Perfectly Messy (19 page)

“Me missing you.”

“No really, tell me everything. I want to pretend like we were never apart.”

So she does. I hold her while she tells me about how Jen’s doing better, shopping with Laura, and how she’s worried about Alex. I stroke her hair as I say, “Yeah, I’m worried about him too. What’s going on there?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs, sitting up and pulling away from me. “But we should probably make sure he’s got a safe way home.”

“No, we can’t bring him home. We’ll take him to my place.”

“Oh?”

“If his dad sees him like that, he’s ruined.”

“Maybe that would be best? I hated my parents for everything they did when I was friends with Marissa, but they were right to do it.”

“You don’t know my Uncle Alex.” He’s harsh. Not worth Alex’s first mistake. “I’d rather take a shot at Alex before I send him to the lions, you know?”

“Okay, well, I’ve got to be home by one. So,” she checks her phone, “we’ve got to get going. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay with you here forever, but with the new car there’s no way I can afford missing this special curfew.”

“Right,” I say as she climbs off the bed and I sit up on the side.

“I can’t wait for summer,” she says as she bends over to tie her shoe.

“Why?”

“Because you’re always shirtless when you’re painting.”

Lucy

Justin wraps his arms around me as we step out of the bedroom. No one’s in the hallway, thank God. My face is beet-red, like a guilty tomato. Not that we did anything bad, but I definitely pushed things in there more than I’ve done before.

A heaving noise jolts me as we pass the room next door. A coughing fit follows. Gross. Justin and I both stop in place and glance at one another. Should we look? When the coughing abruptly stops, we hear a gurgle. I step into the room. There’s no way I can leave someone knowing they are choking. A very familiar pair of yellow pumps sprawl across the floor.

Oh, God. Please no.

Another heave.

Another choke.

“Can you wait for me out here?” I ask Justin.

“Marissa?”

“Yeah.”

I step into the room. The rancid smell of puke makes me heave. I peer around the corner. Marissa lies on the carpet, topless, her hair disheveled. Her cheek’s deep in a pool of her own puke. I pull her hair up out of the goo, and rub her bare back as she heaves again. Another choke, so this time I slap.

She groans and flips over, her eyes struggling for focus. She smiles as barf trails down her chin. “Lucy?”

“Do you need help in there?” Justin asks from behind the door.

“No, I’m good.” I take my sweater off, throwing it over her bare chest and cover her butt in this black thong with a blanket from the bed. “Don’t come in. Go grab Alex and I’ll be down soon. I’ll meet you outside.”

I grab the binder off my wrist, quickly throwing Marissa’s hair up in a bun.

“Why are you naked?”

“The guys, they just…” But she doesn’t finish her sentence.

“What did they do?”

She retches again and I turn her over, her spew splattering on the cuff of my jeans.
Eww.

“Sorry,” she says hoarsely.

“Marissa, what did they do to you?”

“I don’t know.”

I take a deep breath, asking the question I fear most. “Were you raped?”

“No. Nothing went in,” she says. “Panties stayed on. My rules.”

“Where are your clothes?”

She rolls over, groaning and closing her eyes. I crawl around the room, collecting her bra and skirt. I have no idea where her shirt is.

“Come on, sit up, babe,” I say softly. My stomach cringes. Why am I helping her?

She reaches up, allowing me to lift her. “Thanks,” she mutters.

That’s why. I’m helping her because she needs me. I don’t care if she’s a total bitch. No one deserves to be treated like this. I clasp her bra around her chest and slip her skirt on like she’s a toddler. I throw my sweater over her head too.

There, at least now I can get her out. There’s no way I’m leaving her here. There’s always a chance that whoever those guys were may come back for more.

I throw open my phone, texting Justin.

Me: Is there a back door to this place?

Justin: Go out the kitchen, back door is just past the fridge.

Me: I’ll meet you there. Can you grab my jacket from the game room closet? My keys are in my black coat. I parked down the hill. A red Volvo S60. I’ll meet you with Marissa out back.

