It's Our Secret

by W. Winters

  There’s only a dresser and my bed in this room. I don’t have much since we moved after Dad died. Most of my stuff I left behind. My gaze moves toward the closet, where I have two duffle bags.

  My uncle doesn’t want me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t leave. I can go somewhere. I have a little bit of cash saved up from working with Uncle Rob this past summer. I can buy a cheap car and live in it.

  I might be kicked out of school; I don’t know, and I don’t care. I can still get a job with Nick up the street, doing landscaping. He’d hire me. He knew my dad and I’ve met him a few times.

  I force myself off the bed quietly. The only question on my mind is whether or not I should even bother telling my mother goodbye. A sharp pain shoots from my jaw to the back of my skull, radiating there when I bend down to the bottom dresser drawer to pack up my jeans.

  I don’t think she’d give a fuck either way. But maybe it’d be easier for her if I don’t tell her. Then she won’t have to pretend like she feels a certain way. She can just be happy with Rick and her new life.

  I’m not a piece of shit like he calls me. I’m not a waste of life.

  I close my eyes and refuse to cry. I’ll never cry because of what they think of me.

  They can both go fuck themselves.

  4

  Allison

  My heart pounds in my chest. It’s way too loud and I can’t hear anything else for a moment, but as the front door to Mike’s place opens wide, the music overwhelms me. With each beat, it thumps and stirs the anxiety in my stomach.

  I’m really doing it.

  “I’m here for Mike,” I say abruptly the second the guy opens his mouth. He’s tall, so tall I have to crane my neck. I don’t recognize him. He’s a skinny guy with long hair, and pimples line his jaw. His face is red too. It takes me a moment to realize the color in his cheeks is from drinking.

  “We brought booze,” Sam says, shoving the bottle of wine into the guy’s chest and then walks right in like she belongs here, brushing past his shoulder.

  The guy just laughs, a half-drunken sound, holding out the bottle and pointing to the back room with it. He smells like skunk and whiskey. It’s what Sam’s mom’s boyfriend smells like all the time.

  I follow Sam’s lead and avoid looking around the house too obviously. But I chance a peek here and there as I move inside and slip off my coat. Every time I look around, I see someone kissing or rubbing someone else. I would feel underdressed without the protection of my jacket, but given what the other girls here are wearing, I think I fit right in. Thank God.

  There’s a lot of laughter coming from the kitchen and I’m happy Sam’s steering me in that direction. Where there are people other than couples trying to dry hump in the dark corners of the living room.

  I’m still looking around and taking in the place when Sam shrieks, “Mike!”

  She yells over the music and makes a show of running over and hugging him. One heel kicks up in the air as she pulls Mike closer, wrapping her arm around his neck and then pointing at me. Her enthusiasm always makes me laugh. “Look what I brought you,” she says playfully while I stand there tucking a stray blond lock behind my ear. The nerves settle some though when Mike smiles, and Sam lets go of him.

  “Hey,” I say, and it doesn’t quite come out loud enough over the music, but that doesn’t stop Mike from coming closer and practically yelling in my face, “I’m so glad you came.”

  He leans in and all I smell is beer. Probably some cheap beer that he spilled on his shirt hours ago.

  “You want something to drink?” Mike asks me as he takes a half step forward, his sneaker landing on my foot. I try to play it off, but he sees me wince and backs away.

  “Oh shit,” he says with his forehead pinched. “You okay?” he asks and I wave him off. With my heart hammering, all the anxiousness comes right back.

  It hurt like hell but with all the nerves running through me, I don’t care. “I’m fine,” I tell him and again, I should have spoken louder.

  “Yo, Mike,” the guy who answered the door yells out across the countertop and beckons Mike over. It might be his older brother; I can see a similarity with their noses beyond them both being red.

  “Here,” Sam says loudly, stepping into the space between the two of us and I’m grateful for her as always. She pushes a red Solo cup into my chest and I take it with both of my hands like it’ll save me.

