by N. K. Smith
“I don’t really dance, Chris, and my father is…”
“Are you going with Jason Fox?”
I smiled as I pictured Jason and me, stoned at a high school dance. “No. I doubt he’s the semi-formal-in-the-gym kind of guy.”
“Are you dating him?”
What the hell was it with these stupid-ass Damascus boys? “He’s a friend, Chris.” I turned around quickly to see that Mr. Reese had taken his place at the front of the class. “Class is starting.” His glare didn’t let up. “Ask Megan. She’ll want to go with you.” Megan was constantly talking about boys, but about Chris most of all.
He let out a heated breath. “Of course she wants to go with me, Sophie, I’m not brainless.” He could have fooled me. I nearly said that to him, but I stopped myself. “I’ve already tapped that.”
Chris Anderson was an ass. Megan wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but he didn’t have to be so crass about it. She really liked him. “Then don’t ask her, but I’m not going with you.”
I pushed past him, annoyed that I actually had to shove him out of the way in order to get to my seat. Elliott’s eyes were fixed on his notebook, but I knew he’d seen and heard the entire exchange. I hoped he got a little bit of joy out of watching me shut Anderson down. If I was the type to go to school dances, I would take Rusty Dalton and ask him in front of Chris.
Then again, who knew if Rusty Dalton would accept and why was I thinking about that anyway? Thinking about stupid high school dances with stupid high school boys was stupid.
“What the hell?”
Jason shook his head as he lit the joint, not looking at me. “What’s your deal, Sophie?” He sounded bored.
“Why’d you ditch me yesterday? Why’re you acting like you’re avoiding me today?”
“Jesus,” he sighed. “We’re smoking together, right? How is that avoiding?”
I grabbed the joint and inhaled. Thank the FSM for this at least. Jason had yet again failed to pick me up for school this morning. Yesterday I had to get a ride home with Andrea. “What the hell?” I repeated as I held in the smoke.
His face was so tense. He looked absolutely pissed and I had no idea why. Everything was cool on Wednesday, although now that I thought about it, he was very quiet on the ride home. I wished he would just tell me what the hell was wrong with him and stop acting like such a needy girl.
“Jason,” I said loudly as I exhaled.
“You didn’t have to fuck him.”
“What?” What the hell was he talking about?
“Aiden. He would have sold you that tab without you letting him hump you in his SUV.”
Jesus Christ. That was what this was about? Because he thought I had sex with Aiden? I’d just barely made out with him. “I didn’t do him. Wait. You think I did him for the acid?” What an ass. “I’m not a whore.” I paused for emphasis. “And just in case you’re wondering, I don’t do you for pot either, you ass. I give you money, the same as the rest of your customers.”
He rolled his eyes and I wanted to smack him. “Whatever.”
“First off, I can have sex with whomever I want. Second, I didn’t have sex with him, but if I did, it would be because I wanted to, not because I wanted acid. Third, what the hell’s your problem? I told you from the beginning that I’m not your girlfriend, which means I can do whatever I want with other people.”
I grabbed the joint from him with one hand and smacked him in the chest with the other. “You don’t own me.” I inhaled deeply, hoping that the pot would wash away what was transpiring.
“Thank God for that,” he mumbled.
“Don’t be a douche, Jason.” I hated possession. I hated boys thinking that the minute you touched their penis, you were theirs.
I shoved the joint back at him and he took it, shrugging his shoulders.
“Aiden Montgomery is a dick. You didn’t have to bang him.” He took a hit and as he held it in, he continued, his voice sounding distorted. “Don’t you even want to know how I know about your Escalade-rocking?” He paused for the briefest moment. “Because he told anyone who would listen, Sophie.” I sighed, wishing he was lying, but knowing he probably wasn’t. That was annoying considering I didn’t have sex with him. Obviously Jason thought I was lying.
Finally sitting down next to him, I exhaled before plucking the weed from his fingers. “So this outburst of yours is less about anger over me having sex with someone, and more about who that someone might’ve been?”
For a moment, Jace was silent as he lit a cigarette, apparently finished with the smoldering roach between my fingers. He ran a hand though his hair and for the first time locked his eyes with mine. “He’s a douche, Sophie, and you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have the whole thing on YouTube by the weekend.”
I blew out the hit, flicked the joint down, and listened to the satisfying sizzle as it went out. “I didn’t have sex with him,” I repeated.
“Yeah, right. He’s done just about every girl in Damascus above the age of fourteen, so I’m not surprised he went after you too.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Seriously, Sophie, you should get tested now.”
“Whatever.” I could tell by his voice he wasn’t seriously concerned for the health of my vagina.
“Well, if your naughty parts start itchin’, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Where are you going?” I asked Jason, as he headed toward the Dalton’s stairs. I wasn’t happy to be here again.
He shrugged. “My turn with Robin.”
I made a face, indicating my disgust. “Yuck.” He turned and ascended the stairs. I’d be left alone with the rest of the Screw-Up Club until he returned, and then I’d probably have to be subjected to Bitch Wallace too.
