Old Wounds: Little Battles Part 28

I didn't know if she was telling the truth. I could never tell what went on in her head, since she very rarely let me in. I did wish she could just know that I wasn't like everyone else.

"B-but do you w-w-want to d-d-die?" Waiting for her answer made me extremely nervous, so I kept talking. "B-because that's...you sssssseem lllllike...that's w-what you w-want."

She laughed again and I wished that it was a real laugh instead of an angry one. "I don't want to die. It's just that living isn't all that great either, you know?"

I stood and crossed the room to be closer to her now that she was a little less frantic. I thought maybe she was starting to come down. "B-but you don't let p-p-people hhhhelp you make it great. Your d-d-d-d, fffffather...he might not do everything r-r-right, but he llllllloves you."

"No, he doesn't."

"Hhhhe llllloves you enough to in-in-intimidate me into t-treating you r-r-right."

"But you didn't need to be intimidated like that. He's an a.s.s."

I shook my head. "Hhhe doesn't know m-me. Hhhe was p-protecting you."

"Let's talk about something else, okay?"

I thought for a moment, because Sophie was used to not dealing with things she didn't want to think about, and I had to make a choice as to whether I'd let her do that. She didn't want to talk about why she used drugs, which meant that she might never be healthy. But if I pushed her, then she'd think I was just like everyone else trying to take something from her.

I compromised with myself. I would leave the question of giving up drugs alone for now so that she wouldn't feel boxed in, but I was going to use this time to learn more about her. It was natural. It was what we did.

Right?

I didn't want her to be mad at me, but I felt desperate to confirm some of the things that I'd been wondering about, even if it would hurt both of us in the process.

Placing my hand on her lower back, I smiled when I felt that thing that flowed between us. I'd been wondering if she'd felt it too, but now that I thought about it, there was no way she could feel exactly what I did when we touched. If she did, she wouldn't need to rely on drugs. We had enough feel-good chemicals surging between us to keep me high forever.

"W-w-why did your m-m-mm-mmmom's boyfriend get you hhhhigh?"

Sophie shook her head and stepped away from me. "Stop it, Elliott."

"Sssstop what?"

"You don't get to know every f.u.c.king thing about me. I get high and I like it, okay? It has nothing to do with-"

"B-b-but you c-could d-die and I j-just told you that I n-need you and I don't want you to d-die. I want to know b-because I want to hhhhelp you."

"You can't help me. It's cool that you want to and all, but I do just fine on my own, you know?"

I shook my head. "I d-don't know. If you just t-tell me, I can try to hhhhelp b-better."

She got even closer to the bookshelf, nearly pressing into it as she rested her forehead there, mumbling something about wearing down, and then was silent. She gripped the shelf that held my art books with one hand, while the other stayed at her side, clutching the rock so very tightly that bits of her hand were red, while other parts were ghost white. I tried to remember how sharp the edges were; she could cut herself if she squeezed any tighter.

I needed to get her to talk. I was pretty sure I already knew why she was the way she was. I was aware of the reason that man had gotten her high. Sophie, as I knew her, was nothing more than a violent reaction to a violent past, and even with that knowledge, I felt it was important for her to say it. It was just like the story of the fork. She needed to let it come out and stop carrying it around.

Down deep, I realized that I was thinking all of these things about Sophie, but the same could be said about me. I needed to reveal my hidden secrets, and she would be the one to give those secrets to. Maybe if she would just get to the root of her need for drugs and admit that something horrible had happened with her mother's boyfriend, I'd be able to spit out the words that struck fear into me.

I was cowardly and needed her to go first.

"I d-don't w-want you to b-be liiike my m-mm-mmmom."

She sighed and I felt like maybe she would give.

I waited, and I was right.

"He got me high so I'd relax." She'd said that same thing to me before. "Because I...I, um..." Her breath was hard but shallow. "I, um, cried a lot because, um..." She shook her head and tightened her hold on the shelf and the rock. "Because it...it hurt."

I clenched my teeth and balled my hands up in the same way I did when I was having trouble with a word. "W-w-w-what hurt?" Although I asked, I wasn't sure that I really wanted to have confirmation. She wouldn't speak and I knew that I should keep my distance, but I couldn't stop myself from getting closer to her.

Once more, I placed my hand flat against the small of her back. "SSSSSophie?"

She spun around and pushed at me. I stumbled back, standing there helpless as I watched her shake. It was actually more like a tremor.

I wanted to wrap her in a blanket.

"He f.u.c.ked me, okay?" Her voice was hard, but not overly loud or angry. She paused for just a moment and I felt the physical pain as if Chris had just punched me in the gut. When she spoke again, her tone was angry. "Do you feel better now that you know?" The venom she spat wasn't really directed at me, but I was in the line of fire.

