Flawed (18 page)

Forty

Sam isn’t waiting for us in my driveway. After all the times he’s threatened to tell James about us, I thought for sure he’d use what happened with my father to do it.

“I’ve been thinking,” James says a few hours later, after I’ve rested and he’s fed us dinner. “Maybe we should get a place sooner rather than later.” He hops onto his own bed and spreads the newspaper he just stole from the Espinosas’ recycling bin across his quilt. “Like, next-month soon. I can’t afford the mortgage on this place and they’ll kick us out as soon as they realize Dad’s gone.”

Next month is too soon. Sam won’t be ready to leave yet. I sit up, ignoring the biting pain in my side, and ask, “How much do you have in savings?”

He doesn’t answer. I watch him stare intently at the paper, scanning row after row of apartments. I wonder if he’s seeing the same ones I see every month. Real estate doesn’t go very fast in Granite Falls.

“When did apartments get so fucking expensive?”

Which is why I’d been planning to find us a place outside of town before all of this happened. In a pinch, he should be able to afford a place over by the mill. That’s the slummy part of Granite Falls, which probably isn’t any safer than living with our father, but James can take care of himself. “How much do you have saved? I can write out a budget and maybe then—”

“Two thousand,” he says quietly.

I stare at him, positive I’ve misheard. He’s been making ten dollars an hour at the mill for a year—full-time hours, plus overtime which pays him time and a half. He should have a
lot
more money. Ten thousand, at least. Fifteen, easily.

He risks looking up at me and immediately averts his gaze to the newspaper. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Leslie.
The memory of her stuffing sixty dollars into the front of her panties flashes in my mind. Anger heats my body like tiny prickling flames. I’d bet my life he’s been paying for more drugs than he’s admitted. “You’re going to Leslie again, aren’t you? You said you weren’t paying her!”

He glares at me. “I’m not! She and I have an
arrangement
.”

“I don’t believe you. Where else did all the money go?”

He wads up the newspaper and throws it at the tiny garbage can between our beds. The crumpled ball is too big to fit through the mouth and bounces across the floor. “Between the groceries, your clothes, all the utility bills, and keeping the truck insured, we’re lucky to have anything saved at all!”

My mouth drops open.

“Who did you think paid for all that shit?” he asks. “
Dad
sure as hell didn’t.
Dad
didn’t even pay for Mom’s medicine and cigarettes. As soon as I got on with the mill, he stopped paying for everything except for the mortgage and all his fucking beer. As if that’s not bad enough, now we’re stuck with a huge-ass hospital bill because of
him
.”

I wither under his glare. It’s like I’m seven, watching our father knock James to the ground all over again. A naive burden—that’s all I am. That’s all I’ll ever be.

“I’m sorry,” he says when he sees my reaction. “I’m just frustrated. Maybe if we get something small—like a studio—and watch what we buy for awhile, I can save more up and we can look for something bigger. Something more permanent.”

There’s that “permanent” word again. Every time it comes up, the tickle of fear in the back of my mind flares into a blazing inferno. There is no “permanent” for my brother and me. In a month, I plan to walk out of his life—a life he threw away years ago to protect
me
.

I think somewhere in the darkest, most frightened corner of my heart, I’ve been hoping for a miracle that will let me keep Sam
and
James. Let me make them both happy. They deserve more than I can give them, but I’m too selfish, too loyal, and too in love to let either go.

“I’ll find a way,” James says. He must’ve misinterpreted my silence as doubt. Looking hurt, he slides off his bed and sits on the edge of mine. His palm on my cheek is gentle, reverent. “I won’t let you down. Promise.”

I’m sure he won’t. He never has.

I’ll be the one to let him down.

“There’s something I have to do tonight,” he says, frowning at his hand on my cheek. “Will you be okay by yourself for awhile?”

“I’ll probably take a shower and read or something. I’ve never felt this disgusting in my life.”

He grins and drops his hand. “Race you to the bathroom?”

“Uh, no.”

While he showers, I turn on James’s iPod, and plug it into the speakers on his dresser. Godsmack pours into the room at an ear-blistering volume, just the way he likes it. My skull, on the other hand, feels like it might shatter. I quickly shut it off, then face myself in our big closet-door mirror.

I’m a mess. The embodiment of all the horrible things my father did to me. I expected this since I haven’t been able to wash my hair since Sunday night and it’s already Tuesday. Apparently, steaming, starchy noodle water doesn’t agree with fine hair.