I throw my arm under hers, letting her lean against me. “Lucy,” she says over and over.

“I’ve got you. Let’s get you home.”

She wraps her arms around my waist, giving me a hug. “I always knew you were my best friend.”

I bite my tongue as I guide her from the room. This isn’t the time to remind her how she used me and stabbed me in the back with my ex. The stairs are tricky with her deadweight, causing us to stumble down the last two. Our bodies hit the door at the bottom, flying into the kitchen. A few people look at us for a second, but then continue their conversation. I guess seeing a trashed girl helped from the house is normal here.

The cold winter air bites as we step outside. My car’s waiting down the sidewalk. Marissa’s heel catches on an ice slab the first step out the door. I lunge to catch her, but slide. My face stings in the snow.

Four hands reach out, helping both of us up.

“Thanks,” I say to Alex.

“Yeah,” is all he says as he immediately drops my arm, returning to the car like a scolded dog.

Wow. Where’s the Alex I used to love?

“It’s really icy here. Do you mind if I just carry her?” Justin asks, nodding down towards her ridiculous skirt.

“No, it’s freezing. Let’s get her inside.”

With one swoop, Justin lifts Marissa into his arms. Her butt cheeks are totally hanging out, but Justin makes sure to keep his hands clear as he slides her into the car.

Alex sits in front, eyeing the back seat in the mirror.

I cross her legs and glare back at him. His eyes shift away and he closes the mirror fast. For real, Justin better smack sense into him tonight. Or else I will.

“I’ll be out in one second,” Justin says before he closes the door and runs back into Watson’s.

I gaze at the dashboard. Two minutes to one. Mom is going to kill me.

I dial our home number. Mom picks up not even through the first ring. “Lucy, are you all right?” her voice has a stressed-out edge.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m on my way home. Listen, I’m so sorry. I’m going to be late.”

She pauses for a moment before continuing, her voice too steady. “Your curfew is one o’clock, Lucinda.”

“I know, I know. But I have a reason.”

I gaze at Marissa. Crap. Should I cover for her? No, that’s not worth pissing my parents off.

“I’m waiting,” Mom says.

“It’s Marissa, Mom. I found her in trouble.”

Mom sucks in one of her therapeutic breaths. “Lucinda. You can’t expect me to believe you are with Marissa tonight, do you? It’s Justin, isn’t it? Lost track of time? Just tell me the truth.”

“I am telling the truth. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Would you?”

I take a deep breath. No, but still. Marissa slumps against my shoulder. “I’ll prove it, one sec. Do you have your phone?”

“It’s right next to me.”

“Okay, look for my text.”

I swipe my screen to the camera, taking a reverse shot of Marissa conked out and drooling on my shoulder and text it to Mom.

“There, did you get it?”

I hear her phone vibrate.

“Oh, dear. Is she okay?”

“I think so. I’m taking her to her place and then I’ll come home.”

“Yeah. Let me know if you need anything; I’ll stay up.”

“Thanks,” I say, turning off the call as Justin opens up the door again. He passes me a bowl he took from Watson’s kitchen.

“For, well…you know. New car and all.”

“Smart.”

He climbs in, tossing another plastic bowl at Alex’s head.

“I won’t need that shit,” Alex spits back.

“Right,” Justin says shortly as he starts my car, throwing us into reverse.

By the time we reach the end of the driveway, Alex’s head is between his legs, retching into the bowl. I roll down the window, the air too revolting. Alex better de-stink my car after this.

After a few minutes, Justin pulls up his driveway. Alex looks back to me, paled. “Lucy, I’m sorry.”

Justin shakes his head “Alex, out. You’ll have much more to say tomorrow. I promise.”

I climb out of the car, meeting Justin in the cold.

“This isn’t the way I imagined our night ending,” he says, touching his forehead to mine.

“Me either.”

