standing there, I moved across the room and sat down on the couch. Instinctively, my legs came up to my chest and I wrapped my arms around them.

Stupid bitch. Was I sexually active? What the hell? She was twisted, and now she’d gotten me mixed up in her twisted shit. Why did it make a difference if I have sex, or when I have sex, if I’m here because I stole a car? And I didn’t steal it. I was going to give it back. I just needed it to…

My thoughts were interrupted when Andrea sat down next to me. Then I looked around and noticed everyone was grabbing a seat. Pinny Dalton threw me a little wave, but I was too pissed to acknowledge it. Then Bitch Wallace came in and it took all my effort to remain seated. I caught her eyes on me more than once, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from having what I was sure would be considered an “emotional outburst.” I didn’t pay attention. Jason’s partner, Olivia, spoke for a little bit, her voice sounding just as angry as I felt, and then her twin brother spoke. I had no idea what it was that they were droning on about.

I was so furious that I would be subjected to this every Friday night until I graduated. Suddenly, a detention center didn’t sound so bad. At least there they wouldn’t care when I’d had my first sexual experience. Stupid Wallace. Stupid me. I shouldn’t have said a damn thing.

Stupid, stupid, fucked-up Sophie. Now the thoughts were there, stuck in my head again. Even if I barricaded my door, I doubted I would be able to sleep tonight. I
hated
this feeling and wanted to get high again.

I had no real way of qualifying if my life would be different had Helen left me here when she took off, but it was the biggest “what if” in my life and I had nothing else to dwell on sometimes. When I was a kid and hurting from one of Helen’s fly-off-the-handle reactions to something small, or when one of her boyfriends decided to look at me a little
too
closely, I would dream about the life I could have had with Tom. I would have been overly-protected. When I was in Junior High, he could have brandished a shotgun every time a boy came around. He could have threatened me with military school if I misbehaved or got a shitty grade.

But that fantasy always faded fast in the harsh light of the reality. Now, at seventeen, I was stuck with what the past gave me; with what
other
people had decided
for
me. I was here with the Screw-Up Club, desperately trying not to listen to their shit because I had enough of my own.

“Sophie?”

I tore my eyes off of the carpet and looked up at Bitch Wallace. “What?” My voice was hard and I wanted her to hear every ounce of the hate I felt for her and her little games.

“I just asked if there was anything you’d like to share tonight.”

I licked my lips, pasted on the nastiest smile I could, and cocked my head. “Yes. I want to share how
stupid
I think this whole thing is. Do you honestly think that this is meaningful in any way to me?”

Oh, how I wanted to punch the shit out of her when she gave me that smile again. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts.”

I rolled my eyes, but Bitch Wallace turned to look at the others, not even acknowledging my anger. “So now we can pair off.”

After we were told to pair off, I didn’t waste any time. I jumped off the couch and found Rusty Dalton sitting on a love seat next to Pinny Dalton and her boyfriend. Rusty’s eyes seemed to widen as I stomped over to him. Ignoring everyone else, I grabbed his wrist, pulling him up with all of the strength I had and dragging him along with me. I didn’t stop until we were outside of his bedroom, where I dropped his wrist and looked at him expectantly.

His eyes moved from me, to the door, and then back to me. He really couldn’t be confused, could he? Wasn’t it obvious that I wanted to go into his room? Wasn’t it obvious, I was not happy with being here tonight and wanted a little time away from the prying eyes of Bitch Wallace?

I sighed and my lips settled into a line. Finally, he opened the door and I moved inside quickly. Immediately I went to the leather couch and flopped down on it. I had no idea how long I lay there in silence, and I had no idea what Rusty Dalton was doing.

I was trying just to push past the lingering thoughts and memories in my mind, when he said, “D-d-d-do you w-w-wa-want to llllisten to m-m-music?” I sat up and looked at him. Just like last week, he sat carefully on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d run laps at the gym.

He seemed incredibly uncomfortable and suddenly I was struck by the feeling that I had to do something to help him. It seemed fairly evident that I was the one making him uncomfortable, so I took in a deep breath and nodded. “Sure. Music is fine.” In all honesty, it would be a good distraction from what was going on in my head.

“W-wh-what d-d-do you l-l-like?”

I stood up and went over to the bookcase. “Whatever you want to listen to is fine. I don’t really listen to music all that much.”

