The S-Word (24 page)

And I was right. Contrary to popular opinion, it does not feel good to let out what I’ve been holding in. It’s been poison in my gut and when I let it out, it’s all I can taste.

My eyes are dry when Jesse crawls through the window. I left it cracked so he could let himself in. I’m sitting on the bed like a statue, the book of poems he gave to Lizzie in my hands. Opened to the last page.

I start to read before he’s all the way inside.

“Ericka Engleson has written twenty-two acclaimed titles in her lifetime, including
The Unofficial Guide to the Lesbian Love Nest
and fourteen books of erotic poetry. She lives in Vermont with her wife and their two beloved Yorkies.”

He sits on the bed but keeps his distance. Yeah, he’s scared.

“Tell me something, Jesse.” I hold up the book, cocking my head to one side. “You gave Lizzie a book of erotic lesbian poetry. Whyever so?”

He fiddles with the zipper of his sweatshirt. “Where did you get that?”

Ooh. Big mistake. Answering a question with a question is a telltale sign of guilt.

“I got it in Lizzie’s bedroom,” I say. “When and why is none of your business.”

He studies his palms like they’ll give him the answers to the universe. His breath is coming out in little puffs. “I don’t—I don’t know anything . . .”

“Well, maybe you need more information.” I lean over the bed. In one swift movement, I’ve switched the book of poems with the stack of pages I left sitting on my nightstand. The ones containing all of Lizzie’s secrets, but only if you read carefully.

“After this year, I might lose the chance to tell you how I feel,”
I quote from her September entry.

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“I didn’t either,” I say, fingers tracing the writing. “Not this way. Not from her diary. Not when she could’ve said it to my face.”

“Angie.”

“God, not even to my face.” I shake my head. “She could’ve passed me a note in class. Stuck it in my locker and bolted—”

“Baby.”

“Whispered it quietly, when she thought I was sleeping.”

He reaches out. I jerk away, thinking he’s going for the pages in my hand. But I should know better than that.

He’s the only person in the world who doesn’t want to read them.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” he says, lips barely moving.

“You can listen. Listen to her story and understand. All she ever wanted was understanding—”

“I’ll try.” His voice is meek and broken.

“Thank you. Now, where was I?” I flip to the second page. “Here it is:
I used to sing for you all the time. Remember? At the park, when the three of us played trolls and fairies
 . . .
Your eyes lit up at the sounds I could make.
”

I pause, smiling at the memory. Seeing it in an entirely new light.

“That’s sweet,” Jesse says.

“Isn’t it? Lizzie really had a thing for old Drakey-boy.” My body tenses at the mention of his name. But Jesse’s still watching me, so I keep reading:

“What if you could hear me sing again? Would your heart hear what your eyes refuse to see? Would you come running to me? Or even walking? Walking I would accept, at this point.”

Jesse laughs softly. “Lizzie was funny.”

“Lizzie was fucking hilarious. And nobody knew . . .”

“I knew.” After a minute, he adds, “What else?” He says it casually, like we’re discussing modern fashions, but he’s tearing at his cuticles like he’s trying to unravel himself from the outside.

“Here, she talks about auditioning for
Midsummer
:
You’ll come to watch the play. The school’s MVPs always do. Cheerleaders and football stars mingling with the artists . . . Then, maybe for one brief moment, you’ll take my hand and feel what I still can’t speak.
”

Jesse’s gaze flicks to the windowsill. I know what he’s thinking:
Two steps, and I’m out of this place. Two steps, and I never have to come back
.

“Just one more,” I promise. “One more passage about Drake. That’s who she loved, right? Drake, the football star. Drake, who turned into an ugly troll when we wanted to play fairies. And my God, to love him her entire life . . . that’s dedication.” I flip to
Lizzie’s prom-night entry. My gut starts clenching, begging me to turn away.

“I’m really sorry about this,” I say to Jesse, though he must know I’m not just talking to him. “I’m
really
sorry.”

“Angie.”