Everyone was sort of milling around, except the Daltons and their entourage. They all sat together on the couch. Well, Elliott was sort of sitting with them. It was obvious that he was a part of their group, but equally obvious that he was a fifth wheel. I turned around quickly, not wanting to engage Pinny Dalton or her brother before it was absolutely necessary.
Moving through the hall, I found Andrea Tuttle next to a table filled with food. She looked absolutely miserable and probably wanted to gorge herself sick. “This is probably the least comfortable place for an anorexic-bulimic girl, you know.”
She looked up at me. “Yeah, but Dr. Dalton’s watching. I have to at least look like I’m contemplating eating something.”
I turned, finding the handsome doctor easily. He was in casual clothes, leaning against the archway that led to the kitchen. He wasn’t only looking at Andrea. Dr. Dalton’s perfect cinnamon-brown eyes took in each of the kids in the room.
So, he was the spy. The sexy spy. “Damn, he’s fine.” Andrea just snorted. “What? You don’t think he’s sexy as hell?”
She turned to regard him, her eyes traveling from his feet up to the perfectly-groomed hair on his head. Damn, his hair looked good. “No, he’s sexy, but every soccer mom in Damascus has tried to get with him.”
“Well, I’m not a soccer mom.”
“Ew, Sophie. Please do not throw yourself at Dr. Dalton.”
Sighing, I tore my gaze from him and turned to her. “Who says I’d throw myself at him? Perhaps I would seduce him until he threw himself at me.”
Andrea laughed. “Did your dad put you in therapy because you live in a delusional fantasy world, or what?”
I cracked a smile. Andrea was pretty damn funny. I guess I liked her. “Shut up.”
“I’ll make you a deal. The day you get Dalton, and by that I mean Doctor Dalton, to beg you to sleep with him, I’ll eat an entire meal, with dessert, without tossing it five minutes afterward.”
“Well, now you’ve ruined it. How could I call myself your friend if my happiness cost you those calories?” Andr
ea rolled her eyes and looked like she was going to say something else, but didn’t get the chance.
Dr. Dalton made his way over to us and gave me a winning smile. Part of me swooned and the other part was annoyed by my newfound ability to swoon over all things Dalton. “Sophie,” he said smoothly, “your father is concerned that perhaps you’re not eating enough.”
Andrea’s eyes widened and I said, “What?”
“He’s concerned that…”
Then I remembered last Friday night and my hypoglycemic episode. “I missed one meal.”
Thankfully, at that very moment Jason found me and let me know it was my turn with Wallace. While I hated my time with her, I was grateful to be spared a lecture on the importance of monitoring my diabetes.
I found her waiting for me, her worthless little notebook on her lap. “Hello, Sophie.”
I wondered if they taught all shrinks how to speak like that in school. All calming and soothing and shit. “Hi,” I said as I plopped down in the chair. Our eyes locked, and I wondered if we were going to play the staring game today.
I didn’t have to wait long for the answer. “How was your trip to D.C.?”
“Good.” Did she ask Elliott that question? What was his answer? Did he tell her that I practically assaulted him before getting out of the car?
She smiled. “That’s great. I think Elliott enjoyed it too.” After a moment of silence, she said, “Let’s talk about our goals.” She paused to gauge my reaction. “First, I would like to preface this conversation by telling you that it doesn’t take a lot of effort to recognize some of the traumas you’ve undergone as you’ve grown up.” My whole body tensed. “It is also very clear to me that you are reluctant to talk about it. Just so you know, I’m not asking you to talk to me because I’m a therapist Sophie, but because in the long run, it would be far better for you to work these issues out with a trained professional.”
I shook my head. She didn’t know shit. What she had were assumptions. “What things are you talking about?”
I was tired and I really wasn’t in the mood. I didn’t care what goals she had for me. I didn’t really care what she knew about me or my past, and I certainly didn’t want to hash out issues that were nothing more than history now.
“I’d like to talk about some of the broken bones and contusions that are very clearly visible on some of your x-rays. Your father released them for me to review with Dr. Dalton.”
“I’m clumsy.”
Wallace shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care if you do.”
“Why are you protecting your mother? Your father has custody now. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
I had to hand it to her. She was ballsy and straightforward. I looked down at my hands as they picked at the worn fabric covering my knee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sophie.”
I looked up. I just wanted her to drop it. I didn’t understand why she wanted me to talk about my mother. If she and Dr. Dalton had figured out where my broken bones came from, then why the hell did I need to talk about it?
She just sat there looking at me. “Can’t you at least start with an easy topic? Maybe just pretend that trust is something that needs to be built?”
“Do you have a hard time trusting people?”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I shook my head. “What do you think?”
Her lips pursed together and she acted like she was truly studying me. “I think you only trust yourself and your trust is very hard to win but once someone has it, you give it to them freely.”
She was so damn wordy. “I don’t know about all that, but if you think I’m just going to trust you because you’ve got some degree or something, you’re an idiot.”
She gave me a smile that was probably supposed to make me feel like she was my friend, but it didn’t work. She still just seemed like some woman trying to weasel things out of me; things she wasn’t supposed to know.
