Page 29 of Save the Last Dance
Later that evening, back at home and settled on her bed like she had the flu instead of “emotional issues,” as she’d overheard one of her nurses call it, Ally stared at her mother and wondered how to answer the question. Her bandaged arms throbbed with the fresh cuts and antiseptic ointment that was supposed to keep everything clean, but her mind was on the folder the hospital had sent her family home with, a folder full of information about counseling and live-in treatment centers for troubled teens.
Her mother had tried to hide it in her purse, but Ally had already looked up the places on her phone. The thought of living somewhere like that scared the hell out of her.
“Why do you want to know?” Ally was cranky and miserable because her life was only going to fall apart more from here. Yes, her arms would heal and she could hide the scars left behind.
But too many people would find out about the incidentat the salon. It didn’t matter that her mother had taken her to a doctor outside of town to keep talk to a minimum. Sooner or later, rumors would spread. Worse, she had a referral to some psych doctor to “assess her condition further.” Translation? She needed her head examined. How would she ever pull off her plan to leave Heartache if she had a shrink looking over her shoulder and her parents breathing down her neck?
Now that Ethan wouldn’t be leaving town with her…she needed to go all the more.
“Why do I want to know?Because I nearly fell over when you told the doctor this wasn’t the first time you’ve cut yourself.” Her mother sat at the computer desk Ally had outgrown two years ago, her fingers walking over the old bulletin board full of dumb pictures from sophomore year she hadn’t bothered to change.
“Are you sure you’re not asking just so you can find a way to blame Dad for my problems?” Ally knew it was wrong to say. She also knew it would hurt her mom.
She’d talked to her parents once about her “moods” and her mother had said Ally could have the same genetics as Gram. In other word, she could have inherited the crazy genes through her father. She’d also overheard Gram say that Uncle Mack wouldn’t even have kids in case he passed on those genes.
Meaning…what? That Ally was a genetic misfortune? She’d adored Uncle Mack before that. Now…she didn’t much care what he thought of her.
“Does it make you feel better to lash out at me?” Swiveling on the hot pink office chair to face the bed, her mom spoke softly.
Shame almost made Ally sorry she’d said it. She toedoff the boots she’d worn to work and tugged a purple afghan over her feet.
“You and Dad get to lash out every day.” Every. Freaking. Day. “If you’re not yelling, you’re silent. And if you ask me, that’s worse.”
“I did not ask you.” Her mother folded her hands carefully on the top knee of her crossed legs. “I want to know when else you’ve cut yourself.”
“It’s not cutting. It’s scratching.” There was a difference. People who cut themselves were even more messed up than her. “And I can’t remember when I started.”
That was a lie. She remembered the exact date she’d first found relief by digging her nails deeper into her skin. She’d been frustrated over getting a B and then her parents had started arguing about the lack of quality family time taking a toll on everyone, and her lame grade had been in the eye of the storm. But she’d hurt her mom enough for one day.
“Ally, I’m sorry that you feel like you can’t talk to me lately.” She wrapped her arms around herself, her face and body thinner every month. Clothes that fit her just two months ago were loose now. “I hadn’t realized how much my problems with your father are affecting you.”
“You want to get out of this house as much as I do,” Ally muttered, tugging the blanket higher toward her chin.
“Excuse me?” Her mom stilled.
“Nothing.” A wave of exhaustion came over her and she wanted nothing more than to burrow under the blankets. “I’m just tired, okay?”
Standing, her mom turned toward the window to pull the shade down and paused.
Ally heard the rumble of a car slowing down.
“Is someone here?” She didn’t need more well-meaning visitors.
Uncle Mack had shown up at the hospital with Nina Spencer. Then, when Ally had finally returned home, two of the hairdressers from the salon had been in the process of leaving cookies and balloons on the front porch when her mom had pulled up in the car. So embarrassing to have to face people from work with her arms all bandaged.
“It’s Ethan Brady.” Her mother pulled the shade. “I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well.”
“No.” Ally vaulted out of bed, her heart in her throat. “I’m fine. Is he by himself?”
Rachel Wagoner had told the whole hair salon that she had a date with him tonight. Was she sitting in the passenger seat even now?
“I don’t see anyone with him. But why don’t I just tell him?—”
“I need to speak with him.” She dodged her discarded boots on her sprint to the bathroom and grabbed a hairbrush. Why would he come here? And why wasn’t he with Rachel? Good or bad, Ally wanted to find out for herself what he wanted. She just hoped he hadn’t heard about the incident at the salon. She’d gone out a back entrance with Nina when they’d arrive to take her to the hospital.
But it was a hair salon. Of course people would have been talking about it afterward. Rachel must have overheard something.
“Ally, you’re not well.” Her mom folded her arms and used the parenting voice.
