Breakable (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-Two

I
shuffle down the hospital hall, leaving behind Doc’s office – a quiet,
soft-cornered room full of knowledge and time and fakery.

I’m
surrounded by linoleum floors, white walls with handrails, doors and people and
noise.

As
I stumble along the familiar floor, I can barely think. I am back in the story
as it
really
happened, and here, now, waiting for it to end. Waiting to
see if, by changing the script, I’ve messed everything up.

And
that stupid doctor thinks
I’m
playing games?

I
shuffle along the hall, swallowing tears, head down, praying no one notices
it’s me. Fat chance since there are only twenty patients here. Every staff
member knows every face. Every name.

“Stacy?”

I
pretend I didn’t hear, dart around the corner in the hall, pass two doors on
the right, and open the third.

The
room.
My
room. It isn’t big. Pale blue walls, carpet in the same gray shade
as the linoleum in the hallway. Light curtains on the window of reinforced
glass. There is room in here for two small beds, two chests of drawers, two
small closets. But I have been lucky enough not to gain a roommate. I’ve been
here, alone, for three months. Again I’m reminded what a relief it is that she
can’t see my room through the mirror. Not that it matters after this.

I
won’t be here tomorrow. One way or the other.

The
art room on the Saturday morning after prom was a sanctuary of silence. As soon
as I walked in I wanted to cry because it was the one place no one would see
me. I could be truly alone.

It
was awful.

The
silence hollowed me out, left me thinking of Mark. Made me wonder what he’d be
doing this morning. What would he tell Karyn?

What
would he tell
himself?

My
breath caught and I pushed it all away. I had to work. There was no time to cry
about Mark now. No time to hate on Dex in my head. I had a portfolio to finish.

Now,
more than ever, I had to get out of this town. That competition was my ticket.

Fear
and stress swirled up to crash over me together. I took a deep breath,
swallowed them and went to my cubby hole.

The
massive black tri-boards that would eventually be my art portfolio had finally
arrived. I had three days to get them ready and approved by Mrs. C. for
submission.

By
the middle of the afternoon I had them two-thirds covered. Mom and Dad were up
there as the diptych. Mrs. Callaghan, Karyn, Finn, and Dex, too. I threw in one
or two paintings I’d done where faces weren’t the main focus, just to show my
range.

I
was left with two big holes and one small one.

Mark’s
portrait had to fill one of the big ones. I’d throw something together for the
small one. But it was the big, central gap chilling my stomach.

Mrs.
Callaghan insisted
that
needed to be my self-portrait. I needed to wow
with it. But I couldn’t think of any way to make a picture of myself look
interesting. I flipped through my previous sketches, but nothing worked.

Who
wanted to look at a picture just of
me
?

That
thought took me too close to what had happened with Mark and Dex the night
before. I couldn’t cope with that. So, frustrated, I slammed my workbook closed
and pushed my chair back. If my head insisted on thinking about Mark, well, I’d
use that to my advantage.

I
put on some music and pulled out the pieces of Mark’s portrait. Then I grabbed
a canvas board out of the resource room and took it to my table. All the
sketches, drawings and scratchings of Mark’s features had to come out of the
folder.

I
found myself sitting in front of a table full of his eyes and his smile and his
jaw and it almost killed me.

There
was only one sketch of his hand – holding a pencil while he drew something. But
I’d got the fingers just right – the heavy knuckles and long digits. The nails
short and rounded off, but clean. The tendons that ran from the back of each
finger to his wrist and stood out proud and looked so strong.

I
almost screwed that one up because all I could see when I looked at it was
those fingers curling tight at my waist. That thumb tracing along my cheekbone.
That hand reaching to pull me back when I ran…

Oh,
gawd. What had I done?

Turning
the hand sketch over so I didn’t have to look at it anymore, I took a breath
and started the filtering process.

Those
eyes were too narrow. That nose a fraction too big. That ear was pig ugly. On
and on until I had only one or two pictures left of each feature.

Except
his mouth.

Without
letting myself think about it, I pulled the heavy cartridge paper pad onto my lap
and started drawing. There was a slight indentation at the middle of his bottom
lip – a plane of soft, unmarred skin that stretched when he smiled and wrinkled
when he stopped. His upper lip was slightly thinner than his lower, but both
were long and pulled into sharp corners.

Most
girls would have killed for those lips. I would have killed to kiss them again.

I
drew them slightly parted, the lower lip protruding a fraction, the wetness
from his mouth barely visible at the inner edge.

These
lips said
I want you
. I drew them in under ten minutes and they were
perfect. Well, as perfect as I was capable of, anyway.

With
that done I had eight or nine sketches of different parts of Mark’s face. They
were on different papers – different weights, different tones of white and
cream. Each in different proportions.

For
a few minutes I played with composition, laying each piece in different
positions against the others. But two of them were in acrylic crayon and two in
heavy pencil. They shone when light reflected off their surfaces, and there was
no way for me to get the true effect from the whole when it lay flat on the
table with the light from the window glaring off it.

