Little Battles (12 page)

I nodded, hating that the softness between us had given way to this calculating coldness.

She gripped her bag tightly and didn’t speak at all as I stole as many glances as I could the entire drive to her house. She didn’t look angry anymore, but more like a worried child.

“S-S-SSSophie,” I tried as I pulled up to her house.

I reached out for her hand and it actually hurt when she yanked it away before I could actually touch it.

“I have to go.”

She wouldn’t look at me as she popped open the door and swung her feet out.

It took me a few moments to get the words out, as they all seemed to get stuck in my throat. “C-c-can I p-p-p-p,” I stopped and breathed, “pick you up ag-g-gain t-t-t-tomorrow?”

With a sigh, she nodded before getting out, slamming the door closed, and running up the stairs to her house.

Sophie let me pick her up for school the next day, and the days following, but she wouldn’t let me drive her home, and she flat-out refused to spend any extra time with me. Jason drove her home.

She hadn’t e-mailed, even after I e-mailed her on Tuesday.

It was on Thursday evening when I finally downloaded the instant messenger system that went along with the e-mail program. It said that she was online, although I had no clue if she really was or not. Maybe her computer was just on.

Into the small white box, I typed, “I’m sorry,” and pressed send, waiting, preparing myself for no response.

YoSoph: Why are you sorry?

EDalton123: For upsetting you.

YoSoph: You didn’t upset me. We’re cool.

EDalton123: It doesn’t seem like it.

It was a full minute before she replied.

YoSoph: You take shit too personally. We’re fine.

I didn’t know what to type. She said we were fine, but would tomorrow be any better than the past few days?

EDalton123: I can pick you up tomorrow?

YoSoph: Sure.

The next morning when I picked her up, she smiled at me when I handed her coffee. I felt a little childish, then actual joy that she was happy about the coffee, but those feelings faded into worry because she was incredibly high again.

Apart from saying hello, the ride to school was silent. I couldn’t think of anything to say much beyond asking her not to get high ever again, and she wouldn’t like that, so I kept quiet.

Sophie was in her own head. Her leg bounced slowly as she rested her head back against the seat. Her expression was blank, except for a small smile. The vacant look in her usually deep, thinking blue eyes seemed so sad.

How could I be the only one who could tell she was so high, so often?

“Bye, Elliott,” she said as she pushed open the door and clumsily collected her things.

“W-w-will you sssssit w-with me at lunch?” I knew what I was asking of her: to forgo leaving Study Hall early and not spend her entire lunch period outside smoking pot.

Sophie stopped all her movements, facing away from me.

“I hang out with Jason at lunch.”

The way she said it was strained, letting me know that she would rather go get high than spend time with me publicly. Fear that I was not, nor would I ever be enough for Sophie, wounded me.

Sophie would choose getting high over me every time.

Just like my mom.

I hadn’t realized how worked up I had gotten until I felt her hand in my hair. My eyes had been pressed shut and I expelled a stunted breath when I opened them. Despite her wildly high eyes, she looked at me softly, more so than anyone ever had. The hand in my hair was sending calming chemicals straight through me and I wondered, not for the first time, if she even felt it.

“SSSSoph-phie,” I began, wanting to say so many things to her, but she wouldn’t let me.

“We’ll hang out tonight, okay?”

I wished that I could’ve kept my mouth shut, but instead, I found myself whining to her. “B-but you’re g-going to g-get hhhhigh w-w-w-w-with JJJJJJ…” No matter how hard I tried, I could not get his name out.

“Quit trying to change me, Elliott.” She withdrew her hand from my hair. “I’ll see you in the greenhouse.”

I sat in the car for a moment and watched her walk away from me again, wondering if it would ever be less painful, and if I would ever be enough for her.

Obviously, Chris Anderson was upset that I was spending time with Sophie and that she’d ridden to school with me every day this week, because he was practically waiting for me as I got out of my car.

In addition to being punched in the same spot, he had a new comment every day this week about one of Sophie’s body parts and what he wanted to do to it. It was disgusting.

Today when his fist connected with my ribs again, I winced in pain, but when he said, “I’m going to fuck her until she’s raw and begging for more,” I’d had enough.

“Sh-shhhhhhut up.”

He laughed, like I knew he would. “Aw, that’s cute, D-D-Dalton, but you know that she’s really only hanging around with you out of pity, man. She’ll definitely…”

“Ssshe hhhhates y-you.”

Chris yawned exaggeratedly halfway through my stunted speech, a wide smile on his face. “She doesn’t have to like me, D-D-Dalton. She’s the kind of girl who’ll fuck anyone.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well,” he said with a low chuckle, eyeing me as if I were a speck of dirt on his expensive white sneakers, “maybe not anyone. She probably won’t let
you
touch her, will she?”

While it was true that she wouldn’t let me touch her face, she had practically dry-humped me on Monday. I bet that would have shut Anderson up, but as soon as I had the thought, I felt horrible. I didn’t want to use her as some kind of pawn in a game of one-upmanship with him.

