“Because you weren’t,” I added, knowing that it wasn’t a helpful addition to the conversation.
“Why don’t you ask Sophie what she needs from you?”
Tom looked at me expectantly, as if I should just answer the question, but I was going to make him ask. He sighed. “Sophie, what can I do to make it better?”
I hardened my voice and my expression even more. “You can do what you’ve always done: leave me alone and realize that apart from sharing some DNA, you’re not my father. I barely know you and you know shit-all about me, and at this point I’m pretty much cool with that.”
The room was silent for a while before Wallace finally broke it. “This is difficult for both of you and I know that it seems as though the gap between you is so wide that it will never be bridged, but it’s obvious that you both love each other; you just have no real understanding of how to show it.”
She focused on Tom. “Sophie’s never really experienced what it’s like to have a parent who cares. Regardless of the reasons, you weren’t there and she’s had no experience with parental affection.” Turning to me, she said, “You don’t know your father’s feelings or what he’s gone through in his life as a whole. You are so closed-off that even the idea that Tom cares about you is frightening.”
I shook my head, but she continued. “What would you do if you actually let yourself believe that he cares about your well-being? What would you do if you let yourself see the guilt he has over not being able to protect you?”
“He doesn’t care about me.”
“I love you, Sophie.”
I ground my teeth together and trained my eyes on the spot where the baseboards joined in the corner of the room.
“Even if you don’t believe it, I love you.”
For ten days, I hadn’t popped a pill, put fire to dried leaves, or snorted anything up my nose, and for ten days my tooth hurt like a bitch. It made the whole left side of my face feel like hell. I woke up on Friday with major pain and took an Extra-Strength Tylenol, but that didn’t help at all. Neither did two more.
Obviously, Friday started out shitty and as my tooth continued to throb during my breakfast with Tom, I kept telling myself that I’d be better with Elliott and he’d be here to pick me up soon. I just had to get through Tom’s oatmeal.
Then my throat began to hurt. I didn’t bother mentioning it to Tom. Why would he care?
I slept through all of my morning classes, except Photography, but that was only because Jane and I were in the darkroom and I was on my feet the whole time. I made the mistake of trying to eat at lunch. There was pineapple in the stupid fruit salad and it burned my tongue. I never ate school food. I was an idiot. I knew that highly acidic foods never felt good.
I threw up after Horticulture. The pineapple had stung, but the bile seared.
I didn’t tell Elliott any of this because he would worry.
I thought my luck had changed when I wasn’t called to have a session with Wallace, but I still had to sit through horrible stories about fathers. Rebecca’s dad was an abusive drunk and David’s dad never looked at him.
It turned out that my luck hadn’t changed at all. Wallace stopped me before I made it to Elliott’s room.
She asked me about drugs. I told her that if it were up to me, I’d be high right then, but I was staying sober for Elliott. I just didn’t want him to worry about me. That kid worried enough about everything else.
“Do you find it difficult to refrain?”
“Sometimes.” That was only partially true. Every minute was a challenge because getting high was so easy.
“Well, even the tallest mountain is conquered one step at a time. You just have to push through and keep going.”
She sounded like one of those motivational calendars, but I countered, “It’s not hard, like, physically.” That was sort of a lie, but she didn’t need to know about my irregular heartbeat and the night sweats that kept me up. She certainly didn’t need to know about the voice that was louder than ever inside my head.
“I just don’t see the point,” I finished.
“You don’t see the point of being sober?”
I didn’t answer and I could practically see her mind shifting gears.
“What did you think about group tonight?”
I shrugged.
“Your expression was very interesting when the others spoke.”
“Did you make any connections?”
“What?”
“While Rebecca spoke about her dad, did you connect with any of it?”
I swallowed hard because I had made a connection. “Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
I felt sick and I really wanted to be high. “Um …”
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
My brow creased as I looked up in shock. It was the first “out” she’d ever given me. “Your husband was an ass.”
“Yes.”
“But he only hit you and Rebecca when he was drunk.”
“Yes.”
“And he only ever hit you guys.”
“And?” Her voice was remarkably calm.
It took me a few moments to answer, but I finally did. “Helen wasn’t like that.”
“What was Helen like?”
“She was …”
I really wanted to be high. I felt agitated and it was making me angry that I wasn’t buzzed. I couldn’t make sense that Wallace’s husband was just mean but my mother was … something more.
“Sophie?”
“Yeah?”
“You were saying something about Helen,” she prompted.
“Yeah.”
“What was it?”
I didn’t really want to say. “Um, she wasn’t … I mean, she was … sadistic.” I could think of no other word or term for the woman who burned my tongue for fun and laughed when she hurt me enough that I begged her to stop.
“What would she do?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not telling you.”
She sighed. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in and tell me at least some of the painful secrets you’ve held all your life.”
