The Girl I Was Before (16 page)

“I don’t know, man. I…I don’t know,” I say, running my hand through my hair once. “But…if she does…shit! Case, she barely knows her and already she thinks Paige is her best friend. She dressed like her today—put on heels and everything.”

“I’m sorry man,” Casey says quietly. I think he regrets letting me know. I regret knowing. But a surprise would have been worse. This…this was a surprise. But at least finding out this way, I feel like maybe I can do some damage control? All I know is—I need to talk to Paige before I jump to any conclusions.

“Let me just have your phone for the afternoon. I don’t want to be sending this thing around places. Not until I know exactly what it is, okay?” I say. I feel the burn of the bruise on my hand as I ask, and I’m reminded of my brawl in her honor. I feel a little foolish about it now. And I also feel really fucking sad.

P
aige

I
t doesn’t
matter how many people have seen it. Now that I know it’s out there—
it’s really out there
—I’m expecting everyone to know. In my head, this low-grade video of me is a blockbuster. I walk back from my morning classes quickly, still hearing those guys from last night in my head.

Nobody is around. But I imagine them there anyway. The sounds in my head carry me all the way through the front door of Houston’s house—
my
house. It feels so temporary, not at all like home. Not that the Delta House ever felt like home, I suppose. The only place that ever really felt like home—other than my
real
home—was the tiny dorm space I shared with my sister and Rowe for a month.

I never should have left.

All I want is to run upstairs and hide, to search for myself more on the Internet, just like I did all night instead of sleeping. Maybe I’ll sleep. Maybe, if I shut my eyes here, in this house, I won’t hear them taunting me.

“We need to talk,” Houston says, stepping out of his room across the hall from me. He startles me, and my bag slips from my shoulder, dropping at my feet and spilling my books on the floor. I kneel down to pick them up, but Houston beats me, collecting my biology and algebra books in his hands then reaching for my bag. His hand covers mine, and I know I’m trembling and he can feel it.

“Just…just give them to me,” I say, not looking at him, jerking the bag away and reaching for my books. I glance up and his brow is pinched. I know he thinks I’m trembling because of him. But I’m not. I’m nervous lately because of everyone. And I fucking hate it.

“Look, this is awkward, and I was ready to confront you about this about an hour ago, but then I came home and have been waiting, and now I’m not really as mad as I was before, maybe just confused. Just…just tell me the truth. I need to know.” He’s rambling, but he lets just enough escape, his words giving me faint clues that point me in the right direction. My chest constricts, and breathing…it gets harder. “Is this…you?”

When he hands the phone to me, a video displayed on the screen, paused in a close-up of my face, I feel everything inside of me ignite and then die all at once. Even with the rumors, I still hadn’t seen it for myself. I could pretend it wasn’t real then, pretend that it was all just words being passed around, without any visual proof.

What Houston is handing me now, though—that begs to differ. What he’s handing me is real. It’s also a nightmare, a walking, digital nightmare, wrapped up and sent to me with the hope of taking me out of the equation.

I pull the phone into my palms, stepping back a few strides until my back hits the wall. I need that wall there, to support me. I hover my finger over the screen, bringing myself to tap once. I hear the sounds—like the evil echoes that have been replaying in my head since last night—and I stop it instantly. My eyes close.

“Paige?” Houston’s voice oozes disappointment. I won’t look at him.

“Houston,” I respond, my eyes flickering open, but remaining focused on my feet, as well as on the phone in my hands. My voice comes out even. I’m working hard to make it so. My heart is beating wildly, hurting me from the inside. I think I may be sick.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” he says, his indignation growing, stirring my emotions, making everything that hurts inside me right now feel messier.

“Get to do what? Be angry? Because…ha!” I laugh once, the sound coming out in a punctuated puff of air, louder than I anticipated, and I glance at Leah’s door. It’s open, as is Houston’s mom’s. We’re alone, which means I can be as loud as I want. Like hell am I going to be the one wrong here.