“He rips my dress
,” I read quickly.
“He rips my dress, so that the moment this is over, I can’t pretend it never happened. There is evidence for everyone to see. Even you.”

His eyes are closed when I look up again.

“
You
,” I repeat, flipping from page to page. “You’ll
come to watch the play
. You’ll
take my hand. I might lose the chance to tell
you
how I feel . . .”
I return to the final page. “A different ‘you’ from who was in the room.”

Jesse swallows audibly. He must know what I’m going to ask next. He turns away just as I speak the words, “Did you know?”

Still, my voice finds him. “She never told me,” he says. “But we talked a lot during rehearsals. She thought I was gay . . .”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?
” The pages slip from my hands.

He pulls his knees up to his chest. He’s cradling himself, there on the corner of my bed. “I didn’t know you then. I hardly knew Lizzie . . .”

I nod, but my heart is sinking. My entire body is sinking, and I don’t think I’ll ever climb out of this abyss. “All this time, I thought she was in love with
Drake.
”

Brown hair. Blue eyes. Always a secret.

He looks up at me. His eyes are wet, and I don’t know if he’s sad for me, or for Lizzie, or for both of us. For the future we’ll never have in any capacity. “I don’t think she wanted you to know,” he says finally.

“She could’ve told me.”

He nods but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m lying to myself.

Why shouldn’t I? I’ve lied to everyone else.

“She was probably afraid,” he says after a minute. “You meant the world to her.” It’s the absolute worst thing he can say. The numbness inside me ruptures. I have to fight to stop from breaking.

“And I let her down.” I swallow over and over. I feel the poison rising again. But I refuse to let it out in front of Jesse. “How could I have missed this? How could I have thought she loved Drake? She didn’t even
like
him . . .” I think of the prom-night entry, devoid of any romantic feelings. If Lizzie had loved Drake, she would’ve wanted to kiss him, even if she felt conflicted. She would’ve noticed the curve of his lips, the smell of his skin. She would’ve noticed
something
.

But she didn’t.

Lifting Lizzie’s pages from the ground, I slide them into my nightstand drawer. “You know what’s really pathetic? I never would’ve figured it out without the missing entry. I would’ve spent my whole stupid life thinking—”

“Wait—what do you mean,
missing
?”

I stop, just watching him. “You really didn’t read anything that was being passed around, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Jesse says, and I have to believe him. He has no reason to lie about the thing I’ve been doing all along.

I inhale slowly. “The pages that got passed around were only from certain dates,” I explain. “But the week of prom never showed up. So I figured either she didn’t write about it or that part was missing.”

“How did you find it, then?”

“I went over to Drake’s tonight.”

“Are you okay?” His body’s inching toward mine. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

I curl in on myself. “I’m fine. He’s the one who should be worried. I—” I freeze. My entire body crystallizes. “Wait a second.”

“What?”

“Did you know about him?” I push myself to the edge of the bed. My teeth are so clenched it’s a wonder the words can slip past my lips.

But he hears me. I can tell by the look on his face. “Know what?” he asks, trembling.

“Did you know what he did?”

“I don’t . . .”

“You warned me about him,” I say breathlessly. “You got my number that night he followed me after class. You said you were worried. Why were you worried, Jesse? Did you know the
entire time
?”

“I didn’t!” His voice cracks. I wonder if he’s going to break down right in front of me. I can’t tell if that would be brave or weak, and suddenly it’s very important, because I’m certain I’m going to cry in front of him. “I just suspected.”

“Well, congratulations. You were right.”

He’s hiding his face between his knees. “No.”

“Yes.”

“It can’t be what happened. It
can’t
be.”

“It is. And I let him go after her. I practically fucking orchestrated it.” I close my eyes, trying to push away the memories. But behind my lids, the images of Lizzie in the hotel room are rearranging. Telling a different story from the one I chose to believe.

She’s reaching out for me.

She’s crying.

She’s begging me to stop him.

This isn’t how it happened, but every second since I read the missing entry I’ve seen it this way. I’ve seen myself abandoning her in her darkest moment.

