Old Wounds (27 page)

“But this is bad,” she whispered.

“I-I-I kn-know.”

“They’ll take me away again.”

I shook my head. “Th-this is jjjjjust a lllliiiiittle sssslip-up. Th-th-th…” I tried, but I couldn’t get it out, especially since I didn’t know if it was the truth. They might very well ship her back to Baltimore.

Rebecca sighed. “We have to get her cleaned up, Elliott. I’m not sure Sophie can keep the bitches of Damascus out of here for long.” I grew a bit more anxious because it was important to Jane that no one but us, Trent, and David know about her cutting.

I turned to face her and she held out a handful of paper towels. “Th-thanks.” I asked her again, “C-c-can I sssee?”

She nodded and let go of me, pulling up her soiled shirt just over her stomach. While the cut was still seeping blood, it wasn’t as deep as I feared. I held the stack of paper towels over the wound, pressing it gently.

“Trent and I had a fight,” she whispered. I looked at her questioningly and she continued, “He kept talking about going to Stanford in the fall, and going on and on about it, like it would be the best thing in the world for him. I reminded him that he’d be leaving me alone and that if he really wanted to be with me, he could go to the community college in Frederick for a year until I graduated.”

“Asshole,” Rebecca hissed.

“And he said that he wouldn’t. And then I said he didn’t really love me and he looked me straight in the eye and said that maybe he didn’t.”

Becca left, muttering, “I’m going to kick him in the balls.”

Jane sniffed and brought my attention back to her. “W-we shhhhould go.” Taking her hands, I pulled her up, careful to keep the towels against her.

“I know he loves me.”

“O-o-of c-course he llllllllloves you, J-Jane.”

We walked to the sink. She started crying harder when she looked in the mirror. I turned on the water and grabbed more paper towels. I gave her some dampened ones for her face and then I pulled the stack away to see how the wound looked. The flow of blood had slowed. I pressed the towels back against her.

“H-h-hold this.”

She did and I went to clean up the blood from the floor. “Don’t let them take me, Elliott. I can’t go back there again.”

“I-I kn-know.” I went to her, quickly tossing the towels in the garbage. “W-we should go.”

Jane let me lead her almost to the door before she stopped and refused to go any farther. “I didn’t mean to do it, Elliott.”

I nodded. “I-I know.”

Satisfied, she moved forward again and as we exited the bathroom, and I was thankful that it was still lunch and the halls were empty. “Th-thank you,” I said to Sophie as I passed her. She didn’t have to stand guard, helping to secure our privacy, but she did.

Sophie took in Jane’s abdomen and she swallowed hard. She looked away even as she asked, “Is she okay?”

“Y-yes.”

“Jane!” I looked over to see that David had joined us. “Damn, Jane,” he sighed. “You were doing so good.”

“D-did you c-call S-Stephen?”

He nodded but before Jane could get upset with him, he passed me my bag and then picked her up in his arms.

He started walking toward the front of the school and I turned back to Sophie. “W-we have to t-take her t-to the hospital.”

She looked shocked. “Is she going to be okay? What the hell happened?”

“I-I’ll e-mail you.” I pointed behind me. “I-I have t-to go.”

“Yeah,” she said, waving her hand at Jane and David’s back. “Yeah, go. I’ll take notes in Reese’s class for you.”

I nodded, letting myself smile just a little. “Th-thank you.”

It was just after nine that night when I powered up my computer. The day hadn’t been what I expected. Stephen and Robin made the decision to keep Jane in the hospital overnight. Not because the cut was so bad, but because they wanted to watch her to see if she needed to be taken away again.

I hoped she’d come back home tomorrow.

Despite my concern for Jane, I smiled when I saw Sophie’s e-mail in my inbox.

Hey Elliott,

How is Jane and what the hell was up with that? Normally I’m not so demandingly nosy, but that was some crazy shit. I hope she’s okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I don’t handle blood all that well. Funny coming from a diabetic, right?

So I guess I’ll just answer the questions.

My birthday is May 26th. I have no friends back in Tampa. Three words to describe myself? Three separate words or like a three-word sentence? Forget it. I’ll do both. Sentence: Pissed Off Bitch. Words: High, Tired, Angry.

I don’t know when the best day of my life was. Maybe it’s still to come, but if you need my best one so far, I suppose I’d go with the time we spent near that stream. I know all we did was talk or whatever, but it was a good day. I like the days when I don’t have to deal with all the shit in my life.

I’m afraid of a lot of things, but don’t tell anyone, okay?

If I could be an animal, I would be a house cat. I could lie around all day passing judgment on humans, eat all their food, and then get catnip for being “cute.”

Now mine:

1. Why didn’t you ever play in the mud as a child?
   
2. Why did Kate and Dr. Dalton get a divorce?
   
3. When is your birthday?
   
4. What did you want to be when you grew up? Is it different than what you want to be now? (I’m aware that I’m sneaking in an extra question here.)
   
5. Do you hate your mom for what she did?
   

Bonus: Should I have done something else for Jane today? I didn’t really know what to do.

