Almost (24 page)

“Dad? Holy.” Kika's eyes fill with tears again and my heart clenches.

Our dad doesn't cry.

“The worst was everyone saying:
nothing happened, nothing really happened
combined with all the old stuff.”

“The old stuff?”

“Yeah. Like how the police officer said I was
so lucky
and that I'd be
fine
. He's always there…saying that. The voices were all so real—like I could tell them apart. One in my ear kept repeating my name, and then he said:
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry
.

I finally met Kika's gaze. My terror is reflected back in her eyes.

I hate that look and I hate myself for not being able to erase it.

“
All
of that's new?” Kika asks.

“Except for the voice in my ear. That's always been there. Even three years ago when you all thought I was permanently whacked. Right in my ear like that. Endlessly apologizing. Dr. Brodie suggested that maybe it's actually
me
. My
subconscious
. Like I'm talking to myself. Apologizing for my drinking and lying. All the stuff I still feel guilty about and for totally screwing everything up for our family. I think he's wrong. Even
that
voice had changed. It was someone else. Whispering. I don't know.”

I moan and put my hands over my ears as tightly as possible, pulling my legs up until I'm curled into a ball.

How I wish I could just push it all out of my head and forget. “I have no idea what's real.” I'm crying again. “I'm such a disaster of a sister. I'm sorry if I scared you.”

“Jess. I'm the one who's sorry—sorry you go through that night after night.”

I shoot her a grimace through my tears. “Maybe I screamed because I wanted them all to shut up. To stop saying I'll be
fine
. I won't ever be that, obviously. Sometimes, I think the whole thing would have been easier to deal with if I'd actually been raped. Instead of just
almost.
Then there'd be a concrete reason for why I'm this much of a failure at life. There are no ‘almost raped’, support groups or ‘almost better’ from ‘almost being raped’ websites. No blogs, Twitter and no ‘almost-crazy-but-not-quite’ Facebook support groups either.”

“I could make you one, if you want. Or Google the other stuff. Bet there's something. I'll compile a list.”

I flip onto my back and use the blankets to dry my tears. “I love your lists. It sure can't hurt.” We share a grim smile.

Kika takes my hand. “I'm glad it didn't happen. That you
weren't
raped. I can't imagine how I'd live knowing someone had hurt you so badly.” Kika grimaces. “It's hard enough to know what you did go through.”

“Yeah. You're right. I shouldn't have said that. I can't imagine how much heavier my heart would feel if that had been the case.” I stretch out and sit up a little, shooting Kika a grateful smile. “I'm fine…for now,” I say. “Thanks for sticking around.”

She throws her arms around me again. “You
will
be fine. You will. You are! You need more time. More help. Someone better than me to talk to,” Kika hints.

I pull out of her hug. “There is no one better than you. Unless you want me to stop talking to you. I don't want you upset or afraid for me.”

“No, I like that you talk to me. But I'm just a kid—not a doctor. I can only listen. I didn't even
get
what really happened to you until this year.”

“You mean what really didn't happen to me,” I try to joke.

“No. It happened. All the way or not, it happened and it was real and terrible.”

“I wish I could take it all away. Have a
do-over
.” I meet Kika's gaze. “I know it's wrong to heap all my garbage onto you; but I'm asking you not to tell. I want to figure this out on my own. Please. I'm begging you. If I can't solve this, then I'm sure Mom's going to catch on soon enough. I can hardly hide the fact that I'm screaming in my sleep for very long, right?”

“Keep screaming like
that,
and the neighbors will know,” Kika agrees, but she doesn't seem convinced. Her stony, freaked expression tells me the kid is going to be blabbing to Mom before bedtime unless I can take her mind off what just went down.

“Look. Aside from the nightmares, everything's going perfectly for me.” I point to a stack of papers on the corner of my desk. “My essays are done and ready to be typed. I'm working on getting my letters of recommendation lined up now. The internship is better than I could ever imagine, and…” I let out a practiced, gushing sigh before continuing, “
Corey Nash
—he's amazing. I have a secret.”

“What is it?” Kika arches her brows, interested but suspicious.

“I'm totally, completely, and absolutely falling for him.”

“As if
that's
a secret. You text the guy every six minutes, and you blush like a little kid if we bring him up at all.”

The shaking has almost stopped. I slap on an embarrassed smile. “Well,
he
texts me back every five minutes. I think he's falling for me too. He's asked me out again. Roller skating!”

“Really!” Kika grins. “Date number two can be an appropriate place for a first kiss, you know?” She grins wider.

“It's not a movie. I'm not going to kiss him on the second date. Your first kiss is when you find out he's not a creeper. That discovery should take a really, REALLY, really long time. We aren't even close to that. Yet.”

“OMG. OMG. You said YET! Meaning…you
want
to kiss him?”

“I…” I crack a real smile and blush thinking about it. There's no need for me to say anything more; Kika gets me, so I don't have to fake this.

“OMG!” Kika squeaks and is sucked into one of those contagious middle school giggle-fits. I burst out laughing along with her.

“What's all this noise in here?” Dad pokes his head into the room. “Mom sent me up because she thought she heard you two screaming and fighting. But I see no evidence of sibling war.”

“Jess is going on another
date
. Roller skating…with a guy.
The Corey guy.
” Kika chokes on another giggle.

“Hiking, now roller skating? I will say ‘no’ if the next one involves a zip line or rock climbing.” He smiles. “That explains all the screaming, I suppose. Is this true, Jess?” He steps into the room.