“Paige!” he says in a loud whisper, his hands flying to his forehead, pushing through his damned perfect hair, his eyes wide. “How could you do something like this?”

“You think…I’m…I’m sorry…you think I
purposely
did this?” I laugh again.

“I don’t know what to think. All I know is those guys the other night; that was about this, wasn’t it? And I…goddamnit Paige, I defended you against them. But they were…” his voice grows weak before he finishes that sentence, so I step in and finish it for him.

“They were what, Houston? They were…
right
? Is that what you meant to say?” I push off from the wall, my hands folded in front of me. I turn and kick my bag of books into my room, so I can close the door on him as soon as I want to and not have to come back out for anything.

“Well they weren’t exactly wrong, Paige,” he sighs, his hand rubbing at his neck. I want to punch him. The longer he looks at me, like that—like I did something wrong—the more blood pumps through my arms and fingers and neck and legs. Every limb, every muscle feels strong. Houston is twice my size, but with the energy I feel right now, I’m confidant I would kill him if I tried.

“Watch it,” I seethe, pointing a finger at him, my eyes narrowing. To think there were times when I actually let myself indulge in the thought of kissing him—of crossing the line with him, of making an exception and breaking my rules about dating boys who can only get me somewhere. “You don’t get to judge me,” I say, my voice picking up strength with every word, every sentence. “And that video…this video?” I hold the phone up. He reaches for it, but I shake my head
no
, pushing the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “Uh, no. I’m taking this copy, and you can have the phone back when I’ve erased it.”

“It’s not my phone,” he grumbles.

“Well then, you shouldn’t care how long I keep it,” I say, folding my arms again over my chest. I can feel the steady drumming against my skin, my heartbeat now in a cadence, a pissed-off, ready-to-slay-someone cadence. “This video is out there to hurt me. I didn’t make it. At least not knowingly. And the fact that you ever thought I would…means I was
way wrong
about the kind of guy I thought you were.”

“What, the kind of guy who wants to make sure he didn’t move a porn star in with his four-year-old daughter? That guy’s not good enough for you?” he laughs. His arms are outstretched, and now his arrogance is fueling me. I take one more step backward in the direction of my room—I’m a foot away from closing the door on him and locking him out. My mouth is watering, and my lips are tingling. This sensation, it’s not the kind you get when you want to be kissed. It’s the kind you get when you want to say something hurtful. The urge is familiar, and I’m not very good at controlling it.

We stare at one another, both of us breathing hard and even, like a bull and a fighter in the ring. Then Houston waves a blanket of red, and my instincts take over.

“How could you be so careless, Paige? So…so stupid?” he asks, his eyes smaller, his gaze locked with my own, his head shaking in disgrace.

“Says the single dad who knocked up his high-school girlfriend.”

My words fall out, all at once. They were purposeful. They were meant as an attack. They were meant as a defense. They were meant to destroy, to puncture his heart, and make it bleed—to wreck him where he’s most vulnerable. Houston’s eyes never leave mine, and the shift within them is subtle, yet intense all the same. The green color grows darker, and the hurt washes over everything else.

“Houston…” I start, my eyes falling closed, my heart no longer beating. The guilt stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

“Don’t, Paige. Don’t try to make that better. You can’t,” he says, holding a hand up as he walks away. I stand still, watching as his hand reaches his door. He never turns to face me, but he pauses, leaning his head against the wood. “Just slide the phone under my door whenever you’re done.”

I nod in response, even though he can’t see me. My voice, so strong seconds before, fails me now.

“Oh, and
Orr
,” he turns his knob, pushes the door open, and slowly steps inside, his body facing mine again. He looks up from the ground, and the disappointment I thought I saw on his face earlier is nothing compared to the look he’s wearing now. “My last name’s Orr. So is Leah’s.”

His door shuts, and I stand there frozen, looking at the ghost of where he was for a full minute before I’m able to retreat back to my own space, shutting my door as well. The tingling is gone, my control lost. But that rush I usually get from being strong, from standing up to someone—it never comes. The only thing I feel is sad.

