Almost

by Anne Eliot

  “What is this—my tribunal?” She rolls her eyes at me and her expression is so comical, that I almost laugh. Almost, because I know she's doing that to play off the seriousness of what she's told me.

  The girl is falling apart and it's my fault.

  My heart twists as she finishes, “I have to work out the kinks. I won't slack off again, I swear. Sleeping while you work for both of us was a one time thing, if that's what you're worried about.”

  “Hell! Is that what you think?” I grip the steering wheel and turn onto a two-lane road marked with a sign that reads: Red Rocks Hiking Area 4 Miles. “Will you tell me what the dreams are about?” I venture again.

  If she says yes, then I'll park this car and tell her the truth. Here and now.

  “Never.”

  “Never?” I draw in a half-breath and hold it. I wish she hadn't just slammed the door so hard on me. I'm not surprised. The girl is so strong, so stubborn…so alone.

  “It's nothing personal.” She meets my gaze. “I've learned the hard way that ‘sharing’ any specifics stops my progress.” She taps her head with an index finger. “After years of messing with this baby, I keep the lid on Pandora's Box locked tight. Don't even attempt to crack me. Stronger people have already tried and failed. Plus, I'll hate you if you try.” The look she gives me is wide-open and deadly. “I'm serious—I've told you enough, okay?”

  I try to tempt her. “Sure. Of course, but that means I can't tell you my secrets.”

  “I don't want to know yours; mine are hard enough to deal with.” She smiles but it doesn't reach her eyes.

  I nod, keeping my own fake smile in place. “Topic closed. I wouldn't want you hating me. I mean that. And—well—” I forge ahead…just in case. “If you ever want to talk about it, about anything, please don't hold back. I'll listen. I will.”

  “Thanks.” Her expression is weighted. She's beyond sad. She's tormented.

  Does she remember? Does she remember me at all? I drive on, reaching the end of the paved road. My mind clouds like the dust picked up by my tires. I'm again, remembering that night—her—how she looked, how she'd cried. What I could have done better. Cold sweat, sadness and my guilt should push me through the floor of this car and swallow me into the road.

  I'm such an asshole. A coward. I should tell her. I should…but I can't risk causing her any more pain.

  “Can I say one more thing, though?” she says after the quiet and the dust threatens to choke us both.

  “Anything.”

  She takes her small pack onto her lap and fiddles with the straps. “I like that you know. About me—like we're friends. We are, right?”

  “Hell yes, we're friends. Money aside, Jess…yes. You don't go to Geekstuff.com plastic-boot-camp together and not end up friends.” I pull into the parking area and kill the engine, then turn to face her. “Just ask me if you need to sleep. I'll help you find a way. I mean it. I'll cover for you. I hate to think you're tired all the time. It's going to kill me if you don't let me help.”

  She flushes. Her ice-blue eyes hold me fast. “I don't know why, but with you things always seem so easy. The past two weeks, our contract and this,” she points to the hiking trail. “If it gets bad, I'll tell you, but don't get all parental and worried. That would kill me. You have no idea how much fun I've had this summer already.”

  “You have?”

  She sighs and puts her hand to her forehead. Her cheeks go one shade pinker as she continues, “Yes. I'm being a dork. Just…thanks for everything. You didn't have to participate but you did. I might be tired all of the time, and I know that kind of freaks you out—but, I'm great. Happy. It's thanks to you, okay? I…really trust you now, and…thanks for letting me have this summer.”

  “I…wow…uh.” My mind's reeling. What can I say?

  Not the truth. That's decided.

  “Jess…” I start, searching for the right words but I can't think thanks to the brutal ache in my heart. I'm stuck in the middle of everything. She'll never give me a chance to be with her if she knows what I know, what I've done. And if she ever figures that out, it will become apparent that I don't deserve a chance to even be in the same room with her.

  So…what am I? What does this make me—today? I wonder. Am I her friend? Or am I the worst person in the world, past and present. For not coming clean on the truth. I should. I will. I can do this.