  “Be right back,” Mike says and I half think he slurred the last word, but the music’s so loud, I could be wrong.

  “We’ve got to catch up,” Sam says as she takes a sip and then scrunches her nose and makes a god-awful face. “This tastes like piss,” she says.

  “Isn’t it supposed to?” I ask her genuinely, but she laughs like it’s a joke.

  “Okay, so, let’s do a round, scope the place out and find a spot to get comfy.” She lays out the plan and I nod my head, eager to do whatever she thinks is best. We decided tonight would be chill. If we’re feeling it, good. If not … we’ll figure something out.

  “What about Mike?” I ask her, and she gives me this look. It’s a look that says I’m being stupid.

  “Girl, he wants you. He’ll find you, you don’t have to worry about a thing.” She talks as she takes my hand and leads me away from the crowded kitchen, back through the dark living room with the grinding couples having makeout sessions. We pass a set of speakers sitting on the floor and it’s no wonder the bass is pounding through me. They’re gigantic.

  We don’t stop, though. Sam leads me straight through another room that’s mostly empty apart from a couple of guys smoking, then down the stairs to the basement. I follow her gratefully. Sam knows what she’s doing. Or at least she looks like she does.

  The door’s cracked open and the lights are on. The music fades and in its place, a horde of loud and drunk voices ricochet up the skinny staircase.

  “Maybe I should tell Mike we’re down here?” I ask Sam as we sit on an empty sofa in the back corner of the large basement. The room itself isn’t finished. It’s just cinder blocks. But there’s a pool table and a dartboard, plus a bar with a ton of liquor bottles lining it. Right across from the sofa is a ping-pong table with cups arranged on it.

  “Babe, quit stressing,” Sam tells me, draining her cup and getting up to pull her dress down. She’s confident as she walks to the table and puts her cup in line with the rest. “He’s going to come looking for you. Make him chase you,” she says and I nod my head, although the doubt is still there. I can still barely breathe.

  “I’ve never given you bad advice, have I?” she asks me and I know she hasn’t, but she’s not exactly the person I’m looking to take relationship advice from. Sam says she doesn’t want a boyfriend. She just wants to kiss and that’s it. But I think she’s in denial. I think she lies to herself because of the shit her mom’s gone through. Everyone wants to be loved. Whether they admit it to themselves or not.

  That being said, she gets to kiss any boy she wants. So maybe she is right. Maybe I should make him chase me.

  It only takes a couple of minutes of whispering about which nearby guy Sam likes most, before the door to the basement opens.

  I’d be jealous of the attention she’s getting if I didn’t have my sights set on Mike. I smile into my cup as he comes down the stairs, spotting me on the couch and grinning.

  “This is my cousin,” Mike says while the guy behind him taps his shoulder and yells out, “We need more beer, I’ll be right back.” I don’t pay him any attention as I scoot to my right, squishing Sam and making a spot on the sofa for Mike to my left.

  He takes it and leans in close, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and making me blush. “So, what do you guys want to do?” he asks. His voice is still loud as hell like he hasn’t realized it’s quieter down here.

  Sam laughs and shrugs. “You want to play spin the bottle?” she says like it’s a joke but I know damn well she’s being serious.

  “You want to?” Mike ask
s and looks around as if there’d be a bottle magically waiting on the coffee table. Guess we dropped the ball there.

  “Why the hell not?” is Sam’s answer.

  “We brought a bottle to play with.” I have to roll my eyes before sheepishly adding, “You know, or to drink or whatever.” I hide my embarrassment by taking another sip.

  “Where is it?”

  “I gave it to the guy who opened the door,” Sam cuts in with her hands up in an apology. “My bad,” she says with a giant grin on her face. “I freaked and just handed it over.” She laughs into her cup again and chugs it, emptying it and biting the rim.

  “Solo cups don’t work quite as well,” I joke but I’m not sure Mike heard.