“You’re right, Sophie.” Of course I was right. I didn’t need her to validate it. “If you’re uncomfortable about jumping right into the hard stuff, let’s talk about a lighter subject.”
I shrugged, letting her know she could try.
“How are you enjoying Damascus High? I know you have a class with Elliott, and Photography with Jane, but how are you transitioning?”
That was what she wanted to talk about? I was beginning to wonder if Wallace was trained at all. “School’s fine.”
“I think it’s great that you’re a photographer. I’ve always thought that having a creative outlet is vital. Perhaps someday you’ll show me your work.”
The rest of the session went the same way. Wallace kept asking me small questions, unrelated to my past, my mother, or what she perceived as my “issues”. Group was boring as hell. Jason’s partner, Olivia, talked about something. I didn’t know what exactly. Maybe something about being picked last for dodge ball as a kid or something ridiculously simple like that.
Honestly, I didn’t want group to end. It meant that I would be alone with Elliott, and I didn’t want that. I was already entirely too wrapped up in him. He should’ve just stayed “Rusty Dalton” and not “Elliott”, who liked Russian novels and music, and had lived in Chicago with a heroin-addicted mother who shot herself in the head.
I sighed deeply. It was no use. I was already attached to the good-looking social outcast who stuttered and didn’t smile enough. There wasn’t any stopping how I felt about him. The only thing I could do was stop myself from acting like a fucking fool.
So when group was over, I looked over at Elliott and saw him sitting there as usual, as everyone else got up and headed to various parts of the house. I waited. Finally he looked at me. Still, I didn’t move; even my face was frozen in place. I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was testing him, but it felt vital that I force him to make the first move.
His brow creased and his tongue flicked out over his lower lip quickly, his hands rubbing up and down on his thighs. I was making him nervous. He opened his mouth in an attempt to say something, but then gave up and closed it. He let out a breath. Still, I waited.
It wasn’t until he tilted his head toward the stairs that I let myself move, my lips curled up in a satisfied smile. I didn’t break first. I caught sight of his uneven smile as he stood.
Wordlessly, I followed him up the stairs and down the hall to the only place I felt comfortable in the Dalton house. It wasn’t until we were in Elliott’s room that I spoke. My eyes were fixed on the wall, but I knew he was looking at me. With a short nod to the instruments, my voice all soft and girly, I said, “Play something for me.”
My brain didn’t start working again until Sophie disappeared into her house. I was such an idiot! She’d kissed me and I hadn’t been prepared for it. Her roaming hand on my leg was also shocking, because her initiating something like that with me had never crossed my mind.
After I dropped her off, I sat at the curb outside her house far longer than was appropriate, and had to force myself to leave before her father came out to scare me away. Even when I got to my house, I sat in the car for nearly a half-hour.
It would have been extremely embarrassing to answer questions about how my day in D.C. went while sporting a relatively painful erection.
Even after all that time, it didn’t subside, so I had no other choice but to go inside and hope no one noticed. I had the bag from the bookstore to keep in front of me, but thankfully I didn’t need it, since the house was quiet when I walked in. I had expected Stephen to be waiting at the door, checking me for any outward signs of anxiety or stress. If not Stephen, then perhaps Jane would be waiting to interrogate me about how pretty Sophie was. The evidence would have spoken for itself.
I didn’t know where Stephen or David was, but Jane must’ve
been in her darkroom. Sometimes she lost herself in there, spending hours and hours developing film the way I spent countless hours with my instruments.
Thankful that I wasn’t ambushed, I rushed up to my room, letting the bag drop to the floor as I locked my door.
I was such a freak. A normal teenager could have thought about baseball, grandmothers, dead puppies, or some other clichéd thing to get his penis under control. Not me. As usual, once it was sprung, it had no intention of leaving willingly.
This had happened before, most notably after the thing with Megan Simons my freshman year.
It wouldn’t go away, no matter what I did. There were no real words in the English language to describe how painful something like an erection could be after a couple of hours. I did what I could to relieve the situation, but it had never been natural for me to masturbate.
I was feeling so desperate after a hot shower and multiple attempts at making it go away, that I was beginning to consider asking for help.
I hated even thinking about talking to Stephen about the depth of my dysfunction, but he was a doctor and no matter how scared I was of exposing my situation, he probably had some kind of drug that could help me.
I wanted it to go away. I thought of Sophie in every inappropriate way while attempting the act that so many people felt was natural, but as the hours drifted by it became too painful to even touch, and I felt dirty with guilt and shame.
I had to go talk to Stephen and hope that he had something to alleviate the situation. It took everything I had to force myself to stand up and walk to his room. It was late and Stephen had been working so many hours at the hospital. I didn’t want to disturb him.
My jaw tightened as I knocked and then waited. I heard a thump and a rustle. My heart started to accelerate. This was a horrible idea. I heard a murmur and I wondered if Stephen was talking to himself. Had I not been preoccupied with the pain I was experiencing, I would have realized sooner that Stephen might not have been alone.