“You really fucking like her, don’t you?”

I wished now that I hadn’t said anything at all. If possible, his expression was even
more
amused. “She’s going to look so fucking hot with her lips wrapped around my dick.”

I really wanted to hurt him.

The warning bell rang and I was grateful for the physical pain that accompanied his parting blow to my already-damaged ribs. It at least meant he was leaving.

Then he leaned in close, menace in his eyes for me alone to see. “Your big brother’s fucking gone next year and I will fuck your shit up every day.”

Later, my mood sank when Sophie followed Jason out of the library again. Chris caught me watching them and I hated that he saw how much it affected me. He made an obscene gesture.

She wasn’t in Horticulture.

I practically had to drag myself back to the library to re-stock books for Mrs. Peters, but I wasn’t there long. I was putting away a book about the Bolshevik Revolution when I found Sophie sitting on the ground, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the book stack.

My heart ached and my chest tightened. While she looked still, her body was continually moving, rocking, shaking, trembling. She sniffed loudly and then shook her head as she picked at the old carpeting.

“SSS-Sophie?”

Her eyes were open and suddenly too wide, too blue. A smile spread across her face. “It’s Elliott. Give it back, Elliott,” she murmured.

I set the book on the shelf and then squatted down next to her. “G-g-give w-what back?”

She took my hand and closed her eyes again. “The air.” Her other hand pressed against her chest, clutching at her shirt as she squeezed my hand tighter. “I can’t breathe,” she said.

The way she continually squeezed and released my hand frightened me. There was a desperate need to it and I began to really worry that she might not just be really high, but have entirely too much in her system. Without thinking about it, I scooped her up and stood, bringing her very close to me.

She smelled so good.

The library was empty and when I told Mrs. Peters that I was taking her to the nurse, Sophie sighed against my shoulder, but once we were out of the library, she mumbled something about a good cover and I shook my head as I propelled us forward.

“I-I-I’m r-really t-t-taking you to ssssee the n-nurse.”

Sophie stilled in my arms for just the briefest of moments before she began pushing and pulling against me. “Nope.” She shook her head exaggeratedly. “Not the nurse,” she said. Her breath was hot against my face as she struggled away from me. “They’ll see and she’ll know.”

She had managed to get her feet on the floor, but I kept her pressed up against me.

“Don’t tell my mom,” she begged, her voice nothing more than a child’s.

I wanted to tell her that I would never say anything to her mother, but also that her mother wasn’t even in the state, so she was safe.

“I w-w-won’t.”

She pulled at her hair as she pressed her face against my chest.

I managed to lead her outside, forgoing the nurse’s office because she was right and I didn’t want her to get in trouble. I didn’t want her to be taken away from me like that.

She was still moving constantly, her hands wringing together as she nibbled on her lip and bounced on her feet. “I need to smoke,” she said, refusing to move any farther. “I need to come down a little.”

“W-w-what are you on?”

She shook her head and I knew that she wasn’t going to tell me, so I watched her smoke pot through a straight pipe that looked like a cigarette as we knelt down behind my car for cover.

“W-w-why w-w-would someone w-want to do that? T-to fffeel like that? W-why would she choose those things o-over mmme?” I asked these questions to Robin in the context of my mother. I had no desire to get Sophie in trouble.

Although I thought I’d fooled her, Robin knew. “Did Sophie get high today?”

I had nothing to say. It felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

“You know that I can’t really say anything about her situation, right? But let’s say there’s a hypothetical girl who isn’t really subtle with her drug use. People can see it. They know it’s there, but the bigger picture involves getting to the root cause. There are some really deep issues with this girl, Elliott. Putting her straight into a rehab program would do nothing. People have to want to give up their addictions, otherwise it’s all wasted. Everything an addict goes through is deeply personal, and unless they arrive at the decision to change on their own, it’ll never stick. This fictional girl needs to come to an understanding that she’s not really dealing or coping with anything by her current methods.”

I tried to regulate my breathing, but I didn’t know if I could stave off the impending panic.

“B-b-but w-why w-would she choose th-that o-over ssssomeone w-who w-wanted to hhhhelp hhher?”

“Because she’s hurt and you make her feel that. Ripping layer after layer of bandages off an open wound hurts more before it feels better.” I wasn’t looking at her, but I felt Robin studying me. “She’s been shut down in survival mode for years. It’s not easy for a person to flip a switch and change just because they want to or because
others
want her to. We all have different reactions to different situations.

“Our fictional girl shut down. She found things that dulled the pain and the emotions until they were manageable. She learned how not to deal.

“And don’t forget, no one saved the girl when she was twelve years old, like when you were removed from your home. No one saved her when she was seventeen, either. She had to resort to getting caught doing something illegal.” Robin paused and looked at me hard. “Do you understand? No one saved her.
No one
. The only person the girl’s been able to trust is herself.
You
have Jane.”