The Unloved

by Jennifer Snyder

  An old, black Chevy Camaro slowed beside me, keeping up with my sloth-like pace. The tinted window on the passenger side rolled down, revealing the driver, but I already knew who it was without having to look. Vincent.

  “Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.” He smiled.

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. It’s really not that much farther.”

  “You think I don’t know that,” he said, his eyes darting between me and the road. “I’m trying to be nice here. Let me.”

  I’d only seen him a handful of times since the night at Drew’s party when I’d kneed him in the balls. Each time he’d been nice to me, but each time he’d also just gotten done with my mother and given her a new refill on her prescription of Xanax or Klonopins…whatever he had on hand.

  “I’m fine,” I said and then felt the slight drizzle I’d been hoping would hold off for a while touch my face and begin to dampen my hair.

  “Come on, Julie, just get in,” he pressed. “You’ll catch pneumonia or something out here.”

  “It’ll be all right; a little rain never hurt anyone.” I did not want to ride with him. What didn’t he get about that?

  As if rebelling against my words, the sky opened up and began pouring down on me all at once. I stopped and so did Vincent’s car.

  “Get in!” I heard him laugh, and through the sheet of rain pounding down on me, I noticed he’d already leaned across the car and slung the passenger door open.

  “Fine.” I rolled my eyes and hopped in.

  “Damn, you’re soaked. Are you cold?” he asked and reached to turn the heat on.

  “Not really.” I shifted to glance out the window and wiped the rain from my face.

  “Okay.” He grinned. “You wanna drive to Bell Park and smoke a joint with me?”

  “No, I just want to go home.” It wasn’t true. I never wanted to go home, but I didn’t want to hang out with Vincent either. Or smoke a joint with him.

  “Fine, suit yourself,” he said, sounding annoyed like I’d given him unnecessary attitude or something.

  We pulled into my driveway and I reached for the handle to get out, but Vincent leaned over me and locked the door. I glanced at him, thinking I was about to get a lecture regarding my knee to his groin finally.

  “I gave you a ride…don’t I get anything in return for that?” he asked, his face inches from mine.

  I should have known he couldn’t just be nice. He was scum. What the hell did I ever see in him? “I thought you said you were trying to be nice; I didn’t know I would be indebted to you.”

  “You never asked.” His lips crushed against mine, hard and fast.

  I pushed on his chest, digging my palms into him as hard as I could to try and force him off me, but he didn’t budge. He had more strength than his physical appearance gave him credit for.

  “Come on, Julie. I’ve seen how you’ve stared at me those times I’ve been leaving from your house. You want me again, admit it.” He breathed heavily.

  Hello? Had he not noticed my knee to his balls the last time he touched me unwanted?

  “Want you? That’s not want, that’s disgust!” I shouted. “Obviously you’ve confused the two.”

  I turned my head and reached for the lock, but Vincent stopped my arm with his firm grip and pulled at my sweater, sliding his hand up the front. Panic made my heart pound in my chest. I struggled and brought my knee up to push against him. Jerking one arm free, I was finally able to pull the lock up, but that was as far as I got before Vincent grabbed it again and pinned it to my side, his lips sloppily grazing my neck. My door opened as I continued to struggle free and arms reached in to tear me out. It was Cole, his face constricted into a mask of pure rage.

  “What the fuck are you doing to my sister?” he demanded.

  “Nothing we haven’t done before.” Vincent smiled.

  “Yeah well, didn’t look like she was enjoying it this time, jerk-off.”

  “Nah, she was. I think I’m finally figuring out that she likes it rough,” Vincent muttered. A menacing tone leaked into his voice that creeped me out completely. Reaching across the seat I’d been trapped in, he slammed his car door shut.

  My legs trembled beneath me as Vincent darted out of the driveway and squealed tires before barreling down the street. The smell of burnt rubber clung to the air surrounding me, and I thought I might vomit from the adrenaline and fast-paced rate of my heart. Cole picked up his skateboard and turned to face me.

  “You all right?” he asked, concern flashing in his eyes.

  I nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

  A tiny flicker of relief flashed in the deep blues of his eyes just before anger churned in, taking over its place quickly. “God, what the hell were you thinking? I swear you and mom share that fucking loser like a damn hairbrush.” He shook his head and started toward the house.

  “What?! You saw what was happening! You saw what he was doing!” I shouted after him, my voice shaking.

  I wrapped my arms around myself. How could Cole think that about me? He was just as bad as mom. Just like him, she always thought the things that happened to me were my fault no matter what, too.

  “He’s your ex and now he’s sleeping with mom! He’s a jackass loser! You should have known better than to get in the car with him!” Cole spat.

  “It’s pouring, Cole. Haven’t you noticed? He saw me walking home from work in the rain, offered me a ride, and I took it! How was I supposed to know that would happen?”