As I trailed my hands over the spines of his books, I heard him fiddle with the equipment. I pulled a large book from the shelf and smiled to myself as Classical music filled the room. I should have known that Rusty Dalton was cultured enough to listen to this kind of music by choice, instead of only when someone forced him to, like most kids our age.

I sat back down on the couch with the book on my lap and looked up at him. He seemed a little more laid-back as he sat on the bed, eyeing the book. “Classical?”

He smiled. He really should do that more. “It-it-it’s r-r-relaxing.” He swallowed as he looked down at the book, and then back up. “D-do you l-l-liiike ar-art?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. I like photography though.”

When I opened the book I saw it was a compilation of famous pieces of art throughout history. Some of them I recognized, and some I didn’t. Looking back up at Rusty Dalton, I asked, “Do you like art?”

“I’m…I’m n-not g-g-good at it, b-b-but I l-l-like llllooking at it.”

“Which ones do you like?”

“I-in th-that book?” I shrugged, and then held it out to him. He came closer to take it. I felt oddly happy that he was close to me. Even though we sat less than a foot from each other in the greenhouse, it seemed like all other times, he kept his distance. I watched as he flipped through the book quickly and then held it back to me.

Flaming June
by Lord Frederic Leighton. It was painted back in 1895.

“You like this one?” He nodded. “It’s very pretty.” It was of a lady in a chair or something, sleeping. She had on this vibrant orange dress. I wondered why he liked it. I mean, it was pretty, but I had no clue why he would pick it out from the thousands of pretty pictures in the book. Figuring it would take him a lot of words to explain, I didn’t ask.

“What else?” I gave him the book again.

He flipped to another page and he must have really liked the painting, because he smiled at it. “Th-this one.”
A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte
by Georges Seurat. It looked stiff and formal and like something my dead Grandma Catherine would’ve liked. I quirked an eyebrow. His smiled held. “It-it’s in Ch-Chi-Chicago. I t-t-took a fffield trip to s-s-see it.”

Interesting. That was quite possibly the longest sentence I’d heard from Rusty Dalton, and it was about a piece of boring art. So not only did he read difficult literature, Russian no less, he also liked music and art that most people our age wouldn’t even care about. “Are you from Chicago?”

The smiled faded, but he nodded. So he was from the Midwest. It was amazing they made Greek gods in Middle America. I knew he was adopted by Dr. Dalton, so obviously he moved here with him, but I wondered what circumstances led him to the adoption. It was totally not my business and I’d just gotten done telling Bitch Wallace that I didn’t care about any of the other kids and their stories, but with Rusty Dalton, I found myself interested in how he came to be the person before me.

He was absolutely gorgeous and should have been the most popular guy in school, but instead, he got picked on by a miniature poodle named Chris Anderson.

“Where are your real parents?”

Jesus, he looked like I’d punched him in the gut. Obviously this was a sore subject and I felt like shit for asking, so I did my best to remove the tortured look on his face.

“Do you like Dr. Dalton?” He shrugged while nodding his head at the same time. I supposed that meant, “kinda, sorta.”

“I hate Wallace,” I offered.

The smile returned. “S-sh-she’s hard to liiiike.” He rolled his eyes. “Sh-she’s an-annoying.”

I laughed as I began to flip through the book again.

“No, sand in your bathing suit is annoying. The neighbor’s yipping dog is annoying. Wallace is…she’s evil.”

“Sh-she’s just d-doing her j-job.”

“I didn’t hire her.” I closed the book, and set it down next to me. “Is she over here all the time?”

“A lot.”

“That’s gotta suck for you.” Rusty Dalton’s smile widened and he nodded. “So, your sister Jane is in my Photography class.” He nodded. “She’s pretty cool.” He nodded again.

“Why is she involved in all this?” I hoped he understood that “all this” meant “The Damascus Friday Night Screw-Up Club.”

Rusty Dalton seemed to think for a moment. I had no idea if he’d tell me, since it was clearly not my business. But after a few moments, he opened his mouth and looked straight at me.

“J-J-JJJJJJaaane’s m-mind w-works d-differently th-th-than m-m-most people’s.” He stopped, running a hand through his hair. “Sh-she’s fr-from Ch-Chicago too.”

“Did you know her before you both were adopted by Dalton?”

He nodded and smiled. It was more of a tight-lipped smile than he’d given me before. “I-I-I w-w-wouldn’t g-g-go wwwithout her.”