Forcing my eyes away from the mangled, tangled bird’s nest on my head, I lift my t-shirt and tug down the waistband of James’s flannel pants to inspect the bandage. There are ugly bruises blooming all over my neck and hips. Thankfully, my mind blocks the memories of how I got each one.

James breezes into our bedroom wearing a towel, looking refreshed and genuinely happy to be on his way to wherever he’s going. I right my clothes before he sees what I’m doing.

His pale white chest and arms seem much brighter and closer in the small confines of our room, but for once, I don’t freak out. “You’re not going to see Leslie tonight, are you?”

“Nope. I wish you’d take a shower while I’m here. Have you ever gotten a burn wet?”

I shake my head.

“Make it a cold shower,” he says. When he turns on his music and grabs fresh jeans from the dresser, I know I have to get out of our room.

I wander out into the living room, avoiding the kitchen. I guess the pan of meat spattered so much grease that it started a little fire right before the cops burst through the front door. When he thought I was sleeping this afternoon, I heard James sweeping up plastic and scraping the noodles off the linoleum with a paint scraper he borrowed from the Espinosas.

The music cuts out abruptly. I hear rustling and then James stuffing his keys into his jeans pocket. “I’m going to leave you my phone,” he calls from our bedroom. “If you need anything or if something happens, call Alex. Promise.”

Alex?
The second he walks out that door, I’ll call Sam and beg him to pick me up so I don’t have to smell the stench of burnt meat. His mom should be home by now. I close my eyes and picture myself sitting on one of the floral couches between them with something mindless and funny on the television in front of us.

A few seconds later, I hear James set his cell phone on the little entryway table that used to house our father’s boxing magazines. He must’ve gotten rid of the magazines when he ripped all the boxing crap off the walls last night while I was at the hospital.

“You sure you don’t need me to stay with you?” he asks from behind me. “Say the word and I’ll stay.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’ll probably just take a shower and go to bed.”

He rests his chin on my shoulder. One of his big hands drifts from my waist to my hip, while the other finds my ribs and squeezes. I know I should push him away, but staring at my father’s empty, rust-orange recliner and smelling smoke and garlic makes my head hurt even worse. I lean into him and close my eyes. I need this. I need
him
.

He presses his cheek against mine and his hands inch forward, pulling me against him in a backward kind of hug. His fingertips are very close to both places a brother should not touch his sister, but he doesn’t do anything inappropriate. Just turns his head to give me one of his sloppy wet kisses.

“Hey!”

Laughing, he gives me one more quick squeeze and pulls away. “This weekend is Fourth of July. If you’re feeling up to it, I still want to drive to the coast.”

“How long do you want to stay?”

“Just a day trip like you wanted. Long enough to toast some marshmallows and watch the fireworks. And if we get there and we’re having a good time, we’ll camp overnight. No pressure. I’ve been dying to get out of here,” he says, gesturing to the room around us. “It’ll be good for us.”

I’m not sure I’m up for this trip, nice as it sounds, but I’d agree to anything right now with how badly my head hurts. When he’s gone, I’ll call Sam. Maybe he’ll help me take a shower. Then we can go to his house and I’ll beg Liz for recipes that don’t have noodles, red sauce, garlic, and hamburger.

I follow him to the front door, careful not to look at the kitchen, and give him a one-armed hug to protect my side. “Thank you for taking care of me today,” I say and stand on tip-toe to kiss his cheek.

As soon as my lips touch his freshly shaven jaw, I realize my mistake. I haven’t kissed him since before the night in our bed when everything changed. I jerk away, right as he turns his face into mine. His hands slide into my hair and keep my head in place.

“Do that again.”

My mental warning buzzer goes crazy. His breaths are shallow, and his body heat melts into mine. I ignore the comfort of our bodies pressed together the same way they’ve been pressed together so many times before and force myself to think. If I do what he’s telling me to do, if I kiss him again, he’s going to direct my mouth straight to his. A small, traitorous part of my body wants that closeness with him, even if I don’t mean it the same way he does.

There are no innocent kisses between us anymore. I need to remember this if I’m ever going to fix what has twisted between us.

I will my warning buzzer silent and wait for James to open his eyes. I am stronger than that traitorous part of my body. I am stronger than him.

Slowly, his eyes slide open. “You won’t kiss me?”

“No.”

He sighs and closes his eyes again. For a second, I think he’ll kiss me anyway, but then he releases me completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, and walks out the door without another word.

