The Girl I Was Before (15 page)

“Uh…yeah, I guess,” he says.

“I don’t need rescuing,” I fire back, pulling my purse over my body. My shoulder hurts, and I’m tired of carrying it. I want to go home.

“No rescues. Got it,” he says, taking a deep breath. We start to walk back in the direction of his place, and I rewind what just happened in my head. I may have overreacted a little.

“Sorry,” I say, under my breath. “I’m a little…
stressed, maybe
?
”

I’m not stressed. I’m angry, and I’m sad, and I’m confused. I’m a lot of things, but none of them are really very happy. I glance to where Houston is walking next to me, his thumbs in his pockets. He’s wearing the same jeans he wore last night.

“Don’t you own other pants?” I ask through a laugh.

He stretches his hands out, leaving his thumbs in his pockets, and I move my eyes up to his quickly, not wanting to stare at his hips, his zipper, his…crotch.

“My closet can’t compete with yours,” he says, his eyes narrowing on me.

My pace relaxes, and we continue to walk slowly through the main part of campus, the more steps we take, the more relaxed I become, and the more ridiculous I feel about snapping at him in the first place.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say finally, glancing up at him. His eyes are soft, and the way he looks down at me is different from the way the guys on the porch looked at me. Those guys liked what they saw, but Houston, he actually
sees
me.

“It’s okay. You’re…
stressed
,” he says, making quote marks with his fingers in the air around the word. I laugh at my own expense, but not in agreement. “You maybe want to tell me a little more about it?”

I think about his offer, and I actually consider it. Those two weeks that I spent talking to Houston on the phone—me in California, him in Oklahoma—were nice. They were more than nice, they were the first time I’ve actually talked to a guy and had him listen. There wasn’t some pretense about parties or getting laid. He asked me questions, and I answered. He listened. The more I consider his offer, the stronger this feeling is that’s washing over me—it’s a comfort level, and maybe something else.

When I part my lips to speak, I peer up, and his eyes are intent on me, his focus is there, and it feels nice. “I caught one of the Delta girls…” I start to say, but am interrupted by deep moaning sounds coming from behind us.

We both look over our shoulders. The frat guys who watched me walk by before are now following us. They’re several feet back, and when we look at them, they turn their focus to the side. Houston thinks nothing of it, turning around and looking back at me. “You caught someone doing what?” he asks. I barely hear him because I’m still looking over my shoulder. Now that Houston isn’t looking, they aren’t pretending any longer, their eyes on me again.

The one in the middle, the largest of the three, moans again, making the other two laugh. The heavier guy on the right covers his mouth, saying something that only makes them all laugh harder. I glare at them, and even though I can barely make out the shapes of their eyes, I can tell they’re glaring back, mocking me. I face our direction again, doing my best to shake them off.

“I’m sorry, where was I?” I say, knowing exactly where I was. The comfort from before is gone now, though.

“
Mmmmmmmmm
, oh yeah. Oh yeah, baby. Like that,” a voice says behind me. My body shivers, and my fingertips and toes feel numb, the blood retreating, leaving me feeling helpless—weak.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” I hear again. They’re making sex noises, and I know why. My entire body is flushed, my head is furious, and my heart is dead. They’ve seen it—they’ve seen
it
! Which means it’s out there, somewhere, where people are able to see it.

My mind is racing, my heart is thumping, and my back is sweating—even though it’s only fifty degrees outside. I need to solve this. Houston—he can’t know! I’m about to come up with an excuse, to lie to him and just tell him to ignore those guys…when he stops me, his hand hard on my arm as he turns me to face him. He doesn’t ask me a question, but only looks at me, his eyes penetrating mine, searching deep inside me for a truth to understand what this scenario is all about. My strength fades, if only for a second, and I lose my breath, my body shaking twice as I gasp. The sting in my eyes is instant, and I know they’re on the verge of crying, so I squeeze them shut, which only makes a tear fall down my cheek. Steadying myself, I take a deep breath, then reopen my eyes to look at Houston.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice once again strong, my bluff good. He holds his hand in place on my arm, his eyes still boring through me, his mouth in a firm line and his jaw flexing as he considers everything—what he saw, what he heard, what I said, and the way I look now.
I’m fine, Houston. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t need rescuing!

“Like hell you are,” he grits, and he leaves me, charging the few steps behind us toward the trio of guys who are suddenly speechless. Within seconds, Houston’s fist slams into the face of the one in the middle, and his friends take wide steps back, not wanting to be the next one getting Houston’s attention.