  “So, you want to do stuff?” Mike asks and I glance at Sam, who humorlessly raises her brow.

  “Getting right to it, aren’t you?” she asks him flippantly, and I smack her.

  “Like what kind of stuff?” I say. I know what he means. And yes, I do. I’ve watched porn before. A few times with Sam, although it got a little weird, so we quickly turned that shit off. It’s how she knows I like things a little different, though. “I could do stuff,” I say casually as my body heats.

  “Drinks!” Mike’s cousin interrupts us, stomping down the stairs holding two red Solo cups and spilling beer all over the floor as he makes his way over. Sam jumps back, laughing and raising her arms in surprise and Mike’s cousin shoves one of the cups into her open hand.

  “Drinks,” Mike bellows and clinks the plastic cups which only results in more beer being spilled and our conversation getting lost.

  “Drinks,” Sam mocks them, widening her eyes and imitating their excitement, but she’s smiling the entire time and both the guys laugh, clinking their plastic cups with hers.

  I take another sip and much to my dismay, it still tastes like piss.

  Hours pass, I think. My sense of time is fuzzy.

  Everything tilts when I lean against Mike. It’s quieter too. Only for a moment and then it’s all louder. Is this what being drunk is like?

  “I just need to lie down for a sec,” Sam says, gripping my arm and before I can say anything, she’s already headed up the stairs.

  “You want me to come with you?” I call up after her but the music is so loud that she doesn’t hear me. The bass blasts through the house and makes my chest feel tight then hollow with each beat as I follow her.

  “Need help?” I think I hear Mike say but when I look back, he’s talking to one of the guys who’s now playing beer pong.

  I feel dizzy and it’s all so much. “Water,” I say softly and force myself to go back to the kitchen. Sam needs water. Hell, I need water too.

  The smell of beer and pot hits me the second I round the corner.

  Holy shit. I want to throw up.

  Sam keeps moving, climbing the stairs to the second floor with both of her hands over her ears. “I’m coming, Sam,” I mumble as I run to the kitchen faucet and fill two cups. One for me and one for her.

  Exhaustion and a thick cloudy haze greet me as I turn the corner to go up the stairs. It takes me a moment; while I stand there, a few guys pass by me and go upstairs. Mike’s cousin is one of them. The other two wait in line for the bathroom.

  I watch as Mike’s cousin goes into a bedroom. The door was open, but he closes it behind him.

  “Hey, you going up there?” A guy’s voice startles me just as I start to call out Sam’s name and I swear my heart almost leaps out of my chest. My ass hits the railing as I whip around to him and spill both cups.

  “Me?” I say, fear clearly evident.

  “You okay?” he asks me again with a broad smile like this is funny.

  But it isn’t. The cups fall from my hands like I’m watching in slow motion.

  “Whoa,” the guy says. Some part of me dimly notices he’s tall as he catches me when I tip forward. I know that I’m falling. I’m aware of it, but then it all goes black. I can hear him for a moment, asking if I’m all right and calling for help.

  I guess that makes it okay, so I give in to sleep. Help is coming.

  In one day

  In one day, a life can change. Or more than one.

  Sometimes it’s a single moment that alters everything in existence.

  Sometimes it’s the chain reaction of falling dominoes, lined up in pretty little rows and designed so that each one will cause more and more pain as it topples.

  In a single day, everything changed, and there’s no way to go back.

  5

  Allison

  Six years later

  From the moment I laid eyes on Dean, I knew he’d be trouble.

  I didn’t anticipate this, though.

  I didn’t expect to let it get this far.

  I didn’t want him to be a casualty of my obsession.

  Someone to my right clears their throat and I look down the row of people. A woman looks back at me; she’s older with graying hair, wearing a thick sweater with a cowl neck that’s practically swallowing the frail woman. She holds my gaze, narrowing her eyes and pressing her lips together into a flat line.

