Where was she?
And…
The last time she’d gone out in order to act out, she’d come home smashed.
And the thought of her smashed, in a car, made my stomach ache.
Badly.
Which was why I was staring at the ceiling.
And it was also why I heard it.
My body got tight as I listened.
Barely a sound, but somehow, I could tell it was someone in the house trying to be quiet.
Then I heard the low hum of the pipes, meaning the water was running in Tatiana’s bathroom.
Needing to see if it was her, and not Gear down from the loft to use the bathroom, I slid carefully out of bed and headed to the door.
I did this being sure not to wake Buck. I was worried, if it was Tatie, and she was drunk, she’d driven Gear’s car drunk, and Buck and Gear were already angry enough at her. If she did something that stupid, they’d lose their minds.
So I wanted to get to her first.
Okay, this was so I could make an effort to cover for her. And maybe that wasn’t the right choice for her, her father, or her brother.
It also wasn’t a way for me to ingratiate myself to her.
I just felt for her.
I had not been in a place where I felt safe to act out as a teen.
But I remembered how confusing and stressful it was to be a girl at sixteen. Things happened with your body and boys and peers and mood swings you didn’t get were because your hormones were controlling your life. There was also pressure to start thinking about your future.
Add in a mom who doesn’t treat you all that well, a stepdad you don’t like, a dad you loved who lived too far away, and a new woman in your beloved father’s life…
Times were tough for Tatiana Hardy.
So yes.
I felt for her.
She needed an ally, and even if she didn’t want that to be me, she was going to get it.
When I got to the hall, I saw the bathroom door was closed, but a light was coming from under it.
Quietly, I knocked, and just as quietly, I whispered, “Tatiana, it’s Clara. You don’t have to talk with me or open the door. Just let me know you’re okay. Are you okay?”
There was nothing except the water running.
“Tatiana,” I called softly, “just tell me if you’re okay.”
More nothing except water.
I slowly twisted the knob and just as slowly opened the door, poking my head around.
Then my body froze.
Stock-still.
And my heart shattered into little pieces.
I saw her in the mirror, her back to me. Her lip was already fat, her cheekbone red and swollen, blood was dripping from her nose, and looking down, I saw her T-shirt was torn so badly I could see her bra. She had a jeans skirt on, it was mini, just not micro-mini, and the seat of it was filthy, pine needles still clinging to the material like they’d been ground in, the same with the back of her T-shirt.
Like she’d been lying in dirt.
No, like she’d been wrestling in dirt.
The pieces of my heart flew back together in order to start pumping blood so madly, I could feel the muscle move just as I felt the blood sing through my veins.
I slid in, closed the door behind me, my eyes never leaving hers in the mirror.
Then I whispered, “Tatie, talk to me.”
And I watched, my throat closing, as she dissolved.
Dissolved.
Her face into tears and her body started folding to the floor.
I caught her halfway down and went down with her. I sat on my behind, and she burrowed in, a sixteen-year-old girl pushing into my lap, her arms coming around me, her body pressing close, her face shoved into my neck, her frame wracked with sobs.
Oh God, no.
No.
I dropped my head and whispered in her ear, “Tatie, baby, who hurt you?”
She just held on tighter and cried harder.
I held tighter too, with one arm, and used my other hand to stroke her hair.
It had dirt in it too.
And it was matted.
Badly.
No.
“Honey, who hurt you?”
She shook her head violently and kept holding on.
“How badly are you hurt, baby?” I asked. “Do we need to get you to the hospital?”
“I need a shower,” she whispered.
“Okay, I get that, but you have to talk to me first. What happened? Who hurt you? How did they hurt you?”
“I need a shower,” she repeated.
“Baby, listen to me, you need to talk to me right now. Tell me what happened.”
“I need a shower.”
I stopped stroking her hair and put my hand under her chin. Pulling away a smidge, I lifted her face so I could see her.
“Honey, please. Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t have any underwear on,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes briefly as those words cut through me like a blade, opening me up, bleeding.