As soon as his truck backs down the driveway, I pick up his cell phone on the table and dial Sam’s number. It rings.

In stereo.

Forty-one

My head whips to the left, where an unusually pale Sam stands just inside my back door. He reaches into his pocket and grabs the ringing phone to silence it. The accusations and horror and fear darkening his eyes keep me from throwing myself into his arms. They’re not open to me anyway, so it doesn’t matter. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“What happened?”

I don’t know where to begin, especially since I’m not sure which part he’s talking about. When I don’t say anything, he takes a few tentative steps closer.

“I drove over right after you called. Your kitchen…” he hesitates. “Everything was trashed. There was blood and then I found your shirt and jeans…”

“My father was here when you dropped me off yesterday.”

“I figured out that much,” he says. “I’ve been driving past your house all day waiting for James to leave you alone, but he never leaves you alone. And just when I’m about to say to hell with the secret, you come out looking way worse than I imagined and then he tries to
kiss you
…?”

Though it hardly seems possible, he looks more wrecked than I feel. I close the distance between us and hug him. It hurts, but not as much as the fact that his arms stay at his sides. “I’m okay.”

“But James—”

“He’s in a bad place, that’s all. Nothing happened.”

“You’re not lying to me?”

“No.”
Not really.

The tension in his body slowly drains away. After several long moments, he hugs me back and kisses the top of my head, rat’s-nest hair and all. “You should be resting.”

“I’ve rested plenty.” I kiss his cheek and try out a flirty smile. “Will you help me take a shower? James thinks I’m going to pass out from the pain and crack my head open on the tub.”

“Pain?”

“Oh, um, I burned my hip. Nothing major,” I add quickly. “Come on.”

Though he clearly doesn’t believe me, Sam lets me lead him down the hallway into the bathroom. Leaving the light off will probably lessen the blow so I do, but Sam’s onto me. The second my hands go to the hem of my shirt, he flicks the switch and folds his arms, waiting.

I take a deep breath and peel off my t-shirt.

Sam doesn’t look good. His eyes dart from bruise to bruise, repeatedly returning to the gauze peeking out from beneath my flannel pants like he’s torn between wanting to tear it off and not wanting to see what’s underneath. When I slip off the pants and my white cotton panties and he sees the knee-sized bruises on my thighs, I think he might throw up.

Instead, he pulls me into a desperate hug that stings, but is oh, so worth it. He lets me go way too soon. The way he looks at me makes me forget how to breathe. “I swear on my life, Sarah, I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”

Words I’ve heard before from my brother, but ones I know Sam means with his whole soul. If only he knew how impossible it’ll be to keep the promise he’s making. If James couldn’t prevent this from happening, there’s no way Sam could have.

“You’re moving in with me,” he says. “This weekend. And if they’re stupid enough to let your dad out before next month, we’ll leave town.”

He kisses me and I let him. When his hands smooth over my skin, I remember how good being with him makes me feel. How normal. My father took “normal” away from me yesterday. I don’t know if it’ll ever come back for good, but at least for now, I’ve found it again.

Keeping me close, he reaches into the shower and turns on the faucet. Silently, we wait for the water to heat up. Without removing his fingers from the stream of water, Sam nibbles on the unmarred half of my bottom lip and I marvel at the texture of his t-shirt and jeans against my naked body.

But James wasn’t kidding about the pain. As soon as I step into the shower, I try to jump back out. Gasping, I rip the soaked gauze away from my skin, which is now an even angrier pink, thanks to the warm water. Sam goes pale all over again.

“I’ll turn down the temperature,” he says in a strangled voice.

He does, then strips out of his own clothes. My heart flutters with desperation, then plummets in sheer panic. What if James gets to wherever he’s going and decides he can’t handle being away from me? What if he calls and I don’t answer? Both end with him racing home. I should tell Sam to get dressed and wait for me in the backyard, but I can’t. The love and need in his eyes are too deep and too tantalizing. I can’t even look away.

Sam steps into the tub and closes the curtain behind him, but he doesn’t come any closer. I wonder if he sees the conflicting emotions careening through my head as well as James can. Whatever the case, his distance gives me the rare opportunity to gawk at him. At
all
of him. Normally, I don’t get to see much—which has worked well for my little seeing-naked-skin problem—but now I wish I had paid more attention. His body is beautiful.

