Текст книги " The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend "
Автор книги: Kody Keplinger
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Why? What was going on with her? With both of them.
Toby squeezed me before letting go and kneeling down to scoop up his fallen letter. “I can’t believe it. My parents will never believe it.”
I pulled my eyes away from my friends as they vanished behind a group of freshmen and turned my attention back to the beaming boy in front of me. “If they know you at all, Toby, they’ll totally believe it,” I said. “We’ve all known that you’re destined for great things for a long time. I mean, I’ve known for years.”
Toby looked surprised. “Years? But we really didn’t start talking until just a few weeks ago.”
“But we’ve had classes together since we were freshmen,” I reminded him. “We didn’t have to talk for me to know you were awesome.” I grinned and clapped him on the back. “And you just proved me right.” The bell rang, and I turned toward the doors that led to the student parking lot. “See you later, Toby. Congratulations!”
“Yeah. Thanks, Bianca.”
As I walked to the double doors, I wondered if I’d said too much. Did I give myself away as a semi-stalker? God, I hoped not. The last thing I wanted was to scare the poor guy away after less than a month of actual human contact. That would really make me a loser.
I was about to push open the door that led to the student parking lot when a loud “Ahem” caught my attention. I turned around and saw Casey leaning against the school’s nearly empty trophy case, her arms crossed over her chest. The way her eyes were narrowed annoyed me right away.
“What?” I asked.
She scowled and let her arms fall heavily to her sides. “Nothing,” she grumbled. “Forget it!”
“Casey, what are you—?”
“Not now, B.” She turned around and started stomping away from me. “I have cheer practice.”
My hands flew automatically to my hips. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I demanded. “You sound like a total bitch.”
She stopped and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’m the bitch? You ignore me, and I’m the bitch? WTF, Bianca!” She shook her head. “Whatever. I’m not having this conversation right now. Not when we were supposed to have it ten minutes ago, like you told Jess we would. I guess you were too busy hanging all over that geek to—”
“Criticizing Toby sounds pretty damn bitchy to me, Casey,” I snapped. How dare she! She knew I liked him. She knew that having him pay any attention to me was a big deal! She knew, and yet she was bitching at me for it? “You’re acting like a preppy cheerleader snob.”
Her eyes flashed, and for a second it looked like she might pounce on me. I seriously thought I was going to get into an all-out, hair-pulling, reality-show girl fight with my best friend right in front of the parking lot doors.
But she walked away. Not a word. Not even a sound. She just drifted toward the gymnasium, leaving me pissed and totally confused.
I’d fought with Casey before; it’s bound to happen when you’ve been friends as long as we had. But this argument really unnerved me, mostly because I didn’t know what her deal was. I stormed across the parking lot, trying to figure out what I could have done to deserve that drama. Clearly I’d set her off somehow.
And of course things just had to get better and better.
My car wouldn’t start. I tried and tried again, but still got nothing. The battery was completely dead.
“Fuck!” I yelled, slamming my fist into the steering wheel. This was not what I needed. Hadn’t my day been bad enough? Hadn’t my life been bad enough? It was like nothing ever went right. “Shit! Damn! Hell! Start, you piece of—”
“Having car problems, Duffy?”
I paused mid-rant to glare at the offending shadow. I opened the door and told Wesley, “My fucking car won’t turn on.” Then I saw the girl standing next to him.
Skinny. Big boobs. It wasn’t Louisa Farr. This girl was cuter. She had a round, sweet face with curly brown hair that bounced around her shoulders and large gray eyes. Way prettier than me, of course. Probably some freshman who only had to take one look at Wesley’s sexy smile and pretty, shiny car before she put out. Again, that twinge of jealousy overpowered me. Just PMS.
“Would you like me to give you a ride?” he asked.
“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll just call…” But who would I call? Mom was in Tennessee. Dad was at work. Casey had cheer practice. Not that it mattered. She was pissed at me anyway, and she and Jess both relied on their parents—or me—to drive them around. Who would come get me?