Anyway, I hope she’s okay. She seemed like she was really looking forward to the dance. I hope she still gets to go.

Will you go to school tomorrow? I’ll see you, or, you know, maybe not.

Sophie.

I sighed. While I enjoyed being able to communicate with Sophie, sometimes the questions were difficult. I was sure she felt the same way. I’d expected the question about mud and my birthday, and childhood dreams weren’t difficult for me, but I hated thinking about Kate leaving and I didn’t want to talk or write about my mother.

Still, this was our silent agreement; to ask and answer things we wouldn’t be able to talk about otherwise. I couldn’t help but think that if I didn’t answer fully and honestly, I would be damaging the trust that was building between us.

I was tired. Incredibly tired. It had been an emotionally draining day. Jane didn’t want me to leave the hospital, and I would have stayed there all night with her if it was possible, but hospitals had rules, and so did Stephen and Robin. I didn’t think they were trying to be mean, but it wasn’t hard to see that Jane and I had come to depend on each other. While they didn’t want to break that bond, they also wanted to make sure we could stand on our own and not be “co-dependent.”

I saw nothing wrong with having at least
someone
to depend on.

Regardless, I couldn’t stay with her and had to leave her there alone. She looked very frail in that large bed, an IV in her arm. They weren’t giving her anything but saline, but I guessed they wanted to keep their options open.

At least they didn’t have to use the restraints this time.

I stayed up only long enough to return Sophie’s e-mail and then lay down for another fitful night’s sleep.

“Oh, fucking
Christ
!”

“Nope, still just fucking me,” Jason said into my ear with a chuckle.

Sex outside in Florida was a lot more comfortable than in Maryland on a cold fall day. Coats get in the way. I was sure we looked anything but sexy; Jason with his pants around his ankles, bare ass out in the thirty-degree air, and me with my pants hanging off of my right foot, pressed up against this big old tree.

The intensity with which he nailed me the past couple of days was about to send me into orgasmic overload. He was either working out his anger with me through sex, or the dude was in love with me.

I hoped it was anger.

Anger I could deal with. Anger I could understand.

He’d been strange and distant on Monday, not really speaking when he picked me up for school. I felt bad, but that moon-eyed crap he’d been pulling had to stop. I wasn’t his girlfriend, and I never would be.

It was tough love time. I had to snap his ass out of whatever fantasy he was living in where we had more going than a mutual orgasm arrangement. I got my weed from him. I paid him money for that. We had sex and made each other feel good. It was simple. There would never be any movies, or dinner, or goddamn hand-holding.

It wasn’t until after school the day the whole “Jane Dalton Freak Out” happened that he decided he would talk to me. And what romantic words they were. “Hey, you want to have sex after you’re finished with that joint?” At least it was better than asking me to the dance or to see a movie.

Yesterday, I had gotten home from Elliott’s feeling all kinds of weak. First off, why the hell did I volunteer to cook fucking dinner on Saturday? Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? I was pretty sure Wallace would be there with Dr. Sexy and Tom, so now instead of being there a few hours, I basically signed myself up for at least five.

At least Elliott would be there.

I felt vulnerable because Elliott and I had slipped into this casual friendship and while I liked it, there were things that made me completely uncomfortable, like sharing pieces of our lives that no else was privy to. I felt ridiculous after saying that I used to get into trouble for playing in the dirt, and I felt horrible when I didn’t believe that he’d
never
played in the dirt.

Who would just make that shit up? Then he told me to ask him in an e-mail, and I instantly thought that he probably had shit in his past he didn’t want to share either.

We seemed to be using our newly-acquired e-mail conversations for topics we really couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say out loud. I didn’t think that I had admitted too much, but I had this feeling deep-down that it would only be a matter of time before I would. That was scary. I didn’t
want
to talk about Helen. I didn’t
want
anyone to know about any of it.

I pushed aside all my thoughts and fears about Elliott as Jason grunted his way toward the homestretch and I just concentrated on the waves of sexual bliss coursing through my body.

After he tossed the condom behind him, we cleaned ourselves up a bit before exiting the woods and headed to his car.

After dinner, I typed out an e-mail to Elliott and then flopped down on my bed, wishing I was high. It was too risky to do it hanging out the window, especially when Tom was still up, so I only did that on rare occasions. I was stone-cold sober.

That made everything difficult. I just wanted the comfort of the dull buzz. I certainly didn’t want all these stupid thoughts going through my head. I was angry. I was pissed at Jane for bleeding on the bathroom floor. What the hell was up with that?

Why the fuck did I have to care? Couldn’t she just go back to being Pinny Dalton like before? Why did I have to get suckered into having the warm-fuzzies for her? Why the hell did I care about any one of them? My plan had been to
not
have friends. I didn’t want them.

But now I had them.

Then everything shifted rapidly and I thought about the time I had spent with Elliott talking about the mud. I had no idea why I wanted to figure him out so badly.

I’d never given a shit about any other person. I usually didn’t care what someone’s name was because it didn’t really matter. I just needed to know how they fit into my life. I just needed to know what they had that I needed. Because who gives a shit that Jason was a guy who sold pot to support his father? Why the fuck did I need to care that his mother was dead and his OCD father was a drunk?

