I could tell he didn’t believe my words, so once again, I repositioned his head and this time I made him look at me. “I let you do that. It was my choice. I would have stopped it if I wanted it to be stopped.”
“Lllllike w-w-with C-Ch-Ch-Chris A-A-A-Anderson?”
My heart and lungs stopped. My stomach flipped. I felt sick.
I dissected his words. My hands fell away from him.
I sat naked on my knees in front of him and yet felt most exposed by the four words he’d just uttered.
Was he saying that I wanted that shit from Chris? Was he implying that I was a whore? Was he … was he saying that just like with Chris, like with Helen’s boyfriend, I just let him … I just let him …?
I couldn’t even finish the thought.
What must Elliott think of me? What must he think of himself to categorize himself with someone like Chris?
I still had no idea what happened that night, but my gut told me that I hadn’t wanted it.
But what Elliott was saying was that I had let it happened.
Shhhh! Quiet, Sophie.
I swallowed hard against the rising bile. All the memories of just letting it happen assaulted me.
That’s my dirty girl.
He wasn’t wrong about me, though. I had let it happen. The only difference was that this time, with Elliott, I wanted it to happen.
What was I supposed to have done? With Anderson, I couldn’t think straight. He was almost done by the time I’d opened my eyes. If I had tried to make him stop, he would’ve …
And with the man with the short brown hair and the skull tattoo? I knew what he would do if I didn’t just let him. And the others?
I felt removed from Elliott’s room as voices in my head replayed themselves over and over. Voices of men and boys telling me to turn this way or that; telling me to be this way or that way.
I felt his hands move to mine. “SSSophie, I’m ssssssorry.”
I pushed him back. I didn’t want him to touch me. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know.”
He didn’t fucking know what happened in that bathroom with Anderson. He didn’t know any of it.
His hand brushed my cheek and I batted it away. My wrist hurt from where it struck his.
“Sophie, I d-didn’t mmmmean …”
I looked at him. Obviously what he saw in my eyes took his words away. I couldn’t figure out why he would be so intent on giving me an orgasm, only to essentially call me a slut afterwards. “What the fuck? Why don’t you just tell me I’m a whore and get it over with?”
His eyes widened and once again he reached for my hands. “N-n-n-no! Th-that’s not w-w-w-what I …”
“Then what? You think I’d just let you do something I didn’t want you to do?” I pulled my hands from his and noted the sadness in his eyes. They were watery and it looked like tears could spill from them at any moment. I looked down and he was still hard.
I wondered, not for the first time, about all his “issues.” I wondered about what he’d “let” happen to him and whether he felt he could help his reactions or not.
Without really knowing why, I reached for him through his pants. I’d just barely wrapped my hand around him when his hands rose up and pushed mine away. It wasn’t like I didn’t expect it.
I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have even tried to touch him. I knew he wouldn’t like it and I knew that with all of the heavy emotional baggage of today, it wasn’t the right time to try, but it was done.
After a long while of neither one of us doing anything, I moved away from him, grabbing my work shirt and finally covering up.
I hated this distance between us. It seemed as though no matter what either one of us did, we always seemed to wind up in the same place.
I glanced at the clock. It was nearly five in the morning. “I’m going to make coffee.”
I grabbed my pants and pulled them on, looking down at Elliott as I did. I was suddenly struck with the need to make it better. I didn’t want to be mad at him and I didn’t want him mad at me. “Will you come make coffee with me?”
He just barely shook his head. I was just about to ask why when I realized that nothing had changed.
His body was still in the same condition, and he probably wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving his room at all right now, but I needed to be out of there. I needed to be away from the gravity of him. I needed to think and process.
“Um, I’m going to …” I didn’t finish because I’d already said the word “coffee” twice. He knew what I was going to go do.
I knelt back down next to him. I didn’t want to leave with him thinking I was mad at him. He’d asked me just last night to stay with him forever, and I didn’t want him to think I was just going to run away. I didn’t want shit to be weird between us. I kissed him gently on the cheek.
“I’ll bring you a cup.”
Without looking at me, he nodded.
The coffee was already made. I didn’t speak to Dr. Dalton as he sat and read the paper, although I felt his eyes on me. As I poured two cups, I wondered if he really knew the shit his adopted son had to go through on a daily basis.
And if he did, how he could just calmly sit there, reading the newspaper like anything in this house was normal.
I knew he was a good person, but I had to wonder what the fuck he thought he was doing. Of course, he probably wondered the same thing about me.
After I checked my blood sugar and messed with my insulin, I made it back to Elliott’s room. I’d left the door ajar, so I just pushed it open. He was sitting on the floor, watching that video of his mom on the computer.
For the next hour, I sat next to him, sipping coffee, watching him watch it.
When I left, he barely looked at me.
I wondered if I should even bother returning tomorrow. I wondered if I did, if it would be any better than it was right now.
