Canary (25 page)

I held the phone in my hand, looking at the screen, willing it to light up, to ring, to vibrate. To do anything but be silent. I held it in my palm when it was wet with my sweat. I carried it to the bathroom with me in case I missed his call. I gripped it tight during fits of tears and the moments when they stopped and I tried to catch my breath and wipe my clouded eyes.

I didn't shower, because I didn't want to miss his call. I smelled of smoke, vomit, and the stink of last night. It all seeped so far down into my skin that I wasn't sure if I'd be able to wash it out. I ached to erase the night, but I also needed to fix things with Jack.

I held my phone secure in my clenched fist as exhaustion finally took over, pulling me into a weak, thin sleep. I woke over and over again, relishing the first moments when I'd forgotten what had happened, those two, three, four seconds when things stayed okay, right before the world slammed back into me, the heavy wooden stake of memory too close to my scarred heart.

I dragged myself into the shower when I heard Dad leave the house Monday morning. I was supposed to be at school, but he hadn't bothered to check on me yesterday, so I figured I'd also be left alone this morning. I wouldn't go to Beacon and face everyone. I could only imagine what they were saying about Jack's party.

I left my phone on the sink so I could hear it ring. I had eight missed texts from Ali, but I couldn't read them. I wasn't ready to talk to anyone but Jack.

I undressed and stepped into the shower. I sat, curled into a ball as the bathroom filled with steam, the hot water turning me pink and then red. Mom used to yell at me for taking such long showers, and sometimes when she and Dad wanted to mess with me, they'd turn off the hot water. I'd come out screaming, and the two of them would laugh and laugh. Now I could sit in here for hours, and no one would say a word.

After, I stood dripping in front of the mirror. I couldn't see myself, and I didn't want to. Instead, I drew a new me. I traced a silhouette into the steam, making myself skinny and tiny. I put 
X
s over my eyes and a straight line for my mouth. I was all lines and angles. There was nothing inside of me. You could crack me in half if I was bent too far.

I stared at the image until the steam evaporated and I was looking into my own eyes. My whole body was there, clear, in front of the bathroom light. I saw myself, but nothing in my reflection looked familiar. I was a stranger, someone I might pass on the street and not even notice.

Right above my left breast, where it was soft and fatty, three bruises lined up one after the other. Three faint lines that weren't there two days ago, before Jack's party. I remembered Luke pushing me down on the bed. I shuddered when I remembered Luke pressing his fingers into me so hard they left marks. He was disgusting, and I hated him for what he had done. He'd done this to me.

I stared at the mirror and told myself I wasn't to blame.

He had forced himself on me.

But I had accepted him so easily and welcomed him into the bed. Shouldn't I have known he wasn't Jack?

I shook my head at my reflection.

“No,” I said. “This isn't your fault. Luke did this to you.”

I pressed my fingers into the bruises. The skin was still tender, and I sucked in my breath. I pressed harder to feel the pain. I let my fingers move between the bruises and dig into them, as if I could get the bruises to join and make the mark of my mistake bigger. I turned off the light and continued to push my fingers into the wound. I wanted it to be dark so I couldn't sense anything but the pain.

When someone knocked on my bedroom door, I assumed it was Dad, finally coming in to check on me.

I pulled myself out from under the covers. “I'm sleeping,” I said and hoped it would keep him out.

The knocking continued, and I heard a familiar voice. “It's Ali. Let me in.”

I stared at the door in horror. I wasn't ready to face Ali. Unlike Jack, she'd been calling nonstop, and I'd been too afraid to pick up the phone. I didn't want to talk to her or listen to her messages. There was no doubt in my mind she had some version of what had happened the other night. Jack was the only one I'd wanted to talk to, but Ali was the one who crowded up my voice mail.

She pounded on the door and shouted, “You need to open up now.”

Dad yelled something from downstairs, and I knew I had to deal with Ali or he'd come up.

I crawled out of bed and unlocked the door.

Before I could open it all the way, Ali pushed through.

“Why haven't you answered my calls?”

I sat back on my bed. “I haven't been feeling well.”

Ali laughed bitterly. “Feeling well? Did this sickness happen before or after you screwed my boyfriend?”

Her words sliced right through me.

“He's not your boyfriend,” I said and immediately regretted the words.

“You bitch.”

“I didn't sleep with Luke,” I told her, but I knew from the revolted look on her face she didn't believe me.

“Oh, really? Are you saying Jack and Luke are liars?”

“Jack's telling everyone I slept with Luke?”

“He said he walked in on the two of you going at it.”

I grabbed a pillow and held it against my chest. I dug my fingers into it to keep myself from jumping up and shaking Ali. I was desperate to make her see I hadn't wanted this to happen. “It wasn't like that. Jack didn't understand what was going on.”

“So you did have sex with him?” Ali crossed her arms. “God, Kate, you're ridiculous.”

“No, I stopped him. I thought he was Jack, but then I realized he wasn't.” Even I knew how lame those words sounded.

“Right,” Ali said slowly. “Sure. You thought he was Jack.”

“You really think I'd sleep with Luke?”

“Of course you would. You're so obvious when you flirt with him.”

“I'd 
never
 do something like that.” I wanted to laugh at how unbelievable Ali was. There was no way in hell I'd ever consider Luke attractive. I thought about how much Jenna and I joked about his nastiness, but that confession wouldn't go over well with Ali.

“Well, you proved yourself wrong, because you did.” She grabbed a framed picture of Jack and me together after a basketball game. She looked at it for a second and then threw it on the ground.

The glass broke, and I gritted my teeth, steeling myself not to react.

She walked to me so she was right in my face. “You stupid slut.”

