Worse Than Enemies

I know he’s right, too. And even if somebody came in and saw this, it would cause nothing but problems for everybody. What if we had to leave? What if he got kicked out and his dad hated me for it? That would mean Mom would hate me, too.

“See? I knew you could be smart when you had to.” My body stiffens when instead of touching me over my panties, he teasingly lifts them like he wants to put his hand inside. “What’s this feel like? Knowing I could do anything I want to your body, and you can’t do anything about it? Go ahead. Try to stop me.”

I want to. I know I should.

I know something else, too. And I don’t know what it says about me. But when he touches me the way he is now, I don’t want him to stop. This is stirring something deep in me I didn’t know was there. Something nobody ever did to me before. Burning, almost painful heat that makes me wet. I know it’s dangerous, I know it’s wrong, but I want more.

“Jesus Christ.” Just like that, his hand is gone, and the pressure of his body is, too. I can breathe now, but somehow I’m not relieved. More like confused.

“What’s wrong?” I sit up, still breathless.

“You. You’re what’s wrong.” He looks me up and down, lifting his lip in disgust. “I never thought I’d meet anyone as fucked up as me, but I think you might be worse. You wanted me to finger you, didn’t you?”

“No.” My cheeks heat, giving my lie away.

“Liar.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Maybe you should be more worried about yourself than me.” He leaves the room, still shaking his head, and only when I’m alone do I draw my feet up onto the bed and curl up in a trembling ball.

Is he right? Did I want him to? Does that make me fucked up like he says?

And to think, this is only the first day we’ve lived together. What else am I going to end up learning? How much more can he make me hate myself?

10

“I don’t understand. He already left?”

Mom doesn’t look up from her phone. “I guess he did if his car isn’t in the courtyard.”

“I just checked. There aren’t any cars out there right now.”

“Then you have your answer. Hayes already went to school. Maybe he has swim practice or something. I don’t know.”

“What am I supposed to do? Should I get an Uber?”

“Whatever.” We’re alone in the kitchen, so she doesn’t have to pretend to be nice.

“Maybe I should try to get a ride with the driver?”

“Maybe you should just handle this on your own, all right?” She looks up at me and sighs. “I have to get ready for this trip I’m going on, and all my supposedly mature daughter can do is whine because she didn’t get a ride to school this morning. I swear, Lucy whines less than you do.”

Great. Why did I think anything would be different? I pull up the Uber app and request a car and go outside to wait for it. I don’t want to be in the house with her when there’s nobody else around to keep her in check.

I don’t know why I thought Hayes would drive me to school. I assumed that since we’re going to the same place and he has a car, it would make the most sense. I’ve got to be smarter. Now, I’ll be lucky if I’m not late for first period.

But I do get lucky since it’s only a few minutes until a car pulls up. At least school is closer to the house than it was to the hotel, so it doesn’t take long at all before we’re pulling up on campus. I have time to stop at the cafeteria for something to eat and maybe some coffee since I was too busy wondering how I’d get to school to grab anything from the kitchen at the house.

The cafeteria might be my favorite part of the whole place. It’s like a full-service restaurant with just about anything anybody could want. In the morning, the coffee bar is set up, and we can even take the cups to class with us if we want. It’s so unlike anything at my old school that I want to keep coming back for more between classes. I would, too, if I had the time.

This morning, I need all the help I can get. My bed is comfortable, but I hardly got any sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Hayes. Am I obsessed with him? Could I have picked a worse person to be obsessed with? If he wasn’t so different now than he was when I first met him, I might not care so much.

If there wasn’t a constant worry in the back of my head that he’ll try something like he did that day out on the bridge, that would be different, too. He isn’t my responsibility, but I can’t help caring.