“Dad!” I quickly pull the covers over our heads so Dad will think I'm embarrassed instead of hiding mine and Kika's blotchy, post-crying faces. “It's true. Okay?” I call through the comforter. “It's not that kind of date. We're friends, going skating
with
a bunch of other friends. That's all. Hear me?
Friends.
And I'm telling
Kika
all about it, not you, Dad…so carry on…report back to Mom, please.”

Kika giggles in the dark next to me. “Yeah Dad, this is girl stuff,” she adds.

“I assume we will get to meet this mystery guy,” Dad says. From the sound of his voice he hasn't budged.

“Nope. You're never going to meet him!” I shout, and mean it. “He's just a
friend
. No reason for anyone to meet the parents. Yet,” I add.

Right on cue, Kika giggles again. “Unless she
kisses
him, and he becomes her
boyfriend.
Then we get to meet him. You promised.”

“Because that's not, at all, EVER, happening,” I say. “If I do kiss this guy, I'll bring him by the house so Dad can kill him. How's that?”

“Sounds perfect.” Dad laughs while Kika bursts into another fit of giggles. “And kill him I will,” Dad adds, which makes Kika laugh louder.

I try to laugh too, but I'm about to suffocate. “Okay, Dad…I'm humiliated enough here, you can go anytime.”

Thankfully, when I peek out of the blanket, Kika's still sighing and giggling. Her threat to tell our parents about my nightmare is forgotten, and Dad is long gone.

Divert successful.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jess

My first time roller skating has gone way beyond my low expectations. I've actually given it a rating of
perfect
despite the fact that the entire place is kind of whacked. Everything off the rink is covered with blue carpet and smells like old socks and stale sweat masked with Pine-Sol. It also blasts eighties pop non-stop, and has headache-worthy seventies disco lights.

But to me, it's become Cinderella's ballroom. I'm the girl crashing the party and dancing with the prince. This is total
progress
. Icing on the cake: Thanks to this date, I'd faced two other major
teen firsts
besides roller skating tonight: 1. An 11PM curfew and, 2. My new interrogator-style parents.

It's like the worried,
do-whatever-you-want-sweetie-pie
parents I used to have never existed. Tonight I'd been slapped with real live crankiness, a deadline and a long lecture about safety and
making good choices
before I'd left the house.

Double
progress.
This second date with Gray has earned me a first class ticket on the normal train! But it's also come with an unexpected price. Because my parents are worried I might have a boyfriend, my perfect ‘give me privacy' set-up is now at an end.

I knew this would happen eventually, but the third week into my contract with Gray seems way too soon for the prying to begin. I suppose it's my fault for being too good at all this lying.

In order for Mom and Dad to allow me to leave the house at all, I'd promised that I'd bring
Corey Nash
home for a barbecue next Sunday. Worse,
Corey's
supposed to pick me up and drive me the next time we go out. The speeding away from the driveway trick really pissed off Dad. They said if I was officially calling these outing
dates
—a word I'd used more than popcorn at the movies the past few days—then my
boyfriend
needed to man up. “Unless you're hiding something,
honey
,” Mom had said, suspicion dripping off her.

I search for Gray, who'd offered to get us drinks but now seems to have disappeared. Gripping the half-wall that separates me from the zooming people skating on the rink, I half skate, half walk, toward a sitting area. I'm trying to imagine scenarios that might work to delay the barbecue.

Maybe Gray could convince Corey to be his ‘stand in’ for one night; but I shudder at that thought. It would mean involving Corey in our contract, and I'm starting to like that everyone believes we're a real couple. Plus, Corey would blab the truth to the whole planet. Maybe not right away, but somewhere he'd slip up. The guy is just that type. Plus, I'd already imagined going back to school with only Gray and I holding onto this secret summer.

That feels safe—livable. Corey Nash…in my front yard eating Dad's special chili slapped on a grilled burger while pretending to be my boyfriend? That feels like the worst idea in the world.

I've run out of rink wall so I gingerly hold my hands out wide for balance and
tap-clump
my wheeled feet toward the rest area. My head's spinning. Partly due to the music and lights, partly due to the barbecue dinner problem, but mostly, because as of tonight, I'm admitting that I have a major, huge, impossible crush on Gray Porter.

It's not Gray's fault. He's simply been himself. His
paid self
, that is, which is probably not even really how he truly acts at all. Either way, my pretend boyfriend has been someone so amazing tonight, that he's sent my heart into unrecoverable space.

I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, nor do I care. Who can think straight when you're melting from happiness? Not me. I love how being near Gray paints me with goose bumps when he touches me—when he smiles into my eyes. He's done both, nonstop for the past hour. I feel my cheeks tingle and heat.

I've crossed so far over into my self-constructed land of madness and lies that I'm sitting here admitting that what I have is way more than a crush. Somewhere, between testing the ladybug cameras at work all day and holding his hand all night, I've fallen in love with Gray Porter. Or my fake life, or my fake boyfriend. Whatever it is, whomever he is…what I'm experiencing is real, exciting, and the best feeling I've ever had in my whole life.

This has to be love.

I'm a casualty of my own war. Unexpected. And now, in hindsight, I see it was probably unavoidable. Today, when Gray had been handed his second paycheck, I'd been given a lame pity-smile from the HR lady who passed out the envelopes. But that woman had no idea what my pay off is. I'm the richest girl in Golden, CO.

I'm out on a date with the most beautiful guy in our whole town, and he's treating me like I'm priceless, beautiful and breakable! Gray has earned every penny of his money tonight. He's made sure not one of my knees, elbows or my butt has once hit the slippery smooth roller-skating rink. He's also laughed at every one of my jokes. He even laughs when I'm not joking—like he's truly happy to be hanging out with me.