Little Battles (6 page)

It took a great deal of concentration to drive home safely. After Sophie had left the car, I allowed myself to recognize that I was half-hard. It was uncomfortable.

I sat in the garage for fifteen minutes until it went away. Incredibly thankful that the evening hadn’t been a replay of the night after D.C., I entered the house and tried to avoid everyone. The Wallaces and Trent were still over, and I really didn’t want to socialize, but that was the usual.

In my room, I powered up my computer and looked for Sophie’s e-mail, feeling the need to make sure I returned it tonight.

There was a message from YoSoph, just like she said there would be. I didn’t fully understand why, but I felt like I was waiting for the carpet to be pulled out from under me. Surely, she couldn’t have actually kissed me, and there was no way she meant it - whatever “it” was. Somewhere inside, I was waiting for her to figure out that I wasn’t worth her time or energy.

Elliott,

Do you want to do something on Saturday?

I’m turning in my application after school on Thursday. I’ve never played video games before. Not really my thing, I think.

I’m not sure what your first question is really asking. When did I know that other people’s lives were different than mine? I don’t know. Probably pretty young, though. I went to this girl’s birthday party when I was in kindergarten and she lived with both her parents. They had a dog and flowers everywhere. Her mom and dad kept hugging her and telling her that they loved her and how it was her birthday, and that meant it was her day or whatever. That pretty much showed me what I had with Helen and Tom was insanely different from what other kids had with their parents.

I’ve never told anyone about the fork. Why would anyone care about it? The hospital seemed to believe that I slipped and fell, even though the bruise was on the opposite cheek. If the hospital, filled with doctors and nurses who are supposed to be trained to figure shit out didn’t care, why would anyone else?

I told you because you kept asking.

I didn’t come to live with my dad sooner because he never invited me. And even if he had, who the hell knows if Helen would have let me? She might have hated me, but she needed me. She can’t cook, doesn’t understand the concept of separating colors from whites, and refuses to clean up after a cat that she decided to adopt.

Am I happy? I’m as happy as I can be.

1. When you close your eyes and think about someplace that’s completely safe and comfortable, which place do you see?
   
2. What do you want most out of life?
   
3. Did your dad have OCD or something like that (in regards to the mud and the TV)? Jace’s dad has OCD and he’s pretty controlling when it comes to dirt and germs, and who can be in his house, and what they can touch.
   
4. If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?
   
5. Do you believe in luck?
   

Bonus: How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? And don’t think I’m joking. I really want to know and figured you might know that shit.

I’ll see you in school,

S.

I wasted no time in composing my reply.

Sophie,

I’m sorry about the applications. I must seem rather weak and pathetic to you. I don’t really know why I couldn’t do it. You’re right, I know I’m going to college, but the act of sending those applications in was just daunting.

Just to clarify, I would love to do something with you on Saturday. We never really decided on anything.

When I close my eyes and think of the place I feel most comfortable, I would have to say that it’s my room that I see. It has all of my things and that makes it comfortable, and no one comes in here unless I want them to, which makes it safe.

One song for the rest of my life? That’s impossible to answer. Probably something by Chopin. I never get tired listening to his works. His Nocturne #1, Op 9 is probably my favorite. I’ll play it for you sometime.

I don’t think I believe in luck. I’m not sure. If I did, then I’ve never possessed it. When good things happen I don’t think it’s luck, and when bad things happen, I would hate to think that something as vague as luck would cause it.

My father didn’t have OCD, as far as I know. He had some very firm religious beliefs that he imposed on everyone around him. He was obsessed with this notion of “clean living means a clean heart and a pure soul.” Television and video games weren’t clean. Actually, it extended to most forms of new technology. It wasn’t that he was afraid of it, or of the change it brought. It was more that he saw it as corrupted and corruptive.

So that explains the TV. As for the mud, I’ve thought about it and all I can come up with is that mud and dirt were the literal/physical manifestation of his internal thoughts. Jesus walked in dirt, so I don’t understand why my father hated it so much.

So now for what I want out of life…I feel like I need to think about this for a while. I suppose I just want to find some lasting form of happiness. I always feel good when I’m playing music, but I can’t play all the time and while I tend to have it on my mind quite a lot, the feeling isn’t the same. So I would like a happiness that could saturate and seep into me.

As for the bonus, I don’t know anything about woodchucks, but I could Google it for you.

Some questions for you:

1. Who is your favorite Harry Potter character (assuming you’ve read the books)?
   
2. If you had a supernatural ability, which one would it be?
   
3. What’s the last book you read, outside of the ones required by school?
   
4. What do you want out of life?
   
5. Do you like your dad?
   

Bonus: What do you want to do on Saturday?

I’ll see you on Friday.

Elliott.

