Because I'm Disposable (11 page)

The second he was completely out of the bathroom, I lunged for the door, slamming it in his face. My fingers were clumsy, and it took me three tries to twist the lock. I slumped to the floor with my back pressed against the vanity.

The door shook with heavy thumps from the other side. “You weren’t really going to blow chunks. Were you?” Jason had figured me out.

Chapter Nineteen

Twenty minutes locked in the bathroom
hadn’t helped me work up the courage to face Jason and the rest of the partiers. The fact that Jason kept returning to bang on the door every so often didn’t help any. If there’d been a window in there, I probably would have climbed out by now. But I was stuck; the room was spinning, and I just wanted to go home. I'd never pictured home as my safe place before.

I dug my phone out of my pocket. Maybe I could call someone to come pick me up. I checked the time at the top of the screen. One in the morning. Scrolling through my contacts proved fruitless. It was mostly family and my old teammates. I couldn’t call a single one of them without it getting back to my mother. There was Link, but it was way past his curfew.

“Hey, you coming outta there any time soon? Come on, girl. If this party’s too crowded for you, we can have a private party in my room.” Jason rapped on the door again.

That settled it. I opened a text to Link:

You up?

I got an answer almost immediately.

Yeah, what’s up?

Now, what was I supposed to say? How did I ask him to leave his house after curfew to come pick me up from a party I’d gone to of my own free will, then changed my mind about?

Locked in bathroom at a party. Guy won’t take no for an answer.

Link’s next message came quicker than the first.

Where are you? I’m coming to get you.

I didn’t bother to ask how he was getting out of his house in the middle of the night without his parents finding out. I gave him directions to Jason’s house and waited.

* * * * *

There was a commotion coming from somewhere else in the house. Banging, then a door slamming. Someone was yelling. I got to my feet, hopeful that it was Link. Voices came closer, two of them, and both were guys. One was definitely Link; the other might have been Garrett.

“I didn’t know, dude,” Maybe-Garrett said.

“Well, you should have.” Link told him. Then there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. “Callie, it’s me, Link. Can you let me in, please?”

I unlocked the door as quickly as my alcohol-numbed fingers would allow. Link slipped in and relocked the door behind him. I rocketed into his arms, which he wrapped around me. Being held by Link was a completely different experience than Jason’s embrace—warm and comforting, safe.

With his hands on my shoulders, he held me away from him and looked me over from head to toe. “Are you okay? Who was it? Did he hurt you?” All of his questions flowed together in one worried breath.

“I’m fine. Just a little drunk.” And a little shaken up. “Jason didn’t—”

“It was Jason?” Link interrupted. He released me to ball his fists at his sides. “Jason tried to force you?” Link looked like he was ready to hit something. Or someone.

“He didn’t hurt me. He just got a little …” My voice trailed off as Link’s gaze landed on my chest. His eyes bugged. I spun around to check myself out in the mirror. There, below my collarbone, was the world’s ugliest hickey. It was red and purple and spotted with blue. How had I not felt that happening? “Carried away.”

Link gasped, then whispered, “Oh, Cal.” His fingertips feathered over my left shoulder blade.

“What—what’s wrong?”

He used gentle hands to turn me slightly, then motioned for me to look at my shoulder. Five fingerprint-sized bruises glared back at me. That I’d felt.

“Let’s go.” Link’s voice was little more than a growl as he grabbed my hand, boyfriend-style, and led me out of the bathroom.

We were almost to the front door when Jason stepped in front of us. “Yo, you’re leaving with him?” His words were thick and clunky. He must have continued drinking after I’d locked myself in the bathroom. I didn’t answer him. Instead, I kept a tight hold on Link’s hand and moved a little bit behind him. Squeezing his fingers in my own, I silently pleaded with him not to confront Jason.

“Get out of the way, Jason.” Link’s voice was deadly quiet.

Jason scoffed, threw his arms up in disbelief and looked to the stoners as if expecting them to support him.

“I won’t think twice about taking you down, and there isn’t a single person here who will defend you.” Link sounded ready for a fight.