Houston doesn’t say anything as he pummels the guy, his knuckles ricocheting off the side of his head until he drops to his knees unable to hold his balance any longer. Houston reaches down to grab the collar of the guy’s shirt, lifting him back to a stand, and stares him down, his lips moving to say something. I can’t hear him, but I see the fear in the faces of the others. I know Houston must have said something threatening. With one thrust of his arm, he pushes him off balance again, then flexes his hand at the one now bleeding from punches and walks back to me.

“Let’s go,” he says, and I pick up my steps to keep up.

We walk in silence until we’re close to home. The blood on his knuckles is leaving a trail of drops on the sidewalk, and when he reaches into his pocket for his keys not thinking, he winces.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, reaching around with his other arm instead, protecting his hurt hand.

“Yeah, well that’s what you get,” I say, shaking my head, folding my arms and waiting for him to unlock the door for me, reminding me that I still need a key of my own.

Houston stops abruptly, leaning away from the door and letting the screen slam to a close. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“When you go all Neanderthal for no reason, then I’m not going to feel bad for you when you’re hurt,” I say, glancing at his eyes, then back down at the lock on the door. I jerk my head toward it, willing him to hurry up.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he says, staring at me and waiting for my response. I shrug my shoulders, lifting my brow once.

No, I’m not kidding Houston. I. Don’t. Need. Rescuing.

“Un-fucking believable,” he mutters, finally unlocking the door. If only he just did that in the first place. I step inside quickly, and I hear the door slam behind us. I don’t stop, instead continuing to the steps, hearing the sound of his keys being tossed on the table.

“Are you for real with this shit?” he asks as I reach the top step. I steady myself, my hand on the banister, and I turn to face him.

“If you could leave the lease paperwork on the table for me, along with a key, I’ll sign it in the morning and leave your rent check,” I say, before turning and walking into my room. With the door closed, I drop my purse to the ground and move to my hard-as-a-board bed, sitting down, then falling to my back. I close my eyes, bringing my palms to my face, and in the quiet of the house, I hear the sounds of moans taunting me from my imagination.

H
ouston

M
y knuckles are already showing
the bruise. I haven’t hit someone that hard in a long time. The fights I’d had with Carson, Paige’s ex
whatever he was
, weren’t as intense as what happened yesterday walking Paige home. When I heard that guy taunting her—making those sounds, being disrespectful—something entirely different came over me, and when I swung at his face, I swung hard.

It felt good. Though I felt a little…embarrassed, I guess? When Paige called me out on it, I didn’t see that coming. Not that I thought it through much before I turned and went all ape-fist. But I did sort of expect her to be grateful. At least a
thank you
. Certainly not the cold-ass shoulder I ended up with.

I thought about just leaving when we got home, going to the carnival—saying
fuck it
. But I didn’t want to leave her alone. Not that she came out of her room a single time. I finally gave up on waiting her out when Leah and my mom came home.

Paige must have left for class early this morning, because as promised, she left a check along with the signed lease agreement in the middle of the counter, a sticky note on the check that read I DON’T KNOW YOUR STUPID LAST NAME, SO FILL IT IN FOR ME. I’m glad I found this before my mom. I don’t think she’d quite appreciate Paige’s bite, not like I do.

God, why do I?

I wrote in our
stupid
last name, then added a note to the bottom of her sticky and left it on her bedroom door.

I went back and pulled it off her door a few minutes ago though, because I don’t want my mom seeing that, either. Maybe I don’t want Paige to read it. Writing it was enough. I felt better—for a minute. I tore it into small pieces and put it in the trash when I got back downstairs, deciding to be an adult and just tell her my last name instead of passing notes like grade school.

“Morning, sweetheart! Leah up and ready?” My mom startles me from my daydream at the kitchen table. Joyce
Orr
is a morning person. She’s really an every-time person—cheer and glee and…cheer
…
seeps from her pores, hitting people in all directions, no matter how much they
aren’t
morning people.

“Oh…uh, yeah. She’s getting dressed. Wanted to pick her own outfit this morning,” I say, eyebrows high. My mom reflects my expression—both of us wondering what she’ll come ambling down the stairs in.

Leah spends her day at the church daycare with my mom. I’m fortunate that we’re able to make this work. I’m lucky my mom is able to help. There are days where I’m not sure how I’ve survived without Beth.

Beth was excited about being a mom. It’s really the reason we ultimately decided to keep Leah. Beth—she wanted that little girl with all her heart. She only had her for a month, but it was long enough for my daughter to look just like her, to act like her. It’s almost like a soul left Beth’s body the day that car sliced through her and found a home in Leah’s heart, sharing space—mother and daughter welded together. It used to hurt looking at her, especially when she got older, a toddler with a personality and mannerisms. All I saw was Beth. But over the last year, I’ve realized how lucky I am to have this small piece of her with me every day. Now, I sneak her door open at night, casting a light across her face from the hallway, just so I can remember and find peace.