It takes me an hour to find the courage to watch the video—yet another to let myself
really
watch it. By the evening hours, I’m finally capable of thought and reason, and I realize—the girl in this video, she isn’t always me.

The things I thought might be in there—they’re there. There’s the strip tease at the frat house, and a few close-ups of me in my bra. There’s also a heavy make-out scene with Carson, where my shirt gets stripped away. But then some things get really strange. My hair doesn’t look right, and there’s a noticeable mismatch where my head meets my neck. I can’t prove it for certain, but I think maybe this video has been edited. I don’t remember any of it—which I know doesn’t say much, and would never stand up in a court of law—but the more I watch, the more sure I am.

Hours after my fight with Houston, I step out into the hall. The room to his door is open now, and I know I heard him come and go at least once tonight. I heard Leah, too. She asked if I was home, and Houston said I was busy.

I slow as I reach the entrance to his room, and my body starts to flush when I see him lying on his side on his bed, headphones pressed into his ears. He’s tapping a pen on a pad of paper, and I notice his Spanish book to the side. I smirk at the memory, but lose it the second I remember why I’m here, and the awful thing I said to him.

I consider leaving unnoticed, but before I can, he looks up—his expression void of feeling, his green eyes cold. He used to look at me like I was beautiful, not every time, but many times. Right now I’m a stranger.

He pulls his headphones from his ears, but doesn’t speak.

“I’m done…with the phone,” I say, reaching around the corner of his wall and sliding it on his desk. He watches my movement then brings his eyes back to mine. “I…I watched it,” I say, feeling the rolling sensation in my stomach as I struggle for the courage to keep talking. “Houston…it isn’t me. The girl in that video…most of it…it’s fake.”

He stands as I stutter through my words, and with every step closer to me he comes, the stronger I begin to feel. Relief is such a powerful emotion. I begin explaining what I saw, how I think the video was made, and I’m about to ask him for help, when he reaches for the edge of his door and closes it—shutting me out—my feet curling the inch or so required to move out of his way.

I’ve been stunned so few times in my life: when my sister was diagnosed with MS, and when she was assaulted—and I’m stunned now. And I’m embarrassed. I think maybe also a little heartbroken. The tears come faster than I can stop them, falling harder as I wipe them away. I turn to retreat back to my room, wishing for this moment to be a dream, but it’s anything but.

“You okay?” a tiny voice whispers. I bite my bottom lip, knowing my eyes are red and watering. I try not to look at her head on, but Leah steps out from her room, toward me.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper, forcing a smile where it doesn’t belong. “Just a bad dream. I’m sorry, Leah. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was up,” she says. “I wanted to say goodnight.”

She slides close to me, her socks rolled around her ankles, the toes pulled out, flopping at the ends of her feet like a clown’s shoes. When her fingers reach my waist, she grabs onto me, and squeezes, pressing her cheek into my hip before turning to face it, kissing it. My eyes lose their strength, and another tear rolls down my cheek, coming to rest at the edge of my chin.

“Goodnight,” I say, my lip quivering. I tuck it in my teeth so I can hold it at bay.

“He’s good with bad dreams. I always go to him, too,” she says over her shoulder, smiling one more time before getting lost in the darkness of her room.

I turn quickly, shutting off my light and closing my door. I crawl under my covers without even changing, pulling the blankets up around my face, muffling my cry. Houston may be good with bad dreams, but I come bearing nightmares. I also come with regret. I don’t know whether I’m angry with him…or I miss him. I think maybe it’s both. Admitting that to myself hurts most of all.

H
ouston

I
have
to stop this thing with Paige. It was innocent flirting—safe. And then all of a sudden it wasn’t. There was a time, maybe even only a day ago, when it felt a lot like falling. And that scares me. Then there are other times, like last night, where I hate her. She found the center of my insecurities, and was willing to push them—open up wounds and actually speak the words I worry everyone thinks…the words sometimes I think and am ashamed of—
I had a kid instead of a life.