Sam must notice me drooling because he grins a little and grabs the bottle of shampoo. He does a very thorough job of washing my hair and soaping up all the places I can’t reach without stretching the healing skin on my hip. Once I’m completely rinsed off and feeling clean for the first time in a week, I hug him. He moans. Or maybe I do. With the cool water and our bodies pressed together, I can almost close my eyes and pretend we’re back in the fish ladders.

When we’re dry and back in my bedroom searching for soft clothes that won’t rub my hip raw, Sam gently maneuvers me onto my bed. His face is unreadable, so I have no idea whether he’s hoping for sex, cuddling, or just wants me to lie down and rest. When he crawls into the bed beside me and rests his hand on my stomach, I decide sex.

This feels…strange. Even with all the touching and nakedness in the bathroom, he didn’t seem interested in being with me, which was fine. Part of me is repulsed, remembering the last time a male body pinned me down. The other part of me wonders if maybe being with Sam again is exactly what I need to erase those memories. When Sam and I are together, I feel loved.

I want that love.

Cautiously, I roll onto my right side and reach for him. My fingers find what they’re looking for, but instead of the sexy groan I’m expecting, Sam gently takes my wrist and moves my hand away.

“No,” he says softly. “That’s not what I want.”

I should feel lucky to have such an understanding boyfriend. Instead, his sympathy chafes nerves that are beyond frayed already. “But
I
do.”
I think.

“Sarah…” His hand trails to my thighs and I hold my breath thinking he’s going to give me what I want, but instead he traces the edge of a bruise. “I can’t. Not yet. Even if it’s me, I’m going to see him hurting you. Looking at what he did makes me want to kill him.”

His gorgeous face blurs, but I refuse to cry. “Sam, I need this. I still feel him—I still feel everything he did. I have to replace him. You have to help me replace him.”

He looks horrified. “Did your father—”

“No!” The word echoes in my silent bedroom. “No,” I repeat, calmer this time. “I got away before…that.”

All the emotions in his eyes—relief, anger, and fear—melt into sadness that bleeds from his body and seeps into mine. “Sex isn’t going to fix this.
I
can’t fix this, though you have no idea how bad I want to.”

“This will help,” I say. “I promise. Please do this for me.”

“Sarah—”

“
Please.
”

He stares at me far too hard and far too long, then reaches for a condom from his pants pocket. Yet another barrier between us. I can’t handle it.

“No!”

“No?” He freezes. “What do you mean, no?”

“I…I just…”

I close my mouth, unable to come up with an acceptable answer. There’s no way to describe the desperation tugging me in every direction, how brittle I feel, and how terrified I am of losing him. It’s not that I want to get pregnant—far from it—but I’ve got to get out of here. If something happened, he’d marry me. I’m sure of it. We’d run away from Granite Falls together and I’d never have to worry about James turning on me or my father’s you’re-next look again.

It’s a tantalizing thought.

Without breaking eye contact, he frowns and reaches for his shorts again. If he’s testing me, waiting for me to do or say something so he can analyze my reaction, he doesn’t have to wait long. The gaping emptiness that consumes me whenever Sam leaves sets in almost immediately. Every day we’ve been together, it’s gotten worse, and borders on full-blown-panic-attack-awful when it hits me now.

I have to do this. I have to keep him no matter what.

“No.” I shake my head and kiss him again. “No condom.”

He drops his shorts on the floor and sighs. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I want to, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

How easy it would be to lie and tell him I picked up a pack of pills the morning after we had sex the first time. He’s a guy—if I kiss him and climb on top, he’ll be mine.

“Sarah?”

I bite my lip. We didn’t use protection in the fish ladders—something I thought he’d done on purpose, but now I’m not so sure. I kept waiting for him to stop that night, to climb up the ladder and grab a condom from his shorts, but he didn’t.

And I didn’t say anything because I wanted it too bad.

“But I love you,” I say lamely.

“I love you, too,” he says, pressing a hand to my stomach. “But you know what could happen, don’t you? What might have already happened? How are you going to hide us then?”

He’s right. Of course he is—Sam’s
always
right. Sometimes being with him feels like being with my brother because James is always right, too. The shards of guilt remind me how selfish I’m being—how selfish I’ve always been, first with James and now with Sam.

I
’
m turning into my mother.

Disgusted with myself, I reach into the pocket of his shorts and withdraw a purple foil package. Sam’s eyes follow my every move as I tear it open and stare at the slimy rubber circle waiting inside. I imagine my mother poking holes in the one she used that first night behind the Armory with my father.

I am not my mother.

When Sam takes the condom from me and rolls it into place, I don’t stop him.