“Come on, Duffy,” Wesley said, grinning at me. “You know you want to ride with me.” He bent down to look me in the eyes. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“That’s okay.” There was no way I was riding in the same car as Wesley and his latest conquest. Nope. Not a chance.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can call someone later. There’s no point staying in the parking lot until dark. I just have to drop Amy off, and then I can take you home.”
Amy, I thought. So that’s the bimbo’s name.
Then something in the back of my mind clicked.
Oh my God! Amy! Amy was his sister! I looked at the girl again, wondering how I’d missed it. Curly brown hair, dark gray eyes, very attractive. Duh. The resemblance was obvious. I was an unbelievable dumbass.
Wesley reached past me and pulled my keys out of the ignition.
“Fine,” I said, feeling significantly better. I snatched back my keys and dropped them into my purse. “Let me get my stuff.” Once I had everything I needed, I locked the doors and followed Wesley to his car, which was easy to spot since it was the only Porsche in the parking lot.
“Now, Duffy,” Wesley said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. I slid into the back so that Amy, who was apparently the quiet type, could sit with her brother. “This means you’ll actually have to admit that I do nice things for people on occasion.”
“I never said you don’t do nice things,” I told him as I attempted to situate myself in the cramped backseat. God, for being such fancy cars, Porches had zero legroom. I had to sit sideways with my knees pulled up to my chest. So not comfortable. “You do. But only when it benefits you in some way.”
Wesley scoffed. “Did you hear that, Amy? Can you believe what she thinks of me?”
“I’m sure Amy knows what you’re like.”
Wesley went silent.
Amy laughed but she seemed kind of nervous.
She didn’t say much during the ride, though Wesley made several attempts to coax her into our conversation. At first I wondered if maybe it was because of me, but it didn’t take long to figure out that she was just shy. When we pulled into the driveway of the large, old-fashioned house, which I knew must belong to Wesley’s grandmother, Amy looked into the backseat and said quietly, “Bye. It was nice to meet you,” before ducking out of the car.
“She’s sweet,” I said.
“She needs to break out of her shell.” Wesley sighed as he watched her hurry up to the front porch. Once she’d disappeared into the big house (it was no almost-mansion, but clearly his grandma had money, too), he looked back at me. “You can take the front seat if you want.”
I nodded and got out of the car. I opened the passenger’s door and eased myself into the seat Amy had just abandoned. Right around the time I got my seat belt fastened, I heard Wesley let out a low groan. “What’s your problem?” I asked, looking up. But I figured out the answer before he said a word.
A woman in her sixties had just come out of the house, and she was walking toward the car. Wesley’s grandma, no doubt. Wesley’s grandma who hated him. No wonder he looked like he wanted to hide. I felt a little anxious as I watched the woman, who was very well dressed in an expensive-looking salmon sweater and perfectly creased slacks, stride toward the car.
Wesley rolled down his window when she got close enough to hear him. “Hi, Grandma Rush. How are you?”
“Don’t play with me, Wesley Benjamin. I’m furious with you at the moment.” But she didn’t sound furious. Her voice was high-pitched and soft. Silky. She sounded like the sweetest old woman ever, but her words didn’t fit the part.
“What did I do this time?” Wesley asked with a sigh. “Wear the wrong shoes? Or is it that the car isn’t clean enough today? What mild imperfection are you going to throw at me this afternoon?”
“I would suggest you refrain from using that tone with me,” she said in the least intimidating voice imaginable. This would have been funny if Wesley didn’t look so unhappy. “Live your life how you like, but leave little Amy out of it.”
“Amy? What did I do to Amy?”
“Honestly, Wesley,” his grandma said with a dramatic sigh. “Why don’t you just let Amy take the bus? I don’t approve of you driving her around with your”—she paused—“friends in the backseat.” She looked across Wesley, her eyes locking with mine for an instant before shifting back to her grandson. “I wouldn’t want them to be a negative influence on your sister.”
