Every Ugly Word Page 7

  “I do not—” He cut himself off, eyes screwed shut. “If I cared more about what they thought, I wouldn’t be helping you, would I?” he said through his teeth. Then his eyes snapped open and fixed on me. “And what the hell you were doing with Finn?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  Matt huffed out a breath. “You don’t want me to mind my own business.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  But he was right, and he knew it. I didn’t want him to stop caring. I didn’t want him to be mad at me. But I couldn’t tell him what was going on.

  Matt shook his head, walking toward the car. “Sometimes you’re a real piece of work, Ash,” he muttered.

  I shivered. “Glad you finally noticed.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I am surprised by how affected I am, recounting that story. I take a deep breath as Doc removes a tiny cloth from his pocket. He cleans his glasses as he speaks.

  “So, your incident wasn’t the first physical altercation with Finn?”

  “No, but the night of the party was the first time I actually felt . . . threatened.”

  He puts his glasses back on. “Ashley, I know that the legal ramifications of your story have already been dealt with. But given the emotion clearly still attached to this, there is something that I think might be important to say at this point.”

  I wait, prepared to hear about how I should role-play confronting Finn, or write him a letter or something. I’ve been through this before.

  Doc clears his throat. “I want you to know that what Finn did to you that night was nothing short of despicable. It was intimidating, violating, and horribly disrespectful.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “No, I’m not sure you do.”

  I frown at him, because I’m confident that I know Finn’s a pig better than anyone else. But Doc leans forward.

  “Ashley, what he did was wrong. You didn’t deserve that on any level. He used his superior strength and social status to threaten you. I have no doubt that your reaction after the fact was actually shock. For a young man to do that to a young woman simply because he can? I am sickened by it.”

  I swallow. “T-thank you.”

  Doc shakes his head. “This story goes much deeper than I was led to believe. I find myself . . . disturbed that these events went unaddressed for so long.”

  I shift in my seat.

  “Tell me, did you report these events to your mother? Or a teacher? Any responsible adult?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?”

  I sigh. “Because it all kind of got lost in the shuffle of what happened after that. By the time things had calmed down, it felt like it was too late to tell anyone. And I didn’t want them to know about the letter, so . . .”

  Doc frowns. “What events could possibly have overshadowed that?”

  •••

  I woke the next morning to a tectonic shift in self-loathing.

  I couldn’t stop seeing Matt’s stony face when he’d dropped me off. How he’d shaken his head. How he left the party to deal with me, then returned to Karyn . . .

  I buried my face in my pillow. It was really happening. After ten years, Matt was finally sick of me. He was finally going to dump me forever. And it was totally my own fault.

  I dragged myself out of bed and got in the shower, stood facing the hissing stream, praying that somehow things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Praying Matt would come pick me up and be his nice, caring self, making sure I was okay, tell me the fight last night was no big deal. Praying Karyn had gotten really drunk and cheated on him with Finn, and Matt had found out.

  Afterward, I got dressed and twisted my wet hair up into a bun; I needed to get to the art room by 9:30. Then I heard a knock on the front door. It had to be Matt. Nerves and relief hit in equal measure. I practically ran for the door. The dark shadow behind the glass had his back to me as I approached. I took a deep breath and twisted the knob.

  “I’m so glad you’re here! I’m so sorry ab—”

  The six-foot-two frame in front of me turned, but instead of sandy brown hair and blue eyes, I was faced with light hair and brown eyes and oh for the sake of all that is holy . . .

  Dex stood in the doorway, early morning sun filtering in behind him. At least, I thought it was Dex. The Dex I’d known had had a shaved head, bad skin, and hooded, glazed eyes. This one had a mess of golden hair, a perfect complexion, and a clear gaze. Underneath a gray cotton T-shirt and a leather jacket, his lanky limbs had filled out with hard muscles.

  He smiled. “How are you doing, Ashley?”

  “I’m . . . What are you doing here?” I blurted, managing to swallow the follow up: Where the hell have you been—and when did you start looking like that?

  “I tried to call, but it said your old number wasn’t connected anymore . . .” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I know this is weird, but . . . I’m back. I wanted to see you before school on Monday, especially after the way things went down.”

  “You left without a word,” I said through clenched teeth, mad as hell to feel my throat tighten. That’s when everything came flooding back—how I’d thought he and I would be together . . . how he never cared as much about me as I had about him . . . how he just left without even saying good-bye. How angry and humiliated I’d been.

  Dex and I had dated . . . sort of. He’d asked me to prom, then two days before it, he just disappeared. One day, he was in class—the next day, he wasn’t. And that wouldn’t have been so crazy, if his phone hadn’t been turned off. And if he’d answered any text messages. Or e-mails.

  No one could tell me where he had gone or what had happened. I even went to the school office on Friday afternoon, before the dance, to ask if they knew where he was. All they could tell me was that he was no longer registered as a student. The next morning, when I realized I had to tell my mom, she accused me of making the whole thing up just so I could get a new dress.

