“We still have a deal,” he says. “And if you accept that role, I expect you to keep your end of it. Fox Hill. Be ready when I call. I’m dying to see you fuck.”
I keep working, his words making my stomach roll.
“How is she, by the way?”
I pause for a moment.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” His voice is almost a whisper.
I swallow.
“A woman’s body is made for men.”
My heart punches against my chest, unbidden images of him with Clay…
“She will fuck me,” he says. “You know she will.”
I close my eyes, knowing without a doubt that he’s right. She won’t do it, because she wants to. She’ll do it because she’s tired of fighting herself and she’ll give up. She’ll just let it happen, because it’s easier to surrender.
I bite the corner of my mouth to stifle the tears, hearing him leave as the feel of her floods through me. My arms around her, my nose buried in her neck.
His mouth on her body, his fingers inside of her.
I drop my tools, a sob lodged in my throat. Fuck her. How did I let her do this to me?
As if on auto-pilot, I take my bag, leave the store, and lock the doors.
She hasn’t called. She didn’t approach me the rest of the day.
She’s going to fuck him this weekend, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I don’t know when it starts to rain, but in the half hour it takes me to leave St. Carmen, cross the tracks, and walk home, I’m drenched. My hair sticks to my face, and I trudge through puddles without the energy to avoid them. I step into my house, hearing the TV going and a radio blasting upstairs.
“Liv?” Iron hops off the barstool. “Jesus, why didn’t you call for a ride?”
Water spills down my legs and drips from my clothes. I walk for the stairs.
“Hey.” He hurries over and grabs my arm. “Christ, what happened?”
He looks down at me, but I can’t look up. “I’m fine.”
I can’t stop the tears welling, I only hope he can’t tell the difference with the rain on my face.
“That fucking bitch,” Dallas says, strolling over. “She break it off with you or you with her?”
I shake my head and climb up the stairs.
“Liv?” Iron calls.
But I keep walking.
“It’s dinnertime,” he says behind me. “Come and sit down. Please.”
I hear the worry in his voice, and it reminds me of Mom. How we would watch her avoid us and disappear into her room.
But I just want to be alone.
“Liv!” Iron shouts as I reach the top of the stairs.
“That’s what they do,” Dallas bites out. “Use and abuse until they’ve had their fill. I told you! We all told you!”
I push open my door and slam it shut, dropping my bag to the floor.
“Macon!” I hear Iron shout downstairs.
I slide down the wall, sitting on the floor of my dark room and lean back, my arm hanging over my bent knee.
I’m here. She’s somewhere on the other side of the tracks—shopping or doing homework with her friends or meeting him or…
If she wanted to be here, she’d be here. She doesn’t want to be here.
She doesn’t want me. She’s not thinking about me right now. She wants to be free of me.
Silent tears spill down my face, and I lean my head back, squeezing my fist as I hear paper crinkle.
I look at my hand, seeing a ball of paper inside that I didn’t realize I’d grabbed hold of from my school bag.
I open my fist, recognizing the lined paper and black handwriting. It’s her note. I don’t remember reaching into my school bag for it on the way home.
She wants to be free of me. Yesterday, she was mine.
I bend the other knee up and rest my elbows on them, burying my head in my hands.
Fuck her.
Fuck Clay Collins, piece of shit Saint with her money and hair and…
But I can’t stop sobbing, nearly choking.
My door swings open, and I smell the grease on Macon’s hands as he squats down next to me.
“Please don’t yell at me,” I beg, not looking at him. “Just let me get past it, okay? I will. I’ll get past it. I just need tonight.”
My family is good about staying in their lane, but when one if us is upset, everyone goes on alert. With our mother being clinically depressed, it only makes sense one or more of us will have inherited her problems.
I’m not depressed. I’m just…shredded.
“Look at me.” He puts his hands on mine. “Livvy.”
I shake my head. Please go away. A lump stretches in my throat so big it hurts. Just let me get past it.
“You’re going to stand up,” he says.
I shake, a cry in my throat. “I can’t…stand up.” I gasp, fighting for air. “I can’t breathe.”