  “I don’t know, intuition maybe, or some fucking common sense?” He wiped rain droplets from his forehead and started back toward the house, but a little white truck pulled into the driveway before he reached the front door and he darted past me to it like a life raft without a second glance my way.

  I realized then Cole must have thought Vincent’s car pulling up was his ride. Luck had been on my side after all. I thought of what might have happened if Cole had already left and tears swelled in my eyes and spilled over.

  I jogged across the street through the rain, headed toward the white shed. I was sure mom would be getting up soon and I didn’t want to see her. I wanted to be alone. I pushed the dented green door open, wondering for the first time if its owner had known they’d put the hinges on backward, and stopped when I saw Nick sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. Our eyes locked and I stood there for a second, taking in the fresh bruises on his face.

  “Bad day, too?” he asked in a low voice that made the tears flow faster from my eyes.

  I nodded and stepped inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NICK

  Jules just stared at me, her eyes a florescent green, her hair dripping from the rain. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a little piece of my heart died. I’d always hated to see her cry and now was no exception. Her lips curved up slightly and she stepped inside, closing the door to the shed behind her.

  “You could say that,” she whispered, moving to sit beside me on the rusted metal floor.

  “Me, too,” I said, gesturing to my face, which I knew probably looked even worse than it felt.

  “Your dad came back,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement.

  I nodded and a slight smirk came to my lips. “Yep, but I got in a few swings this time. Mom finally pressed charges and filed for a fucking restraining order, too.”

  “He hit your mom, too?” she asked.

  I clinched my fists in my lap at the memory of her lying on the floor with blood dribbling from her nose and redness splotched across her cheek when I’d walked in the door. Her scream echoed through my mind again and I closed my eyes tight. “Yeah, he did.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her hand moving to rest on top of mine. I parted my fingers so that she could interlace hers with mine and all of my tension and anger began to dissipate. “Think he’ll be back?”

  I gritted my teeth at the thought. “I hope not.”

  We sat in silence for a moment and then I re
membered her teary eyes when she’d first walked in. I felt like a jackass for dumping all of my stuff on her before asking what had made her cry.

  “Why was your day so horrible?” I asked.

  She took her hand away from mine and I instantly missed her touch. It was soothing, comforting. My mind focused on the areas where we still touched—our legs, our arms, her shoulder against my bicep—and the sensation of her soothing comfort flowed over me again.

  “It just was,” she muttered, picking at her nails.

  “Don’t. I told you mine, now you tell me yours,” I said in my lowest, persuading tone. “That’s how it’s always been; don’t change it now. My H.H.L.M.s for yours, remember?”

  I watched her draw her eyebrows together and I wondered if she even remembered what H.H.L.M. stood for. I hoped she wouldn’t forget that. We’d come up with it as a way of coping. We’d meet at the shed after dark—when her mom had left for work and her older brother, Logan, was most likely asleep, and my dad was passed out from alcohol and my mom had cried herself to sleep—and tell each other our H.H.L.M.s (Horrible Home Life Moments) of the day.

  “It wasn’t really an H.H.L.M. but more of a H.L.M,” she said, unrelenting in the picking of what little remained of her purple nail polish. “Vincent offered me a ride home from work this afternoon and I stupidly took it, but only because it started freaking pouring while I was walking.”

  My stomach tightened. If that jerk had done something to her, all I’d need was his address and a baseball bat to make sure it never happened again. I breathed in through my nose deeply, waiting for her to continue. I was afraid of what my voice would sound like if I opened my mouth to speak.

  “I should have known he’d want something in return for the ride, even though it wasn’t that far. A guy like him doesn’t become one of the top drug dealers in town because he gives shit out for free.” She barely glanced at me as she spoke. I watched as she wiped her nose on the back of her hand.

  “What happened? Did he do something to you?” A stupid question, of course he had, but I couldn’t just sit there and not say anything while she riffled through her thoughts, not finishing her story.

  “He kissed me and attempted to feel me up.” Her face reddened as she spoke, like she was embarrassed about his actions, like I’d think less of her for them. “I fought with him and tried to push him off. I guess I just never realized how strong he was.”

  “How far did he get?” I asked after another lapse of silence had overtaken us. I couldn’t say anything more. Rage shredded away at my insides like a razor. I glanced down at my hands in my lap and realized my fists were clinched so tightly my knuckles were solid white. My heart pounded in my chest as adrenaline coursed through me for the second time today.

  “He didn’t actually do anything more than that. Cole was there and he pulled me out of the car,” she said, pushing up on the sleeves of her sweater like she was suddenly too hot.

  My eyes fell to her slender arm resting in her lap and that was when I felt my blood pressure go through the freaking roof. Bruises in the shape of that asshole’s fingers discolored her skin. I carefully grabbed her arm and raised it up for her to see.

  “He did enough,” I breathed, struggling to control my anger.

  A gasp escaped her parted lips as she took in the bruises on her arms for the first time. “I didn’t know he’d held onto me that tight.”