The messed-up part was that now that I knew all that, I fucking cared. Now he wasn’t just some dude I got my weed from. Now he wasn’t just some guy I banged. Now he was Jason and all his problems.

And the mud! Why the hell hadn’t Elliott played in mud before? Why did I need to know? I wished I had some answers as to what the hell was going on with me.

He would tell me. He answered every question I asked him. I didn’t deserve the trust he gave me. There was no way I deserved it.

Every rule I had for myself was slowly deteriorating. Next thing I knew I’d be shopping at the Gap, and drinking Starbucks mocha-latte-choco-shit in a cup.

I didn’t even know who the hell I was anymore.

So I made up my mind.

I went to my window and got incredibly high until my thoughts slowed down into something more manageable.

Yeah, things were definitely better when I was high.

I felt like my thoughts had been smothering me. I no longer gave a shit if Tom caught me because at least my idiot mind could slow down.

Now I could just be chill.

My room was locked up tight, but I still couldn’t sleep. It was a little past one in the morning when I read Elliott’s reply to my e-mail.

Sophie,

Jane is okay. Stephen kept her at the hospital. I didn’t think the cut was that bad, but I’m pretty sure they left her in to “observe’’ her. He and Robin always do this when she has an episode. I told you that sometimes she just sort of zones out. When she’s in that state, there are times when she hurts herself. The real questions are if she remembers it and if it’s a planned or premeditated thing.

I don’t really get it and it’s incredibly scary. She says she doesn’t remember even getting the scalpel from the Biology classroom.

I never know why it happens to her. Beyond certain emotional events, there are usually no triggers that anyone’s been able to figure out. Unlike this one, they just happen. She told me that she had a fight with Trent. I like Trent, but it’s hard to know what to expect from him. I don’t think he meant for this to happen.

Jane wants him to stay close to Damascus for his first year of college, but Trent’s always been a bit wishy-washy.

Enough about that. I’m tired. On to your questions:

My real father was pretty particular about things like dirt and mud. He had a lot of rules. I wasn’t allowed outside when it was raining or snowing. Well, I wasn’t allowed outside much at all. I was allowed to walk to and from the school bus, but when I came home, I had to take off my shoes or snow boots outside. We didn’t even have any indoor plants like I did with Kate.

Kate left Stephen, as far as I know, because he was never home. He went out and adopted the three of us and then left her alone to raise us. I don’t think she really wanted us in the first place. We weren’t meant to hear that part when they were fighting, but they were yelling and they probably didn’t realize they were loud enough for me to overhear. She kept saying that Stephen spent too much time at the hospital and she couldn’t help all three of us by herself, so she left and divorced him.

My birthday is June 29th.

The first thing I ever wanted to be when I grew up was a fireman too, but I think it’s because the other boys at school said that’s what they wanted to be. I mean, I’ve given it quite a bit of thought because firemen and paramedics are pretty close to real-life super-heroes. It’s not original, I know. The fireman stage didn’t last long. We have that in common.

About my mom: I don’t hate her for what she did, or who she was. I wasn’t in my mom’s head, so I don’t know why she did it. But she did. It doesn’t make her a bad person. My father said that she damned herself to hell by killing herself, but it could have been her salvation instead. How am I to know?

My mother loved me regardless of her addiction and killing herself. I love her regardless of those things too. I wish every day she hadn’t done that, but I don’t hate her for it.

As for your bonus question, you did fine with Jane. Thank you.

Here are my questions for you:

1. Do you dream?
   
2. Of the many things that you’re afraid of, what’s one of them?
   
3. Do you like Damascus?
   
4. How did you get those four marks on your neck?
   
5. You said that you “banged” meth. “Banged” means “injected” right? Like heroin? Why’d you do that? Wasn’t it scary?
   

Bonus: What’s for dinner on Saturday?

Goodnight, Sophie.

Elliott.

Elliott’s reply about his mother just hurt. I knew it was e-mail, but I could feel him through his words. I would’ve hated her if I were him. I would have cussed profusely when talking about her, but he was respectful and loving. I felt horrible for him.

I didn’t like to leave Elliott’s e-mails sitting unanswered and felt like I needed to answer them right away because I didn’t want to leave him hanging. I wanted him to know that whatever he said didn’t make me feel any different about him. He was my friend. I had told him that and I believed it, so it was important to make sure he knew that I wasn’t judging him.

Elliott,

Your first question confuses me. Are you asking if I dream, as in “someday my prince will come” or as in are my neurons firing rapidly while I sleep? Because no to the first and yes to the second. I dream when I sleep. I remember them because I don’t usually sleep straight through the night. Unfortunately, they’re never the type of dreams I want to remember.

I like Damascus as much as anyone can like a small town. Life is usually life no matter where you’re living it. It’s no better or worse than Tampa. Like I told you before, it’s just much more difficult to be anonymous here. That sucks.

Three of your five questions are tough, and I don’t really want to answer them. Just so you know, it’s only because it’s you asking that I’m even entertaining the thought of really answering them. I’d tell anyone else to fuck off.