“You can’t help me anyway.”
She studied me for a moment and when she spoke, she used the softer tone she’d been using lately. “Can we talk about help?”
I didn’t understand exactly what she was asking, but I nodded.
“Did anyone ever help you? Did you ever report your mother? Did you ever tell a school counselor or a teacher about what happened?”
I held back my snort and stopped myself from rolling my eyes again. She didn’t really get it.
“Why? So they could call the DCF and they’d send an overworked, underpaid case worker who would be snowed over by Helen’s at-will charm? So that Helen could have fun being a liar and tell them about how it wasn’t her? So she could create random reasons like my fictional boyfriend when I was old enough or how clumsy and stupid I was when I was little? All so when the case-worker left, I got shoved into walls or choked by a foot on my neck?”
I shook my head and still did not look at her. “What’s your next question? Why the gym coach never saw any bruises? Because the gym teacher was a man who was too busy moaning about how he could’ve been in the NFL if his knee had just held out one more year.”
Wallace took in a deep breath and nodded at my words. “I understand that people have failed you, but how do you feel about reporting Helen now that you’re away from her and safe?”
“Safe? Right. Are you safe? Is Rebecca safe? Just because you’ve hidden away and started a new life doesn’t mean that asshole won’t come back.”
Before anything else was said, the topic shifted abrup
tly. “Statistically speaking, victims of childhood sexual abuse have a higher-than-average rate of being victimized again later in life.”
I picked at my cuticles.
“Has that happened to you, Sophie?”
I pushed the cuticle on my left index finger down until it hurt.
“Sophie.”
I finally looked up and bit the inside of my cheek, focusing on the sharp pain that contrasted with the dull ache of my tooth and throat.
“What?”
“Has that happened to you?”
“Has what happened?”
Her head was cocked to the side and the fingers of her right hand loosely held the ballpoint pen that she normally used to jot down things during our sessions. “Apart from your mother’s boyfriend, have you ever been sexually assaulted?”
My knees started bouncing. Her definition of assault could have been very different from mine, but I didn’t want to ask her to clarify, so I looked back down and picked at my nails some more.
“Sophie?”
“What?” I asked a little too loudly, wishing she would just let me go to Elliott’s room. I wanted to look at his books and listen to his music and hold his hand and forget about the shit that Wallace seemed determined to pry from me.
“Sophie?”
“What?” I answered, even louder than before. I wished she would just stop saying my stupid name for a second and let me be.
“Will you tell me about the party you went to the night your father brought you here?”
My heart felt like it stopped for a few seconds. Why the hell was she asking about sexual assault one minute and then wanting to know about the party where Anderson fucked me the next? It was a strange shift in topics. She couldn’t have known about it.
Unless Elliott told her.
Although it felt as though I couldn’t breathe, I was sure that my chest continued to rise and fall rapidly. It was as if some kind of band was around my torso, squeezing everything inside.
Elliott wouldn’t have told her.
Would he?
Shit. I hoped he hadn’t told her. Why would he have told her? He would’ve known that I wouldn’t want people like Wallace and my father to know I’d drank enough to black out. He should’ve known that I wouldn’t want anyone to know that I woke up with Chris Anderson having sex with me.
“Why do you want to know about that party?”
“Did anything happen that night that would have played a part in triggering …”
Angry tears burned in my eyes. My toes curled in my shoes as my fingers tightened together, causing my knuckles to go white.
“Tom in my goddamn room was the fucking trigger. Why do you want to know about the party?”
“Sophie, you need to relax, it was just a simple question.”
My jaw clenched and I swallowed back the rising bile.
It wasn’t just a simple question. No one here just asked simple questions. They all had points, meanings, things they were supposed to draw out.
She asked me for a reason.
Elliott told her. I was sure of it.
“What was the name of Helen’s boyfriend?”
Screw that. If Bitch Wallace thought I was going to answer anything, she could answer some of my questions for once.
“What the hell did Elliott tell you?”
She blinked. “About what?”
I took two poorly measured breaths and tried to keep my insides from streaming out in red hot liquid hate. “About the fucking party.”
“I asked about the party because it seemed like …”
I wasn’t going to let her finish spewing her stupid lies. I wasn’t an idiot. “You and Elliott are liars.”
My whole body shook.
“Elliott has nothing to do with this, Sophie. I asked a question about an event on the night you had such a violent reaction to someone being in your room. It was a simple question to help me understand if the two were related in some way. Your reaction right now validates that something did happen that night, other than just finding your father in your room.”
I felt like throwing up until there was nothing left inside of me. I wanted to swing my fist into something very hard. I wanted to snort a bunch of coke until my brain and nose cartilage were nothing but mushy goo.
I wanted to be anywhere but here.
“Sophie?”
“Quit saying my name.”
