Spiral (23 page)

“I like it here, with you,” she murmurs. “You get me.”

Now I know this is high-talk, or drunk-talk. “I get you, huh?”

“Shh,” she shushes me, and I feel her arm drape across my stomach, pulling me tightly against her. I’m torn between forcing her to leave and just closing my eyes because it feels kind of good to have her there. I didn’t like being alone every night anyway, so I can tolerate this I guess, right?

The fear of getting caught looms over me. How embarrassing it would be if anyone found out about this. The twins would scream, “
Gross
!” and make fun of us for the rest of our lives. Jim would be mad at me, and my mom would probably be upset that I have a girl sleeping in my bed.

But
, I try to convince
myself, maybe she’d be proud of me for being nice to Cherie
. I can’t be sure. I don’t know if I care right now anyway. I promise myself that I’ll talk to Mom tomorrow and get Cherie the help she needs.

When morning comes, though, she’s gone again, and I think better of telling Mom anything. I’m sure that it was the last time, and I’m pretty confident Cherie is just going through a weird phase. Even if it happens again, it won’t last forever.

I go about my day, going to school, and dodging the questions from my classmates about her. I join Mica afterward at the gym. I try to forget all about Cherie until it’s time to go to sleep. Just as I’m about to lock my door, I pause, as if my hand doesn’t want to do what my brain is telling it to do. I don’t lock the door, just in case. Sure enough, when I wake up hours later, she is snuggling up beside me, telling me it’s not a big deal.

And it happens Wednesday night, too. I pretend to be asleep, and she comes in as quiet as a mouse. She tip toes to my bedside, calls out my name, and then climbs in beside me when I don’t answer. I knew before I went to sleep that I should lock my door and stop her from coming in, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s become part of my nighttime routine: push-ups, crunches, brush my teeth, wash my face, stare at the door debating whether or not to lock it. I begin to wonder if there’s something wrong with me for practically inviting her in every night.

By Thursday morning, I’m positive I’ll get in trouble if I tell Mom. I’ve let Cherie sleep with me for a few nights, and my mother will definitely ask why I didn’t tell someone sooner. She’ll scold me for not caring enough to stop Cherie from drinking or hurting herself. I won’t know what to say to that because deep down, Cherie getting hurt is becoming my newest fear. I know it can’t be healthy for this girl to be getting drunk all the time, and I am beginning to worry that something will happen before she gets home to me. Each night I find myself staying awake later and later, holding my breath, waiting until she comes through that door before I can breathe easy again. Dread plagues me, even during the day when I’m at school. I constantly wonder if she’s okay and who she’s with.

Tonight, she doesn’t tip toe inside. Instead, she runs in and jumps on the bed, high on life.

“Jack!”

I’m wide awake but still startled. “What are you doing?”

She giggles maniacally and sits on top of me. “Oh my God, I had the best night! It was so fun!”

“Great, I’m glad,” I mutter. I shift her off of me and turn onto my side. “Did Caz show you a good time?”

“Very funny, Jack,” she laughs, pulling on my shoulder until I’m on my back. “It was a girls’ night, for your information. We went to Fly, and – ”

“Cherie, I need to go to sleep, and you need to go to your room,” I say firmly. But a huge weight floats off of my chest when I hear that Caz wasn’t with her for once.

“Can’t I stay here, with you?”

Her voice is small and pouty and makes me angry. She is so proud of herself for being able to manipulate people with that voice, but I refuse to be just some other tool she has wrapped around her finger.

“No, you can’t keep staying here. You’re keeping me up every night. I can barely stay awake at school.”

She giggles. “Oh stop, you’re always passed out when I come in. Aren’t you?”

Dammit
! I turn on my side again to hide my reddening face. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter, you’re keeping me up right now. Go to bed. In YOUR room.”

She’s relentless tonight. “Why do you keep pushing me away, Jack?”

The question hits me like a brick. I look over my shoulder and see that she is genuinely hurt. Her expression is a punch to my gut, but I try to stay strong. “Because this just isn’t…
right
.”

“It’s not wrong, either, Jack,” she fires back. “What are we doing besides keeping each other company?”

I grunt, “I don’t need company, Cherie. I’m fine. You’re the one who keeps coming in here.”

“And you let me in, don’t you?”

I fumble for an answer. She’s on to me. “You come in. I don’t let you in,” I bite back.

“Oh really? You could lock that door if you wanted to, but you don’t.”

“Because I don’t know where you’d be if you didn’t come in here, and that worries me,” I admit finally.

“Well, then why haven’t you told on me?” I don’t have an answer for that, and she pounces. “You must want me to be here because you’d find a way to keep me out like you do to everyone else,” she says firmly.

I sit up and turn to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you try to pretend you don’t need anybody, but actually you do,” she says. “You like having me around because I was abandoned by my parents, and you know what that feels like.”

I stiffen immediately. There’s nothing more I hate than someone psychoanalyzing me. The heat of shame turns quickly into an angry fire. She has no idea why I actually like having her around, and it has nothing to do with being abandoned by my father.

Does it?

That’s it. I’ve had it with this girl!
Now she’s making me question my own psychological stability. She’s the only person on this earth other than my father who makes me question myself.

“You’ve been talking to Claudia too much.” I hear the hardness in my voice, and so does she.

Her mouth twists to the side. “Yes, she told me a little bit. But it’s nothing I couldn’t figure out on my own, Jack.”

