Almost

by Anne Eliot

  “This place is a maze. Took me eons to find you.” She pauses with a smile and looks around our tiny office. “So, this is where the magic went down?” Michelle plops into Gray's chair and gives it a half spin. “Nice, and cozy. No wonder you two got so close, so quickly.”

  “Not even. We've been down in the loading warehouses. That's where they keep us caged most of the time. What are you doing here?”

  “Gray sent me. The guy was a tragic bundle of nerves. He was literally freaking out and then freaking out again.”

  “And that means, what? Where is he? What happened?”

  “Gran had some sort of episode this morning. Severe muscle cramps and tremors. Enough to make them both think she was dying—having a stroke, heart attack or something worse. Gray rushed her into the hospital. He's been there ever since.”

  I leap out of my seat, eyes already searching for my bag. “What hospital? Is she okay? Poor Gray, he must be out of his mind. I should go help.”

  “Hold the fire, woman. That's why I'm here. She's good. He's good. After a slew of tests, they realized it was simply a strange vitamin problem. She'll be released tonight after she gets some sort of drip put into her. Potassium, I think Gray said. She'll be right as rain by tomorrow, but you know how hospitals are. It's going to take forever.”

  “Why didn't he call me himself?” I wonder if he'd changed his mind and sent Michelle here as a smokescreen. But Gray wouldn't lie about his gran—about anything. Not his style.

  “The hospital is a black hole. Zero service. The nurses took pity on him and let him have one phone call, prison style.”

  “So he chose to call you over me?” I look away.

  Michelle laughs. “Hiss hiss, jealous. It was well thought out. He called me because I'm an unemployed, late sleeper. A sure thing. You're much more difficult to track down. He begged, seriously, begged me to meet him at the hospital to pick something up for you. I've been ordered to hand deliver this.” She waves a large white envelope as she roll-scoots Gray's desk chair around to my side. “This must be seriously mushy stuff. He ordered me not to open it so many times my fingers are still itching to break my word. Another five minutes in my purse and I wouldn't have been able to resist.”

  I smile and take the envelope, trying to play it cool like I don't care what's inside.

  My name is written across the front in Gray's scrawling print. “Thanks. I missed you last week,” I cover, trying to steer her focus away from the envelope.

  “Back-atch-ya.” Michelle smiles and points to the envelope. “Gray said you two had a date. He didn't want you to think you'd been stood up. He said if you thought that, then you'd never speak to him again. I suspected you two were in some sort of tiff, but four days of not talking sounds like break up to me. Did you? Are you? What's going on? Open the envelope.”

  I flip the envelope over and suck in a breath. The back had been sealed with some strange, medical tape. Gray had written: “Whatever you do, don't open this in front of Michelle.”

  I look at her and Michelle quirks a brow, holding back a laugh. “I know, right?! I think he wrote that to torture and tempt me. I should get a freaking medal for not breaking into it, right? Who does that to the most curious person on earth? He's such an ass.” She laughs. “It's probably some disgusting love poem. Gray knows if I see any romantic drivel I'll ridicule him for life. And I will. It's my sworn duty to mock him. It has been since we were five. But okay. Fine. If you want to open it, right now in front of me, I'll try not to vomit.” Her eyes are glittering with mirth and curiosity.

  I grin but shake my head. “I'll wait…if you don't mind.” I trail my fingers over where he's written my name.

  Michelle leans in and stares at my computer. “What are you looking at? Holy, no way! That's from freshman year.” She laughs. “Look at the guy. I'd forgotten what a little peep he was. That helmet honestly looks like it swallowed his whole head.”

  “Yeah. And the scarecrow body—wow.” We both laugh.

  “But he was good. Really fast,” Michelle says. “He was supposed to be varsity's ticket to state. They called him Bullet. He was so speedy that no one could touch him. His shots always scored. Still do. He's still amazing at ice. But he only skates alone at the complex, or to teach the little guys.” She pauses and scans the article. “This is about when he quit the team. The entire senior class had a death warrant on him. The principal caught some senior players beating the crap out of him just before he quit. Shoved him into lockers, pulverized his face just before Halloween. Do you remember all that? People talked about it for weeks.”

