STUPID LITTLE BITCH.
Stupid little bitch.
Stupid little bitch.
The words are loud, impossible to silence, even as cars fly past me as I drift down the sidewalk in a daze. I’m not even sure where I am, how close to home, what street is coming up or why I didn’t just call Owen to come get me.
That last idea sends a shiver twisting up my spine. I’m not even sure why, whether it’s the fact that he left me at the festival without telling me or the thought of him at all—just existing and sharing my blood and the stars above us and a birthday—so close to me but somehow lost. I can’t tell what anything means, can’t sift through my cloudy thoughts.
Next to me, a car slows and I stiffen. Immediately, I realize the sky is dark, and my eyes peel through my surroundings for some place to run or hide.
How? I think. How did I get like this?
“Mara!”
Hearing my name only increases my speed, tightens the ball of panic in my chest.
“Mara! Are you okay?”
The female voice makes me pause, makes me take a deep breath. I turn toward the dark-green SUV rolling slowly next to me. The passenger window is down and I see Greta leaning over the center console, her blond hair almost glowing in the dark.
“Do you need a ride?”
I stare at her for a moment before answering. She pretty much kicked my ass out of my own club, but her voice is soft right now and she’s putting off whatever her Saturday night plans are to make sure I’m okay.
“All right. Thanks.”
I slide into her car just as a massive black truck slows down behind her and lays on the horn.
“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “Hold your wad, asshole.”
Something about this makes me laugh. Greta smiles at me and rolls her eyes at the huge truck that seems to me more than a little horn-happy.
“Compensating for something, are we?” she says.
I laugh again, buckling my seat belt as she pulls away from the curb, but then suddenly I just feel so damn tired. As though that laugh was all I had left in me. I rest my head against the window as she drives through town—apparently, I somehow ended up on Fourth Avenue near The Menagerie—and will myself to fall asleep or disappear or whatever comes first.
“You okay?” she asks.
“No. Not really.”
She says nothing to that. It’s probably not the answer she expected. Hell, it’s not even the answer I expected to give her. Greta and I aren’t exactly the kind of friends who offer up more than the obligatory I’m fine or Doing well to the How’s it going question.
“Look,” she finally says. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask blankly. “About what?”
“About Empower. I’m sorry how that went down. I feel bad. I just didn’t know how to handle the whole situation. God, it was just awkward.” She pulls onto my street and keeps talking. “But you were totally badass, yelling at Jaden and everything.”
I snort a laugh. “I did more than yell at him.”
“I know, and that had to be hard.”
“Are you condoning my violent acts, Greta?”
She smiles. “That’s bad, right? I shouldn’t be, but yeah, I guess I am.”
“Well, Jaden’s a dick.”
“Such a dick.”
In front of my house, she throws the car in park, but I don’t get out. Owen’s car—our car—isn’t in the driveway, but the house windows glow warmly, beckoning deceptively with love and acceptance and faith. “You were right.”
She shifts toward me. “I was?”
“About Empower. I was in no position to lead. Maybe I never was.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is.”
“Mara, you do a great job. You have really great ideas, and your articles for the paper are amazing. They’re important and you’re a really good writer. People actually read them. Like, most of the school, in fact. That’s pretty huge.”
A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve lapped up her words, beamed and turned a delicate shade of red, shy and proud all at once. Especially hearing them from Greta, who I always felt saw through me anyway.
Now I just feel ashamed.
“Can you take me to Alex Tan’s?” I ask her.
I feel her hesitation, so I tack on a please. She agrees and we drive the few miles in silence.
When she pulls into Alex’s driveway, Owen’s and my car is right there, parked so casually and benignly, there’s absolutely no reason for this wave of dread to wash over me.
No reason whatsoever.
Alex’s house is a Victorian-style home that looks like something right out of a ghost story. It’s three levels high and bright white, with a huge screened-in front porch and tall columns in front of a long circular driveway. Next to Alex’s sun-yellow TLB, my own car is parked crookedly, as though Owen was in a hurry when he got here.
I tell Greta goodbye, thanking her with as much sincerity as I can muster through my trembling voice. Then I wait until she drives away to walk around the side of the house, hoping I’ll find the boys playing basketball near the garage. The net hangs above the doors, tattered with age and undisturbed. Hands buried in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I round back to the front, heading for the porch stairs.
I’ve just put one foot on the bottom step when I hear my brother’s voice.
“. . . asshole about this.”
“I’m not. I just—”
“You are. You’ve been acting like a douche for a week and now my sister? Really, Alex? She’s my fucking sister.”
“We’re just hanging out.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve never wanted to hang out before. Not without me.”
I freeze, my heart huge and loud in my chest.
“I would never hurt Mara,” Alex says.
“That’s not the point. My best friend boning my sister is just weird.”
