Saving Me

by Sadie Allen

  “Why haven’t you answered my calls or texts? I’ve been worried …” He pushed away from the wall and came to my side.

  I bit my lip to keep myself from calling him a liar. I wondered if I would have a permanent indention on my bottom lip from the sheer number of times I had bit it in a day. I always thought biting back my words was better than letting them spew forth. Honestly, I knew even if I did voice my thoughts, they would go unheard. So, what was the point?

  Miles lifted his arm and tried to wrap it around my shoulders, which brought me out of my contemplation and caused me to stumble. Pain cut like a knife from the back of my thigh to between my shoulder blades.

  “Shoot! Sorry, Ally.” Miles’ contrite voice broke through the haze of pain.

  I gritted my teeth and held back the snappy retort I wanted to lash him with. Who in their right mind tried to put their arm around someone who was struggling to walk with crutches?

  “It’s okay,” I grumbled.

  We were quiet a moment, whereas the people around us called out greetings and Miles gave flicked fingers and chin lifts to his buds and teammates. I ignored them all. It was rude and out of character for me not to wave or say hi, but my freaking leg hurt, thanks to the idiot at my side.

  “So, why didn’t you call me?”

  I shrugged. It wasn’t like I was going to tell him the truth.

  “I’m your boyfriend, Ally. You’re supposed to call or at least text me back after something like this goes down.”

  Resentment welled up inside of me. Maybe if he was a true boyfriend, I would have called, but he wasn’t.

  “Look, it’s all been a blur, Miles. My phone died”—a lie—“I’ve been doped up on pain medicine”—another lie—“and my dad has been pretty adamant about me getting rest. So, I just haven’t had time.” Which was actually the truth. It was always good to mix some truth in with a lie. In my experience, it made them more believable.

  “Okay,” he acquiesced.

  See? Worked like a charm.

  We made it to my next class and paused by the door. He kept his body between me and the people going inside. At last he was doing something right.

  “Tell me you’re okay at least.” His lips were turned down, his brow furrowed in concern.

  “I’m fine,” I lied … again.

  “That’s good.” He cleared his throat. “So, I’ll see you at lunch?” He flashed me a mega-watt smile.

  “Sure,” I said, focusing on the place over his shoulder, knowing what would come next.

  When he leaned forward and kissed my cheek, it took everything inside me not to cringe away. It made my skin crawl to think about where those lips had been this week alone. When I got inside the classroom, I would discreetly clean my skin with hand sanitizer.

  That out of the way, he loped off down the hall toward the Ag building. His next period was athletics, so I didn’t have to worry about him waiting for me after next period. He would just meet me at lunch … like always.

  Sigh.

  All morning, I felt the looks and whispers. Several people came up to see if I was okay and to give me awkward hugs in class. Most of the kids were nice, even sympathetic, and helped me with doors, getting stuff out of my locker, putting on my backpack, and getting a chair to prop my leg up on. It really was nice, but it was starting to grate on my nerves. I was looking forward to lunch, hoping people would be too preoccupied getting food to bother me.

  A girl could dream.

  I had set my lunch bag on the table and was about to sit down at my usual spot across from Miles, when a clear, sultry voice started singing Sam Hunt’s “Body Like A Backroad” over to my left.

  I turned my head to see Sterling standing at the top of the stage by one of the columns that winged the edge, rocking his hips from side to side. The rest of the kids surrounding him were still seated but started drumming to the beat of the song with anything handy, bobbing their heads along with their makeshift music. All except four—the girl from the parking lot and three others. She just rolled her eyes and walked off, the others following.

  Sterling began moving his hand up and down like it was cruising over hills and valleys. Then he pretended he was gripping a steering wheel. When he got to the end of the chorus, he raised both hands and made the shape of an hourglass.

  During the entire performance, his eyes never left mine, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  A giggle coming from my right broke the spell. I looked around the cafetorium to see everyone watching not just him, but me, as well. My ears felt hot, and my chest constricted as I ducked my head, refusing to look back up at the stage area.