  But what truth should I go with first? That I'm biting my tongue bloody so I don't tell her that I love how she smells? Or, how about that I've got my hands glued on this steering wheel so I don't lean in and take her face in my hands, allowing my fingers full access to the wispy curls that I've been dying to touch since day one? Should I mention I've spent eons of time wondering what it would be like to kiss the perfectly sexy bottom lip she's been chewing since I parked this car?

  Oh, God. What is the right thing to do?

  If telling her what I know is the right thing, hanging out with her so I can make her smile—being this girl's one friend—has become my personal everything.

  Which will help her more? Truth, and more pain—or having a friend? I admit, I'm also being selfish. Greedy. Weak. Fine. I can own that not telling her seems much easier—for both of us.

  Besides, if I come clean, here and now, I won't get to do this hike with her.

  I'll never get to take her skating. It's doubtful she'll ever let me put my arm around her shoulders again, either. Having her next to my side, smiling up into my eyes or better, glowering at me will be over too.

  “Jess…” I start up again and realize I've been staring at her lips this whole time. “I'm…I don't know…I'm just happy you consider me a friend, that's all.” It takes her a second to meet my gaze. Hold up. I could swear she'd been staring back at my lips!

  Impossible.

  “Okay…good.” She flushes and tosses me my favorite ‘back-off’ glare. One I completely welcome. The girl is so good—and so dead on.

  If only she'd punch me in the eye right now, I'd feel a bit less like the devil.

  Instead she says, “Let's just do this hike-date-thing before I start snoozing on you. Glad we had the talk but eesh…can you say awkward moment?”

  “Yeah. And, awkward moment.”

  She rolls her eyes and we both laugh.

  Without looking back, she dashes out of the car, heading for the large wooden trail map. She calls over her shoulder into the open window, “Which one of these hikes are we going to do?”

  “You pick.” I pretend to be busy turning the old fashioned crank on my window while I untangle my thoughts and deal with the fact that my legs have turned to Jell-O. It could be a side effect from my new level of pure self-loathing. But it's also a side effect of all of the blood rushing out of my head and into other embarrassing places.

  My fault for staring at her lips. Or is this one her fault for staring at mine?

  “H-U-I-M-S,” she shouts. “That means: Hurry Up I'm Starving. I just made that up! Good, huh? I wonder if I can get that approved on the national board of text messaging?”

  “Don't quit your day job,” I tease, glancing up as I reach across the passenger seat for the other window. She's tossing an empty Red Bull into a recycling bin as she cracks open a second. She beams me with an extra cute I dare you to bust on me for drinking this smile.

  I grip the crank, almost snapping it off in a white-knuckled panic attack as she crosses in front of the car heading toward a covered picnic area.

  Legs. Legs. Long, tanned, smooth legs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'll be right there.” I hold up my cell phone. “Checking messages. I have to leave one for Gran so she doesn't worry,” I lie and close my window all the way.

  She shrugs and turns to mess with her pack. I let my eyes travel up and down the length of the super sexy girl waiting to go hiking with me. She's my girlfriend after all. Shouldn't I stare? Shouldn't I shower her with attention…compliments…whatever I want? “Dude. After today, you'
re so far on the dark side you'll never get back,” I mutter, openly admiring her delicate profile.

  My head starts pounding. With both windows closed and the sun heating my dashboard, the scent of cinnamon coming from her seat crashes all around me.

  Legs. Unbelievable legs.

  I lose control all over again and groan, resting my head on the steering wheel. I close my eyes so I can't see her anymore, but that makes it worse. Now all I can see are her lips in my mind.

  “Crap!”

  I might never be able to leave this car.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jess

  ...

  You're a very lucky girl. Lucky. Lucky girl.

  Let's go. Dude. Nothing happened. Let's go.

  I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…Jess…

  ...

  “Jess! Jess. Wake up. Jess! I am so telling Mom. You were screaming.”

  I can't—I can't—I can't—breathe in. I can't breathe out. My face feels like wet wood, my body is concrete and my eyes won't focus.

  The images and voices are cutting into me from all directions. Tears. Sweat. Shuddering panic.