“Cherie, enough. Our situations are totally different,” I reply. I stand up and walk to the bedroom door. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to. It’s nearly three in the morning, and I have school in a few hours. Just go upstairs!” I open the door and moonlight pours in like an interrogation lamp. I turn away from it bitterly.

She slides off of the bed and walks toward me, and I’m blazing again, but it’s for all the wrong reasons. I scan her tiny black dress, which only hits the tops of her thighs and plunges low on her chest. A long, glittery necklace draws my eye to her cleavage. She looks amazing, even with her hair frazzled and her makeup slightly smudged. She doesn’t look pretty and perfect, like that teen princess I first met on Christmas Eve who was all pink lip gloss and bouncing yellow curls and innocence. She’s hot and ragged, the dangerous kind, when a girl looks a little bit like you were the reason she got that disheveled. Suddenly, my mind is conjuring all sorts of alternate endings to this night, and I’m desperate to block the desire to take her back to my bed.

She stops and stares at me. “Do you hate me still?” Her sad tone snaps me out of my daze, but her wide, black rimmed eyes keep me imprisoned. “I thought we were past all that.”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “I don’t hate you,” I say softly.

“Then what is it?”

I can’t answer. I can’t tell her I feel like a yo-yo, wound up tightly until she feels like playing with me, and then thrown back and forth at the flick of her hand. Mean, nice, friendly, evil, perfect, wild. I’m subjected to whoever Cherie feels like being on a given day. I certainly can’t tell her how badly I want her. I can’t let her know that she makes my blood boil and my heart pound and my skin tingle all at the same time. Cherie, who has been trying to break me for the last week, is causing at least one part of me to crack without even knowing it.

“Oh, Jack,” she sighs, pushing her lower lip out. “Are you still mad that I took your sister for a walk?”

I feel air catch in my throat and try not to stare at her mouth. “No, that’s not it,” I reply.

“Then what is it?” she presses.

I have to look away. “I’m just tired, Cherie, okay?” I sigh to the floor. “I go to school all day and then the gym and then you have me up all night – I’m tired and need sleep.” I don’t even believe my complaints, and they’re mostly true.

“Oh, the gym, huh? That’s where these abs are coming from,” she teases, playfully running her fingers over the muscles of my bare stomach. It sends a red alert straight to my groin and sparks a rash of goosebumps across my skin.

I push her hand away quickly. “Don’t.” My voice sounds choked and tortured, and she tilts her head like a dog, picking up on it. I didn’t want her to know that she affects me that much.

“Gosh, I was just paying you a compliment, you big grouch!”

“Cherie, can you be serious for one minute? I mean it.”

She sighs and looks me dead in the eye. “If you really want me to leave, I will. But I really want to stay. I promise I won’t bring up your abs again.”

I swallow a chuckle and shake my head. I can’t put my foot down with her. I know I should tell her to go. I know that letting her stay means a lot of things are going unsaid. She may not feel the same way about me as I feel about her, but spending all these nights together is digging me into a deep hole, that’s for sure.

I rub my eyes. “If we get caught, we could get in trouble.”

“Get in trouble for what?” she laughs, heading back to the bed. “It’s not like we’re doing anything bad out here.”

Yet
, I think, watching her crawl into the bed, in her tight, short dress.
We’re not doing anything bad yet
. I feel a thousand pounds settle back onto my chest as I slide into bed next to her.

She curls up around me, and I lie flat beside her, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm my racing heart.

I try to convince myself that she’s right; I’m not doing anything wrong –
we
are not doing anything wrong. My imagination, however, has a whole playbook of wrong decisions I desperately want to make. But I can’t; I keep telling myself she’s like Britney, only older. And not my sister.

And ridiculously hot.

A tiny part of me hopes that someone does find out and puts a stop to this before I reach a point where I can’t stop myself.

“H
ansen!”

I’m startled out of my slumber and jump to attention. I’m in the middle of the cafeteria, and Mica is staring down at me with genuine concern.

“You okay, my man?” he asks, sitting across from me.

I rub my eyes and nod weakly. “Yeah, just tired.”

“You look it. Am I workin’ you too hard at the gym?” he laughs, nudging my shoulder with a light jab.

I shake my head. “Maybe.” I’m exhausted, staring at my sandwich, thinking it is too much work to lift it and chew it.

“You look beat. What’s up?” he presses, stealing the French fries off of my tray. “Studying for a test or somethin’?”

I harrumph. “Something like that.”

“Well, I was gonna ask you if you wanna meet up in West Hollywood tomorrow night, but seein’ how you need a nap and all…”

“Very funny,” I grumble. I try to think what day it is, and I realize it’s Friday. “What time?”

He grins wide at me. “’Bout ten. My friend, D’shawn, gots some honeys meetin’ up wit’ us, too. Betta dress nice.”

I squint at him. He says that to me a lot, and he’s starting give me a complex, like I don’t dress well or something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs at my defensiveness. “Means we goin’ to a club, and we gotta look the part, you dig?”

“What club?”

Mica winks. “It’s called Fly. It’s hoppin."' I cock my head because the name sounds familiar. Then I remember hearing Cherie babble one night about being there before coming home to me. Now I’m intrigued.

“How will we get in?”

“We got the hookup, kid,” he says reassuringly. “D’Shawn knows the door guy. It’s his cousin.” He chuckles deeply at my doubtful frown. “Don’t worry, I got you, son!” He tousles my hair like I’m a kid, and I smack his hand away. He struts off, calling over his shoulder, “We gon’ play with the big boys tomorrow night!”