My mind wandered as I played around on the keyboard, my fingers flowing across the keys almost of their own accord. Was it too late to hope for an e-mail from Sophie? Should I hope for it, and how exactly did I feel about how she’d made me send those college applications that had been sitting around for over a month?

She was right. I did feel better about it now, but the anxiety wasn’t gone. In no time, someone would be reading those applications and deciding whether or not I was good enough to go to the school they represented. If no one wanted me, I didn’t know what I’d do. I had no backup plan. On the other hand, if every school accepted me, I would have to choose which one I wanted to go to for at least four years. That was a huge decision I felt like I was ill-equipped to make right now.

The fact that I’d most likely go to a school other than Stanford meant that I would be alone. Without anyone. Without Jane. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle any of that.

It was technically Friday when I finally moved away from my keyboard and slid over to check my e-mail. I took in a deep breath and recognized the excited feeling I experienced when I saw that she had, in fact, replied.

Elliott,

Stop apologizing, especially about things that are outside of your control. I don’t know what to do on Saturday. What do you normally do?

I’ve read Harry Potter. Favorite character? I would say Ron. Yeah, or Sirius. Ron because he’s pretty damn average as a wizard, but still gives everything he has to stand up to defend what he believes in, and Sirius because the dude survived prison and torment to try and right a wrong.

I’d probably want invisibility as my supernatural power.

The last book I read without it being for school was The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Super interesting, but you probably wouldn’t like it.

Tom’s okay. He leaves me alone for the most part. I wish he didn’t have this idea that he has the right to be a father now. My favorite time of the year has always been the summer, simply because I got to come here and be away from Helen, even though we never did much but go hiking or rock climbing. Or, rather, he went and I shoved Jason off of the rocks into mud. Or we watched TV. Some summer vacation, but it was always better than the alternative.

All I want out of life is for the assholes of the world to leave me alone. I don’t really need a lot of things, and despite what everyone thinks about that car, I’ve never stolen anything simply because I’ve wanted it.

Honestly? All I really want is a little quiet. I like the quiet.

My question for you (yes, only one):

1. Why did your mom do it?
   

I’ll see you tomorrow. One day closer to the weekend, thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster! Let’s figure out about Saturday tomorrow, okay?

S.

On Friday, even though I was delighted to see Sophie in the hall before first period, Chris Anderson slammed me into a row of lockers again, his fist connecting with the same damaged flesh he’d hit yesterday.

I gasped in pain.

“What do you think, D-D-Dalton?” he asked, nodding over toward where Sophie stood talking to Aiden Montgomery. “She’s looking particularly fuckable today.”

Sophie was wearing a small black t-shirt with a gray thermal under it, and what Jane would call black “skinny jeans.”

“Do you think she likes it rough, D-D-Dalton?” My thoughts went inappropriately to made-up images of Sophie in various positions, and I fought against it. I didn’t want Chris to be thinking of her like that, and I shouldn’t either.

“Aiden says she does. He said she got off hard when he slammed into her. He’s a big dude and he says that she took every inch while he smacked her ass.” Chris tightened his grip around the back of my neck. “I bet her mouth could do wicked things to my dick.”

I shook my head as I took in a deep breath. Chris slammed me against the locker again, and the back of my head was beginning to smart. “Keep fucking her in your dreams, dude, because I’m next in line to tap that shit.” He leaned in closer. “And you’re a bigger fucking loser than I thought if you think she’d really go for someone like you. Unlike Megan, I bet Sophie knows
exactly
what a good lay is, and D-D-Dalton, you aren’t it.”

He removed his hand from my neck, and gripped my hair. It was the complete opposite of Sophie’s light touch.

“Anderson!”

He quickly removed his hands and took a step back as he looked up at my adopted brother’s burning red face. “Hey David,” he said nervously. “Elliott and I were just discussing the Horticulture project while taking in the fine sight of Young’s tight ass.”

David took Chris, one hand on his forearm, the other on his shoulder, and shoved him down the hall.

“Elliott,” he sighed as I pulled away from the locker, “pop that guy in the mouth, will you? He’ll stop if you just hit him once.”

I sighed and shook my head, feeling the creeping terror at the thought of hitting Anderson.

“I-i-it’s o-okay, D-David.”

Both he and I knew that it
wasn’t
okay, but I’d taken all of the cruelty that Chris had to give ever since I’d moved here years ago, and I didn’t think I’d up and change that now. I didn’t want to fight.

So I walked quickly alongside David, ignoring the pain that shouted at me from my body, and keeping my thoughts focused on the one thing that brought me real happiness -
Sophie
.

I went to school on Friday with twenty bucks in my pocket with the sole intent of getting Aiden to sell me some of the morphine pills I’d seen in his middle drawer. I’d even called him and told him that I had the money. Morphine was so much better than Vicodin. I knew that taking one before school would leave me pretty mellow and numb until lunch, or maybe a little longer, if I was lucky.

