No Such Thing as Perfect (21 page)

“You’re quiet tonight,” Kristen says, pulling up her own bin. Rudolph is still doing his reindeer thing, but no one is paying attention anymore. Someone put on Christmas carols, too, so it’s just noise.

“I’m just going to miss this.” She looks over at Jack, who’s been drawn in to the struggles of the Island of Misfit Toys apparently. I follow Kristen’s eyes and then turn back to her. “Well, yeah, of course, but not just him, not just us. I’m going to miss all of it. I feel normal here.”

“It’s only a few weeks.”

“I guess.”

“Seriously, Lily, I wasn’t kidding when I said you could come stay with me.”

“I know, and Jack offered, too. I could probably stay with Abby, if it came down to that, but I feel like I need to try, you know? I need to see it, to see if it’s fixable.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. I just don’t want to quit without trying.”

“Are you and Jack doing something for Christmas?”

I nod. “I already told him I’m spending it with him. Now, breaking it to my mom...”

“It’s only a few days, and then it’s Christmas, and if things are tough, come stay with me for New Year’s. Just for the day, to break it up. It’ll go by fast, but if it doesn’t, you have options.”

“I think I’ll be okay. But... I really appreciate it. Because I think even knowing they exist makes it easier.”

Maybe these are things I should have known from the start – that people exist who respect you for who you are, that it’s okay to make a mistake, that you can care for another person without needing them to fit your own standards. Maybe it shouldn’t have been hard to figure out, but it was, and I can’t picture what a month at home will do. Although I don’t say it to Kristen or Jack or anyone, I’m terrified that I’m still the weak girl whose mother will never be happy, who hides herself to make someone like her, who can’t speak unless the words are written out for her on paper. But I know I have to find out. I know I can’t just hide out and pretend anymore, and that gives me a little hope.

O
n my first night at home, Jon invites Derek to stay over. I stand in my doorway, needing to pee, but he’s in the bathroom. I don’t want to look at him, don’t want to be near him, don’t want to remember how it felt to be close to him. People say time heals things, but time has only allowed me to put it away in my mind. Being here, with him in the next room, though, reminds me of so many things. The nights they’d come back from school and Derek would sneak into my bedroom, spending an hour or two with me doing what he wanted before leaving me, so I woke up alone. It was always the same story – he didn’t want anyone to find us together. Now I remember being vulnerable with him, his hands on me, his knowledge of the most intimate parts of me, and then I remember the last night with him. 

I can’t bear to see him, can’t imagine what he would say. I’m wearing my favorite pajama pants, blue and green fleece, and he’s had his hands on them, in them. He’s pulled them off of me before we had sex, and they feel like fire on my skin now. Burning memories of how weak I was, of all the times I wanted to say no, of all the things he never asked. I don’t have a right to be angry; it was my fault for not speaking up. But I can’t look at him and I close my door until I hear him making his way to Jon’s room.

In the bathroom, after I pee, I sit inside in the bathtub, the coolness of it a cocoon. How can my family be so clueless? How can my
brother
not see it? I lie in the tub, wanting the comfort of school, of working on homework with Jack, of Kristen’s endless candy supply, of things that don’t make me feel guilty for living.

I can hear them talking, and I don’t want to but I can’t stop myself from standing in the hallway and listening. What does he tell my brother? What does Jon think of me? We haven’t talked in years, so what version of me exists for him?

“It’s not like you wanted to leave,” Jon says. They’re so loud. My parents are sleeping, but they’re only on the other end of the hall. Jon’s door is partly open. I wonder if my parents hear the stories and just pretend, or if they really don’t care about anything we do.

“I didn’t say that. I just said you had no problem taking off.”

“You know I’ve spent all semester trying. I mean, Dianna McGillvery. C’mon. Give me a break.”

“Yeah, she’s hot and I get it. It sucked, though. Nothing happened and not for lack of trying.”

“When we left, you were all over Caitlin Barnes. It didn’t look like nothing,” Jon argues.

“Man, she was all, ‘but I’m still a virgin.’ Did you see what she was wearing? And she
wasn’t
there looking to hook up?” Derek asks.