For a second I was confused. I was a straight-A student. I’d never been in any trouble in my life. Yet this woman thought I would somehow damage her precious granddaughter.
And then it hit me.
She thought I was one of Wesley’s tramps. She thought I was a slutty chick he screwed around with. Wesley had told me that his grandmother disapproved of his “lifestyle.” She hated the way he slept around. And seeing me in the backseat, she’d just assumed I was another floozy he’d picked up.
I looked away, staring out my window to avoid seeing the expression of disgust on the old woman’s face. I felt hurt and angry.
Mostly because I knew it was true.
“That is none of your business,” Wesley growled. I’d never heard him sound so pissed before. “You have no right to disrespect my friend, and it certainly isn’t your place to decide what I do with my own sister. You should know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do anything to harm her, despite what you’ve convinced her of. I’m not the monster you tell her I am, you know.”
“I think I should drive Amy home from school after today.”
“Go ahead,” he said. “But you won’t keep me away from her. She’s my sister, and Mom and Dad will have a fit if I tell them that you’re trying to break apart our family, Grandmother.”
“I’m afraid your family is already broken, my dear.”
There was a buzz, indicating that Wesley had rolled his window back up, and the engine revved. I watched as the old woman walked back toward her house. Then, with squealing tires, Wesley backed out of the driveway and sped down the street. I glanced over at him, worried and unsure of what to say. Luckily, he spoke first.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was coming outside. She shouldn’t have treated you that way.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“No, it’s not. She’s a shrew.”
“I gathered that much.”
“And the worst part is that she’s right.”
“About what?” I asked.
“About our family,” he said. “She’s right. It is broken. It has been for a long time. Mom and Dad are always gone, and Grandma’s managed to come between Amy and me.”
“Amy still loves you.”
“Maybe,” he murmured. “But she thinks less of me. Grandma has her convinced that I’m some no-good son of a bitch. I’ve seen the way Amy looks at me now. She looks at me like she’s sad. Like she’s disappointed in me. She thinks I’m a horrible person.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made the joke about you only doing nice things for… for benefits.”
“It’s fine.” The car was slowing down a little. “Honestly, you’re right. And Grandma is, too. I just never wanted Amy to see me that way.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to reach over to the gearshift and put my hand over Wesley’s. His skin was warm and soft, and I could feel his pulse throbbing steadily beneath my palm. I forgot about my stupid car and my fight with Casey. I just wanted Wesley to smile again. Even that cocky grin would have worked. I hated that he was so hurt by the possibility of losing his sister’s respect. I wanted to comfort him. I cared about him.
Oh my God. I actually cared?
17
Ten minutes later, the Porsche pulled into my driveway. I grabbed my stuff and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.” A glance back over my shoulder showed me that Wesley was still sulky. Well, hell! Why not? “You can come inside if you want. My dad isn’t home yet.”
Wesley grinned at me as he cut the engine. “You’re a dirty-minded little girl, Duffy. It would appear that you’re trying to corrupt me.”
“You’re way past corruption,” I assured him.
We got out of the car and walked up the driveway together. I dug the keys out of my purse and unlocked the front door, allowing Wesley to walk inside ahead of me. I watched his eyes move around the living room, and I couldn’t help feeling a little self-conscious. He must have been comparing the place to his almost-mansion. Obviously there was no comparison. I didn’t even live in a coatrack house like Jessica.
“I like it,” Wesley said. He looked back at me. “It’s cozy.”
“That’s nice for small, isn’t it?”
“No. I’m serious. It’s comfortable. My house is too big, even for four people, and since I’m the only one in it most of the time… I like yours better. Cozy, like I said.”
“Thanks.” I was flattered. Not that I cared what he thought, but…
“Where’s your room?” he asked, winking at me.