While I was not surprised to learn what she just told me, it took my breath away to hear her say it. I didn't want her to have gone through that. I didn't want her to carry that kind of pain. I didn't want that kind of pain to have shaped her like this.

"No," I answered. I did not feel better, but at least it was out there and we could move on from it. At least now we could walk through the pain together.

"I llllike you no m-m-matter what, SSSSS-SSSophie."

"Shut up."

"N-no. You n-need to know that p-p-people lllllike you. I llllike you."

"Please just stop."

I felt odd. I had never really expressed anything like this to someone before, not even Jane. With her, we just fell into some kind of secret understanding of what we felt toward one other. But with Sophie, it had to be said out loud because I knew that there was a big part of her that thought she was completely unlikeable, completely unlovable, and completely too far gone for salvation.

There was a small part of her that I wanted, no needed, to access. It was the part of her that wanted something more than she had, that craved salvation. That part needed to know I liked her, that I cared for her, and that my life wouldn't be as good if she wasn't in it. She needed to know that I cared whether she lived or died, and that I would help her when she needed it, and leave her alone when she didn't.

"I'm ssssorry that hhhhappened to you, b-but you sssaid my sssstutter didn't define m-me and that doesn't define you." Oh, G.o.d, she looked so tired. I wanted to hold her, to feed her, to comfort her in some meaningful way. To help her, heal her, make her whole. "I don't w-w-want you to die."

"The world wouldn't be different if I wasn't in it. Most people wouldn't even notice."

I wanted to be clear. I wished that my words could be visual just like they were in an e-mail, because I didn't want her to miss the point when she focused on my stuttering and not the actual meaning behind them. Not that I thought Sophie focused on my stutter, but I tried to be as calm as I could be to make it through without stumbling once.

"My...world...would."

Thank G.o.d! I did it. It had taken a lot of effort to not mess that up, and perhaps I shouldn't have been so proud of three little words, but I was. She needed to know.

I relaxed the tension that had built up inside me, my fist loosening.

She shook her head.

"Look at me, Elliott." Her jaw tightened before she continued. "Look at me. I'm not-"

"I am lllllooking." So much for speaking clearer, but her voice was loud and distracting. I cut her off because she needed to realize that I already saw her. She was awfully hard to miss.

"How do you... I mean, why... How can you just f.u.c.king..."

I went to her again, very slowly. I had never wanted to be close like this to anyone, but Sophie's entire being spoke to me. Even though the situation was heavy and tense, horrible and nerve-wracking, it was made better by being close to her. If I felt better when I was near her, maybe she felt better being near to me.

Wis.h.i.+ng my hands were healed and that I could deftly drag my hand through her hair, I gently pulled her to me, into my arms. My heart sang, rejoicing that she didn't fight it, and she just let me hold her. I didn't care if it was because she thought that I needed to hold her or if she needed me to hold her. I could feel her heart beat against mine and did my best to stop the quakes that shook her.

After a long stretch of quiet, she mumbled, "I'm tired."

I could tell that she was. She had lost her nervous bounce and was currently just slumped into me.

"A-a-are you hhhungry?" She shook her head. "W-we hhhave leftovers from llllast night." She shook her head again. "I'll w-warm them up for you."

"Elliott, I'm fine."

I pulled away and went over to the door, hating to leave her, but needing to take care of her. "You hhhhaven't eaten."

"Fine."

I went down to microwave the food she'd made the day before and stayed silent, even when Jane tried to rope me into playing video games. I just held up my bandaged hands as an excuse. As I walked back up to my room, I began to wonder about something.

I had never been allowed to have food in my room back in Chicago. Even now with Stephen, when it wasn't a rule, I'd never eaten in my room. It was odd to step over the threshold holding a plate of food that could easily fall and stain the carpet. But regardless of my aversion, I had to do this for Sophie, because I knew she wouldn't eat any other way, and she needed to.

Sophie was quiet for the rest of the night, and though she'd only picked at the food, I was happy that she'd even tried. My mother never really tried to eat. She was very thin and would fix something for us, taking a spoonful of this or a bite of that, and then just sit at the table watching us eat as she drank cup after cup of coffee.

The picture I had of her wasn't what I remembered of my mother. In that family photograph, she looked healthier than she did toward the end. Her hair was still pretty and red, even if her eyes told me she was high. I wished I had more pictures of her, because then I might've been able to see when things started to get so bad for her. Maybe I could have seen the progression.

I knew my mother hadn't started off a drug addict; I wanted to see what she looked like before it had begun.