The bitch’s voice was soft and nurturing. “Will you please talk about what’s going on inside your head right now?”
“Fuck off. You and Elliott have no right to talk about me.”
Wallace nodded. “Okay, let’s just back down a bit and we can talk about something else.”
“You can talk about whatever the hell you want. I’m done.”
She tried to talk to me for a little while longer, but I remained silent.
I tasted my anger in my mouth when she finally released me and I made my way to Elliott’s room.
I knew his door would be unlocked, waiting for me, but I knocked anyway. No matter how pissed I was, I didn’t want to barge into someone else’s room. He could either let me in or not.
I didn’t look at him when I brushed past him, but I bet his brow was creased and his hand was in his hair. Although I wanted to be soothed by his books, I couldn’t let myself go to the bookcase because I was mad at him.
“SSSSSoph-phie?”
Normally, I really enjoyed the sound of his voice, but tonight it sent me into some kind of rage. All I could think about was his betrayal of my trust. Wallace wasn’t meant to know the things Elliott knew. The thought that he’d told her something like that made me sick.
“Did you tell Wallace about Chris Anderson?”
He looked so fucking guilty. I didn’t really have to wait for an answer to know.
“SSSSoph-ph-phie …” he said again, as if saying my name would explain it all and make it better.
“Don’t say my goddamn name like it’ll get you out of fucking answering the question.” He backed away even though he was nowhere near me. “Did you tell her about what Chris did?”
“Y-y-y-yes, b-b-b-b-but …” He was practically panting and as much as he needed comfort, my anger kept me from giving it to him. I wanted to make it better for him, but I stomped that feeling down.
That was precisely what had gotten me into this mess.
“That’s some shit, dude.”
“Th-they asked m-m-m-me w-w-why I hhhhhhit Ch-Ch-Ch-Chr … hhhhhim.”
I shook my head. “I would never tell anybody anything you told me. Ever. Even if they ‘asked.’ That’s fucked, Elliott.”
I should’ve just left the room, but I had an overwhelming need to release this emotion on someone. Elliott had told Wallace something he had no right to tell her. He always pushed me to tell him shit and yet rarely gave me anything back. He fucking took and I knew it was the kettle and pot scenario, but it pissed me off. I’d given him information, fucking power, and he’d just given it away like it belonged to him, like he had a fucking right to it.
“You’re such a hypocrite. You hide every chance you get, a hell of a lot more than I do, and then you expect me to be completely bare before you like it’s no big thing.”
I moved closer to him, my anger at my own stupidity boiling over. I hated myself for being so naïve to tell some fucking guy anything about myself.
In this moment, I hated Elliott.
“Fuck you.”
I left quickly, trying not to care that he was obviously upset. It was ridiculous that I had to fight back this urge to comfort him. He betrayed me. He got me to tell him about shit and then he told everyone about it. I didn’t need to comfort him.
It didn’t take me long to walk to the bus stop,
mainly because my anger propelled my legs to move faster. The bus dropped me off close to the Quickshop, the grocery store where I worked, so I went in and asked Carol at the customer service desk if I could use the phone.
I called Jason’s house. Jerry answered and when I asked to speak to Jace, he told me that he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. I was pissed that I’d ever flushed those last pills from Aiden! While I still had Jason’s glass bat, I had no pot to fill it with. I could’ve gone home and cleaned it, collecting all the resin and smoking it down.
Resin was nasty as sin, but it got you higher than shit.
But it smelled … bad. Tom would definitely smell it.
I hung up and went to find Brody. He was in the back. I watched him for a moment as he finished restacking cases onto a cart. I had a detailed fantasy about banging him in one of the hidden spots in the backroom.
Then Elliott’s puppy face interrupted my sexy-Brody-in-the-backroom fantasy.
I clenched my teeth and my hands curled into my side.
“Young? You don’t work Friday nights.”
“Do you have any weed?”
“Do I look high?” I asked Brody as we sat outside Tom’s house in his old pick-up truck.
Brody laughed at my question. “Of course you look high. You blazed.”
He was right. I’d smoked more than I needed. I was sure the smell clung to me as well. “Damn.”
“Don’t tell your dad it was me that got you high if you get caught.”
I shook my head. “Pussy.”
Brody smiled but explained, “Everyone in town knows your dad and he’s a badass.”
Whatever. “Tom’s like a big dog or something. He barks but in the end he just wants to lick your cheek, smell your ass, and get scratched behind the ears.”
Brody laughed but I didn’t know if it was because my words were slightly incoherent or if he really thought I was funny. “Maybe for you, but for the rest of us, he’s a scary man who’s in good with the local law enforcement.”
Whatever.
I let my eyes slip closed. I could screw him right now in his truck, outside Tom’s house. No one had to know. It would feel so good.
N K Smith - [Old Wounds 03] Page 2