The pot just wasn’t working to kill the voice in my head that told me to be quiet and not to wake my mother.

As soon as Jace parked in his usual spot, his hand moved from the gear shift to my leg. Then he removed his seatbelt as he leaned in close. I turned my head away and sighed.

“Fucking still?”

I shrugged and gave him a smile. I’d told him that I was on my period yesterday morning. It was a complete and utter lie since thanks to the “miracle shot,” I hadn’t had an actual period in years. But it was easier than explaining that since I’d kissed Elliott, I was having all these
feelings
that told me banging Jason would be wrong.

Even though I wasn’t Elliott’s girlfriend, I knew I’d feel guilty about that shit. Not to mention that since Ian, my head was filled with all sorts of devastating memories that just about crippled me.

It was my feelings for the beautiful, rusty-haired boy that were messed up.

I was horny as hell and there was someone currently sitting to my left who could give me satisfaction, but my stupid need to do right by someone who was not my boyfriend stopped me.

I didn’t know what the hell I was hoping to get out of any of it. There wasn’t anyone in the world worth all this. I knew where this was headed. I could see the flood of heartache and pain, and yet I couldn’t stop my stumbling feet from taking me down the Elliott path.

Aiden sold me the pills without drama, and I was thankful, but I wondered if he’d continue to tell everyone we’d had sex, when we didn’t. Not that I wasn’t used to being seen that way, but I’d prefer it to be over something I’d actually done. He was obviously a douche, but everyone around here had known him longer, so I wasn’t going to be able to change what they thought. I just hoped he’d keep his mouth shut and not continue to use non-existent sex as a cover-up for the drugs he sold me.

Once the pill was digested and the opium was coursing through me, I felt pretty damn decent. Morphine was like floating on a cloud while blanketed in bubble-wrap in the middle of a calm and peaceful sea.

The day sped by thanks to the floating and the sleeping I did during class. I was awake and fully functioning by the time Study Hall came around, so I’d downed another pill with my water and stealthily nibbled on my Pop-Tart. We weren’t supposed to eat or drink in the library and I wasn’t hungry, but my insulin was injected already. The sweet pastry was already planned for and counted toward my carbs. I drifted outside and smoked out with Jason. Then, a soft smile plastered on my face, I glided on into the Horticulture greenhouse with just moments to spare before the bell rang.

I meant to say hello to Elliott but it came out sounding more like a lustful, “Mmmmm, Elliott.” And lustful over him I was. I spent most of the hour ignoring the fact that there was a lecture occurring, and instead of listening to Mr. Reese, blatantly stared at the boy next to me who caused such deep and conflicting emotions.

He was perfect and sexy, and he had no clue that if he’d just fake a little confidence, he’d have most of these bitches hanging off his junk. Not that I wanted any of them on his junk. In fact, I probably would have fought a bitch over his junk.

Elliott remained blissfully unaware.

I didn’t think he had any idea that his sexy-but-not-too-pouty lips were making me clamp my legs together. He was clueless as to what those gorgeous hazel eyes and extremely long eyelashes could do if given the chance. If he had only a little more confidence, he’d make every fucking girl in this school melt into a puddle of goo by just looking at them.

Morphine made me want to have sex.

His hands were absolutely exquisite, with beautiful long, strong, elegant fingers. They were marked though. Both hands had small divots and tiny, barely-noticeable scars littering them. His right hand was gripping his black ink pen tightly as the fingers on the other constantly curled and uncurled around the closed textbook on the desk.

Elliott’s chest was rising and falling more rapidly than most people’s, but it was a strong chest. He had broad shoulders and narrow hips, and his lap made me want to crawl up on it.

I could’ve totally done him. I would lick his neck and taste his skin while I straddled his lap. I’d do most of the work, but his hands would be on my hips, pulling me forward and pushing me back at erotically even intervals. I would grip his chest, using the hollows of his collarbone as handles as I rode him.

I’d also bet he was relatively well-endowed. Poetic justice like that was rampant in this world, and nothing would be more right and in-tune with what “should be” than Elliott wielding a massive instrument. It would fill me up and take away the ache that was ever-present. I would sink down on him and become whole, if only for the long minutes we were connected like that.

I would make him pant, make him grunt. I knew he wouldn’t be like some guys, who might as well have been girls the way they screamed their way through sex. I could see him biting his lip and casting his face up toward the ceiling, his eyes shut, while his quiet sounds told me how far along he was on the path to orgasm.

Damn, and those fingers that looked so fucking sexy strumming a guitar would dig into the flesh of my hips and my ass. Since he was quite a bit larger than I was, it would be nothing for him to lift me up while we were still connected and press me back into the wall.