It was Christmas Eve and the Young house was anything but the epitome of holiday celebration. We ate dinner in front of the TV. We watched one of those Christmas kids’ movies from before my dad was born. He seemed to enjoy himself.
I was bored but didn’t feel like being in my room. My head was still humming from being with Elliott last night and this morning. If I was alone, I felt like I might go crazy. Or if not crazy, I might’ve smoked some pot. So as much as I didn’t really like Tom’s company, I sat on the couch while he drank beer in the recliner.
Once the singing reindeer was finished, he flipped it to ESPN and I went upstairs to wrap the two presents I had for Elliott and the one I finally found for Tom.
I was frustrated beyond belief because no matter how I did it, the presents turned out looking like a two-year-old wrapped them. I took the paper, tape, scissors and Elliott’s presents downstairs and stood in front of Tom. When he looked at me, I sighed deeply.
“I bought a Christmas present for Elliott and I keep trying to wrap it and it keeps looking like shit.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Can you help me?” I could’ve added that I’d never wrapped a gift in my life, but I didn’t.
He looked taken aback, but he kicked the footrest down on the recliner and said, “Um, sure, Soph.” He stood up and I kept still. “I don’t know if I can do any better, but I’ll try.”
He took a cautious step toward me and I held my ground. His hand extended and I gave him the gift-wrap.
“Let’s go over to the table.”
I let him lead me to the kitchen and watched him from a few feet away as he spread out the paper. He turned and extended his arm, and I stopped myself before my instinct to step back won out. I handed him the scissors and then the tape.
He showed me how to wrap the small one and then gave me a questioning look when he saw the second gift.
> I shrugged. “He’ll like it.”
We were silent as I tried to watch what he did. If I was going to wrap his, I would need to pay attention. I was suddenly struck with the urge to explain to him why this would be the first year he’d get something from me.
“I wanted to send you gifts,” I began quietly.
Tom paused and listened.
“But she wouldn’t let me.”
He craned his neck to look at me.
“I would make you sh … stuff though.” I shook my head. “She always found them and … wouldn’t let me send them.”
The sad look in his eyes was like looking into a mirror. I retrained my focus back to the presents.
“Did she give you the gifts I sent for you?”
“No,” I answered quietly. “Sometimes she would make me give everything to those places that help needy kids. I wouldn’t know what was in them. It was easier that way, but other times, she …”
“What? She what?”
I wrapped my arms around my mid-section. Everything in my life was so emotionally draining. Why couldn’t I have at least one conversation that didn’t leave me feeling like the walking dead?
“She would unwrap them or let me do it and then I’d have to burn them.”
“She made you burn them?”
I looked up when I heard his shocked voice and his expression hurt me. It reminded me that while Helen’s fickle fancies were normal for me, they weren’t for the rest of the world. Normal kids didn’t have to burn their gifts.
“She said that you didn’t really love me. That you only sent them as emotional blackmail to make her feel like shit.”
Your “daddy” doesn’t love you, Sophie. He doesn’t want you. Nobody does. He only sends these to make me feel bad for not wanting him.
“Soph, I …”
And just wait until I tell your precious “daddy” how bad you are. He won’t want anything to do with you. I’ll have to beg him to take you for the summer.
“That’s not true,” his words cut through and I finally looked him in the eye again. “I sent those things to you because I wanted you to have them. It had nothing to do with her. I never wanted to hurt her.”
When I didn’t respond, he mumbled something about Helen and prison, but I chose to ignore it because I didn’t think I could handle dealing with the thoughts of seeing Helen or her boyfriend again, even if it was to put them in prison. He finished wrapping Elliott’s presents and then handed them to me.
“I got you something,” I blurted, not understanding why. “It’s not wrapped or anything, but I can … I can give it to you.”
He smiled at me. It wasn’t a purely happy smile; it was more sad than anything else, but it was still a smile. “Do you want to wait until tomorrow?”
It seemed stupid to wait until Christmas. We didn’t have a tree and I doubted he’d celebrated Christmas in a long time. I knew I hadn’t. Besides, I wanted to go over to Elliott’s early in the morning to check on him.
I hoped he wouldn’t still be sitting in front of that stupid computer.
“I can give it to you tonight,” I answered.
At his nod, I left to retrieve it. It turned out that the Quickshop brought in gifts for the holidays. I hoped what I bought for Tom was good enough.
When I returned, he was in the living room again and there was a brightly wrapped box on the coffee table. I stopped. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to it.
“It’s your present.”
“Um … What is it?”
This time Tom’s smile wasn’t sad. He chuckled softly and nodded toward it. “You have to open it to find out.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my feet, feeling awkward and suddenly fragile. Of course I had to open his present to find out what he’d gotten me. He’d bought me a gift and he was giving it to me in person this year.
Helen wasn’t here to shove it in my face and then take it away.
“Here,” I said, holding his unwrapped gift out to him.
I was having a hard time looking at him, but I peeked up a little. He took the book and smiled at it.
“It’s probably really shitty and nothing you need and …”
“Gifts aren’t always about what you need. And this is great. I guess you could tell I kind of like sports, huh?”