  “I came in after Christmas that year so I would have missed that.” I swallow and flip the subject back to Gray. “Do you know why he quit?”

  “He never talked to me about it. Far as I know, he's never talked to anyone. Even Corey. He was one angry, messed up little dude in those days. Corey and I almost dumped him. It was like hanging out with the Grim Reaper. I asked him about what happened often enough. But after awhile, his double black eyes disappeared. We gave up trying to get the story out of him. He chilled out by sophomore year.”

  She leans back in her chair and smiles. “Our hockey team managed to keep the state title without him. That's what probably saved his life. After the season ended, everyone forgot about it. Except for Coach Williams and Gray, of course.”

  “Wow. He told me he and Coach had a fight, but I didn't know about the other stuff.”

  “Gray's never been very good at sharing his feelings. He also hates gossip. He's such a guy about keeping silent. He and Coach Williams were really close before that year. Kind of a bummer. Coach was sort of a father figure to Gray, and then—they became enemies.” She shrugs. “They were going at it all over again last night at the rink. You should have seen them. Just like old times. Shouting, flexing biceps. Staring each other down.”

  “Really?” I shake my head.

  “So, let's talk about you.” Michelle brings her knees up and spins her chair. “What takes a freshman a whole semester to get back to school? Were you sick? Are you still sick? Is that why you're always so tired? Why Gray treats you like you're made of glass? Did you go through chemotherapy or have bad kidneys or a heart transplant or something extreme like that?” She blinks, waiting.

  My stomach clenches. I break out into a cold sweat. No one's ever asked me this. No one's ever seemed to care. “I…uh…um…well…” I fiddle with the computer mouse.

  “Sorry. I'm always putting my foot in it. You don't have to tell me. I'm so nosy. Sorry,” she flushes.

  “No. It's okay. It's sort of gruesome. But if you want to hear it, I kind of want to tell you.” I take a deep breath and meet Michelle's gaze.

  She nods, her eyes turning grave.

  “I was almost raped.” I swallow. “At a party. Almost. Nothing happened. They—I mean the cops—found me. No clothes, half passed out, even tied to a bed. Supposedly it was quite a scene. But nothing major happened—to me, that is.”

  “Oh my God. What do you mean nothing happened?! Wow…Jess. I'm so sorry.” Michelle has tears in her eyes.

  “I don't remember it. Don't even remember who did it. How I got in the room, on the bed. My parents think I was drugged, but we never tested because I had definitely admitted to drinking so...yeah.” I shrug. “I suppose not remembering it all is a good thing. I'm always tired because I have nightmares about that night so I try to only sleep during the day. They're sort of fragmented memories that won't go away. But the nightmares scare me. A lot. The clinical term is Rape Related PTSD. My term: suck-ass isolated, lonely, loser lifestyle.”

  “And the guy responsible for it all? Is he in jail?”

  I shrug. “I don't know who he is. I couldn't remember his name or his face. I didn't…I don't want to remember him. Any of it. I used to want that, but now, I wish that night would just disappear out of my head. We—my parents—didn't press any charges, or whatever. An ‘almost rape’ is nearly impossible to prosecute. I was so out of it
, I guess I was partly responsible. Made bad choices and all that stuff they say not to do. Well, I did them all that night.”

  “Duh. No! AND NO. You were not responsible.” I'm surprised Michelle's wiping away tears now. “Freshman year. We were so dumb, that's true. But come on. Any kind of rape is never the victim's fault. You were young—probably punier than old Porter in that newspaper article. How old were we freshman year? We were like sitting ducks back then.”

  “Fourteen. And cluelessly trying to be so cool. Noticed.” I remember the baby pink Converse I'd made my mom buy me for the first day of school. I'd worn them to that party, thinking they were so awesome.

  Michelle nods. “Fourteen was baby-land. I was so scared freshman year…even to go to lunch. I can't imagine how you must have felt at that party. What you went through.” Michelle pushes her chair back and comes to hug me. I let her. It feels nice.