“Holy shit, dude. We’re just friends!”
“You know she’s bi, right? Can’t make up her mind.”
I suck in a breath, my hand clapping over my mouth to keep in the sudden sob strangling my lungs. Did my brother really just say that about me? Owen gets mouthy when he’s stressed, can’t shut up. I know this. But all his talk has never been directed at me quite like that, and his words feel like a knife dividing us into two.
For a few seconds, there’s nothing—no sound, no air, no light.
Then, quietly, Alex says, “Do you even hear yourself right now? This isn’t you.”
A beat. “You don’t know what’s me or not, because you don’t give two shits anymore.”
Alex says something I can’t make out. The porch swing lets out a groan—someone getting up.
“Fine,” Owen says. “Fuck you.”
“Owen, come on.”
“No, no, it’s fine. Good to know you pretty much think I’m a lying asshole.”
“That’s not—”
But the door leading into the screened-in porch flies open, banging against the stair railing. My brother storms out, Alex on his heels. Owen freezes when he sees me. There’s a flash of sadness in his eyes. Regret. But then something hard glosses over his face, and his jaw tightens.
“Fucking figures,” he mutters, then brushes past me at the bottom of the stairs, nearly knocking me over. I grip the banister, shocked as I watch my brother and his best friend of more than ten years fall apart.
Alex squeezes my arm, but it’s a flash of comfort, because then he’s running through the grass after Owen. He catches up with him at our car, pulling Owen’s shoulder around.
“Get the hell off!” Owen yells. His tone feels like knives in my stomach because it’s not just anger in his voice. It’s fear and sadness and panic and loneliness. Maybe it’s a twin thing, but I can almost taste his emotions, a bitterness on the back of my tongue. I sure as hell feel them.
“Don’t do this, man,” Alex says. “Just talk to me. Tell me the truth—that’s all I’m asking. All I ever asked.”
My fingers dig into the white paint of the handrail, a little sliver cutting under one of my nails.
Because they’re not talking about me anymore.
Owen glares at him, his chest heaving up and down. “You don’t want the truth. You just want to pretend like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t totally crap out on me when shit got hard.”
His glance moves to me. There’s a sheen to his eyes that makes me move away from the stairs and closer to him. The stars are out and I want to put my brother into our car, drive him home and sit next to him on the roof, spinning tales.
Spinning lies.
I stop in my tracks and he visibly flinches. He locks his jaw into place, but I see it trembling and I feel paralyzed. Unmoored and floating through space.
Then he gets in the car, engine rumbling and tires squealing as he backs out of the driveway. Alex stumbles back and shoves both hands through his hair, watching Owen leave.
He stands there for a few seconds, hands still on his head, staring at the street. Finally he turns, wordless, and takes my hand. He leads me up the stairs and into his house. We step into a big open space, the foyer leading into the kitchen leading into the living room. His parents are cooking and the whole house is filled with savory smells and bubbling sounds, but when they see us, they freeze, concern etched all over their faces.
“We’ll be down in a minute,” Alex calls. I barely have a chance to wave before he’s pulling me up another set of stairs and into his bedroom.
“Sorry,” he breathes as he releases me and sits on the bed. He drops his head into his hands. “I need a minute. I just . . .”
His shoulders shake and he makes a wrecked sort of noise. I stare at him, totally transfixed as everything I feel pours out of him. I’ve known him my whole life and barely know him. He’s falling apart right in front of me and I can’t help but feel a wash of relief, because now I’m not so alone while all these pieces of myself fall away one by one.
I walk over to him, barely making it before I sink to my knees. I don’t care about this uncrossable gap between us, I don’t care who I love and who I need. I don’t care. All I care about right now is making all of this go away. Everything I just told Charlie. Everything that just happened between Alex and Owen. All the days, all the minutes, all the seconds, wondering why and how and what now.
I need it all gone.
And Alex needs it gone too.
I press close to him, his legs on either side of my hips, and run my hands up his arms to his shoulders. He’s still trembling, and a tear slips down his nose and darkens a spot on his jeans. I glide my hands up to his neck, then cup his face before slipping my fingers into his hair. I can’t stop touching him, mingling his loss with mine.
His breathing calms and he lifts his head, red and tired eyes searching my face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing ever comes out. Instead, he grips my hips and pulls me closer.
Our foreheads press together. I feel the tears on his face and it feels so good that I move my mouth to his. He opens to me, desperation and hunger colliding. My thoughts go hazy, dreamlike, and the feeling is a drug, morphine to a broken heart. I flick open the first few buttons on his shirt, sliding my hands across his skin. He shivers, his hold on me tightening. I push myself to my feet, but only so I can crawl onto his lap, my knees closing around his hips.