  I cursed myself for having been right across the fucking street, sitting here, in this shit hole of a shed while Vincent had been about to force himself on Jules in her fucking driveway.

  “Yeah, well he did,” I muttered, hearing the venom in my voice clearly.

  Jules glanced at me and shifted from my grasp, her bright green eyes filling with tears again. “I think I should go.”

  I felt my eyebrows scrunch together as confusion clouded my mind. Did she think that I was angry with her for what Vincent had done? Surly not. She stood and bolted out the dented green door before I could think of a single thing to say that would make her stay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  JULIE

  I hurried across the road and opened the front door to my house without hesitating. I wanted to be in my room, alone. Right now.

  Nick had the same look in his eyes that everyone always got when they looked at me after something like that happened—disgust, like I’d deserved it or something, like they were sickened by me. The sight of it in his eyes directed toward me had crushed me beyond belief. I might have thought at one point that I could control whether or not I fell for Nick, whether or not I’d allow myself to cross that invisible line I’d drawn between friendship and love, but I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t control it any more than I could control the weather.

  And in that moment, when he’d looked up at me from the bruise Vincent had made across my skin, I’d realized I was already straddling that line. I had been for some time, leaning further and further away from friendship and toward something more, but then that look had flashed in his eyes. The look of pure, undiluted disgust.

  Emotions tore me to shreds on the inside because I’d never expected to see that look directed from him to me over a situation I hadn’t been able to control. He’d had almost the same exact look as Cole had, and I hated seeing it on Nick.

  I knew it was time to pull back. I had to pull back; there was no other option now.

  I closed my bedroom door behind me and locked it. Flopping across my bed, I cried. I cried because I’d allowed Vincent to give me a ride home when I was so close already. I cried because of what Vincent had done. I cried because of the way Cole had looked at me after pulling me from Vincent’s car. I cried because of the bruises on my arms and the disgust that had pooled in Nick’s eyes.

  But most of all, I cried because I hated how much seeing that reflected in Nick’s eyes hurt me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  NICK

  Two weeks went by and with each day that passed I began to grow more restless. Jules hadn’t talked to me more than she had to when we were with our mutual group of friends. It was like there had never been any history between us, never any chemistry, nothing. She was emotionless and detached toward me. Something that irked me more than anything in my life ever had. I could deal with beatings and my undesirable home life, but I couldn’t deal with Jules not being my friend…not being my anything.

  ~

  “So what’s going on with Jules?” I asked Emily at lunch on the fifteenth day of impassiveness.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, taking a sip of her soda.

  I wiped my hands on my jeans, nervous at having to resort to bombarding her friend with questions just to get some clarity in the situation. “She hasn’t really spoken to me lately. Is she mad at me or something?”

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything to me about being mad at you. Did you do something?”

  I had no clue. The look she’d given me in the shed the last time I’d seen her, before she went barreling out the door, flashed through my mind for the millionth time. I still couldn’t decipher her expression. “I don’t think I did, but I’m not sure.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “God, you’re such a typical guy. You have no clue what you did to piss her off, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Well…yeah,” I admitted.

  “Have you tried, I don’t know, I’m just tossing this out there, asking her what’s going on?” Emily asked, sounding both dramatic and frustrated, almost as though she were speaking to a small child.

  “No.” I slouched in my seat. I knew where she was going with this. If I wanted answers I’d have to talk with Jules directly.

  “Well, maybe you should,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not sure she wants to talk to me.”

  “Corner her,” Quiet Tom said with a mouth full of chicken nuggets.

  “Yeah, because that doesn’t sound freaking psycho and is exactly what a girl wants from a guy she’s pissed a
t.” Emily snorted.

  “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do sometimes,” Blake added in Quiet Tom’s defense.

  I tuned the three of them out as they argued about what level of psycho cornering someone rested at when trying to talk with someone who wasn’t willing to talk to you. Then it hit me like a punch to the gut. Tom was brilliant—getting Jules alone was the only way I’d ever get to talk with her about what was going on.

  “Thanks for the idea, Tom,” I said and then smiled at Emily from across the table. “Aren’t you giving her a ride home from school today?”

  “I am,” she answered hesitantly.

  “Give me one, too. Please,” I begged.

  She shook her head no. “Then she’ll think I set her up. If she’s mad at you for something, then you need to talk to her on your own terms because I’m not going to have her pissed at me for helping you out.”

  “Okay, so don’t help either of us. Tiffany couldn’t give her a ride because she has detention, right? That’s why you offered.”

  Emily smirked at the reminder of Tiffany getting detention; apparently it had been a hilarious sight to see. “Yeah, so?”

  “So, make up a reason why you can’t give her a ride either. Make us both walk,” I insisted.

  Emily tore off a piece of her roll and glared at me, a smile stretched onto her face. “Fine.”

  “You’re good, dude. I’ve never seen her cave so easily before,” Blake said, putting his arm over Emily’s shoulder.