Toxic Bad Boy (4 page)

I’d given her nothing but
encouragement when it came to her dancing with the crew after her
other cast was off. As much as I’d always detested that douchebag
Jared, I knew he, Taye and the rest of the guys would watch out for
her. It killed me to think of her out there alone, feeling unsafe.
They’d also distract her from the dark thoughts she’d hinted at in
her letter.

My pulse had raced as I’d
sworn to
never
break up with her. My decision would always be her in my
arms. I’d explained how nothing had changed for me and when I got
home we could return to the way we were.

Feeling inadequate, I’d
written some of the phrases from the psychology books I’d read
about victims of sexual violence. Phrases which were supposed to
make her feel less shameful and help her not dwell on what had
occurred. At my last session, I’d discussed Gianna’s situation with
Dr. Adler and she’d given me ample advice on the
subject.

Not wanting to end the
letter on a sad note, I’d reminded Gianna of good memories during
our short time together. Hopefully she’d laughed when she read
those parts. Trying my best, I’d attempted to be romantic. Not easy
for a guy like me, but I hoped I’d said what she needed to
hear.

Gianna was my world and
I’d been sure to let her know it in my letter.

As soon as the envelope
was licked and addressed, I’d punched the nearest wall, tearing up
my knuckles. I’d been panicked at the thought of my words not being
enough to hold on to her. Locked up, I was helpless to do anything
about it if she broke up with me.

My first phone call to her
new cell number was made that same day a month ago. The time
allotted to me for phone privileges was at a time she was in
school, so I’d been bummed to only leave a message after not
hearing her voice for so long. I’d rambled on as long as I could on
her voicemail, using the small amount of time to the fullest. Every
day for the rest of the week, I’d left a new message.

Saturday finally came and
my throat had gone tight at the sound of Gianna’s,
“Hello?”

For that brief moment, my
world was set to right.

I’d had the chance to talk
to her now for the past several Saturdays. It sucked she was in
class during my phone time during the weekdays, but I didn’t want
her to cut class in order to take my calls. I wished peace for her
and getting in trouble for missing class would be
stressful.

Those few phone
conversations had done little to alleviate the frustration I’d felt
about our relationship. While I tried to pretend nothing had
changed, it was obvious Gianna was distancing herself emotionally.
Gritting my teeth, I sometimes barely kept myself from lashing out
at her on the phone or in letters. It wasn’t that she didn’t
say
I love you
back, because she did. It was her acting more like a friend
over the phone than my girlfriend. And I wanted my girlfriend
back.

She’d promised to visit me
soon, once she was cleared to drive again. I didn’t mention she
could always get a ride from a friend. Possibly her dad would bring
her here if she asked. The guy was likely still giving her whatever
she wanted after what happened to her. If I were him, I’d feel all
sorts of misplaced guilt.

I made sure to remind her
at the end of each call how many days until we’d be together again.
I lived for that countdown. My brain updated that number when I
woke up each morning.

After obsessing in
solitary for what seemed like hours about things I had no control
over, I finally fell asleep.

*****

We were escorted straight
to the warden after breakfast the following morning. The seven of
us remained mute as the warden lectured us and threatened that the
incident would be on our permanent records.

In class, I threw myself
into my schoolwork. Later, I’d make sure to use my phone time to
call my mom and leave a message on Gianna’s voicemail. Those
messages ensured she’d be thinking of me as I constantly thought of
her.

When I spoke with her on
Saturdays, I tried my best not to be angry with her. I realized she
couldn’t help being messed up after what Josh did to her. Hell,
maybe the time apart was exactly what she needed. Selflessness
wasn’t a natural trait of mine, but I attempted it for her
sake.

If I were able to be with
her, I’d be as protective and understanding of her as possible, but
I’d eventually enact a little tough love. I was sure I could think
of something to force her out of her despondency.

In art class, I started a
new painting. This one was going to be of Gianna laughing. If I
couldn’t make the real Gianna laugh anymore, at least I could
capture on canvas the memory of it. There wasn’t enough time to
complete it today. I’d finished the sketching and played with color
choices.

Ms. Singh had gotten the
administration’s agreement to letting me come in for a few hours on
the weekends to work on my paintings. She’d argued it was better
than me doing brainless activities like watching television or
playing basketball. Sometimes Ian got permission to sit in the art
room with me. When he wasn’t bragging about all the chicks he
planned to bang after he was released, he was sculpting
inappropriate things out of clay.

Once my brushes were
cleaned and I’d stored my unfinished piece, I said goodbye to Ms.
Singh.

As payback for getting us
in trouble yesterday, I tripped Ian while passing him in the
hallway. The guards weren’t paying attention at the moment, so he
retaliated by kicking me hard in the back of my thigh. I’d get back
at him for that.

During my phone time, on
impulse, I called Hailey. Being a bad girl, she’d apparently
skipped school and answered after I was forced to listen to the
angsty chick rock song she used as her ringback tone. Five seconds
of my life I’d never get back.

Obviously not recognizing
the number, Hailey answered my call with a wary,
“Hello?”

“
Is this 1-800-YOU-SLUT?”
I asked in a gruff voice.

“
No, it’s 1-800-KICK-ASS,”
she replied before screaming into the phone, “Oh my god, Caleb! I
can’t believe you’re calling me. I heard they locked your ass up.
Good riddance was my first thought.”

“
Still mad at me?” I
teased.

“
Yes. Are still mad at me,
too?”

“
Yes. You acted like a
crazy bitch.”

It didn’t matter that I’d
changed from the days when Hailey and I would get drunk and screw
around with each other or other people. I was bored out of my mind
and she was sure to provide entertainment.