  “Oh my God. Jess! Please, say something.” Kika's voice shatters into my head, releasing me from the nightmare. Releasing my lungs.

  “No! I'm okay,” I gasp and fight to control my breathing. I need to act as though I'm okay, but I'm disoriented by the sunlight streaming across my face.

  It's not dark. What's happening?

  I find my clock. 4:35. My eyes burn as I search the room.

  Where's my lamp?! I need the lamp.

  The jellyfish lamp is turned off! It's too bright in my room. I must have fallen asleep at my desk.

  During the day. During the day. There should be no nightmare.

  I gasp and gasp again, fighting tears and a new level of panic. I've never, ever had the nightmare during the day. The room shifts, darkens at the edges of my vision and I catch myself from falling out of my chair by landing an iron grip on Kika's arm.

  “Oh God…I'm getting Mom. You aren't good.”

  “Please. Wait with me, wait.” I cling to her, hoping my grip will be enough to keep her here while I click on the lamp so I can decipher the level of aftershocks about to hit me. Thankfully, the three bobbing jellyfish are only half out of focus. I can see their tentacles pretty well. This realization calms me more than anything.

  Silently, I start to count and let go of my sister so I can stand.

  My legs are aching, already beginning to shake uncontrollably. I make it to my bed and clamber under the covers, working to breathe and count silently as I force the voices and the images from the dream away. After a few moments I'm able to refocus and see that Kika hasn't moved. She'd been standing there, crying—crying for me—and I hadn't even heard her.

  “Don't you cry. That's what I do,” I croak. Her expression makes my own tears launch and flow. I don't have the energy to stop them.

  “You. Oh Jess, you screamed so loud. You sounded so…awful.” Kika gulps and moves to the foot of my bed.

  “I'm okay. I am. Come here, sis. I swear, it's over and I'm okay.”

  Kika uncrosses her arms to climb in the bed. She wraps her arms around my trembling shoulders, and I lay my head against her shoulder, breathing her warmth in. “Please let me say something to Mom and Dad. I heard you the other night…and you sounded the same. It's too much for you to handle alone.”

  “I'm not alone. You're here. I'm so glad you woke me up.” I hug her tighter.

  “You've never screamed like that—not before.”

  “I don't know. Maybe because the dream seems to be changing. Everything is different. New. For the first time, I think I saw faces. And I heard the voices. Voices that weren't my own.” I shudder. “Maybe I'm finally remembering. The voices were as clear as day. Dad kept saying: She's going to be fine, nothing happened. Nothing really happened. Right? She's going to be fine, right? He was talking to Mom like a broken record while I was in that hospital bed.”

  “What else? I want to know.” Kika pulls the covers higher.

  “Mom. Crying. I heard that the other night for the first time. It was terrible. Mom sounded like a broken record: Jess. Our Jess. She was almost raped. Almost raped. Almost raped. And then more crying. I think Dad cried too.”

  “Dad? Holy.” Kika's eyes fill with tears again and my heart clenches.

  Our dad doesn't cry.

  “The worst was everyone saying: nothing happened, nothing really happened combined with all the old stuff.”

  “The old stuff?”

  “Yeah. Like how the police officer said I was so lucky and that I'd be fine. He's always there…saying that. The voices were all so real—like I could tell them apart. One in my ear kept repeating my name, and then he said: I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

  I finally met Kika's gaze. My terror is reflected back in her eyes.

  I hate that look and I hate myself for not being able to erase it.

  “All of that's new?” Kika asks.

  “Except for the voice in my ear. That's always been there. Even three years ago when you all thought I was permanently whacked. Right in my ear like that. Endlessly apologizing. Dr. Brodie suggested that maybe it's actually me. My subconscious. Like I'm talking to myself. Apologizing for my drinking and lying. All the stuff I still feel guilty about and for totally screwing everything up for our family. I think he's wrong. Even that voice had changed. It was someone else. Whispering. I don't know.”

  I moan and put my hands over my ears as tightly as possible, pulling my legs up until I'm curled into a ball.

  How I wish I could just push it all out of my head and forget. “I have no idea what's real.” I'm crying again. “I'm such a disaster of a sister. I'm sorry if I scared you.”