  “Was Sterling Chapman singing that to you?”

  I didn’t like the way Laura emphasized “you,” like I was some three-eyed alien who didn’t inspire boys to spontaneously break out in song.

  I turned my head in her direction to see her smirking at me, but before I could reply, Miles barked, “What the hell, Ally!”

  I swung my head back to see a red-faced Miles glaring at me and grinding his teeth. I actually felt a genuine laugh bubble up in my throat, but I fought it back down. It wouldn’t do to laugh at Mr. I-can’t-keep-my-dick-in-my-pants when he felt threatened. I doubted he really felt jealousy over me. It was more like he was pissed that another guy was paying attention to something he considered his.

  Swallowing repeatedly to fight back the laugh, I sat up in my chair and took in Miles’ classically handsome face. He was good-looking with his wavy blond hair and blue eyes. Tall, but not as tall as Sterling. And where Sterling was built like a swimmer with long, lean muscles, Miles was bulkier. He spent hours in the weight room, adding to his already muscular frame, where Sterling just looked naturally in shape.

  “Are you screwing him?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  This time, I didn’t hold in the urge to laugh. I let it flow freely. The giggles burst from my belly and mingled with a thousand butterflies at the thought of being with Sterling in that way. I wanted to say, “I wish.” Instead, I denied his accusation.

  “Of course she isn’t,” came Laura’s unneeded input. “You know she’s practically the Virgin Mary.”

  A chorus of female giggles accompanied hers, and I felt my laughter die a swift death.

  I looked over at Laura and caught her giving Miles a knowing look. I peeked at him from the corner of my eye to watch his reaction, but he was studiously ignoring her, his focus solely on me. He knew I was a virgin, and it wasn’t from a lack of trying on his part to change that status. I just didn’t feel that way toward him anymore. That had died when I figured out he had lost his virginity long ago.

  Again, I questioned why I was even with him anymore. There wasn’t any substance to our relationship. He didn’t have a clue or just didn’t care that I was unhappy, that I couldn’t stand being under my father’s thumb for a second longer. It was all so … shallow.

  I glanced around the table full of people I used to consider my friends and studied them. They were all the same. They looked the same, dressed the same, talked the same. The only difference was hair color and gender. The girls even had their hair styled the same, and I knew, if I looked in a mirror right now, I would see the same.

  I would see my long, brown hair in fashionable waves, my eyes lined, my cheeks shimmery, and my clothes would be a variation of the girls around me.

  Bile rose from my stomach and stole my appetite. I wanted to run to the girls’ bathroom with a pair of scissors and hack off my hair. I wanted to wash this crap off my face. I wanted to scream and cry and rant. I could feel the pressure begin to build inside me, ready to explode.

  Sometimes, I thought there was a beast living within me. I felt it rage and twist, writhing in agony, throwing itself against the steel bars of its cage.

  I was that beast.

  I didn’t realize I was panting until I clumsily stood, knocking my chair over, and snatched my lunch from the table. I couldn’t catch my breath.

  “Al
ly …” Miles’ voice tried to break through the suffocating sensation that threatened to overtake me. Everything was too loud, too bright, too fast …

  Without looking back at any of them, I took off, hobbling as fast as I could until I was down the hall. There, I found myself a little alcove close to the gym, squeezed between two vending machines. It was dark and quiet since everyone was still at lunch. I felt ridiculous squeezed in there with my crutches, but I needed to escape. I needed the solitude.

  I took a deep breath and prepared to start my breathing exercises, when I heard a clinking sound and a familiar hum echo off the walls of the small enclosure.

  I peeked my head out and around the machine to see Sterling, eyes concentrated on the choices offered, his hand in his pocket, jangling the change there. He obviously didn’t notice me because, when he came to a decision and moved to the change slot right by my face, he jerked back with a yelp.

  “Jeez! What are you doing?” he puffed with his hand over his heart. “How did you even fit in there?”