“I 
didn't
 sleep with him. He tried to rape me.” The word fell out of my mouth, slicing my tongue like a razor. I hadn't allowed myself to think about that word for longer than a second. When it had started to creep into my head, I'd pushed it into the darkness because it seemed like something so awful. But that's what had happened. I 
hadn't
 wanted Luke. I hadn't flirted with him or told him in any way it was okay to have sex with me. Luke had tried to rape me. The truth was there, hanging between Ali and me.

She took a step back. “Are you kidding me? 
Rape
 you? You're certifiable.”

“That's what happened,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, even though I was shaking all over.

“I think I'd know if I were sleeping with a rapist.”

“Luke is not a good person.”

“Get real. You knew 
exactly
 what you were doing with him, and now you regret it because you got caught.”

I tried to plead with her, to get her to listen. “I had no idea what was going on. I was confused and sick. None of it makes sense. I must have had too much to drink.”

“People get wasted and hook up all the time, and they don't go calling it rape. Just because you regret it when you're sober doesn't mean you didn't want it when you were drunk. Besides, I saw how little you drank. You were playing the goody-goody all night.”

She was right, but how else could I explain that night? Nothing about it, how I felt and what Luke tried to do, connected. “He told me he was Jack; it was dark, and I felt so—”

“Shut up,” she screamed. “I don't want to hear it. No one's going to believe that.”

“It's the truth”

“Who do you think everyone is going to listen to, a whore like you or Jack and Luke? You don't have a chance.”

“It's not my fault.”

“I will destroy you,” she hissed.

She slammed my bedroom door so hard Dad called to me again from downstairs.

I dug my fingers into my bruises and winced. I let my mind focus on that night and remembered what I had done to ruin everything.

www.allmytruths.com

Today's Truth:

The people you want to forget
 
always
 
come back in the end.

Just one moment destroys it all

A single action breaks me and you

Can we find again what he took

Knowing makes forgetting impossible

Posted By: Your Present Self

[Monday, December 16, 7:58 PM]

I stayed home from school the next two days. I knew it made it look as if I was giving in and letting Luke win, but Ali had made it totally clear I was the loser in this fight. Dad never even noticed me missing from his morning routine, and I wondered if anyone else at school did either.

My room became my refuge, my cave in which to withdraw. My covers held me in my bed, layers of them, their heavy heat soaking up my tears.

When I did get up, I sat Indian style, staring in the mirror, trying to make eye contact with myself. I wore a tank top and forced myself to look at the bruise, which had turned angry shades of yellow in the middle and dark blues and purples on the outside. I continued to push with my fingers to make the reminder of my mistake grow larger and larger.

I left my window cracked to feel something, even if it was just cold air. I let in whispers of wind that danced with the quietly clacking blinds. At first, I turned the radio on, but even the pop songs hurt. They all sang of love, not of loss and betrayal. Instead, I found an old box fan and kept it on for noise.

I called Jack. I hadn't heard from him, and I needed to talk to him. I called him four, five, six times in a row. I left messages trying to explain myself, trying to find words to describe something I couldn't understand.

“Jack, it's Kate. Please call me. I need to talk about what happened.”

“Jack, it wasn't what you thought it was. What you saw in the bedroom.”

“Jack, I thought it was you in the bed. I need to explain.”

“Jack, please pick up. I need you to listen. Talk to me.”

“Jack, this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Nothing is. It's all wrong. Talk to me. What you walked in on; it's not what you saw.”

“Jack, Luke did this. He pretended to be you. I thought I was with you.”

“Jack, it's Kate. Please.”

I called him constantly. Sometimes I left a message, and sometimes I remained silent, knowing he'd see my name in his missed calls. I hoped I could get him to say something to me, anything.

After staying in my room for four days straight, the door opened with a sudden purpose.

Dad stood illuminated by a halo of light from the hallway.

“The school called. They said you haven't been going to class. You've missed the last three days. Is that true?”

I met Dad's gaze with swelled, red-rimmed eyes, dirty, knotted hair, and pajamas at five in the afternoon. It was obvious things weren't right. “I haven't been feeling well.”

“You're sick?” he asked, confused. “Is there anything I can do?”

I wanted to tell him everything that had happened. The words hung there, ready to spill over, but he was already glancing back down the hallway. I heard some kind of game on the television and knew he was anxious to get back to it.

I shook my head. He didn't want to hear about this. Not now. Not ever.

He walked to my bed and put his hand on my forehead. “I had no idea. I've been so busy trying to get the team into the play-offs . . .”

“Is it okay if I stay home tomorrow? I still don't feel good.”

“One more day is okay,” he said. “I told the school you were sick. I didn't want them to think I didn't know what was going on with my own daughter.” He laughed and walked to the door.

I felt nauseated at the thought of what he didn't know.

“You should have told me you weren't feeling well.”

My head throbbed, and I fought back tears. 
You should have asked
.

He averted his gaze and talked to the ceiling. “I told them there's no reason to worry. I'm glad there isn't. I'm glad you're feeling better. Good,” he said and pulled the door shut, closing out the light until it was a thin thread fighting to stay lit against my world of darkness.

www.allmytruths.com

Today's Truth:

Sometimes anything is better than nothing.

“We need to talk.”

“It's not you; it's me.”

“I think we're better as just friends.”

“I'm not into you.”

“I need something more.”

“I need to find myself.”

“It's bad timing.”

“We are both at different places in our lives.”

“I don't see myself with you.”

“I don't want to be in a relationship right now.”

“We grew apart.”

“We are different people with different needs.”

“Maybe if I had met you ten years down the road.”

“I am entering the witness protection program.”

“I need to focus all my time on basketball this season.”

“I want to see what else is out there.”

“I need to work on myself. I can't love you until I learn to love myself.”