“I knew that was coming. Now who’s corrupting whom?” I took him by the elbow and led him up the stairs. “Right here.” I gestured to the first door. “I warn you, it’s about the size of a Cracker Jack box.”
He opened the door and peered inside. Then he looked back at me with that familiar smirk. “We’ll have enough room.”
“Enough room for what?”
Before I knew what was happening, Wesley had grabbed me by the hips and was pushing me into my bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind us, spun me around, and slammed me against the wall, where he began kissing me so hard that I thought my head might pop off. I was surprised, but once that wore off, I joined in. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. He tightened his grip on my waist and shoved my jeans down as low as they would go without unbuttoning. Then he slid his hands under the elastic band of my underwear and rubbed his fingers along my hot, tingling skin.
After a few minutes, he pulled his mouth away from mine. “Bianca, can I ask you something?”
“No,” I said quickly. “I am not giving you a blow job. No fucking way. Just the thought of it is disgusting and degrading and… No. Never.”
“While that’s a little disappointing,” Wesley said, “it’s not what I was planning to ask you.”
“Oh.” That was a little embarrassing. “Well, then what?”
He took his hands out of my pants and placed them gently on my shoulders. “What are you escaping from now?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know your ex-boyfriend left town weeks ago,” he said. “But I can tell there is still something bothering you. As much as I’d like to believe it’s just me—you can’t get enough of me—I know there’s more to it. What are you running from, Bianca?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie.”
“It’s none of your business, okay?” I pushed him away from me and yanked my jeans back up where they belonged. Automatically, I knelt down by the pile of clean clothes at the foot of my bed and started folding them. “Let’s just talk about something else.”
Wesley sat down on the floor beside me. “Fine,” he said. I could tell he was using that I’ll-be-patient-until-you-decide-to-tell-me voice. The one you use with little kids. Too bad for him. That would never happen. He was just my sex toy, after all, not my psychiatrist.
We talked about school while I folded my clothes. When they were all in neat stacks, I stood up and moved to sit on my bed.
“Aren’t you going to put them away?” Wesley asked.
“No,” I said.
“Then what was the point in folding them?”
I sighed and stretched out on my back, kicking off my Converse. “I don’t know,” I admitted, resting my head on the pillow and staring at the ceiling. “I guess it’s a habit or whatever. I fold the clothes every night, and it makes me feel better. It’s relaxing and it clears my head. Then the next morning, I dig through the stacks for what I’m gonna wear, and they all get messed up, so I get to fold them again that night. Like a cycle.”
My bed creaked as Wesley climbed on top of me, wedging himself between my knees. “You know,” he said, looking down at me. “That’s pretty strange. Neurotic, really.”
“Me?” I laughed. “You’re the one who’s trying to get in my pants again, like, ten seconds after a failed attempt at a heart-to-heart. I’d say we’re both pretty fucked up.”
“Very true.”
We started kissing again. This time his hands moved up my shirt and unhooked my bra. There wasn’t much room in my little twin bed, but Wesley still managed to get my top off and my jeans unzipped in record time. I started to undo his pants, too, but he stopped me.
“No,” he said, moving my hand away. “You might not agree with blow jobs, but I have a feeling you’ll enjoy this.”
I opened my mouth to argue but shut it quickly as he started kissing down my stomach. His hands began moving my jeans and underwear down toward my knees, one of them pausing briefly to squeeze the ticklish place above my hip, causing me to jerk once with a giggle. His lips moved lower and lower, and I was surprised by how much I was anticipating their final destination.
I’d heard Vikki and even Casey talk about their boyfriends going down on them and how good it felt. I’d heard, but I didn’t entirely believe it. Jake and I had never done that, and I’d always just assumed it was gross and weird.