  He stepped in close and peered into the space from above my head, which placed my face an inch away from his chest. I really should have moved back, but I couldn’t help myself … I breathed him in. I inhaled and hoped he didn’t realize what I was doing.

  I didn’t know if the woodsy smell was his cologne, soap, or the deodorant he used. Or maybe it was just him. Wherever it came from, I loved it.

  When I took another sniff, the rusty rumble coming from said chest had me freezing in place.

  “Whatcha doing, Allison?” he asked, laughter coating his tone.

  Caught.

  Feeling the blood drain from my face, I bit my lip and mumbled, “Um…” while still staring at his navy T-shirt covered chest.

  “Did you just smell me?”

  “Um …” What could I say? I wasn’t going to admit to sniffing his chest like some weirdo.

  “I have to get a whiff of you now. It’s only fair.”

  What?

  Shock rooted me to the spot, but I quickly, and albeit reluctantly, lifted and crossed my arms as his words sunk into my Sterling-induced haze.

  Would he try to bend down and put his face in my boobs since I sniffed his chest? I shouldn’t find that appealing. Nope. Not one bit. One panic-inducing thought struck me, though. What if I stunk? I had started sweating when I made my mad dash from the cafetorium. Heck, I was sweating now just thinking about sweating.

  “Are you whimpering?”

  “N-no …” I stammered.

  I felt what I assumed was his nose pressed to the top of my head, which meant he wasn’t going to be smelling my chest. I felt both relief and oddly disappointed.

  Minutes that felt like hours passed as I waited for him to move or at least say something. Then I felt something press against my scalp that suspiciously felt like his lips before he lifted away.

  “Mmm … You smell clean, and your hair is so soft,” he said as he reached up, fingering the strands near my face.

  What was going on? Yesterday, he told me he thought I was better, and now, he was in my personal space, smelling me and telling me my hair was soft? What changed? Did he feel sorry for me now? Is that what this was about?

  “What kind of shampoo do you use?”

  Sterling was still touching my hair. I couldn’t believe he was going to stand there and ask what kind of shampoo I used after he interrupted my attempted suicide yesterday and my witnessing his drama in the parking lot this morning.

  I had yet to look at his face, knowing I would get caught up in his gorgeous multicolored eyes, so I kept my eyes trained on his chest as I whispered, “Dove.”

  “What was that?”

  I coughed to clear my throat before repeating, “Dove,” a little louder.

  I wanted to ask him the questions that were burning holes in my brain, like why he had said what he said to me yesterday, why he had sung to me back in the cafetorium, or why had he touched and sniffed my hair. However, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, while I just stammered and stuttered like an idiot.

  “Well, I’ll have to buy that brand next time. Smells good.” He gave me a wink, and then he was gone before I could collect myself enough to ask the questions that were on the tip of my tongue. He just left me standing between two vending machines, wondering what on earth had just happened.

  After school, two days after the life-altering meet, I was sitting in the waiting room of the sports injury specialist/orthopedic that our family doctor recommended, staring at the cool blue walls, the smell of muscle cream heavy in my nose. I shifted in the chair and winced at the pinch in the back of my thigh. I was sore but not healed.

  My phone went off in my pocket, but I ignored it. It was probably Miles again. He had been messaging me nonstop since after lunch. I didn’t have the energy to deal with him, or the questions Laura and our friends would have if it was one of them calling, especially when I didn’t have the answers myself.

  “Ally, honey, your phone is buzzing,” my mom whispered like I couldn’t feel it going off in my pocket.

  “I don’t feel like talking.”

  “If you don’t feel like talking, then shut it off,” my dad berated.

  Shutting it off required lifting my booty to slide it out of my pocket. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to make that movement without yelping in pain.

  When my phone went off again, my father cut his eyes to me. I drew myself inward against that look and was about to lift my butt when the nurse called, “Allison Everly?”

  I blew out a breath. Saved by the nurse.