“Happy New Year.” His warm lips brush the skin between my eyes before he steps away. Alex is half bent up the walkway, hands on his knees, vomiting in the snow.

That’s going to be nasty in the morning.

Ten minutes later, I’m helping Marissa to her front door. The lights are still on inside so I knock. No answer. Marissa’s limp now. I drag her to the side of the garage door and plug in the code, thankful the number’s still engraved in my memory.

We pass through her kitchen. Her mom’s leg hangs over the end of the couch, peeking out from the other room. Thankfully, I don’t have to be worried about Marissa’s parents being super pissed. They’ve known she’s been drinking for a while now.

“I’m putting you down, okay?” I lower Marissa to the hardwood floor as she groans. “I’ll let your mom know you’re home.”

“No.” She shakes her head slowly. “Don’t wake her. She’s wasted.” Marissa starts crawling away toward the stairway. I ignore her. Her mom needs to know in case Marissa gets sicker. I touch her mom’s leg lightly and call her name, but she won’t stir.

Seriously? No wonder Marissa does this stuff. I always thought her parents were cool, but this is weird. I wonder how hard Marissa worked to keep this secret from me.

Marissa groans as she pulls herself up the steps.
Shit.
I can’t leave her like this. I follow her up and help her into bed. With a washcloth from her bathroom, I wipe the barf smell from her neck. She pulls her gray, ragged bunny close. Her lips part as her breaths deepen into snores. As I leave, I turn out her bedroom light, leaving the one on in the hallway in case she needs it.

Will she even remember it was me?

Do I want her to?

***

I sift through my closet.
Ugh.
Nothing that screams I’m dating the governor’s son. Inauguration Day officially sucks. Not that I’m going to the event, but still. People know who I’m dating and what’s going on. I’ve been trying to go but Coach T keeps blocking me, claiming athletic department rules: a player must be present in school the day of an event in order to participate in said event.

And, of course, tonight of all nights is the game that determines the district champions and who gets to go to State. The inauguration is at noon, so it’s total crap that they won’t let me leave, even for an hour. Amazing how they stick to some rules but totally turn their heads away from others. They’re champions at that.

I button up this “smart vest” that Marissa once made me buy, pairing it with a white button-down shirt.

Intellectual?

No. It’s tight across the chest and lands way too high above my hips, making my love handles look way larger than I ever thought possible.

Totally foolish. Why would I even try to put something on that Marissa suggested? She’s ridiculous. I’ve bumped into her in the hall nearly every day this past week. Not once has she acknowledged how I helped her. How can you be responsive to someone but not remember anything? It’s gonna take me a long time to wrap my mind around “blacking out” and the excuses surrounding it.

The frustrating thing is that I want to speak to her. I need to. The first week back from break has been nothing but horrendous to her. When she thinks no one is watching, her face falls, pale and blank. Around the guys? She keeps playing her game. Maybe she doesn’t know how to stop? But after the topless photos of her hit Tumblr, it’s definitely a dangerous one to play.

Why in the world would she let them take pictures of her?

Yeah, she was drunk. But she was obviously posing. Marissa is far from perfect. Hell, she’s a conniving she-witch. She still had a bit of integrity though… until Zach.

Okay, I’ve got to just choose something to wear before I’m late. With all of these clothes, there’s got to be something special, but no. Fine, I’ll go with what I love. I yank my favorite gray v-neck T-shirt out of my laundry bin and pair it with my favorite pair of jeans. At least I’ll feel like myself.

Fifteen minutes later, I slide through the classroom door at the last chime of the bell. Everyone glares at me. I straighten out my top. Why didn’t I go shopping for today? Mr. Tate clears his throat, calling attention to the analysis for chapter fifteen of
Crime and Punishment.
I pull out my notebook, focusing on the mother’s reaction to Raskolnikov. My neck prickles and, yup, they’re still studying me. Did I miss something?

Suddenly, there’s a tug on my sleeve and a note is slipped into my hand from this drama club guy who’s never spoken to me before.