  “I know.” He swallowed again, hunched his shoulders, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. “I came here because I wanted to explain. I wanted you to know . . . everything. And I want to say sorry. For real.”

  “Where were you?” I’d heard his dad had gotten a job in Ohio, or somewhere random. I’d heard his mom had cancer and they had to go to California for her treatment. I also heard Dex had decked a teacher and gone to jail.

  Dex took a deep breath, his feet shifting on our cement step. Then he looked right at me and said, “I was in rehab.”

  •••

  After that little bombshell, I brought Dex to the living room and put him on one end of the couch. He didn’t want coffee, but he took a glass of lemonade that he held on his knee and kept turning while he talked. I sat at the other end of the couch.

  “That day . . . ,” he said to his glass, “I came to school high. I’d been doing that more and more. Or just skipping.”

  I nodded. Toward the end, I’d never known if he was going to be around or not. And when he was, he’d sometimes walk right past me, joking with his friends, skateboard tucked in his big backpack.

  Dex shoved out a breath. “So, after school, I was under the bleachers with Wade. He’d gotten his hands on some stuff. I don’t really know what it was, but it felt like the top of my head was about to blow off. When Mr. Goodrich found us and said he was going to suspend us, I just . . . lost it.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I swung at him. Got him in the chin. It wasn’t that hard because he ducked, but . . . well, my dad made an agreement with the school that I couldn’t come back until I’d been clean for a year. Then my parents sent me to rehab.” He trailed off, looking sheepish.

  There was still a lump in my throat I had to keep swallowing. “I had to hear you’d left town from Brooke.”

  He put the lemonade on the coffee table, fiddled with the coaster for a second. “I won’t make excuses, Ash. I just . . . I was all messed up and I made terrible decisions. By the time my head was clear enough to realize what I
’d done, I wanted to wait until I was clean and could tell you the whole story. There was a lot I had to make up for. My parents . . .” His jaw twitched. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

  I gaped. Dex didn’t apologize. He didn’t own up. I used to watch him flat-out lie—to the teachers about where his homework was or why he was late for class, or to me about why he’d stood me up.

  “You were a good girlfriend, Ash,” he went on. “And I just . . . took you for granted.”

  “You thought I was your girlfriend?” I squeaked, hating myself for the surge of pleasure that came with the word.

  Dex frowned. “Of course you were my girlfriend. Did you think I was dating other people?”

  “No. I mean, I didn’t know. I had no idea what we were . . . or what you thought. I just . . . I just wanted to be with you . . .” I trailed off, blushing, and hugged my knee to my chest. I couldn’t believe I’d just admitted that.

  But then Dex cupped my chin and tilted my head up. I knew I looked as pathetic as I felt. But he didn’t suddenly grimace and walk away. Instead, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t deserve you back then. And I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  Who was this person?

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to figure out how to fill the silence. But then Dex looked at my mouth and a tingle started low in my belly.

  The moment stretched tighter.

  Was he going to kiss me?

  Did I want him to?

  I was saved from having to decide by the sound of an engine, followed by the flash of reflected light zipping across the wall announcing the arrival of a car.

  For once I was popular, apparently.

  Dex and I both stilled. I was the first one to sit back, to look in the direction of the door. “Someone’s here,” I said unnecessarily, getting to my feet. Dex got up to follow me.

  Matt’s truck glinted in the sunlight. I caught a glimpse of sandy-brown hair shimmering under the sun before he passed out of sight into the alcove at the front door. I was already turning the handle when he knocked. For a moment I had déjà vu. Except this time it was Matt who stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, face expressionless.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” he said quietly. “I figured you’d want a ride.”

  A ride? Oh, crap . . . The art room. I was due there . . . now.

  “Are you ready?” Matt asked, the words clipped.

  “Almost,” I lied. “I just . . .”

  Then Matt looked over my shoulder and his jaw dropped.

  “Dex?” he asked, disbelieving.

  Dex put a hand on my shoulder. “Mike, right?”

  “It’s Matt, actually,” Matt ground out.

  “Matt. Right. Sorry.” Dex didn’t sound sorry.

  Matt’s brow creased.

  “Dex is back,” I said lamely. “He came to see me.”

  “No kidding.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence where the guys glared at each other while I examined the wallpaper and tried to figure out what to do. In the end, I pulled the door wide, stepping back.

  “Come in,” I said to Matt. “It’ll only take me a second to get ready.” I turned to Dex, trying to be subtle about pulling out of his grip. “I have to go to the art room. I’m . . . I’m entering a competition and I have so much work to get done before the deadline . . .”

  Dex’s face went blank for a second, then he smiled. “Oh, right, your art thing. I can give you a ride if you want. I don’t mind hanging out while you get ready. I’m going past there anyway.”

  I glanced at Matt. He was still frowning.

  “Um . . . sure. That would be great,” I said, then looked at Matt. “Then you don’t have to wait for me.”

  Matt looked at me, then tugged on my sleeve. “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”

  I swallowed. “Can’t we talk at school? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Matt glanced at Dex, then shook his head. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

  “Matt, don’t—”

  But he was already turning the handle. “Later, Dex. Try not to disappear again before you get her to the art room.”

