Little Battles (19 page)

I wondered what Robin knew about the situation. If she had intervened and stopped Sophie from doing all of the drugs, this wouldn’t have happened. I knew that Robin wanted to get to the root of it all, but you couldn’t just let someone flounder and drown in a sea of intoxication. Did she know the extent of Sophie’s drug use? Perhaps she thought Sophie just smoked marijuana. I wanted to say something, to tell her that it was so much more than that, but if I did, it would be a betrayal of Sophie’s trust and I wanted nothing to do with hurting her like that.

Without looking up from her paper, Robin said, “It’ll be addressed, Elliott. Please stop looking at me like I’m Hitler.”

Jane kept Sophie busy for most of the day and Robin left for a while, returning with clothes for her. She would stay the night with Jane. Sophie and Robin were in Stephen’s study for nearly two hours before I was able to be with her. I took the time away to do homework and play a little guitar, and more importantly, move the medication from our bathroom and into the kitchen’s vitamin drawer.

When she was back with me, I played guitar for her as she tried not to fall asleep on my couch until she finally got up to go to Jane’s room.

It was a little past midnight when I heard a small tapping on my door. I tensed momentarily before I pulled on a t-shirt and opened the door, instantly smiling when I saw her. Then I realized she looked agitated again, and so very, very tired.

“Jane doesn’t lock her door,” she said quietly.

I blinked and then moved to the side, allowing her access. She came in, nervously tugging on one of her earlobes. She was wearing incredibly baggy sweatpants with a few well-worn holes, and a black hoodie, zipped halfway up. Underneath was the Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt I’d seen before.

As I was about to close my door, she stepped close and blocked me. Very slowly, as if she were barely moving, she leaned into me and pressed her face against my chest. If I hadn’t felt the chemical exchange that passed between our bodies, I would have thought it was a dream.

Sophie’s shoulders came up as if she were shrugging, before she rolled them back and exhaled. I breathed her in, oddly soothed by the fact that she and I were breathing the same air. I put my hands to her arms, starting on her soft, rounded shoulders and slowly sliding them down her arms, over her elbows, and coming to rest at her wrists. I would have grabbed her hands, but that would mean bending over and I didn’t want to risk the action pushing her away from me.

I breathed her in several times more before she let out a ragged breath and moved away. As she pulled out of my loose hold, her hands slid over my palms, the knuckles sending shivers through my body. Before her touch was completely lost to me, she hooked her left pinkie finger with the index finger of my right, and gave it a gentle tug.

I closed my door, making sure that it was locked as securely as it could be, and then turned back to Sophie. She was facing away from me.

“I don’t want to keep you from sleeping, you know, with school and shit tomorrow, but…is it okay if I sleep in here?”

Apart from my normal stutter, there was no hesitation. “Y-y-yes.”

“In your bed?”

“Y-y-yes.”

Her voice shook when she said, “Will you sleep with me?”

My breath caught and I swallowed, my mouth suddenly going dry at the thought of lying in my bed with her. I pressed my lips together as the crease in my brow deepened.

She looked at me and tugged on my finger.

I nodded, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get out the three-letter word of acceptance, and watched as she crawled onto my bed, sitting up next to the pillows and drawing her legs up to her chest. She pushed just her toes underneath the covers and chewed on the inside of her cheek as I hesitated. I couldn’t move, no matter how hard I mentally kicked myself. It was possibly a full minute before Sophie asked, “Do you sleep standing up?” I shook my head. I was being absurd. “I didn’t think so.” She looked away. “I’ll sleep on the couch if you want.”

“N-n-no,” I said, finally forcing my body to comply. I sat down on the bed and then swung my legs up. I was under the covers quickly, just observing as she chewed on her cheek. She made no move to lie down. “D-d-do you sssleep ssssitting up?”

Sophie turned to me, finally releasing her cheek as she smiled. “No.”

I shook my head. “I d-didn’t think sssso.”

She slid down next to me on her side, not touching me, her head pillowed on her bent arm. “You’re funny, you know?”

Again, I shook my head.

“No, you are. You’re really witty. It’s too bad more people don’t know that about you.”

All I could do was shake my head because it was definitely better more people didn’t know that about me. I wasn’t typically witty. It was an anomaly when I was with her.

“I c-c-can’t believe you’re ssstill up.”

“Yeah, well, I can be amazingly stubborn when I want to be, and I learned a long time ago that humans don’t need as much sleep as we think we do. The brain can take little thirty second naps to do what it needs to, and technically you’re sleeping and yet still awake.”

“W-why don’t you w-want to sleep?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to sleep. I just don’t need to.”

She wasn’t being truthful. “I don’t like sssleeping b-because of my dreams,” I offered.

Sophie closed her eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered, and then was silent.

I had thought that she’d fallen asleep, until I felt her press herself against me. It was hard not to react to the contact since she was like a zillion tiny beams of light that pierced and penetrated my flesh through the fabric of my shirt, and even through my skin. Her hands were in my hair and she rose up onto her elbow, bending her neck so that her face was achingly close to mine. Then she brushed her soft lips over my cheek as she threaded her fingers through my hair. The velvety flesh trailed down to my jaw and over to my lips and there was no way I could stop myself from kissing her back.

Even though I couldn’t get enough air and my heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode, I continued kissing her back because it felt so good. She smelled like Sophie again, and the scent calmed me, even if just a little bit. She moved one of her hands to my chest, her palm flat against my sternum, fingers spread. The heat of her touch soaked through my body, warming my heart.