  I grabbed the arms of the chair and lifted myself up as Mom handed me my crutches. Then I limped my way to the African-American lady dressed in rose pink scrubs and holding a clipboard.

  “Hi, Allison. If y’all would just follow me.” She held the door open with one hand until I felt my father’s heat at my back, then she breezed past the nurses’ station and down the hall. Mom hurried around and kept pace with me at my side like she was afraid I would fall.

  “You okay?” she asked me softly.

  I simply nodded.

  We finally made it to where the nurse waited, again holding the door open one-handed. I squinted at the name tag that was pinned to her scrub jacket and saw her name was Athena. Cool name. I told her so.

  “Thanks, honey. Now, if y’all will just step on in to exam room three.”

  Slowly, we made our way inside. Mom gestured over to the exam table, and I paused in front of it. She took my crutches, leaned them against the wall, and then practically lifted me up on the papered surface. Guilt stabbed me like a hot knife in my stomach. Mom had broken her back a few years ago in a car wreck, and it still spasmed and ached. That was why she had the prescription for Tramadol.

  When I was situated, she stepped back then instantly started massaging her lower back. A sick feeling curled in my stomach that she might be hurting, and I had taken her medication.

  My dad remained standing, leaning against the wall that held a poster of the inside of a knee joint, while Mom sat in a chair by the examination table and pulled her designer purse into her lap. With her taupe claws, she picked the zipper on the side.

  When my phone went off again, my dad clenched his jaw and shot me a look under his heavy brow. Okay, I had to figure this out. I could lean back and slide the phone out of my pocket, but it would probably hurt. Or, I could stand up and pull it out, which would probably hurt, too, and would take a great amount of effort. Why hadn’t I gotten it out when I had gotten up in the waiting room?

  As the buzzing in my pocket continued, I heard one word. “Allison.”

  “Do you want me to get it out for you?” my mom asked with a note of apprehension in her voice. I didn’t know if it was in the face of my father’s annoyance, or if she worried I was going to hurt myself getting this phone out.

  “No, I’ll get it.”

  I gritted my teeth and went with what seemed like the fastest option. I lifted my hips up a smidge a
nd sucked in a sharp breath at the pain that radiated throughout my back, butt, and leg. I slid the phone out and ever so gently placed my butt back in the seat. Then I gave Dad my own look before I peeked down and saw a plethora of notifications. I scrolled through them and saw several texts and missed calls from Miles, Laura, Ariel, and other people in our circle. There were also Instagram notifications, and two yellow Snapchat notifications from Miles. I made a face.

  “What?” Mom asked, eyes big as she leaned forward.

  I snapped my mouth closed hard enough that my teeth clinked together, and then I immediately hit the button on the side of my phone that darkened the screen and placed it face down on my lap.

  “Nothing. Just a lot of people sending me stuff and calling.”

  “Of course they would! People love you, honey,” she cried, patting my good leg.

  I made a strange sound in my throat as I tried to hold back the chuckle that wanted to rumble out.

  When Dad blew out a frustrated breath, I looked over, seeing him scowling at the door, still propped against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

  “What’s taking him so long?” he grumbled.

  When Mom sighed and rolled her eyes, I felt mine get huge. She never said a word or showed any sign of impatience with my dad … ever. He was a man who wouldn’t appreciate nor tolerate it.

  My eyes jerked back to him as he turned his scowl on my mother but didn’t say anything. Probably because the door handle jangled then was slowly opened, revealing a tall, athletic-looking man dressed in a black polo and khaki pants. He held his hand out first to me and introduced himself.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Richards.”

  When I took his hand, he gave me a solid, firm shake then shook my mother’s then my dad’s hands.

  “So, what’s going on, Allison?” He grabbed the stool that was underneath the computer desk and rolled to my side.

  I opened my mouth to reply, but my dad cut me off.

  “She dislocated her hip—”

  “No offense, Mr. Everly,” Dr. Richards interrupted him, “but I’d rather hear it from the person I’m going to be treating.”