  “Matt!”

  Dex just glared at Matt’s back.

  As soon as Matt disappeared behind the door, I turned back to Dex with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. He’s just protective. Like a big brother.”

  “Brother?” Dex cocked a brow, then turned to look out the window. Outside, a car door slammed, then an engine roared, whining as it pulled away too fast. “So, you guys are just friends?”

  “Yeah.” Whether I want it that way or not.

  But Dex grinned. “Good.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Doc frowns. “Dex?”

  “My ex-boyfriend. Kind of.” I still struggle to categorize Dex that way.

  Doc waits for an explanation. I pretend it’s no big deal.

  “Dex and I dated sophomore year. At least, that’s what he called it later. But at the time I wasn’t sure. It was never . . . defined.”

  “Why not?”

  I shift my weight, wincing when one of my scars pinches. “Dex was a year older. He and I had different friends.” Meaning he had some friends. “But during the summer between freshman and sophomore year, I decided I wanted to learn to skate. Dex and his friends were the local skaters. They helped me out. We got to talking . . . Things didn’t get, you know, personal between us until we were almost back at school.”

  “So, you two were dating.”

  Were we? I suppose. “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “And we had this weird relationship for almost a year.”

  “Weird how?”

  I open my hands, uncertain how to let Doc know this is no big deal.

  “Ashley?”

  “I don’t know, he was just hard to read, you know? He was all over me when we were alone, but wouldn’t even hold my hand in front of his friends. He said he hated PDA, but he didn’t mind groping me in a movie theater . . . I just never felt . . . sure of him. Turns out he was an addict, which explained a lot.”

  Doc’s frowning at his notebook and scribbling furiously. It makes me nervous. Then his hand stops skittering across the paper. “I assume you would have been happy for people to know you were dating Dex?”

  “Yeah. I guess. It wasn’t like it was a secret. We were just . . . low key.”

  “So he hid you. From your peers.”

  “No! He just liked hanging out with his guy friends. And he had a lot going on.”

  Doc’s lips flatten and I scowl. “It isn’t a big deal. We were fifteen,” I say.

  “Yes. Yet most of your peers were very overt about their relationships, weren’t they?”

  I snort. “Dex was an outcast, too.” It was part of what I liked about him. People hated him, too, but it never seemed to get to him.

  “An outcast cautious about letting his peers know he was attracted to you.”

  “Thanks for putting it that way.”

  Doc shifts in his seat. “Ashley, I’m sorry he did that to you.”

  Having prepared myself to defend against a lecture on respecting myself, I’m off balance. I don’t answer.

  “It concerns me, though, that you were willing to accept such a vaguely defined relationship. It says a lot about how you gauge your own value.”

  Yeah, yeah. “Past history, Doc. Dex wouldn’t get within fifty feet of me now.”

  “By your choice, or his?”

  Probably both. “Mine. Look, I know you’re going deep here, but this is old news now. It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened.”

  “Perhaps not directly, but I think your perspective on yourself has a lot to do with the very drastic situation you found yourself in.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. “With all due respect—”

  “What if it was Matt?”

  “What?” I’m taken off guard. I swallow.

  Doc’s
gaze is piercing. “What if Matt were the one offering a relationship without any kind of public commitment . . . would you do it?”

  Totally. “No.” I’d have hair implants and call myself a cat if it meant Matt would stroke me one more time.

  Doc stares at me, and there’s a disconcerting second when I’m sure he knows what I’m thinking. But he just writes something on his pad. “So, Dex left,” he says quietly. I’m waiting for the punch line, but it doesn’t come. I nod. “Then he returned. And did Matt have any opinions about Dex’s resurfacing?”

  “You could say that,” I mutter.

  •••

  As it happened, I didn’t get to talk to Matt right away. Mrs. D was in the art room all morning, banging around with the senior sculpture projects. So we worked quietly, then decided to walk the three blocks to a hot dog cart on the corner.

  I sat at the picnic table next to the cart’s awning, tipping my face to the sun. Matt ordered for us both, smiling when the vendor teased him about not wanting onions. Matt’s shoulders were so wide, they took up almost the whole window as he reached over the glass to pick up three little cardboard boxes, each with a dog and some chips. He was still smiling—until he started toward me and our eyes met.

  He dropped two of the boxes on his side of the picnic table, then slid the other box across the table in front of me. He straddled the bench, sitting side-on, and forced a grin. “Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.”

  We ate silently for a minute. It took Matt about four bites to get his first hot dog down, his cheek bulging as he chewed. Then he swallowed and glanced at me.

  “So . . . Dex is back.”

  “Subtle,” I said dryly.

  Matt grinned, but it fell off his face quickly. He watched an old guy in a baggy white T-shirt walk to the window and order. Then, finally, he turned to meet my gaze. His face was serious. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh, I don’t know. The guy who screwed with your head and then disappeared has just showed up again.”

  I shrugged. “I was surprised. But we talked and he seems okay now.”