I wanted more information in spite of myself, but wondered how long it would take to get it. It wasn’t like Rusty Dalton could just tell me quickly what the deal was. I hated that I felt like I didn’t have the patience to sit around and listen to him fumble for words and that made me just as bad as Jason or Chris. I didn’t want to be frustrated. It wasn’t fair to him.

“So, Dr. Dalton adopted you and Jane at the same time? Were you both at the same…I mean, he found you both at the same place?” I felt naive. I didn’t know how the whole adoption thing worked.

He looked away. “Y-yeah, we-we were with the s-s-saaame f-f-foster fa-fa-family.”

Glancing at his wall of music, I asked, “Do you only listen to Classical?”

He shook his head emphatically. “N-no, b-bu-but my sp-speech…,” at this point he started using his hands, motioning to his mouth and throat, “therapist…” He sighed after finally getting the word out, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. “It h-helps me relax.”

“So what else do you have up there?”

He looked at his music collection, and then went to his bedside table, and tossed me an object. “Look.” When I caught it, I realized it was his iPod. I’d never had one, which I didn’t mind, since I’d never had much use for music. I must have been looking at it weirdly because Rusty Dalton said, “P-push tttthe bottom bu-button.” I did as instructed and it lit up, showing me various pictures and words. “N-now sc-scroll.”

I messed around with it for a while before looking back up at him with an amused expression. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a country fan.” He looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Johnny Cash?”

Again, he shook his head and gave me a smile. “C-Cash isn’t c-c-country, S-S-SSSSophie. C-Cash transcends genre.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Y-you d-d-don’t llllisten to Johnny Cash?”

“Not one song.”

“Y-you’ve never h-heard
RRRRing of F-Fire
? Never h-heard
A Boy N-Named SSSue
?”

I smiled. I could tell how much the idea of my Johnny Cash ignorance offended him. “Sorry. You’ll have to educate me in the car tomorrow. Speaking of which, do you know where I live?”

He shook his head, so I gave him directions. “The first movie starts at ten.”

“It-it’s at llllleast an hour drive.”

“So you’ll pick me up at like eight-thirty?”

“I-if th-that’s what you waaant.” Then he seemed to be thinking real hard. I went back to flipping through the art book until he said, “S-Sophie.” When I looked up, I could tell that something was really bothering him, like more than usual.

“S-S-SSStephen ssssaid I h-have to tell y-you ab-about m-m-my at-at-at…” He stopped, looking even more frustrated. It was painful to watch, but I tried to keep my face neutral as I waited patiently. I didn’t know if me looking at him helped or hindered his speaking process. “I-I sometimes,” he began again, “h-hhhave p-p-p-panic at-at-at-at…” his eyes closed as he tried to say the word.

I had no idea if I should or not, but I went ahead and finished for him. “Attacks?”

He opened eyes and swallowed hard while nodding. “If-if it ha-happens to-to-tomorrow, y-y-you sh-sh-should c-c-call…”

I thought that the music was supposed to help his stuttering, but perhaps it was the subject matter that was making it worse. I’d already figured out what he was going to say, so I waved my hand dismissively. If I stuttered or had anxiety attacks, I wouldn’t want anyone to dwell on it much. “Yeah, I’ll call the EMTs or whatever, and Dr. Dalton. But you’re not going to have an attack of any kind tomorrow.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ll be with me. I’m super non-threatening and if anything makes you anxious, I’ll punch it for you.”

That earned me a little crooked smile. “You sure you don’t want any money for gas?” He shook his head. I got up to put the art book back on the shelf when glanced at his clock. “It’s time to go.” I crossed the room and looked over my shoulder before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I went downstairs and found Jason sitting on the couch, next to Olivia. I plopped down beside them, not caring if I was interrupting their conversation. “What’s up?”

“Waiting to be released from hell,” he scowled.

“Don’t you have your own car? Can’t you just leave?”

He nodded to the large clock on the wall. “There’s five minutes left, Sophie. God knows I don’t need Jerry getting a call about how I failed to stay the entire fucking time.” He turned to me now, completely ignoring Olivia. “So do you want to do something tomorrow?”

“I’m going to D.C.”

“Really?” He seemed overly interested. I nodded. “It’d be a good trip for smoking out, if you want--”

“Yeah, actually, I’m going with Elliott to see a couple of foreign films and I don’t think he smokes.”

It was strange the way his face fell. “Elliott Dalton?”