After she died, my father rarely spoke of my mother, except to say that only the righteous survived and the weaker souls burned in h.e.l.l. He said it every night, beginning on the night that she'd done it. He could talk for hours about the perils of being like my mother, of letting the demons within us take hold and succ.u.mbing to their will. He would never say her name or the words "your mother."

He always called her "The Fallen."

Regretfully, I had to return Sophie to her home. Before she could open the car door, I took her hand. There was so much I wanted to say, but I couldn't even form an intelligent sentence in my brain, so anything verbal was doomed from the start. Instead I just looked at her. Her eyes were so beautiful, so sad and so hurt. Why couldn't everyone in the world see that about her?

Sophie was good at hiding.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Elliott."

"D-don't...I'll hhhhelp you."

She turned back to me, putting her hand in my hair, and I closed my eyes. It had been an emotional day, and I was tired. The sensation of her touch was almost too much, and yet not enough. Then she brushed her lips against mine, and I settled on not enough. I wanted more of her. All of her.

When I responded, she wasted no time licking my lips. Then I licked them myself, loving the flavor she left on them.

Before I could even think, she was on top of me, straddling me like she tended to do. Both of her hands were in my hair now, tugging and pulling, soothing and searching, her mouth frantic, her tongue sweeping everywhere.

I was hard underneath her and I knew she felt it, and the thought made my head spin.

It was incredibly wrong and inappropriate, given what she'd just shared with me, yet I couldn't tell my mouth to stop kissing her, and I couldn't tell my hands to stop gripping her hips like I owned them. I ignored the ache in my broken fingers and I pulled her closer to me as she rocked.

She moved her mouth to my neck and put her hand between our coat-covered bodies. When she pressed it against me, I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"SSSSSoph-ph-phie," I said, gasping for air as I grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away from my groin and my hair. I shook my head, hoping that I wouldn't have to speak, because I couldn't.

"What?" She curled and snaked her body, searching for contact. "Elliott, I-"

"I c-c-c-can't." I took two deep breaths. "Your ffffather is p-p-probably w-wondering w-where you a-a-are."

"My father?" She pulled her hands back and ran them through her hair. Then suddenly she was off of me and I felt cold. "You need to come up with a better excuse, Elliott. That one's getting old."

I shook my head, but knew she was right. "You're ssssstill hhhhigh."

I wanted to tell her that I wasn't Chris and I wouldn't have s.e.x with her when she wasn't in her right mind, but I doubted I could even say the word "s.e.x" while I was hard like this. And her mental status wasn't the real reason anyway.

Sophie turned and grabbed her bag from the floor, holding it to her chest. I hated that I disappointed her. I hated that she took it all wrong.

"Whatever."

"I llllllike k-k-k-kissing you, but you hhhhave to understand that I c-c-c..."

"Yeah, I know, you 'can't' do that s.h.i.+t with me." I reached out for her because I hated that she thought I didn't want her, but she wouldn't let me touch her. She pulled away and opened the door.

"I don't get it. How can you not do that with me but you can f.u.c.k Megan Simons at a bonfire?"

I froze. My breathing stopped. My fingers hurt as I gripped the steering wheel tightly. How did she know about that? Why did she have to use such cra.s.s language? There were strangled noises that I suddenly recognized as the stuttered sounds of my own voice.

"s.h.i.+t." Sophie turned around, brus.h.i.+ng the hair away from my face that stuck out from under my stocking cap. "Never mind," she said. "It doesn't matter. I..." she stopped and drew a breath. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, right?"

Although I nodded, I barely had time to process her question and the fact that she was pulling away from me again, before she was out of the car and disappearing through her door.

She didn't talk to me for three days, but her eyes were clear.

And that was enough.

It wasn't like she ignored me. We drove to and from school together and we hung out, once at her house, and once at mine. She even sat with me during Study Hall and at lunch.

She just didn't talk.

It was okay by me. I respected silence and the need for it. I wished more people understood that sometimes there was nothing in the world worth saying.

We didn't e-mail either. I seemed to be procrastinating with her questions. I would answer them eventually though, except maybe the Christmas one. I would rather not get into that whole thing, especially when I wanted to be focused on her. She needed help right now because even though we hadn't given proper voice to it, I knew that she wasn't doing the things she normally did to avoid actually feeling. That had to be difficult for her.

The answer to the question she posed was just more of the same, and I didn't want to burden her with it. I wasn't ready to give that to her yet.

In time, she would forget that she asked.

Friday night brought about the regular ritual of therapy and time with Sophie. When Robin let us break off into pairs, instead of going to my room, Sophie and I grabbed our coats and headed toward the greenhouse. I wanted her to see how quickly the plants were growing. Maybe she would be excited that the little buds had started to grow on the stalk, and soon she'd have fresh Brussels sprouts to eat.