He makes me sick. Everything about him makes me sick. These are the same conversations they had when they were sophomores in high school. Back then, I was naïve, stupid. I thought it was just how guys were, that it was big talk but no action, but after being with Derek, I want to hurt him.

“I thought you went home with her,” Jon says.

“Well, yeah, she took some convincing, though. What a pain in the ass. It wasn’t even any good.”

My brother laughs, while I want to cry for Caitlin Barnes. I don’t really know what happened. I don’t know if she really did change her mind, or if Derek changed her mind for her. But I remember all the stories in high school, all the girls like Miranda Elliot, the ones who were angry at him, angry at me when I started dating him. I think about all of them and I head to my room. I could text Abby, Kristen, Jack, Alana... anyone. I could walk into Jon’s room and tell my brother what Derek did. I could tell my parents. But I don’t. Because tonight, Caitlin Barnes is sitting in her house, with her family, and I don’t know what she’s feeling. But if she’s anything like me at all, I have an idea.

****

T
wo days before Christmas, after midnight in a small town, the police station is nearly silent. Radios spurt their news and updates periodically and somewhere, a machine – fax or copier – whirrs to life, but mostly it’s dark and lifeless. The guy sitting at the front desk is barely twenty, his sandy hair only recently trimmed to what’s likely police standard, and his uniform still out-of-the-packaging starched.

“I need to talk to someone,” I tell him.

He puts down his book, because there isn’t much else to do right now, and looks up at me. I wonder about people like him, people who have kind eyes, and if a job like this will change them. “What can I help with?”

“My boyfriend... no, my
ex
-boyfriend... I know there’s nothing you’ll be able to do, but someone needs to know.”

“Are you reporting a crime?” he asks, reaching for a clipboard. I’m sure it’s procedure, that it’s the way these things are typically handled, but it’s so cold to have people put down all their fears and experiences on paper with a pen hanging from a dirty string.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know if it is a crime.”

I can see him debating, because he doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, probably partly because he’s worried that someone will claim he pushed me into reporting.

“Would you like to meet with someone on duty?” he asks.

“That might be better.”

I sit on one of the benches in the lobby while he goes to find a detective. I didn’t bring my phone inside; it’s sitting in the cup holder in the car because I was afraid I’d text someone and they’d want to come, to help me, to walk me through it, but I need to do this by myself. I need to tell them
my
version and not have it filtered through someone else, even if they mean well.

The waiting feels endless, but the clicking of the clock as it passes each minute argues otherwise. The man who comes out to talk to me arrives in less than nine clicks, which is probably good turnaround. Not that I really know.

“How are you doing, Miss...?”

“Drummond, but just call me Lily. This is all too formal already.”

“Okay, Lily. I’m Detective Walker, but you can call me Sam, if you would feel more comfortable. We’re just going to go into one of the rooms here, if that’s okay? Do you want Chase to get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

“Water would be good,” I reply and Chase, the blond guy from the desk, goes to grab it. Chase seems like an appropriate name for a cop.

When I have water, Sam leads me into a room that’s more lifeless than the lobby even. It’s not like those ones in movies with the double-sided windows. There’s a window out to the street and a few file cabinets, as well as a coffee pot in the corner, but it’s not a place anyone would want to be. Sam gestures towards one of the chairs and I sit while he gets out a folder and notepad to write down what I tell him.

“Before we start, Lily, I do need to ask you: Are you safe? Are you in need of medical attention?”

“No, it wasn’t... I mean, it’s been a while.”

“Okay, whenever you’re ready.”

“Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe this is stupid,” I say.

Sam puts down the notepad. “Are you in school?” he asks.

“Yeah, Bristol University. I just started this fall. Why?”

“Just wondering. What’s your major?”

“English. My mom still doesn’t know. I applied undeclared, because she wants me to be responsible. She says sitting around reading books is for people who are too stupid to live in reality, that there’s nothing useful about imagination. I told her I was considering economics, but at orientation... I love books. I love stories, and I just wrote it down. They told us we could change it anytime and if we still didn’t know, we should just write down the thing that was closest to our passions. So I wrote it down and, well, I don’t want to change it. So I’ll tell her eventually, I guess.”