Looking around, Jason must have real
ized the truth of Link’s words. Most of the partiers were looking on with interest, like we were putting on this show for their entertainment. But none of them looked even remotely interested in being a part of it. Jason threw up his hands, imitating surrender, and stepped to the side so we could pass.

When we got to the door, Link opened it and ushered me through.
I swiped my coat off the rack and jerked my arms through the sleeves. Before Link stepped out, Jason called after us, “Trust me, you don’t want her, bro. She’s a tease.”

Link froze, and his lips curled in anger. I tightened my grip on his hand. “Don’t, Link. Please.” I just wanted to get out of there, away from Jason. Away from this night.

He was obviously fighting the desire to go back inside and pound Jason, but after a long, silent moment, Link’s shoulders slumped, and he started walking again.

Like a perfect gentleman, he walked me to his truck and opened the door for me. Once I’d settled on the bench seat, he shut the door and jogged around to climb in on the driver’s side.

But as soon as we were on the road, he turned south, away from our side of town.

“Where are we going?” I was worried I already knew the answer.

Link didn’t look at me. “The police station. You need to report what he did to you.”

“No! Link, we can’t.” My voice sounded panicked even to my own ears. “I’ve been drinking, and I probably smell like weed. Lord knows I have
alcohol in my system, if they decide to test me. No one’s going to believe me.” The fight left me in a rush, and I whispered, “No one’s going to believe I didn’t ask for it.”

“Callie, you didn’t ask for it. Your bruises prove that.”

“Link, please.” I resorted to begging. He sighed and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Finally, he pulled a sharp U-turn and headed for home. I slumped against the seat and tried my best to curl into myself.

We were a few minutes from our subdivision before I worked up the nerve to break the silence. “Are you going to get in trouble for coming to get me?” My voice sounded like that mousey girl back at Jason’s place.

“Nah, it worked out okay. My parents are outta town, and Lisa is staying over till they get back. I told her what was going on, and she was cool with it.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead of us.

I hadn’t seen Link’s sister Lisa in at least three years, not since she’d left for college. What would she think of me now? Needing a ride home from a party in the middle of the night didn’t exactly make me look good.

When we got there, Link steered the truck into his driveway and cut off the engine. “I’ll walk you home,” he told me, then climbed out of the truck and came around to open my door.

“Thanks.” I anxiously dug my keys out of my pocket as I crossed the street and trudged up my driveway. Link followed a few feet behind the entire way. I reached the door and slipped the key into the lock, but didn’t turn it. Instead, I faced Lin
k. I didn’t want to be alone—didn’t want Link to go home; he was the safest person I knew.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, reaching a hand up to trace my cheekbone.

I ignored his question. We both knew the answer. “Will you come in?” I motioned toward the door, and he looked at it, considered it as though he was trying to see through it, to picture what was on the other side.

"My mom's at work, and Corrine is staying at a friend's house. I really don't want to be alone," I prompted.

“Yeah, I can stay for a little bit,” he finally answered.

I unlocked the door and went in, heading straight for the stairs. The door clicked shut, and Link slid the deadbolt home. Then, soft footsteps echoed on the carpet behind me. I made for my room,
not bothering with the light when I got there. There was enough moonlight streaming in that I could make out the shapes of the furniture. I collapsed onto my bed and rolled away from the edge, backing myself against the wall.

Link entered a few heartbeats later and knelt by the edge of the bed. “I should go.”

“Don’t leave me.” I gripped the front of Link’s shirt when he stood and moved to pull away. He hovered over me for one, two, three heartbeats. What would I do if he left? I was in no state to be alone.

Chapter Twenty

With a sigh, Link
settled next to me,
stretching his body along the length of the bed. I curled into him, twining my leg around his and resting my head on his chest. He was warm and safe, like a fluffy comforter on a cold winter morning. I wanted to surround myself with him.

I used the hand that wasn’t trapped between our bodies to trace lazy circles on his stomach, through his t-shirt. He sucked in a breath, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge my touch.

Maybe it was the alcohol that inspired me to put the moves on Link. He was in my bed, and I was all liquored up—I would never be any braver than I was at that moment. Or maybe I wanted to erase the horrible imprint Jason’s advances had left on my body and my mind. Regardless of the reason, I tilted my head up to look at him. My vision was limited in the darkness, but his breath was fanning in a steady rhythm over my lips and chin. Shifting slowly, I closed the distance between our mouths and pressed my lips against his.