My legs would automatically wrap around and lock at the ankles behind his back and he’d take over thrusting up into me while I held on, burying my face in his neck. He’d smell so good too, like grass and citrus, and I’d flick my tongue against him once more, just to taste the saltiness of his skin.

The wet, flat stroke of my tongue would own him and make him shiver as he pressed against me even more, his chest putting pressure on my breasts, his soft sprinkling of hair teasing and tempting me.

His delectable mouth would suck in my earlobe before trailing open, wet kisses along the line of my jaw. He’d kiss my chin, bringing it into his mouth briefly before sucking on my lips until they were swollen.

All the while, his hips would never stop thrusting between my thighs and I would grip…

“O-o-okay?”

I blinked and sucked in a ragged breath. “Hhhmm?”

What the hell? As I came out of the intense fantasy and found myself still sitting in my seat while other kids were leaving the room, I wondered about my daydream. The sex I could understand, but the chin-kissing? Trailing kisses along my jaw line?

What. The. Hell. What was my problem?

“I-I asked if you w-were o-okay.”

I looked up at Elliott and he was breathing hard, as if we truly had been doing it in the middle of class. I wondered what sounds he would make, and if he’d be able to say anything coherent for long minutes afterward.

“I’m good.” My voice sounded tired and lazy. I started gathering all of my things.

I dropped my pencil, which Elliott picked up, and by the time it was securely in my bag, about ten pieces of paper floated to the floor. I watched lazily as he picked them up, stacking them straight before putting them in my bag for me.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later,” I said, knowing that the Screw-Up Club was holding its weekly compulsory meeting.

He curled his hand around my wrist as I tried to go and I froze for a moment before I came to my senses and pulled my arm away. “What?”

He didn’t disguise the hurt on his face very well, but I didn’t like that shit from anyone, so I wasn’t going to feel bad.

“W-w-wwwhat are you on?”

I blinked at him, but he waited, staring into my eyes. I played it as cool as I could while drowning in a sea of hazel. “Nothing.”

“S-S-SSSophie,” was all he said, but it made me shiver.

“I’m fine, and I’m not…on anything.”

“M-maybe n-no one else p-pays attention, b-but I do.” The crease on his brow deepened. “W-what are you on?”

I didn’t want to tell him. Morphine was a derivative of opium, the same as heroin. He would know that shit and he would make a direct connection with his junkie-mother and I didn’t want that, for him or for me. I smiled slowly. “Nothing, Elliott, I’m just…” I looked around. “I have to get to the gym, but I’ll see you at your house in a few hours.”

“S-SSSophie, you are—”

I cut him off as I began walking away. “I’m fine, Elliott.”

The morphine numb carried me through to the rest of the school day and clung to me during my twenty-minute wait to see Wallace, but after the first few minutes of talking to her about random things like school and photography, I recognized the signs of coming down.

And I hated it.

It was way too easy for that voice to ring out inside my head.

Shhhh!

I drew my legs up onto the chair and wrapped my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees.

Quiet, Sophie.

“Sophie, I think it’s time we talk about some actual issues, would that be okay?”

Pulling myself out of my mental downslide, I shrugged. “It’s your show. You can try.” I felt kind of sick.

“It’s been very interesting to see you interact with your father.” I narrowed my eyes, but that was my only reaction. “Why won’t you let him get close to you? You seem to keep him at a distance and get annoyed when he tries to involve himself in your life.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You should have seen the irritation and anger on your face last Friday when he and Stephen spoke about your diabetes. Doesn’t it make you feel at least a little happy that someone is concerned about you?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t need to be close to me.”

“Is it all men you stay away from in general or just authoritarian men?” I stayed silent, suddenly entirely too sober for this shit. “Let’s go back to a question I’ve asked you before.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew exactly what Wallace wanted to discuss. “About sex, right?” Wallace nodded and I sighed, ready to give her the juicy details she so obviously wanted. “What do you want to know? I prefer doggie-style and I find it sexy when guys lick my neck.”

Her reaction was muted as her eyes continued to bear down on me. “Do you think you prefer that position so that you don’t have to see the person you’re having sex with?”

“No.” She might’ve had a point, but there was no way in hell that I was validating that shit for her. I wanted to shock her. “Is that why you let Doctor Dalton fuck you from behind? So you don’t have to be faced with the fact that you’re boning your daughter’s future father-in-law?”

Although she took in a sharp breath, Wallace’s face was impassive. “How many men have you slept with, Sophie?”

“Men or boys?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm like hers. I wondered if it made a difference to her how many people over the age of eighteen had done me, and whether or not it mattered if they’d known I was underage, because most of them couldn’t have cared less. “And do you actually mean ‘sleep,’ because we don’t.”

“No,” she said seriously. “No, sleeping next to someone without sexual contact would be a challenge for you. It would be a deeply intimate act.”