Maybe it’s her honesty I dislike. I’m honest. Or I try to be. But Paige—fuck, she’s honest. She calls out my insecurities. And I think she wants answers when she does.

That scares me too.

Maybe I don’t really hate her at all. Maybe it’s all just mixed together in this mess I started—I shouldn’t have ever started.

Would I have forgotten about her if she never moved in?

She was so angry, so…so…cruel when she spoke. I could have handled anything but the one place she went. I’ve endured a lot of judgment for being a young dad. When we found out and broke the news to Beth’s family, the names I was called for “ruining our young lives” were vile. And truthfully, Paige didn’t label me directly—she only held up a mirror, reflecting the words I said to her.

I think that’s what has my head all twisted the most. She was only repeating my words, and she didn’t even truly say them. Especially that one word—
stupid
. I called her stupid for an error in judgment.

What a hypocrite.

I felt bad the moment the last letter left my breath. I wanted to catch the sound, to grab it and swallow it so it never hit her ears.

But it was too late.

She heard it, and swung right back. In that tiny second in between, before she spoke, I felt like the man I never wanted to be. I was being like my grandfather. And I thought of how ashamed my own dad would have been. Before I could apologize though, before I could make it right, Paige attacked Leah’s very existence—and my anger and hurt washed any regret away, like the tide.

In an instant, I felt justified, and spent the day sure I would ask Paige to leave. Then she walked in my room and told me it wasn’t her in the video. She didn’t walk in to apologize—to take back what she said about Beth or Leah—she went right to herself, the only thing she worries about. My heart was going to explode in my chest from the rush of rage, and I bit my tongue, not wanting to add any more layers onto our tangled conversations.

I got up, and simply shut the door.

Justified.

All the way until this very moment, when—per usual with my life—a four-year-old puts things into perspective.

“Why was Paige crying?” she asks, mouth full of Cheerios, milk dripping down her chin. She’s talking to me at the breakfast table, and I’m pretending not to hear her or register her. I’m playing dumb. My mom slides out a chair and sits between us.

“Paige was crying?” my mom asks. Great—she’s engaging. We’re only moments away from someone blurting out that Paige was crying because I was an asshole. Doesn’t matter—sometimes being an asshole is warranted.

It was justified.

“Yeah, she was by daddy’s door. I heard her so I went to check on her in the hallway. She said it was a bad dream. But daddy will make it better; I told her he would.” My eyes close as Leah speaks. I catch enough of her face to see my daughter smiling at me proudly.
I’ll make it better.
No, baby girl—I’ll make it worse. I turn away enough so my mom can’t see my face, bringing my focus back down to the pad of notes next to my bowl of cereal. Like I’m really studying.

“Well that’s good…that he made it better,” my mom says. I hear the tone. I feel her stare, so I look up and smile and shrug. She doesn’t ask anything more, but I know she will—the second Leah goes up stairs to change. When she does, I brace myself for the look I know will show up on my mom’s face. She’ll glance at me, and everything will unravel. It’s why I could never get away with lies when I was a kid.

Joyce Orr is a magician.

The look comes, and I let my head fall forward. “I’m not sure what happened,” I say. It’s really the truth. I have a bunch of facts—Paige is in a sordid video floating around online. She says it isn’t her. I believe her. But I’m still mad at her anyway. It isn’t fair. I don’t care. I called her stupid. She told me Leah was a mistake. And now I want her to move out.

I also want her to stay.

And I want to fix things for her.

And I want her to say she’s sorry.

And I’m sorry.

I don’t say any of that, though. I just shrug and keep my head down, waiting for my mom to work her magic. Then there’s a knock at our front door.

“I got it,” I say, leaping from my chair. If it’s someone selling something, I think I’ll invite him inside. I’ll watch a demo, let him spill shit on our carpet and try to mop it up. Anything—whatever it takes to make the other crap in my head disappear.

When I swing the door open, I’m hit with recognition. It only takes a second or two for me to place it, and when I see the guy in a wheelchair behind the blonde—who looks like he could kick my ass—my hunch is confirmed.