  “Want to know the sad part?” I ask, when she sits back in her chair.

  “What you've told me isn't the sad part?” Michelle's face is so anguished and freaked that I have to smile.

  “I've still never been kissed. It's the only thing I'm sure about from that night. The guy—he—never actually kissed me. The rest, it's all a blur. Voices. Images. Stupid stuff. Like, I have an odd seashell phobia now. I hate them. And I have no idea why.”

  “That's so messed up. But if you ask me, the no-kissing is the good part, not the bad part. As if you'd want that creeper to be on your first kiss memory bank. First kisses should be special. Perfect.”

  “Yeah. You're right.” I feel suddenly lightheaded, but not in a bad way! Like I'm happy. Saying everything out loud had made my problems seem…smaller. That, or I feel bigger. Stronger. Holy. I blink at Michelle. Is this what real, live, progress feels like? Too bad it's too late to make any sort of dent in the disaster I've made of my life.

  “Jess. I can't believe—we all assumed you were some sort of stuck up, straight A—you know—a total—”

  “Bitch? Yeah, I know. I wanted people to think that. It was easier than having to explain myself. Easier than having to make conversation. It's hard to chat when all I ever want to do is sleep. I like my reputation. It keeps me alive.”

  “Wow. Does Gray know all this?”

  “No. Well—he knows I don't sleep at night. Not why. It's one thing to tell another girl. But Gray…” I swallow and meet her gaze. After all this honesty, I don't want to start up the lies again, but I have no choice. I can't bring up the fact that I have a signed boyfriend contract with her oldest friend. Even cool, like Michelle is, she would eventually tell someone. And I mean to survive senior year without people finding out I paid a guy to date me. I try to skirt around the lies with half-truths. “Our relationship is complicated. I told him I didn't want anything physical. He's respected that so far, which is really sweet. But now, I think things are changing between us.”

  “Aww. You really like him, don't you?”

  I nod. “I'd have to tell him what happened to me. And I don't want to. I think I should break up with him before he gets too serious. Before both of our hearts get broken.”

  “After how he acted today, I promise, Gray's beyond serious about you. He won't care what happened. I think he's fallen for you big-time. He's never been this bonkers over any girl. Ever.”

  My chest constricts. “It doesn't matter. I don't think I can… you know…kiss and do all that other stuff that's required for the next level. It won't work. I'm like…broken now.”

  “Why?”

  “I'm worried I'll have some sort of relapse or act crazy if he touches me when I'm nervous. And to hit the next level, I know I would be really nervous because he would be touching my lips with his, right? Hello. It makes me nervous to just say it out loud.”

  “Oh. My. God! Yeah.” She laughs.

  I blush but continue, “My therapist said with stress and PTSD, anything could happen to me. I would just die if I freaked out or if Gray…if he ever looked at me like…like I was truly crazy. I can take being called a bitch by anyone; but I can't look in Gray's eyes if he believes I'm whacked. I think I'd rather cut and run before the inevitable goes down.”

  “But, Jess, he wouldn't! You wouldn't react to him like that! I've seen you wrapped in his arms countless times, and you've looked completely happy about it. I'd never suspect you had any issues. I think you should go for it. Tell him. Or if that's too extreme, take a chance and kiss him once. To find out. Before you decide to walk away, you have to give it a chance. And then—even if you did go nuts—you'd have your first kiss with a boy you really like. So…it's worth it either way, right?”

  My heart races at the thought of me just planting one on Gray. “No. I've already sort of flipped out on him once on accident. The look on his face afterwards almost killed me. It's why I backed off. I prefer preventative medicine to public open heart surgery. No way am I going to try and kiss that guy!”

  Michelle shakes her head. “You're in love. Open heart surgery is how it feels for everyone. And if you're in the stage where you're both still unsure and not committed, it is scary. It also hurts like hell whether you're sane or not.”

  “Then, I don't think I can handle love. It feels just awful.”

  She laughs. “From the look on Gray's face an hour ago, he wasn't doing so well himself. He and you have matching dark circles under your eyes. You two have it so bad, it's hilarious.” She laughs again.