  I know what she’s thinking. What they’re all thinking, and it makes me want to throw up.

  She asked for it.

  They have no idea.

  No one does.

  Not even Dean, as he awaits his fate.

  They can judge me because I deserve it.

  If I could go back, I would.

  I close my eyes and try to hold back the tears, the pain. Every moment that led us here is another flaw in my armor. Picking away at my defenses as the events flash before my eyes.

  When I open them, through the veil of tears scattered on my lashes, I see Dean looking back at me.

  I’m so fucking selfish, and that’s what pushed me over the edge.

  I knew Dean would be trouble. A crimp in my plans perhaps, but I didn’t think I’d fall in love.

  I justified using him. I craved his touch so much that I pulled him into my web.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouth and Dean’s expression slips.

  They’re right when they say I asked for it.

  I didn’t just ask for it, though.

  No, no.

  I fucking prayed for it.

  Two months earlier

  Fourteen boxes.

  Packing and unpacking fourteen boxes takes a toll on the body. My shoulders are sore; my core feels like it’s on fire.

  But I’m here.

  I actually went through with it and applied to this school, got in, rented a house and now I’m here.

  I hear them first as I round the building that houses all the equipment for the fields. The bleachers come into sight first, followed by the men I came to see.

  My hips sway a little more than before, my lips tilting up into a half smile even though my heart races. I’m so much different from the girl I was back then. Unrecognizable.

  I glance at each one, taking them in as sweat glistens on their backs and chests. Most of the rugby players only have on a pair of gym shorts, ranging from blue to black to red. Their laughter drifts across the field as they huddle around the small area where all their gear is laid out.

  Some of the guys play on the field of perfectly trimmed grass. Seven of them, to be exact. The field is nestled between two old brick buildings that can house hundreds of students, if not more.

  Is this what college life feels like? The smell of a late summer breeze paired with jittery nerves clamber up my throat. Well, maybe the second part is just because it’s me and I’m here, scoping out the intramural rugby team for the university.

  Most of these guys don’t take it seriously. Which is why there’s no one here, no scouts or fans. A couple students sit in the grass off to the right of the bleachers, but they aren’t paying attention. This rugby team isn’t for show. It’s just a reason to get out some aggression; judging by each of the guys’ history, there’s a lot of aggression here.

  I knew they’d be here, practicing
and putting all their goods on display.

  A small hum slips from me into the late August heat as I spear my hand through my hair and let the wind push it out of my face and off my shoulders.

  It doesn’t take long for one of them to notice me walking a little closer than I should.

  The field backs up to woods behind the buildings and the only reason I’d be walking out here on this side of the field is for them. And now they know it.

  The guy closest to me tilts up his chin as he asks, “What’s going on?”

  The rest of them quiet down when I walk up to the bleachers and take a seat, letting my bag fall into the grass as I rest against the metal. I’m in jeans, so I spread my legs just a bit as I lean forward, my body language suggestive. Yeah, nothing like the girl I used to be.

  “I just came to see the game,” I say sweetly and let my eyes drift from the tall blond with broad shoulders, to the darker brunette with a full sleeve tattoo down his left arm.

  “No game today, sweetheart,” a man at the far end of the group tells me, but I don’t turn to look that way.

  “There’s always a game,” I say. “I’m Allison,” I add, flirtation evident in my voice.

  “Well, hello,” the closest guy—the dark blond, or dirty blond as I like to call it—says and strides closer to me, taking a seat to my left but far enough away that I’m still comfortable. “I’m Daniel,” he tells me.

  “I know,” I say and then bite down on my lower lip. “Daniel, the one with the Irish temper,” I add, quoting his bio from the website for the frat that sponsors the team. I look at the remaining six men on the field. Daniel isn’t a student, just a guy listed as “occasional manager” on the website. I imagine it’s an inside joke. It took hours to look them all up and Daniel definitely caught my eye. I’m not into blonds normally, but I certainly noticed him.