I’m shaking and I can’t tell if it’s the good kind or not. Everything is skin and adrenaline. Sounds and spit and teeth, the gentle scrape of fingernails as our shirts hit the floor. Alex’s lips are on my neck, my collarbone, everywhere. My hands pull at his hair and he rolls us onto the bed so he’s above me. His fingers fumble with my bra clasp and I reach behind me to help him.
“This is okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
The word explodes through me, empowering and sexy, and I can’t get my bra off fast enough. His parents are downstairs but I don’t care. My heart is dissolving in my chest, but the rest of me is alive, finally. The rest of me needs, wants.
Then his hips roll into mine and my vision goes dark. I feel him through his jeans and I can’t breathe, the hard jolt through my center too much, too foreign and familiar all at once.
Hannah. Lying cold and shocked on a trail bench.
Me. Trembling and wishing I’d just disappear.
My entire body goes cold and then numb, my chest so tight I can barely get a breath as memories flood in.
My hand where I never wanted it.
My tears pulling at his smile.
My voice too shocked and scared and small to say no.
To say stop.
To scream.
“Stop,” I manage to whisper. “Stop, stop.”
Alex is off me and on the other side of the bed so quickly, it’s almost as though he were never there.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, breathing hard. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head but I curl up, wrapping my arms around my knees to cover myself and stop the shaking. I’m dizzy, too much oxygen, not enough space in my lungs.
“Alex,” I choke out. “You didn’t . . . you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes, I did. Shit. I’m such an asshole.”
I want to crawl over to him, but I can’t move, can’t make my thoughts stop screaming at me.
Stupid little bitch.
Stupid little bitch.
Stupid little bitch.
I squeeze my eyes shut and pull one of his pillows to my chest, trying to get a damn grip. I’ve never been with a boy like this. Never even been with Charlie like this. We only ever went to second base, and even that took months, and then it was only over the bra or Charlie’s chest binder for even more weeks after that. I’ve never touched anyone my own age below the waist. And it’s not that I don’t want to—I do. I wanted to with Charlie. God, I wanted to, but every time my fingers brushed the button on her jeans, I’d freeze and it was as if some force I couldn’t control was moving my hand away. Her hands would drift south too, and she’d always ask if it was okay, and every single time, I’d lock up and move her hand back to my waist. She was fine with it, her kisses just as gentle, the sigh she released whenever I pressed my lips to her collarbone just as happy and content as ever.
Right now I want this with Alex, even though it’s for all the wrong reasons. But my body and mind are at war, fear and memory shredding through the desire.
“I’m sorry, Mara,” Alex says, and he sounds totally destroyed.
“Alex, look at me.”
He does, but I still can’t make myself go over to him, and when I speak, I don’t even recognize my voice. Or maybe I do. Maybe that scared little girl is finally tired of being tucked away and hidden. “You’re fine. I just freaked out.”
“This is not fine, Mara. This is anything but fine. I can’t do this . . . I can’t.”
I stare at him, thinking back on him and Owen in the driveway, his tears on this very bed just minutes ago, and something shifts inside me. Another memory of a different night, a different Alex, a different Mara.
Did you find Owen?
Yeah. He’s fine. He’s fine, he’s with Hannah.
“Alex. Why did you ask Owen to tell you the truth tonight? What did you mean?”
He lifts his head to look at me, but he can’t hold my gaze. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.
But you saw him and Hannah at the lake, when you went back to tell him you were taking me home?
Yeah, I saw him.
And he was fine, right? Hannah was fine?
They . . . they were pretty wrapped up in each other. I didn’t want to interrupt them.
“Alex.”
“I just want him to talk to me. Really talk.”
“What—”
“I saw them. That night. At the lake, I saw them.”
“You already told me that,” I say. But he didn’t. He didn’t tell me like this. With fear and guilt in his eyes, with tear tracks still on his cheeks.
“What did you see?” I ask.
“I . . . I don’t know. They were on the bench and it was dark and I could tell they were kissing, but when I got closer . . .”
“What? What happened?”
“It just didn’t look right. They weren’t . . . totally naked or anything, but Hannah’s dress was pushed up and Owen was . . . sort of . . . holding her arms down.” He gasps a breath, literally gasps, and drags a hand down his face. “Her face was turned away from me. So was his. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t tell. I got out of there pretty fast and I thought they were just . . . you know. But the more I thought about it, it just didn’t look right. It didn’t look right at all.”
“I thought you just saw them kissing.”
“I—”
“That’s what I thought you told me.”
“I told the state attorney what I saw. The day after it happened, he called my parents and me to his office because he wanted to talk to all of Owen’s friends. I told him because I just couldn’t . . . I couldn’t get it out of my head, you know?”
“Yeah, I goddamn do know, Alex.”