It was kind of weird at first, but then it wasn’t anymore. It felt… strange—but in a good way. Dirty, wrong, amazing. My fingers curled in the sheets, gripping the cloth tightly, and my knees shook. I was feeling things I’d never felt before. “Ah,… oh,” I gasped with pleasure and surprise and—
“Oh, shit.”
Wesley jumped away from me. He’d heard the car door slam, too. That meant my dad was home.
I pulled up my underwear and fastened my jeans quickly, but it took me a minute to find my bra. Once I was completely dressed, I flattened my hair and did my best not to look like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar.
“Should I leave?” Wesley asked.
“No,” I said breathlessly. I could tell he didn’t want to go back to the empty almost-mansion. “Stay a little while. It’s fine. Dad won’t care. We just can’t… do that.”
“What else is there to do?”
So, like complete losers, we played Scrabble for the next four and a half hours. There was barely enough space in the floor of my tiny room for someone as tall as Wesley to stretch out on his stomach, but he managed, and I sat across from him, the board between us as we spelled out words like quixotic and hegemony. Not exactly the most exciting Friday night, but I enjoyed it way more than I would have if I’d gone to the Nest or some lame party in Oak Hill.
Around nine, after I’d kicked his ass three times—finally, something I could beat him at!—Wesley got to his feet. “I guess I should go home,” he sighed.
“Okay.” I stood up. “I’ll walk you downstairs.”
I was in such a good mood that I’d managed to forget all about Dad… until we ran into him in the living room. I smelled the whiskey before I saw the bottle on the coffee table, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment. Please don’t notice, I thought to myself as I walked Wesley toward the front door. I guess I should’ve started worrying when he hadn’t checked upstairs to see whose Porsche was in our driveway. I mean, it wasn’t like having a car that shiny in front of our house was a common occurrence. Maybe Wesley hadn’t thought about that either. It was a Friday night, after all. Dads could drink whiskey on weekends… well, ones that weren’t recovering alcoholics, but Wesley didn’t know that side of the story. As long as my father acted normal, this might slide by as nothing out of the ordinary.
But, of course, I never had that kind of good luck.
“Bumblebee!” Dad said, and I could tell he was already smashed. Great. Just fucking fantastic. He stumbled to his feet and looked over at the front door, where Wesley and I stood. “Hey, Bumblebee. I didn’t even know you were home. Who’s this?” His eyes narrowed at Wesley. “A boy?”
“Um, Dad, this is Wesley Rush,” I said, trying to stay calm. “He’s a friend of mine.”
“A ‘friend.’… I bet.” He grabbed the whiskey bottle before taking a few unsteady steps toward us, his eyes squinting at Wesley. “Did you have fun up in my little girl’s bedroom, boy?”
“I sure did,” Wesley said, clearly trying to sound like one of those innocent oh-gee-whiz! boys from fifties TV shows. “We played three games of Scrabble. Your daughter is really good with words, sir.”
“Scrabble? I’m not an idiot. That must be some new code for… for oral sex!” Dad snarled.
I must have turned scarlet. How did he know? Could he see right into my mind? No, of course he couldn’t. He was just drunk and making accusations, and looking guilty would only make things worse. So I laughed as if it were ridiculous. As if it were a joke. Wesley, following my lead, did the same.
“Sure, Dad,” I said. “And intercourse is Yahtzee, right?”
“I’m not being funny!” Dad snapped, swinging his bottle and sloshing whiskey onto the carpet. Wonderful. I’d be the one cleaning that up. “I know what’s up. I’ve seen the way your slutty friends dress, Bianca. They’re rubbing off on you, aren’t they?”
I couldn’t force the laughter any longer. “My friends aren’t slutty,” I whispered. “You’re drunk off your ass, and you don’t know what you’re saying.” With a surge of bravery, I reached forward and swiped the bottle from his hand. “You shouldn’t have any more, Dad.”
For a second, I felt good. That was what I should have done all along. Just taken things into my own hands and removed the bottle. I felt empowered. Like I could fix things.