He didn’t move for so long I started to wonder if I should pull away, but as I was about to break the contact, his lips parted. Soft fingers tickled across my cheek to delve into my hair. Link’s tongue stole across my lips and circled mine. The kiss was tentative, like we were just getting to know each other. In a way, we were.

I moved my fingers in a slow revolution toward the hem of his shirt. What must have been a thousand years later, I felt bare skin under my fingertips. It puckered into gooseflesh. I ran my hand up his stomach, to his chest. The skin there was smooth and soft, and his muscles tightened almost imperceptibly. His lips hardened against mine, becoming more insistent. His body was firm against me, his hip a soft pressure against my lower stomach. We were so close, but it wasn’t close enough. I wanted more contact—I wanted him. I shifted, sliding my leg and hips until I was laid out on top of him. My hand was still pressed against his chest tight enough to feel his heartbeat race into an excited cadence.

Then, his hands were on my waist, so soft I almost didn’t realize he was touching me. A tickly, nervous feeling started in the pit of my stomach and spread through the rest of my body, invigorating me. I pulled back to nip at his lips. He breathed a gasp against my mouth, but I didn’t dare peek at him. My eyes, my entire being, needed to stay focused on what I was doing, or I would lose my nerve for sure.

I was lightheaded as I stretched down to nibble on Link’s earlobe. Whether it was a residual effect of all those vodka shots, or it was from the heady rush of rubbing my highly-sensitized body against him, I couldn’t tell. When Link raised his head to feather tiny kisses across my jaw toward my neck, then back again, I couldn’t help rolling my hips. That’s when I felt it—him. I rolled my hips again, and he sucked in a shuddery breath in response.

“Callie.” It was a groan, a question, a command all rolled into one little word. His voice was thick and gravelly.

“Hmm?” I answered as I tried to move again.

His hold on my waist tightened. “Callie, stop.” This time, when he said my name, it was a plea.

I sat back and looked down at him, trying to focus on his features in the darkness. He relaxed his hold on me.

“Do you not … you know … want to?” I was suddenly very self-conscious.

“Oh fu—of course I want to. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“What makes it … wrong, exactly?” I whispered the words, scared of the answer.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t want to be with me—I was sure of it. He must be trying to let me down easy. Easy—like I was being right then.

I slid off him and flipped onto my back. “Please leave.”

“Callista …” His voice trailed off.

“Just go, Link. I want to be alone.” Alone, just like I always would be. My father had been right. I was impossible to love.

Link didn’t say anything else, but after a few moments, the bed shifted as he got up. I watched his silhouette cross the room. Then, my bedroom door opened, bathing the room in light from the hallway. He slipped through and wordlessly shut the door behind him, leaving me in darkness once more.

My eyes watered, and tears threatened to spill over. I was never going to be able to face Link again. I reached for the pillow next to me and held it over my head. I shuddered on a silent sob, took a deep breath, then froze. Hi
s scent was on my pillowcase—clean and fresh, like soap and evergreen. I took a long, deep sniff and chucked the pillow across the room.

One tear escaped and rolled down the side of my face and over the top of my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut; another tear slipped out the corner of my other eye. I needed to pull myself together. When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t at risk of a complete breakdown anymore. Instead, I stared blankly at the ceiling, rolling the events of the last half hour around and around in my head until I couldn’t stand it anymore. Until I couldn’t breathe anymore.

I rolled out of the bed and lumbered across the room to Corrine’s empty bed. I didn’t have any interest in standing anymore, so I dropped to my knees as I reached for my purse and fished out a Newport. I lit the cigarette, sucked in a thick lungful of mentholated defeat, but didn’t immediately let the flame go out on my BIC. It held my attention; I was entranced by the subtle flicker.