Leah’s footsteps literally tap along the wood at the top of the steps, and it piques both my mom and my interests; we move into her view, only to see Leah taking the steps one at a time, sitting, tucking her pink skirt around her legs to help her slide down each step more easily. She’s in pink—every pink thing she owns. And she’s wearing a pair of my mother’s pink high heels on her feet, rolled up socks stuffed in the back, poorly, to try to keep them on her feet.

She’s trying to look like Paige. I recognize it immediately. My mom arches a brow at me, almost like a warning. She has only spoken to Paige in passing, but I think she sees Leah’s fantasy being played out too. And I think it concerns her.

“Baby girl, I don’t think you’re quite ready for my shoes,” my mom says, meeting her halfway down the steps. Leah’s head falls, and I see the disappointment all over her face.

“But your outfit looks really nice,” I say, just wanting to see her smile again.

Leah bites her lip and holds on to the banister, trying to stand in my mom’s shoes to show me everything she has on. She twists from side to side, letting the pink material around her knees sway. “Do you think
she
would like it?” she asks, bottom lip fully sucked in her mouth.

She wants to
be
like Paige. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. But the moment I have that thought, I regret it, and I feel guilty for even thinking it—almost like Paige must hear my thoughts from wherever she is. I feel bad because I know it would hurt her feelings. And I feel bad because…I’m wrong. Why wouldn’t it be a good thing to be like Paige? The way Paige stood up to those kids, the way she’s trying to fix things with her sister—those things…they’re part of the kind of the person I want Leah to be.

“I think she’d love it. You can show her when she gets home from school tonight,” I say, Leah’s mouth returning to the smile she was wearing when she first tried to walk down the steps.

“What if we go with the sandals today, though—for safety?” my mom asks, holding her hand out for Leah’s foot. She takes each shoe off, rolling the socks in her hands. Leah nods a concession, and my mom walks her back upstairs to find her shoes, but she glances at me over her shoulder, that same concerned line of her lips.

When they come back downstairs, I pick Leah up, propping her at my side, and kissing her cheeks, marveling at her ability to remind me of others—it’s strange looking at her and seeing Beth
and
Paige.

After she and my mom leave, I pack my bag for class, and take off for my shift at the store. My classes are all late in the afternoon this semester. I’m only taking two, because one is an intense programming section, the other…Spanish. And even taking two is going to make my work schedule a challenge. There won’t be time to stop by the house often—no time to run into Paige.

When I get to the store, I help Chuck unload a few boxes in the back from the late-night deliveries, and he notices when I protect my hand.

“That from the other day?” he asks, remembering my run-in with Carson. Maybe not one of my finest moments, but damn, it felt good to put that guy in his place.

“No, this…was a different incident,” I say, turning, because I don’t want to look him in the eye. This would have been a good time to lie. But I’m so bad at lying, I couldn’t think of anything quickly enough.

“Is this becoming a pattern, Houston?” he asks from behind me as we walk through the storage racks. I don’t like the idea of Chuck thinking I’m a problem. I also don’t like him parenting me. He’s done it, on occasion—given me fatherly advice. I think he does it because he knows mine isn’t around to give it. But I don’t want to hear it from someone else. I’d rather go without.

“No, sir,” I say. “This time there was a girl who was being harassed. I’d hope
that
asshole’s pattern is broken, so no need for mine.” I let my eyes go to his for a second, just so he sees how serious I am. He nods, and pats me on the back once as he heads inside.

“Chivalry is always okay in my book,” he says.

I smile thinking of how he treats Sheila. I catch them sometimes, in those small moments. The way she’ll let her hand run along his arm, squeezing his hand. Or the way he spins her in his arms to the music humming throughout the store—just to dance with her for no reason at all. It’s a far cry from the way my grandpa used to call my grandmother “useless” and “dumb” in front of others, or the way he used to tell my mom she would have gotten married sooner, or could have had a better husband, if she weren’t so fat. My mom never talks about it—the emotional abuse—but I know it’s left scars on her. I knew it was wrong when I was a kid, I only wish I were brave enough when my grandparents were alive to tell my grandpa how wrong he was—about
everything.

“Dude, burrito me!” Casey yells as he walks in through the side door. Chuck yells at him for coming in through the employee entrance, and Casey grabs the badge from my shirt, pinning it to himself. “That better?” he teases. Chuck grumbles something and heads into his office. I smack my hand across my friend’s chest, knocking the wind from him a little.

“Why do you have to be like that to him?” I say, holding my hand out for my badge.

“He doesn’t like me. I don’t know why?” Casey says, handing it to me.

