Page 26 of The Way I Used to Be
Normal, be normal, I tell myself.This is different.
But his hand on my thigh—I go rigid. Can’t get the thing out of my mind because he could—so what if he has chocolate eyes or an aquiline nose or a magnetic smile—technically, he could do it, could do anything he wanted, and I wouldn’t be strong enough to stop him and no one would even know because we’re here all alone and how the hell did I get here again? What was I thinking? His hand moves farther up my thigh; my dress slides up even more. I want to push him off me, I want to run. My heart is just pounding, banging, slamming behind my ribs. He pulls his mouth away and looks at my face. I try not to look scared. But I freeze.
“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly. “You want me to stop?”
I can’t say yes, but I can’t say no, either. I close my eyes, trying to find the words. But the instant I do, I’m back there. With Kevin. Kevin holding my arms down against the bed. And his hands, his fingers like dull knives slowly carving their way down to the bone. The more I tried to get away, the more he had me. I couldn’t believe how strong he was. How weak I was.
I open my eyes. I’m barely breathing. Too much time has passed. It’s something worse than silence, this quiet. I know I need to say something, but I don’t know what. So I just look up at the ceiling and breathe the words, “I have to go,” too quietly for him to even hear.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. Because Idon’tknow—I don’t know anything right now.
“No—I—I know,” he breathes. But as I raise my head to look at his face, he doesn’t look like he knows or understands—he looks as confused as I am. His fingers move through my hair as he leans in to kiss me again.
“I really, um—” I start to say, pushing my hands against his chest. “I have to go.” But my hands do nothing. They can’t move him. They can’t even budge him an inch. “I have to go!” I shout this time. His eyes widen as he shifts his weight off me. I sit up fast and move to the edge of the bed.
He catches my arm and pulls me back. “Wait—”
“What—” My voice is too sharp, but I can’t help it. My instincts tell me that I should start screaming, start hitting him. That I should saw-cut-gnaw the arm he’s holding off my own body if it means getting away. But then again, my instincts are kind of fucked up now, so I adjust my tone and try again, more calmly. “What?”
“Nothing, just—what’s going on, why do you have to go?” I look down at his hand, still holding on to my arm, and he lets go. “I thought we were going to—”
“Thought we were going towhat?” I interrupt, feeling my eyes widen.
“Nothing—not that!” he says quickly. “I thought we were going to go out—go do something. I just thought we had time. I’m just confused. One second you’re into it, the next you’re leaving? I mean, did I do something?” he asks, talking fast.
I watch him closely. I don’t even know how to answer him.Didhe do something? Or is this just normal? Is this just what people do? My thoughts are spinning. I don’t know what I feel, or think, or want.
“You’re the one who wanted to come here,” he says, but not in an unkind way, like he’s truly reminding me of that fact.
“I changed my mind, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, like it really is okay.
We both sit there next to each other at the end of his bed. I straighten out my dress. He adjusts his shirt. And then it’s that horrible silence again. I look out his bedroom window. The sun is beginning to set. “I think I should go.”
“Right here’s good,” I tell him as we approach the corner of my street. He stops the car and looks around, confused.
“Where’s your house?”
“Just over there. This is fine.”
He pulls in close to the curb and turns the headlights off. “So, are we cool?” he asks.
“Yeah. I think so.”
He nods. “Okay. Well, even though I don’t really consider this an actual date, since we didn’t technically go anywhere... can I still kiss you good night?” he asks with that smile.
I look around quickly to make sure there’s no one around. When I turn my head back, he’s already there, leaning in. He kisses me, just once, softly.
“Tomorrow night,” he begins, “you know, we have that big away game. But after, there’s gonna be this party. Do you wanna go?”
“I don’t think so.” I can imagine all his friends pointing and whispering, those pretty girls from the bathroom laughing. Josh, a witness. Or worse, a participant.
“Why not?” he asks, offended. This is, after all, a highly coveted invitation; I am being given a chance to rub elbows with kings and queens of proms and homecomings past and future. And I, just a lowly mortal peasant, have the gall to turn him down.
“Because I don’t”—how to say it, though—“I don’t want to be your girlfriend.”