  “Thanks. You suck. But it's not going any farther than this. Not for me. He wants us to be long term friends, and I guess I can consider trying that. But I have to make him understand that friends, JUST friends, has to be my max exposure to him. To any guy.”

  Michelle grins and leans back, spinning her chair again while staring at the ceiling. “My mom says everyone has secrets—like personal demons—they have to battle. You'll just have to overcome them. I know you can. If you try. But it's your choice whether you chose to go to war or not.”

  “Pffft. Whatever. What if I'm my own personal demon? How do I battle myself? It's impossible.”

  “I'll ask my mom and let you know. Which reminds me, I'm supposed to pick her up. She lent me her car.” Michelle stands to leave. “You're still on for ThunderLand tomorrow, right? I'm driving us. Total score. It's a minivan. Plenty of room for catching up on sleep!”

  I smile. Content that she knows I'll probably have to take her up on that offer. “I'm in—if Gray still wants me to go. If Gran's okay, all that. It will be a perfect time for me to talk to Gray.”

  She shakes her head. “Don't break my boy's heart. We can't be friends if you do that.”

  “I won't. I'm going to let him down easy. I just need him to shut up and listen to me.”

  Michelle rolls her eyes. “Blah, blah, blah. You are so far gone over him, you're never coming back down to earth. I'm hoping whatever drivel he put in that envelope will fix things, so you two can patch it up and start making out already.” She winks and pulls a face. “I'm late…if I don't go now, Corey will have to drive us to ThunderLand because my mom will revoke my car privileges. And none of us want to be in that situation.” She bends and looks into my eyes. “You going to be okay? You could come with me…?”

  I smile. “No. I'm fine. I think I'll go home and nap so I can be fresh for tomorrow. Thanks for listening.”

  Michelle nods. “One day, I'll spill my own tragic, parents-got-divorced story on your head. Though next to yours, my story isn't even sad. It was cool of you to confide. Your secret-demon-monkey-war is safe with me. I'll never tell. Pick you up at 8 AM?”

  I let out a long breath, relieved that I didn't even have to ask her not to tell. “I'll be ready.”

  Michelle pauses at the door looking lost. “Point me out of here.”

  I laugh and point to the right. “At the end of the hall take two lefts. Follow the exit signs to the top of the stairs.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jess

  When I'm home, twenty minutes later—and safe in
my room, I pull out the white envelope and tear into it.

  Jess, if you're reading this then Michelle came through.

  Sorry about today—and the old-school delivery, but it's all I can do. Gran's good. Don't worry like I know you will.

  Maybe it's for the best we can't talk face to face. In a letter, I can say what I need to say without your beautiful eyes distracting me from my point. Like they always do.

  And my point is this: It's OVER. I mean the contract, not us.

  I never should have signed it in the first place.

  I can do college a million ways. I don't want the money this contract brings me anymore. My goals have changed. And not one of my goals will work without you in my life.

  You. You + Me.

  I'm asking you out. For real. Say yes. Take a chance, even though you'll find out quickly that I don't deserve that chance, or even to be in the same room with you. But I still want that chance…want to be with you. I know you thought I wanted us to be friends. But I don't.

  I want more.

  Tomorrow. ThunderLand. I'm hoping it will count as our first real date.

  I have much more to say, so much to tell you. But I need to be holding your hands, and looking into those distracting blue eyes to say the rest. And yes, as promised, I'm ready to listen to you. But whatever happens, hear me first and…don't hate me after.

  Please. Never hate me.

  It's wrong of me to ask that favor in this note, because you don't even know what I mean yet. Or why. But…this is GAME ON for me, Jess. And this letter is my first major play to keep your heart forever…so please, remember: Do. Not. Hate. Me.

  Play number two is also in this envelope.

  Tonight—when you're trying not to sleep—though I wish you would—I'm asking you to think about us. US. Us being together, how good we are as a team. How much fun we have as FRIENDS because despite your stubbornness—we both know we're already that.

  God, I wish I could see your face when I ask you this question.

  Here goes: Is there a chance you could love me? Even a little?