I didn’t notice the burn from the heated metal at first, but then, it was overwhelming, singeing my thumb like I’d stuck it directly into that beautiful flame. In a flash, I dropped the lighter onto the floor. The flame snuffed out the minute I let go, and I plunged my thumb into my mouth to alleviate some of the sting. When the pain in my thumb ebbed, I sucked down a long, heavy drag from my cigarette and claimed my lighter from the carpet. Rather than relight it, I crawled up toward the head of Corrine’s bed, to the nightstand where she kept her favorite apple-scented votive set. I lit all three candles and sat back to watch the wick burn, already calmer than I was five minutes before.

Several moments, or maybe a hundred years passed before I moved again. And it was only to reach out for one of those votives, to bring it to me. I held the flame so close to my face it heated the tip of my nose. The apple scent was almost overpowering and combined with the sensation of heat, it left me with the disconcerting feeling that I’d stuck my face into a fresh-baked apple pie. I held the candle a few inches further away.

The flame was brilliant, dancing in the darkness like a seductress, begging me to come closer. To touch. I waved one hand through it, then rubbed my fingertips together. It hadn’t burned the slightest bit.
I didn’t try it again though—once was enough. Instead, I set the candle on the floor and let the gyrating flame hypnotize me.

But it wasn’t a serene feeling. So many emotions, so much negativity was rolling through me that my heart was shutting down. I was becoming numb, a shell of a person. I knew exactly how to make the pain go away, knew how to make myself forget, to make myself feel real. I stretched out across the floor, too unmotivated to get up and a
t least crawl to my side of the room. I was barely able to reach my mattress and slide my fingers underneath until they settled on my razorblade. I pulled my hand out and opened my fist, palm up. There it was, bright in the reflected candlelight, the tiny piece of metal I was coming to equate with peace.

Tonight, just like the night I’d tried to kill myself, my world was coming down around me, or maybe it had been rubble all this time. Here I was, two months later, still alone, still rejected. Still worthless. I grasped the blade between my forefinger and still-tender thumb, reveling in the cold against my burned skin.

As I dragged the sharp side against my arm, I rested my head back against Corrine’s mattress and closed my eyes. That first sting was pure pleasure. The sensation was shallow and pinchy and oh so real. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the blade sliced through the layers of skin on my arm.

After a few seconds, I pulled back and surveyed the damage. Thick, dark blood welled up and rippled away from the cut, leaving a trail in its wake. It was warm on my skin, the pleasure of it existing in sharp antithesis to the bite of the wound. Last time I’d cut, I’d wiped the blood away with each new mark, but this time, I left it to bleed.

I lined the razorblade up for cut number two to intersect my first. The metal hitched on the jagged skin as the two slits intersected, and my breath hitched at the resulting prickle of pain. I released the entire contents of my lungs in a long, heavy sigh and watched the blood mingle to form a wide, sanguine flow down my arm.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs just as I was pressing the tip into my skin to go for number three. Corrine must have decided to come home from Sarah’s instead of staying the night. I couldn’t let her find me like t
his. She wouldn’t understand—no one would understand that the only way to numb the pain inside was to cut myself open. I leapt up from the floor, ready to race across the room and lock the door, but it opened before I’d even taken a step.

“Hey, Cal, I can’t leave you alone like this. I’m going to
…” Link trailed off as his eyes swept over me and settled on my arm. The razorblade slipped from my fingers, and in the silence, it landed on the carpet with a whisper that might as well have been a gunshot.

I crumbled to the floor, my soul shattering even before I hit the ground. He stood inside my door, one hand still holding the knob, his mouth half open. Suddenly, I was seeing myself from Link’s
perspective. I wasn’t strong—wasn’t a badass. I wasn’t coping. I was cracked glass, transparent, etched in misery; I was a scared, damaged girl who didn’t know what to do with herself. My vision blurred with tears, and I curled into the fetal position. My blood was probably smearing onto the beige carpet, but I didn’t care. My body shook with sobs, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out.

I was still as silent, as powerless as when my father was alive. But now, I was the one causing my pain.

I wasn’t sure when Link sat down next to me, or when he lifted gentle fingers to trail along my spine. At some point, I ran out of tears. He never said a word. Eventually, I dragged myself into his lap and collapsed, spent. There was nothing left of the Callie I used to be. I’d bled my emotions dry.