“I should go,” Wesley said behind me.
I started to turn around and say bye, but the words never left my mouth. I felt the bottle slip from my hand and heard it smash on the floor beside me. I was knocked to the ground, but for a second I didn’t understand what had happened. Then the delayed pain in my temple stunned me. It was like I’d been hit by something. Something hard. Something blunt. Something like the palm of my father’s hand. I reached up and rubbed my head in shock, barely feeling the actual pain.
“See!” Dad yelled. “Boys don’t stay with whores, Bianca. They leave them. And I’m not going to let you turn into a whore. Not my daughter. This is for your own good.”
I looked up as he reached a hand down to grab my arm. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting to feel his fingers clamp around my forearm.
But they never did.
I heard a loud thud, and Dad grunted in pain. My eyes flew open. Wesley moved away from Dad, who was massaging his jaw with a shocked look on his face. “Why you little shithead!”
“Are you all right?” Wesley asked, kneeling in front of me.
“Did you just punch my dad?” I couldn’t help but wonder if I was delirious. Had all of this really just happened? Totally bizarre.
“Yes,” Wesley admitted.
“How dare you touch me!” Dad screamed, but he was having trouble balancing enough to approach us again. “How dare you fuck my daughter, then hit me, you son of a bitch!”
I’d never heard my father swear like that before.
“Come on,” Wesley said, helping me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here. You’re coming with me.” He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close against his warm body, and ushered me out the open door.
“Bianca!” Dad yelled behind us. “You better not get in that damn car! You better not leave this house! You hear me, you little whore!”
The ride to Wesley’s house passed in silence. Several times I saw him open his mouth like he wanted to speak, but he always shut it again. I was in too much shock to say anything. My head didn’t hurt that much. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what Dad had done. But worse was the embarrassment. Why? Why did Wesley have to see that? What did he think of me now? What did he think of Dad?
“That’s never happened before,” I said, breaking the silence when we pulled into the driveway of the almost-mansion. Wesley cut the engine and looked over at me. “Dad’s never hit me… or even yelled at me like that before.”
“All right.”
“I just want you to know that wasn’t normal for us,” I explained. “I don’t live in an abusive house or anything. I don’t want you to think my dad is some kind of psychopath.”
“I was under the impression that you didn’t care what people thought,” he said.
“About me. I don’t care what they think about me.” I didn’t know that was a lie until the words had left my mouth. “But my family and friends are different…. My dad isn’t a psychopath. He’s just having a rough time right now.” I could feel the lump rising in my throat, and I tried to gulp it down. I needed to explain. He needed to know. “My mom just filed for a divorce, and… and he just can’t handle it.”
The lump wasn’t going away. It just kept growing. All of my worries and fears had been leading up to this moment, and I couldn’t fight them back anymore. I couldn’t keep them bottled up. Tears started gushing down my cheeks, and before I knew it I was sobbing.
How had this happened? It felt like a bad dream. My father was the sweetest, nicest man I knew. He was naive and fragile. This wasn’t him. Even though I’d heard his reasons for sobriety before—even though I knew, in the back of my head, that his drinking was dangerous—it still didn’t seem real. It didn’t seem possible.
I felt like my world was finally spinning out of control. And this time, I couldn’t deny it. I couldn’t ignore it. And I definitely couldn’t escape it.
Wesley didn’t say anything. He just sat with me in silence. I didn’t even realize he was holding my hand until after the tears had stopped. Once I’d caught my breath and wiped away the few salty drops from my eyes, he opened his door and walked around to open mine. He helped me out of the car—not that I needed it, but it was still nice—and led me up to the porch with his arm tight around me, like the way he’d guided me out of my house, keeping me close. As if he was afraid I might slip away in the darkness between his car and the front door.
Once we were inside, Wesley offered me a drink. I shook my head, and we went upstairs like we always did. I sat on the bed, and he sat down next to me. He wasn’t looking at me, but he seemed to be deep in thought. I couldn’t help wondering what horrible things were on his mind. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.