“Oh…wow. I did NOT see this coming,” says the girl I
know
is Cass. We haven’t officially met. “You are the last person I thought was on the other side of this door.”

“I’m sorry…can I help you?” I ask, like I don’t know she’s looking for Paige. Did Paige tell her to come here?

“I know she’s not here right now. Mind if I come in and wait?” Cass asks, pushing right by me through the door. Leah’s eyes flash, and I can tell she’s nervous.

“It’s okay. This is Paige’s sister,” I say, wanting to allay her fears, maybe stave some of her innocent young questions. Leah smiles when I explain, and goes right back to finishing her cereal, looking up to make sure our guests are watching. The sun revolves around Paige in Leah’s mind.

“Come on in,” I say, waving the guy I am pretty sure is Cass’s boyfriend in so I can close the door. He has some trouble with the stoop, but with a rock of his wheels he clears it without my help. My mom scoots a chair out of the way and looks to me when our guests are turned around. I smile with tight lips because I have no clue what this visit is all about.

“Oh, are those Cheerios?” the guy asks, leaning low toward Leah. She smirks at him and starts to nod and giggle. She pushes the box closer to him, and he pours a handful to start munching along with her.

“She’s…living here,” Cass says, looking around our simple kitchen. I get the look on her face. Paige doesn’t
go
here. My god how she doesn’t
go
here.

“For a few days,” I say, my attention consumed with the guy who’s now in a Cheerio crunch-off with Leah. He glances up at me and pours the rest of the cereal in his mouth from his palm, dusting it off on his jeans before reaching for my hand.

“I’m Ty. Sorry to barge in. Cass followed her sister here yesterday, like a stalker,” Ty says, sending a wry smile in his girlfriend’s direction.

“Like I had a choice,” she says back, her tone defensive.

“Yeah, good point. Asking her would have been, like…
way
complicated,” he says, earning a scowl from her next. I like this guy.

“I’m sure you know this, or…maybe you don’t. Hard to say what you know, or what’s really going on, but…anyhow…Paige and I don’t talk much,” Cass says. I nod in agreement, for some reason not wanting Paige’s family drama to play out for my mom. She’ll ask later; she has a lot to ask me about later. But maybe by then I’ll come up with a way to protect Paige and her story. Of course, I also want her to move out. I still want that…right?

“So…you and Paige, like…” Ty whispers in a growly voice, leaning toward me. His eyebrows raise, and I glance from him to Leah then back again.

“No, dude. Not like that. We’re…friends,” I say, finding it hard to pick the right word, settling on friends. Cass glares at me when I speak, and I don’t know if it’s because I chose the wrong word, or because she doesn’t believe it.

“Mind if I wait here for her?” Cass asks. I take a deep breath, mentally debating, weighing the pros and cons, when the door swings open and Paige takes the decision out of my hands.

Her mouth is open, and I can tell by the look on her face that she’s gained strength since last night—she came home with the intention of standing up to me, but thankfully she took in the entire room before speaking. Now she’s simply rolling her eyes, closing the door, and walking over to hook her purse and backpack on the last open chair.

“What are you doing here?” she sighs to her sister.

“What am
I
doing here? Paige—you’re supposed to be in the Delta House!” Cass leans forward, speaking loudly. Leah is watching the entire thing like my grandmother used to watch soap operas. My mom notices and ushers her upstairs to get ready for the day.

“Yeah, well that plan fell through. Houston is giving me a place to crash, while I figure some things out,” Paige says, like it’s no big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but then there’s this video—which I’m pretty sure has something to do with some of the girls at the sorority house, and I’m almost positive Cass knows none of this. I decide to keep my mouth shut, instead opting to clean up the table. I’m listening while rinsing dishes when I feel Ty move closer to me.

“Hey, I’m sorry we barged in, man. Really—totally against this idea, but when Cass gets something in her head…” he says, and I chuckle.