The covers rustled and heat washed over me again, this time away from my heart and more toward my groin. She was lying on me, her face close, kissing me, and she never stopped running her hands through my hair.

As much as I wished that I was a normal teenage guy, I fought back the panic that bubbled up. Instead, I focused on my breathing, but the feel of her on top of me shut my brain down to the point where all I could feel was her.

After long moments without air, I put my hands on her hips. I had to stop them from moving like that, because it was becoming too much and I couldn’t let her see the full extent of my dysfunction.

“SSSSSS-SSSS-SSSSoph-ph-phie,” I panted as my arms tensed with the effort, “w-w-w-we sssshould sssstop.” She buried her face in my neck and swept her tongue out across my skin. “SSSSoph-phie, sssstop.”

I felt like I’d squeezed her hips a little too tightly, and she pulled back, out of breath and staring at me with wondering eyes. She had just told me that she thought her purpose was for men’s pleasure, so how could she be questioning why I didn’t want to prove her right? How could she think I ever wanted to make her feel like that? How, after everything that happened on Saturday night, could she want to do this?

Robin was right. Sophie folded everything up as neat and small as she could and shoved it in her metaphorical back pocket until she forgot it was there. But the fact remained that I knew Anderson had no right doing what he did. No matter how drunk or high she was, not only was it immoral, it was assault. Sophie hadn’t been in her right mind. He’d been talking all week about her in such a derogatory way, and I should’ve done something about it. I should have seen this coming. I should have gone to that party with her or tried harder to get her to stay with me.

Sophie bit her lip, pressing her hand into my chest as she lifted herself off of me. Kneeling, she ran her hands down her face, stopping momentarily to dig the heels into her eyes. Then she had them in her hair, her fingers curling and clenching in a way that should have been painful. Her jaw tightened and released, as her eyes flashed all around the room.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was fascinated and paralyzed. When she was finished pulling at her hair, she laced her hands together and tightened her grip.

“Sorry,” she said, her voice so soft it nearly wasn’t there.

She shifted and swiveled, moving away from me and off of the bed. I didn’t want her to go. I extended an arm, my finger catching one of hers. “D-d-don’t.”

She straightened for a second, and then curled in on herself.

Then she slipped away from my touch.

“I’m going to go sleep on your couch, if that’s cool. We have school tomorrow and I’m…” she paused to swallow and shake her head, “tired.”

I drove Sophie to school on Monday, while Jane and David took his Scout. She was quiet and so was I. While what happened last night desperately needed to be talked about, neither of us was willing to do that just yet.

As she went to get out of the car, I took her finger, wrapping mine around it. She stopped, but didn’t turn back to me. I wanted to tell her not to get high, but I had a suspicion that she already was. I wanted to tell her that it would be okay, but I had no real idea if that was true.

No words formed in my head, and so I released her finger and let her get out.

I walked into the school on my own and went to my locker to arrange the books as I always did. I hoped that Sophie was getting her books too, and not out in the woods with Jason.

I stiffened when I heard him. His laugh made me tense and when he called to me, I thought perhaps I would break myself with the pressure.

“Hey, D-D-Dalton!”

I should have just walked away. I wanted to, but instead I pivoted, and saw Chris across the hall with about four of his friends. He nodded to me, silently indicating he wanted me to come over. Like a fool I did, because I would rather have his fist buried in my stomach than hear his voice.

“Fucked your girl on Saturday. Did she tell you that?” He laughed as if what he said was actually humorous. His sycophantic friends laughed with him. “Funny thing, Dalton, she didn’t say your name once as I pounded into her.” Another laugh. My jaw clenched tighter as my chest seemed to grow smaller and my lungs closed, my heart feeling like it could rip the paper skin of my chest. It thumped harder and louder than it had in a while.

“And she was so fucking tight, D-D-Dalton, but you know what they say: the bigger the slut, the tighter the pussy.”

I didn’t want to listen to him. I didn’t want to hear his voice or the wicked cackle of his laugh as he stood before me with his friends, feeling like a big man for having sex with an unconscious girl. I couldn’t help but hate him. I tensed, but instead of fear causing me to grow anxious and panicked, the intensity of my hate for this one person boiled over.

My muscles coiled and my hands balled into fists.

Then pain in my hand registered within my brain and I realized that I’d hit him, my fist connecting with his jaw. I was sure that there was a lot of noise around me, but everything I heard narrowed down to Chris’s breaths and the blood thumping in my ears.

My instincts took over as my mind decided it would just sit back and watch this moment happen. I found myself straddling Chris’s chest as my fists kept flying down at his face. It was quite a surreal experience to watch my arms and hands inflict that sort of damage. There was a part of me that was intensely satisfied with the amount of blood seeping from him, and as bad as my hands hurt, I felt like I could’ve continued to beat his face until he had no more blood to spill.

The quiet that I’d been experiencing shattered as a cacophony of sound violently assaulted me. Arms and hands encircle me. I wanted to continue hitting Chris. I wanted to hit whoever was pulling me off of him for touching me.

“I told you to punch him in the face, Elliott, not kill him.”

I relaxed just a little when I recognized David’s voice.

“You’d better take him to the principal, and someone call an ambulance for Chris.” I looked down to see Ms. Flynn, the chemistry teacher, crouched beside Anderson as he cradled his bloody face in his hands. She’d always been so nice to me, her eyes so kind, but in this moment, her glare was hard and she looked at me like she looked at other students: without sympathy or pity. That was oddly satisfying.