“It sounds like your mom has pretty high standards for you.”

“She does. Always. I guess it’s why I didn’t want to say anything, you know? I mean, it’s my problem, not yours. Not anyone’s. And she really likes Derek.”

Sam picks up his pen again. “Is Derek your boyfriend?” It’s obvious what he’s doing, but I don’t care. I want to tell him. I just needed to know how.

I shake my head. “No, my boyfriend’s a few hours away. I met him at school. Derek’s my ex.”

“You mentioned to Chase that this was about Derek, right?” he asks.

“Yeah, Derek was my boyfriend for a year. Almost. Just under a year. We both grew up here.”

“How long have you known Derek?”

“Most of my life. He’s my brother’s best friend.”

“Older or younger brother?”

“Jon. Older, by 16 months.”

“How did Jon feel about you and Derek?” Sam asks.

I shrug, thinking about Jon. He’s never said anything. I don’t know when it happened, not really. He was my knight in shining armor, my protector against the trolls in the woods, and then, a year or two later, he wanted nothing to do with me. “I don’t know. We’re not close at all.”

“Does he go to Bristol, too?”

“No, he and Derek both go to Eastern.”

“So what happened with Derek, Lily?”

Sighing, I reach for my water. The lights in this room feel too bright for this story, glaring at me like they’re waiting for me to say the words, like they’re judging me.
You’re overreacting. You’re going to make a mess of everything. He didn’t do anything you didn’t encourage. You’re a fool.
“I thought I loved him. I really did. I wanted to make him happy. I’d liked him since I was a kid, and when he told me I was sexy and that he wanted to... well, I didn’t know if it was a one-time offer and I thought I’d regret it.”

“When was this?” Sam asks, flipping the page on his notepad. I wonder what kinds of things they write down. Do they really keep it factual? Is he just pretending anything I say matters?

“When we started dating, but that’s not why I’m here. I chose it, even if I wasn’t ready, but that’s on me. I’m not blaming him. He could’ve done a lot of things differently, but he didn’t force it. Not really. I wanted him to like me and I did what I thought would make him like me.”

“So you and Derek had a sexual relationship?” I nod. “Was it... would you say it was frequent?”

“I mean, I don’t know. We had sex every time we were together. He only came home every few weeks, but we never didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And when you did, was it always consensual?”

The lights flicker and it’s like they’re laughing at me.
No one’s going to believe you.
“It was.”

Sam pauses, flicking his pen a few times, and sighs. “Lily, I’m going to have to ask you things that may make you uncomfortable.”

“He never raped me. Nothing like that. But the last time we were together... We’d broken up and he surprised me. He drove up to campus and I wasn’t expecting him. He had asked for a break and I think I was starting to be okay with it, starting to maybe see things about him that I didn’t like.”

“Such as?”

“He was controlling. He never listened. He thought I was childish. Nothing really important, I know, but I’d started to see it. So when he showed up...”

“This was after you broke up, right?”

“Sort of. I mean, we hadn’t really broken up, I guess. He wanted a break, but he told me we were still together. Just on a break.”

“You were still dating him, but he was single, I suppose?” Sam asks, trying to make it sound reasonable, but hearing it all now just makes it sound even worse.

“I guess. So he showed up, but I was trying to be over it. And the second we were alone, he started touching me. He hadn’t said anything to me except that he wanted a break and that I was needy and annoying and then he just showed up, wanting sex. I said no. I told him to leave, but he got mad.”

Sam’s writing it all down, but I realize there’s nothing he can do. Derek didn’t actually hurt me. He was an asshole and he made me uncomfortable and it’s not okay, but he didn’t technically do anything that the cops can deal with. I came here because of Caitlin Barnes, but I can’t report something I don’t even know happened.

“You can’t do anything,” I say. “He stopped. He scared me and he was aggressive and he called me names, held me down, whatever. But he stopped. I begged him to stop – and he did. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”