“Are you all right?” he asked, turning to face me finally. “Do you need an ice pack or anything?”
“No,” I said. My throat was sore from crying, and my words came out kind of croaky. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
He reached over and brushed the hair away from my face, his fingers barely grazing my temple. “Well,” he said quietly. “At least now I know.”
“Know what?”
“What you’re trying to escape from.”
I didn’t respond.
“Why didn’t you tell me that your father has a drinking problem?” he asked.
“Because it’s not my place to tell,” I said. “And it’ll pass. He’s just going through a hard time right now. He hasn’t had a drink in eighteen years. Just since the divorce papers came in…. He’ll get better.”
“You should talk to him. When he’s sober, you should tell him that it’s getting out of hand.”
“Yeah,” I scoffed. “And make him think I’m against him, too? When my mom has just handed him the divorce papers?”
“You’re not against him, Bianca.”
“Tell me, Wesley, why don’t you talk to your parents?” I asked. He was being a hell of a hypocrite, wasn’t he? “Why don’t you tell them that you’re lonely? That you want them to come home? It’s because you don’t want to upset them, right? You don’t want them to blame you for their misery? If I tell Dad he has a problem, he’ll think I hate him. How can I hurt him more? He just lost everything.”
Wesley shook his head. “Not everything. He didn’t lose you,” he said. “At least not yet. If you don’t talk to him, he’ll just end up driving you away, and then he will be in far worse pain.”
“Maybe.”
Wesley’s fingers continued to rub soothingly against my temple. “This doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“Not at all.” Actually, the way he was massaging my skull felt pretty good. I sighed and leaned into his hand. “The things he said hurt way more,” I murmured.
I bit my lower lip. “You know,” I said to Wesley, “I’ve never been called a whore in my life, and today two different people have implied that I am. What’s funny is, I’m pretty sure they’re right.”
“That’s not funny,” Wesley muttered. “You’re not a whore, Bianca.”
“Then, what am I?” I demanded, feeling suddenly angry. I pushed his hand away from my head and stood up. “What am I? I’m screwing a guy who isn’t my boyfriend and lying about it to my friends… if they’re even my friends anymore. I don’t even think about it now, whether this is right or wrong! I’m a whore. Your grandma and my dad both think so, and they’re right.”
Wesley stood up, his face hard and serious. He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me firmly, forcing me to look up at him. “Listen to me,” he said. “You are not a whore. Are you listening, Bianca? What you are is an intelligent, sassy, sarcastic, cynical, neurotic, loyal, compassionate girl. That’s what you are, okay? You’re not a slut or a whore or anything remotely similar. Just because you have some secrets and some screwups… You’re just confused… like the rest of us.”
I stared at him, stunned. Was he right? Was the rest of the world just as lost as I was? Did everyone have their secrets and screwups? They must. I knew Wesley was just as messed up as me, so surely the rest of the world had its imperfections, too.
“Bianca, whore is just a cheap word people use to cut each other down,” he said, his voice softer. “It makes them feel better about their own mistakes. Using words like that is easier than really looking into the situation. I promise you, you’re not a whore.”
I looked at him, into his warm gray eyes, and suddenly understood what he was trying to tell me. The message hidden beneath the words.
You’re not alone.
Because he understood. He understood how it felt to be abandoned. He understood the insults. Understood me.
I pushed myself onto my tiptoes and kissed him—really kissed him. It was more than just a precursor to sex. There was no war between our mouths. My hips rested lightly beneath his, not pressed tightly. Our lips moved in soft, perfect harmony with each other. This time it meant something. What that something was, I didn’t know at the time, but I knew that there was a real connection between us. His hands stroked gently through my hair, his thumb grazing my cheek—still damp from crying earlier. And it didn’t feel sick or twisted or unnatural. Actually, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