  “Jess. I'm the one who's sorry—sorry you go through that night after night.”

  I shoot her a grimace through my tears. “Maybe I screamed because I wanted them all to shut up. To stop saying I'll be fine. I won't ever be that, obviously. Sometimes, I think the whole thing would have been easier to deal with if I'd actually been raped. Instead of just almost. Then there'd be a concrete reason for why I'm this much of a failure at life. There are no ‘almost raped’, support groups or ‘almost better’ from ‘almost being raped’ websites. No blogs, Twitter and no ‘almost-crazy-but-not-quite’ Facebook support groups either.”

  “I could make you one, if you want. Or Google the other stuff. Bet there's something. I'll compile a list.”

  I flip onto my back and use the blankets to dry my tears. “I love your lists. It sure can't hurt.” We share a grim smile.

  Kika takes my hand. “I'm glad it didn't happen. That you weren't raped. I can't imagine how I'd live knowing someone had hurt you so badly.” Kika grimaces. “It's hard enough to know what you did go through.”

  “Yeah. You're right. I shouldn't have said that. I can't imagine how much heavier my heart would feel if that had been the case.” I stretch out and sit up a little, shooting Kika a grateful smile. “I'm fine…for now,” I say. “Thanks for sticking around.”

  She throws her arms around me again. “You will be fine. You will. You are! You need more time. More help. Someone better than me to talk to,” Kika hints.

  I pull out of her hug. “There is no one better than you. Unless you want me to stop talking to you. I don't want you upset or afraid for me.”

  “No, I like that you talk to me. But I'm just a kid—not a doctor. I can only listen. I didn't even get what really happened to you until this year.”

  “You mean what really didn't happen to me,” I try to joke.

  “No. It happened. All the way or not, it happened and it was real and terrible.”

  “I wish I could take it all away. Have a do-over.” I meet Kika's gaze. “I know it's wrong to heap all my garbage onto you; but I'm asking you not to tell. I want to figure this out on my own. Please. I'm begging you. If I can't solve this, then I'm sure Mom's going to catch on soon enough. I can hard
ly hide the fact that I'm screaming in my sleep for very long, right?”

  “Keep screaming like that, and the neighbors will know,” Kika agrees, but she doesn't seem convinced. Her stony, freaked expression tells me the kid is going to be blabbing to Mom before bedtime unless I can take her mind off what just went down.

  “Look. Aside from the nightmares, everything's going perfectly for me.” I point to a stack of papers on the corner of my desk. “My essays are done and ready to be typed. I'm working on getting my letters of recommendation lined up now. The internship is better than I could ever imagine, and…” I let out a practiced, gushing sigh before continuing, “Corey Nash—he's amazing. I have a secret.”

  “What is it?” Kika arches her brows, interested but suspicious.

  “I'm totally, completely, and absolutely falling for him.”

  “As if that's a secret. You text the guy every six minutes, and you blush like a little kid if we bring him up at all.”

  The shaking has almost stopped. I slap on an embarrassed smile. “Well, he texts me back every five minutes. I think he's falling for me too. He's asked me out again. Roller skating!”

  “Really!” Kika grins. “Date number two can be an appropriate place for a first kiss, you know?” She grins wider.

  “It's not a movie. I'm not going to kiss him on the second date. Your first kiss is when you find out he's not a creeper. That discovery should take a really, REALLY, really long time. We aren't even close to that. Yet.”

  “OMG. OMG. You said YET! Meaning…you want to kiss him?”

  “I…” I crack a real smile and blush thinking about it. There's no need for me to say anything more; Kika gets me, so I don't have to fake this.

  “OMG!” Kika squeaks and is sucked into one of those contagious middle school giggle-fits. I burst out laughing along with her.

  “What's all this noise in here?” Dad pokes his head into the room. “Mom sent me up because she thought she heard you two screaming and fighting. But I see no evidence of sibling war.”

  “Jess is going on another date. Roller skating…with a guy. The Corey guy.” Kika chokes on another giggle.