“Yeah, I wonder,” I mutter. I move to my usual duties, getting the deli ready, then spend a few minutes on my friend’s breakfast. I’m rolling the tortilla when he notices my hand.

“What happened to your knuckles, bro?” he asks. I roll my hand over, and wiggle my fingers, buying myself time. Still unable to come up with a good lie, I opt for nothing instead, and shrug as I finish his burrito.

When Casey takes it from me, he holds my gaze for a second, quirking a brow up in suspicion. “That’s bullshit,” he points at me, then takes a bite of his food. “And you’ll tell me eventually.”

Maybe I will. Or maybe there’s nothing to tell, because on my short drive here, I decided that finding any reason not to run into Paige at the house—not to be alone with her—was a good move. I’m thinking about her too much, and Leah’s only been with her for a day and she’s already attached. There’s no stopping that, but I need to remember the arrangement. Paige lives with us, and she and Leah can be friends. And while I’m attracted to her, doing anything about it would open a Pandora’s box.

“So, hey,” Casey says, walking around to the other side of the counter to stand next to me. I make a face at him, but he shrugs me off with a
whatever.
Chuck hates it when he does this too; I look over to his office. The door’s closed, so I indulge my friend, hoping he’ll hurry up with whatever he’s all excited to show me on his phone.

“The real reason I came this morning,” he says, and I laugh, folding up the paper from his burrito and tossing it in the trash. “Dude, yeah. The burrito was good. And that’s
usually
the reason. But Eli got this from a friend last night at some party and I
had
to show you. I’m…I’m not going to tell you, because I can’t wait to see your face when you realize.”

He starts playing some video, and the moaning sounds are loud. I slap his hand away and look back over to Chuck’s office, the door still closed. “Case, what the fuck?” I say, as he’s fumbling with his phone, pushing buttons on the side to mute it.

“Sorry, I had it up loud last time. Come on dude, I turned it down. Just watch. Trust me!” he says, holding the phone out again.

I stare at him for a few seconds before I realize this is a battle I’m not going to win, and the only way through this is to watch this damn video. I take the phone back from him and push the play icon. The quality isn’t great, and the picture is pretty grainy. I can tell it’s two people having sex on some crappy dorm-room bed, and it looks like the entire thing was filmed from a laptop, the view of some chick’s bare back and a dude’s hairy legs. I watch for about fifteen seconds, getting the drift, not really seeing what the big deal is—college porn happens at McConnell all the time. I think there are even a few guys in the broadcast school who use the equipment lab for a side business.

“Dude, I get it—a porn. Whatever,” I say, handing the phone back, but Casey pushes it to me again.

“Just. Watch,” he says, the bend in his lips painting a sinister smirk that hits me the wrong way. I look back at the screen a second later, and then holy fucking hell!

“Wait a minute! Is that…” I say, pulling the screen closer to my face, pausing it and taking the full frame in. It’s only from her side—
so far—
but there’s no disputing that’s Paige on the screen. Those are her eyes. Her lips. Her hair. Her breasts. There isn’t much left to discover.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, dragging the video forward and rewinding a few times, wanting to get an idea of the full extent of what this is—
what she’s done.

“Right? I knew that would get you! Pretty fuckin’ hot, right?” Casey says, leaning over to look with me. I shut the phone off and clutch it in my hands, feeling my chest constrict and my throat burn with anger.

“Where. Did. You. Get this?” I ask through gritted teeth. Casey’s brow pinches and he pauses before parting his lips to speak. He waits another breath, examining me.

“I told you, Eli got it from some dude at a party,” he says.

I shut my eyes, more pieces of Paige’s puzzle pulling together—the guys harassing her, the sounds they were making, her running away. What the hell did she do? I shove Casey’s phone in my pocket, and go back to my work, this time working a little faster, with a little more force to every movement. I can’t tell if I’m mad
for
Paige or
at
her.

“Dickhead, give me my phone,” he says, and I point my finger at him, my lips a hard line, trying to hold back saying things I’d regret.

“I’ll give it back to you later,” I say.

“What, wanna go home and watch it? I can just text it to you, ya know,” he says, and I point at him again, this time pushing my finger into his chest hard enough to make his breath falter.

“What I want is to find out exactly what the hell this is, if Paige knows about it, and if there are…I don’t know…
more
?” I stop working again, pulling my gloves from my hands and tossing them on the counter, flipping the lids of the various food cases closed and finally leaning back against the opposite counter as I push my fingers deep into my temples. “Fuck, man? What if Leah sees this shit? What the hell is this?”

The evil grin that was on Casey’s face a minute ago is now replaced with wide eyes and understanding. Yeah, Leah, asshole!

“Dude, how is she ever going to see this?” he says, laughing nervously and pointing to my pocket where his phone is still buried.