Page 102 of My Fault
I could hardly breathe. Someone had taken off my clothes.
Panic overtook me. I sat up as best I could, leaning into the headboard. Nicholas opened his eyes when he felt me move, getting up and looking at me cautiously.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“What the fuck am I doing here?” I asked, hoping I’d been so drunk I couldn’t remember changing in some bathroom.
“Jenna called me to pick you up. You were completely passed out.” He looked bedraggled and had fallen asleep in his clothes.
“Then what happened?”
He seemed to be weighing his words. My heart was racing.
“I took off your clothes—they had vomit all over them—and I put you in bed.”
I got up and walked to the other end of the room. I couldn’t believe what he’d done.
“How could you?” I shouted. He couldn’t know about my scar—he couldn’t! That would open the door to a past I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever go back to.
He stood and walked over warily.
“Why are you being this way?” He was clearly angry and in pain. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I don’t care, and I’ll never tell anyone. Noah, don’t look at me like that. I’m worried about you.”
“No!” I shrieked. “You can’t be worried about something you don’t know and never will know!”
I needed out, needed to be alone; things weren’t going the way I wanted, nothing was. My stomach was in knots, and I wanted to burst into tears.
As I turned around, I saw him, looking at once confused and yet somehow decided.
“Don’t make me tell you again,” I said. “Stay away from me.”
In a rage, he came close and grabbed me. I stood still, trying to control my breathing and my fear.
“You better get this through your head. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, and when you’re ready to tell me what the hell happened to you, you’ll realize you were making a serious mistake trying to push me away.”
I shoved my way past him. Thankfully he didn’t resist.
“You’re wrong. I don’t need you,” I said, grabbing my things off the ground.
I slammed the door on my way out.
I wanted to cry, cry without stopping, let out all the anguish that was building up inside me. Nicholas had seen my scar. Now he knew something had happened to me, something I didn’t want anyone to know, something I was ashamed of and had decided to bury deep down.
With trembling hands, I took off the T-shirt and got into the hot shower until my body warmed up because I felt frozen, ice-cold, inside and out. When I emerged from the bathroom and saw a white envelope on my bed, I thought I’d faint. Not again, not another letter, please, not today.
I grabbed the envelope. This was harassment; I needed to tell someone. I took out the paper inside and, getting hold of myself, started to read:
Remember what you did to me? I’ll never forget that moment when you ruined everything. Absolutely everything. I hate you. I hate you and I hate your mother. You think you’re important just because you’ve shacked up with a millionaire? You’re just a couple of whores who have sold themselves for money, but that won’t last. I’ll make sure of that, and when I do, your days of fancy schools with uniforms will go bye-bye.
A.P.A.
This was getting worse and worse. I needed to tell my mother. But I stopped myself. Will was giving my mother enough to deal with. Yesterday they’d argued. The last thing I wanted was to worry her and tell her I already had enemies in this new city. No, I couldn’t tell her about Ronnie, not without getting Nicholas into trouble. Those races were illegal, and if we went to the police, we’d have to tell them everything. Nicholas was twenty-two; that wasold enough for prison, and if Ronnie got picked up, he wouldn’t hesitate to spill the beans about Nicholas and my friends.
If I wasn’t careful, things could go south.
I was scared to leave. I felt overwhelmed and sad, and all I wanted was to forget it all, just as I had the night before. Drinking until you passed out was bad, and I’d woken up with the worst hangover of my life, but it had been worth it. I’d done it because I couldn’t handle all my problems, all the demons inside me. Nothing made any sense, everything was threatening to destroy me, and I just needed an easy way out.
I sat down and looked at the clock. In forty-five minutes, I was supposed to show up for my second day of class. Nothing could sound more preposterous just then. As if under a spell, I put on my uniform, feeling bad or guilty. The words of whoever had written that letter wormed their way inside me. It was true—I didn’t deserve this life. It wasn’t rightfully mine.