He winces and takes a deep breath. “The attorney didn’t bat a fucking eye, Mara. You know what he said? He said it didn’t prove anything. He said the defense would just claim that some girls like it rough and drag Hannah through the mud to prove it. He said it was a classic he said–she said scenario.”
“That’s because people are assholes, Alex, not because you didn’t see something important.”
“It didn’t make a difference, Mara!”
“It makes a difference to me. To Hannah. Shit, maybe even to my parents. How could you not tell me? Even after knowing how devastated Hannah is? Even after you could see how broken up I am, all that shit Owen and his friends pulled at school?”
Alex shoves his hand into his hair but yanks it out just as quickly. “He’s my best friend, Mara. He’s the kid who told off those jerks in middle school when they made fun of the way my eyes are shaped. He’s the guy who actually cared about me and asked me stuff about my heritage instead of treating me like I was some exotic story. You think it’s easy to believe he raped his girlfriend? You think that’s an easy thing to just admit?”
“How fucking dare you.” I get off the bed, pillow pressed to my chest. All my limbs are shaking as I find my shirt and throw it over my head, dropping the pillow. I don’t know where my bra is, nor do I care. “He’s my twin brother. You want to talk easy?”
He presses his eyes closed. “I know. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to handle it.”
“You sure as hell didn’t.” I scour the room for my bag and find it near the door, half of its contents spilling across the floor from where I dropped it in my desperation to hold on to this boy who’s a fucking liar just like every other boy.
“Please don’t go.”
But I’m already opening his door.
Stupid little bitch.
And I am. I am so, so stupid.
“At least let me take you home,” he says, getting to his feet.
“I’m fine.”
“Mara, please.”
The crack in his voice stops me. I turn to meet his eyes and everything in me deflates. He’s not a threat. He’s not smirking at me or manipulating me. He’s standing in the middle of his room, shirtless, stomach and shoulders looking almost shriveled as he folds in on himself.
He’s just as broken as I am.
“I’m sorry,” he says, fresh tears falling. “Please. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’ll talk to Hannah. I’ll tell her I’m sorry too. I just didn’t know what to do.”
My breathing is tight and fast in my lungs, but god, I can’t walk away from him. Because I don’t know what to do either.
I drop my bag to the floor but keep hold of the strap. “I’m sorry too. This is . . . I didn’t expect this.”
“I didn’t want to keep it from you. It was shitty.”
“Not that. I mean, yes, you should’ve told me, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” I look down at his floor, following the tiny fissures all along the decades-old hardwood. I wave my hand between us. “This.”
His expression falls, and with that subtle drop of his eyes, I know he didn’t expect it either.
“We should probably just call this what it is, Alex.”
“And what is it?”
“Two really lonely people in a lot of pain.”
He sighs and rubs at his forehead. “That’s not true.”
“Really? Then why have you never asked me out? Why have we never hung out without Owen or Charlie? It’s not just because of them. It’s because it’s never crossed our minds before right now. Until we were all each other had. Even after we kissed at the cemetery, we didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t want to do anything about it.”
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful and talented. I’ve told you that.”
“That doesn’t equal wanting to be with someone.”
“I’m not using you,” he says, his voice strained.
“Yes, you are. And I’m using you. It’s okay to admit it. It doesn’t make you an asshole.”
“Yeah, well, what does it make me?”
“Fucking human.”
He presses his mouth together, his chin all wobbly, and it claws at something inside me.
“I knew he was lying,” he says, staring down at his feet. “And I knew you knew it too, and I . . . didn’t know what to do. It just . . . it helped. Being around you.”
My throat aches. “I know.”
“But that’s not all it is,” he says.
“No. But that’s how it started. And it’s not enough. You know?”
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip.
“I don’t want to lose you as my friend,” I say. “That’s meant a lot to me, but I’m not ready for this. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this. For you and me. For a lot of reasons.”
“Mara—”
“I need to go.”
“Seriously, let me take you.”
I shake my head, lifting my bag from the floor. “I’ll call a ride.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Bye, Alex.”
He lifts a hand, sadness and regret like a winter coat around his shoulders.
Downstairs, I find his parents and offer some halfhearted excuse about too much homework. They’re super nice, smiling and inviting me back some other time. I think I smile back, but something in me is cracking, the memory of how Alex’s body felt on mine so welcome and so horrible at the same time. I just need out, need air, need away from Alex, who I like and want but for all the wrong reasons. Who I don’t like and want enough.
I manage a civil goodbye and get myself out the front door. Every nerve hums and tears blur my steps as I walk through his yard and spill onto the sidewalk down the block. I collapse on a bench half covered with low-hanging magnolia branches, my lungs heaving, tears falling, too many fears and thoughts swirling in my head.
I take my phone out and send a text. Ten minutes later, Hannah finds me crying on the bench and takes me home.