“
Tell me what you’ve been
up to. I know you have some good stories for me,” I told
her.

By the time a guard tapped my shoulder telling me
my time was up, I was laughing my head off at her antics. She’d
better watch it or she’d end up in here with me and Ian.

“
Pain is temporary.
Quitting lasts forever.”

-Lance
Armstrong

FEBRUARY

GIANNA

I couldn’t
breathe.

Ripping the comforter from
my body, I stumbled over to my bedroom window. I flipped the lock
open and pushed the heavy window up. Leaning my face against the
screen, I shivered as cold winter air hit me. It wasn’t snowing
like last night, but the temperature was below freezing
nonetheless.

Not that I cared. I was
always cold inside nowadays. Taking in gulps of the crisp air, my
heart rate began to slow down. The nightmares always did this to
me. I’d wake up in a full blown panic attack. It didn’t matter that
Josh had been locked up at a facility for dangerous teen
criminals.

He was still here with me,
in my thoughts and dreams. Sometimes, it seemed I’d never be rid of
him.

The nightmares weren’t
always the same. Some were variations of the attack and others
involved fears like Josh getting out of juvie and coming after me.
After so many nightmares, my mind was triggered to wake up before
their conclusion.

My therapist promised it’d
get better, that the nightmares would come less and less frequently
before stopping altogether. It had been four months since the
attack and the dreams were still a nightly occurrence.

Mixed in were sweet
dreams. The kind which involved hazel eyes gazing at me in
adoration. Those dreams almost made it worth closing my eyes at
night.

Turning to glance at the
alarm clock on my nightstand, it was after five in the morning. I
wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep so I grabbed my robe and a
towel and went into the bathroom.

Under the hot spray, I
leaned my head against the tile. If I didn’t get these feelings
under control, my psychiatrist told my dad she’d prescribe an
antidepressant for anxiety. I couldn’t help replaying the awful
night in my head over and over again.

Even worse were thoughts
of it happening again. Every strange male was a potential attacker.
A guy who ended up on the same aisles at the grocery store could be
waiting for me to go out to my car. Another guy driving behind me
too long could be counting on me going home to an empty house. I
never left the house at night unless it was with my dad.

Shampooing my hair was
still a bit of an alien experience with the shorter strands. Cut
right at my shoulders, it still had some length, but nothing like
what I was used to. I’d dyed it the dark brown color myself last
month, but went to a salon for the cut. My blond roots were
starting to show so I’d have to dye it again soon using the same
box of dark chocolate brown.

My mom had hated my hair
at first sight when we’d gone out to dinner as a
family
. Three Fridays
ago, my dad had driven us to meet her and Chance at a restaurant
downtown, an approximate halfway point between our new house and
hers. Her eyes had narrowed in disapproval and she’d complained it
was much too short and my natural color was perfect.

My dad had shut her down
without making a scene in front of Chance and the entire
restaurant, but I could practically hear the snap of her mouth
closing and the grind of her teeth. Her unhappy perusal at my hair
told me she wanted to say more and probably would at a future
time.

We had Chance most
weekends and I spent an hour or so with my mom when we picked him
up or dropped him off. I loved my mom despite our many differences
of opinion. She had her issues, but I’d learned recently everyone
did. Not that I always enjoyed my time with her. She fluctuated
between concern for my mental wellbeing and the desire to have her
golden girl back.

Still, I didn’t blame her
for what happened. I’m the one who’d chosen Josh and I’m the one
who hadn’t handled the breakup in the best manner. Take me out of
the equation and Josh wouldn’t have flipped out. Caleb and Ian
wouldn’t be locked up.

School was hard. I hadn’t
made any new friends yet despite a few overtures from girls in
class. Friendship meant trust and it was difficult for me to
believe a stranger had good intentions. Even in our short time as
friends and later more, Caleb had become a security blanket. I’d
been popular at my old school, but it hadn’t been of my own doing.
I didn’t have a naturally outgoing personality and I wasn’t
confident people genuinely liked me for myself.

I’d considered making the
thirty minute drive everyday and transferring to Cece’s school for
senior year. Maybe I’d just transfer now, mid-semester junior year.
With her exuberance, having Cece as a friend was like an entire
group of friends. Jared, Taye and a couple guys from the crew were
also at the same school.

Instead of feeling like a
freak, I’d probably feel secure. I was suspicious of any guy who
tried to talk to me. Feeling panicked whenever a boy flirted or
asked me about an assignment in class was embarrassing. The alarm
had lessened a bit since first returning to school. Rationally, I
knew a guy asking which page in the textbook the teacher was on
wouldn’t lead to him hurting me, but I couldn’t convince my racing
heart or churning stomach.

Wrapping myself in my robe
and drying off my legs with the towel, I used the same towel to
wipe the moisture off the mirror. My face looked pale with the dark
hair and faint dark circles hanging under my eyes. I applied
concealer and foundation so my dad wouldn’t worry. Maybe I’d take a
Tylenol PM tonight so I could get more sleep. The minty smell of my
lotion as I rubbed it into my skin was soothing and I made a mental
note of stopping by Target for some candles after
school.

In my closet, I scanned my
choices, settling on black jeans and a hooded gray sweater. The
sweater was thin, so I slipped on over it a black military-style
jacket, reaching back to pull out the hood of my sweater. Tying up
a pair of Dr. Martens, I was ready for school at five-fifty in the
morning. Sunrise wouldn’t be for an hour.

I didn’t bother much with
styling my hair anymore and wore minimal makeup, but with time to
kill I decided to brush on some blush to hide my paleness and coat
my eyelashes with mascara.
There
, now I appeared the healthy,
happy teenager.