I’ve seen myself pushing her into her grave.

“I believed something
ridiculous
about her because I didn’t want to believe he’d hurt her this way.” I turn away from Jesse. From everything. “I didn’t want to hurt
myself,
so I let her suffer. I let her die.”

“You didn’t.” His arms go around me. It happens so fast, it actually startles me, and I’m pushing him away before I can stop myself.

“Don’t touch me!” I should lower my voice, but I can’t calm down. “I don’t deserve to be touched after what I did—I deserve to be punished. So does Drake.”

“Sweetheart.” His arms are scrambling to hold me, and it’s the first time he’s ever fought me this way.

I catch his eye, so he can see what a bad idea this is. “Don’t you dare,” I say. “Don’t tell me not to hurt him.”

“I don’t . . .” Without me to hold on to, his hands go to his hair. “I think people should be warned about him. But whatever you’re planning—”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“I’m worried about you. You’re going to make yourself insane.”

“Oh, baby, I’m so far beyond that.”

“Angie.”

“What? What can you say to defend the person who raped my best friend? What can you say to defend the people who killed her?”

He stares at me like I’m a stranger. And honest to God it makes me laugh.

I say, “They did. You know they did. If any one of us hadn’t treated her like complete shit, she would still be here.”

“I didn’t treat her like shit.”

“I guess you’re special then.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He’s staring at me and staring at me but I can’t
see
him. “I’m telling you I tried to be her friend. After that night. After . . .”

“What happened?”

“I pushed too hard. I knew something had happened that she wasn’t saying. I thought if I could get to the truth, some of the tormenting would stop.”

“It wouldn’t have. They all love having someone to hate. It would’ve just made it worse when no one believed her.”

“You would have believed her.”

The words chill me deeper than I can say.

“But she never told you?” I ask. “Not about . . . him?”

He shakes his head. “She got mad when I wouldn’t let it go. She said we were only friends during the play and pretty much told me to get lost.”

“That doesn’t sound like Lizzie at all.”

“She wasn’t herself at the end.”

“No.” I lower my head. The sadness is rising up in me, tearing my insides to shreds. “I can’t handle this.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t.” I pull my knees up to my chest. “I can’t do this. I just want it to end.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“I can’t help it.” I’m rocking back and forth and tears are soaking through to my pants.

He scoots closer to me.

My body goes rigid.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he says, and it just makes me think of Drake.

I cry harder, trying to push him away without moving my hands from where they’re wrapped around me. “I can’t do this.” I
hug myself tighter. “I cannot live knowing what he did and I can’t live with myself if I don’t do anything.”

“Angie.”

“I can’t live knowing what we did to her. I can’t live knowing what I did.”

“Listen to me.” His face is close but it’s not touching me. “You don’t have to forgive them but you have to forgive yourself.”

“I can’t.”

“Give yourself time.”

“Time doesn’t do anything.”

“It will.”

I don’t answer, though I know it scares him. I can’t even talk, there’s so much poison pouring out of me. I want to swallow it down so I don’t have to feel it. I want to swallow it down and sleep.

“Can I hold you?” he asks.

The thought of him holding me makes me feel trapped. Like I’m in a coffin. But I can’t say no because he feels better than anyone I’ve ever met. “Please make this end.”

His arms go around me so lightly, this time I could swear they’re wings. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, and the words pour over me. “I love you.”

I laugh at him. “Yeah, right.”

“Look at me.” He lifts my chin with his hand, though I keep trying to dodge his gaze. “I’m not saying
let’s get married.
” His breath is so close it makes me shiver. “I’m saying as a person, as a human being, I love you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I do.” He brushes the wet strands of hair from my face. “Everything’s going to be okay.” He looks so sincere I just want to make him feel better. To make up for the pain I’ve caused.

I kiss him.

He kisses me back. It’s probably the last thing we should be
doing but I don’t care because I need to feel this right now. I need to feel his love so badly, I’m afraid I won’t survive without it. He’s being gentle so as not to hurt me, but I’m kissing him like I’m starving to death.