I nodded and chewed my lip. I felt stupid, but I hoped that he did like the book. It chronicled Baltimore’s professional sports teams from their inception to the present day. I thought maybe he’d like it, but then again, maybe it was stupid to assume things like that.
“Do you want to open yours?”
I felt a little panicked as I glanced over to the box. “Ummmm…”
“It’s okay if you want to wait. It’ll be here in the morning.”
I didn’t know what I should do. What was the protocol for this? I didn’t feel comfortable with a gift at all but if he wanted me to open it now, would it be rude not to? Plus, if I opened it now, I could go over to Elliott’s with little hassle.
“Um, I guess, I’ll open it now.”
I picked up the box and set it on my lap as I sat down on the couch. Very carefully, I tugged on the paper, not tearing it as I peeled back the tape. Tom laughed and I looked up. “What?”
“You used to just rip it open.” The smile faded just a little. “But you were just a little girl then.”
I’d come to recognize that I wanted to regain some of that innocence I apparently had at some point, so I ripped the paper and smiled. I didn’t remember opening many and I kind of liked the sound.
The box was nothing but plain cardboard. I opened it and slid out a black nylon bag that had a long strap. It was heavy. I unfastened the clasps and rolled it out. “Holy shit,” I said as my eyes took in what could only be described as a fuck-awesome knife set.
These weren’t regular knives. It was a knife kit, the kind real chefs used. It had sixty-two pieces, and it wasn’t all knives but spatulas and cake decorating tips. This was expensive and he’d bought it for me.
I look up at my father’s smiling face. “This is for me?”
Again, he chuckled. “Who else would it be for?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t think of nothing else. You don’t seem like the frilly type and I can’t tell which colors clash to save my life, so I got the knives. You cook a lot, so I figured they might make it easier or something.”
“Tom, these are …” No words came to mind.
“Do you like it?”
“Fucking-A, I do.”
He cocked his head and gave me look. “Sophie.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his chastisement for cussing. “Sorry,” I said, feeling idiotic for smiling this big in front of him because of a set of kitchen utensils, but I couldn’t help it.
“But you do like the knives, right?”
I ran my fingers over the handles of a few and worked hard to keep the tears from my eyes. I’d cried enough in the past few months. “Yeah, they’re … they’re perfect.”
I was incredibly happy, not because it was Christmas morning, but because I was steps away from Elliott’s door and I couldn’t wait to see him. I hoped that he was doing better. It was Christmas after all and both of us had experienced our fair share of miserable Christmases. I wanted to do what I could to make this one better for him.
I knocked on his door and waited until it slowly opened. I wanted to see him, but he was already away from the door by the time it was opened enough for me to get through. He was on his bed, his legs drawn up close to his chest. His arms were wrapped around them.
“Hi,” I greeted softly. I got a sad little smile in reply. I locked the door, put his gifts on his desk and moved to the bed. “How are you?”
His eyes shifted to his computer. The gloomy expression on his f
ace nearly broke me. I crawled onto the bed and sat on my knees beside him.
“SSSStephen t-t-took it aw-w-w-way.”
I put my hand on his bicep, but his eyes never left the computer.
“Hhhhhhhe sssssaid I c-c-could only w-watch it ffffive t-t-times a d-day.”
While I thought that it was a good rule, I couldn’t help but feel for him.
“Hhhhe g-g-gave it to mmmm-mme. I-it’s m-m-mine and hhhhhe w-w-w-w-w …” he finally gave up, but I knew what he was trying to get out.
Before I could say anything, Elliott changed the topic. His stutter was pretty bad today. “I-I-I’m ssssorry ab-b-bout the other n-nnnight.”
“Me, too,” I said, not wanting to relive it. Well, I could stand to relive the sexy stuff, but the guilt and confusion that followed I could do without.
I took a look around his room, noticing all of the things that weren’t there before: a fairly old-looking violin, a new guitar, and a few books, but I focused on a certain small-stringed instrument.
“What’s that?”
“A g-g-g-gift ffffrom D-D-David. It’s a u-ukulele.” He slowly got up and retrieved it, then rejoined me. He held it and started strumming. It sounded good, like Hawaiian music or something. “I-it w-w-was sssssupposed t-to b-be a j-j-j-j-jjjjjjj … fffunny g-gift.”
I smiled. “But you already know how to play it because you’re a musical genius.”
He smiled back at me and I was happy that he seemed just a little bit better.
Then he stopped strumming and placed it on his bedside table. I moved into his now open arms and smiled against his chest. I loved how he smelled.
“You’re so awesome.”
That was when I saw a stack of presents on his couch. “What are those?”
“P-p-p-p …”
Even though he stumbled verbally, his smile was sweet and I knew if he could push the words out, he’d tell me all those gifts were for me.
“That’s way too much.” We hadn’t discussed it, but he shouldn’t have gotten me that much. I didn’t spend much money on the shit I got for him.
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