“They’re twins. She gets shit in her head too, so I’ve learned,” I say, and there’s a certain fondness that settles in my chest thinking about Paige and all of her pain-in-the-assness. I hate that fondness.

Ty laughs at my observation, then moves to the table and brings the rest of the items over to help me clean up. Paige and Cass have moved into a weird yelling-whisper mode now, with hand gestures, and lots of
tsking
sounds and eye-rolls.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Ty asks, clearly accustomed to this type of situation between the two sisters.

“I work at a grocery store. I made her a sandwich, and the rest is history,” I say, smirking. It’s simple, but it’s true. I looked forward to her coming in when I knew she would, and sometimes, when she’d just stop in for her own things—not for the sorority—I’d have a little flash of a fantasy that she came in to see me.

Fuck, I’m in trouble. I’m pretty sure Ty knows too, because he’s grinning, his face a lot like my friend Casey’s when he’s right and I’m wrong—which doesn’t happen
often
.

“We’re going out tonight—happy hour at Sally’s. You should come. Maybe you can get
that
one there, to hang out with her sister. They need to do more of that,” he says. My smile comes without my permission, but I stifle it quickly.

I can’t go out. I spend my nights at home, with my daughter snoring on the other side of the hall…ready in case the bad dream comes, or worse, the one where she sees her mother’s ghost. But I nod indifferently, making him believe I might show up.

When I look back, Cass and Paige are standing. They’re not hugging, but they’re laughing. It’s like they both want to touch each other, show how much that bond is there, but there’s something awkward about it. I think Cass forgives Paige more than she realizes; she’s just waiting for Paige to make the first move.

Cass shakes my hand, and I notice how strong her grip is—I’m frankly not sure whose was stronger, hers or Ty’s. I shut the door behind them and ready myself to forgive Paige, to forget about everything from twelve hours ago.

“I can’t believe you told her I was here!” she launches into me. I actually laugh, because I’m a little dumbfounded. “And you—“

She takes a step closer to me, her finger actually touching my chest. This entire scene is getting more ridiculous by the minute. “You are
not
going to Sally’s tonight. You don’t need to be my sister’s friend, because
this
?” she says, waving her hand emphatically between the both of us. “This is a nothing thing! There isn’t an
us
for her to get to know—so just forget about whatever bond you’re thinking about making, okay?”

I stand silent, a little stunned; she loads her purse and backpack over her shoulders. Finally, when she does hit the stairs, I speak.

“Are you crazy? I mean…like, should I be concerned that you’re actually crazy? Because
that…
whatever you just did there?” I mimic her wave between us. “That was kinda crazy.”

She points her finger at me, and her body is actually shaking a little. “Your ass stays home tonight,” she says. I salute her when she turns around, and when I hear her door slam shut, I can’t help but laugh, hard.

My mom comes down just as I’m getting ready to head to class for the day, and I can tell that questions are still begging to be cleared off her chest. But Leah’s here, so I let my daughter throw me a block on this one. And then I get an idea.

“Hey, are you home tonight? Book club or anything?” I ask, my mom’s eyes squinting as she nods.

“I’m home,” she says, her glance sideways and suspicious.

“Would you mind if I go out, for just a few hours, after bedtime? Paige is trying to mend some bridges with her sister, and I get the sense she kind of wants my support,” I lie. I just lied to my mom, and I swear to god she knows. My lips are twitching, and I’m about to ruin it with a smile, when my mom agrees.

“I’ll be home,” she says, moving beyond me and gathering her lunch together with Leah’s for their day at the church. “You should go out more, you know? I can help with things. And it’s good for you. Maybe…maybe wear something
nice.”

I wince when her innuendo hits my ear. As many questions as my mom has, she also likes the idea of a girl catching my interest. Which must mean there’s something about Paige that’s okay with my mom.

“Thanks,” I say, leaving before we get into any more detail. I plan on looking good. But I’m not going because I’m full of hope—I’m going because Paige is going to be ticked as hell when I show up.

Which…gives me goddamned hope.