So
I took the canvas board into the easel room and set it up, pulled another stool
up to put my pictures on it, and started playing with the pieces.

An
hour later, Mark stared at me from the canvas. He looked like he was turned to
look at me, holding a pencil as if he were about to use it.

He
looked alive, and funky and all his pieces were there and I wanted to kiss him
again.

Turning
the easel around so it took the natural light from the window, I stepped a few
feet back to take in the full effect. But from that distance, something was
missing.

The
use of different media to draw the different pieces meant parts of his face
drew the eye immediately, while others faded into the background. It was
exactly the effect I wanted, but it was pulling my eye to the wrong piece
first.

Without
my planning it, his eyes and mouth had both ended up drawn in flat pencil. With
hair and nose in the heavy acrylic crayon, and his jaw a dusty charcoal, the
lips looked framed. They were perfect and my eye went right to them. But I
wanted the viewer to look Mark in the eye and see what I saw.

Should
I go back to some of the other sketches? Find a nose that wasn’t so dramatic so
the eyes would pop more?

“You
need to paint them in oil. They’ll shine then.”

I
yelped and whirled around.

Mark
stood in the door of the easel room, hands in his pockets. There were dark
circles under his eyes and heavy stubble on his chin and jaw. He looked
terrible.

He
looked fabulous.

He
stared at the picture I’d made of him. It was like I’d opened my chest, pulled
my heart out, and handed it to him. He knew me too well not to understand what
I was trying to achieve.

Trying
not to look flustered, I reached for the easel and turned it around so it faced
the wall. “It isn’t finished,” I said to my own feet.

“I
always see your stuff before it’s finished,” he said. “But I haven’t seen that.
Is that what you’ve been hiding from me? Is that why you didn’t tell me you
were coming in here all those times by yourself?”

“No.”
Yes… in part.
I fiddled with the settings on the easel and rearranged my
sketches, but he didn’t say anything else. I was forced to give up and look at
him.

He
hadn’t moved from his spot in the door. He still looked disheveled and
marvelous, but there was a light behind his eyes now – an angry edge. The
little muscle at the back of his jaw jumped and so did I.

“I
would have shown you when it was done,” I lied. “I-I just wasn’t expecting you
today. I thought you’d be… getting some rest.”

“I
need it,” he said. He didn’t smile. “Last night the guys got pretty drunk.
Noisy. And Dex kept trying to fight me.”

“I’m
sorry. I guess I should have talked to him before I left. I just… I didn’t want
to…”

Mark
sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “He figured out what you heard from
what you said,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you confront him when it happened?
Instead of hiding, I mean. Dex was a jerk and Finn was another jerk for talking
about it. So why didn’t you say that? Why run away so I had to come looking for
you?”

My
eyes jerked to his then. Was he saying he wished he hadn’t found me?

Mark’s
mouth dropped open. “I’m not saying it was bad… I mean…” One hand came up to
soothe me. “I just meant, usually you fight back. I don’t understand why you
ran away instead of giving them an earful.”

That
was it. The moment when I could have told him the whole story – all the cutting
comments he missed, all the sneers and jeers, all the feet sliding into my
path, all the jokes at my expense, the disdain, the contempt, the feeling that
I was nothing but a steaming pile that no one wanted to get close to – something
to make others laugh when someone stepped on it.

He’d
never asked and I’d never told because, deep down, I was afraid when he
realized just how bad it was, he’d want to be away from me too.

But
also, he should have known.

My
breath kept catching, jumping in my throat. Tears threatened again and I was so
sick of crying it made me mad. I was a mess. Last night was the first time I’d
fallen apart in front of Mark and there was comfort in the fact that he’d,
well, comforted me. But could I trust him to stick around if he knew the truth?
Older Me didn’t think so.

The
letter.

I
took a breath and stepped back, pulled in on myself. Pretended I was okay. Then
I shrugged and met his eyes, determined to be strong.

“I
was outnumbered,” I said. “Those guys don’t like me anyway. If I’d confronted
them alone… I didn’t feel safe. And it hurt. I thought Dex…” I shrugged,
unwilling to say it out loud.

But
Mark knew. He nodded slowly and walked across the room until he stood right in
front of me. “Yeah,” was all he said. But the word was heavy in his mouth and
his eyes held mine. For a second I forgot how certain I was he didn’t want me
and wondered if he was about to kiss me again. He looked mad. The question was,
mad at Dex, or mad at me?

I
got brave. Took a step closer. Mark closed the distance, but his hands were
still fists at his sides.

I
touched his chest. “Last night, when you said–”

“Well,
this looks
cozy
.”

My
head whipped up, Mark tensed but didn’t turn around.

Karyn
stood inside the door, arms folded, perfect silver hair swaying around her
shoulders. The look on her face was pure fury.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Standing
over me, Mark grimaced, but kept his eyes on me. “It’s not a good time, Kar.
Just give us a few minutes, would you?”

Her
eyes about popped out of her head.

“I
don’t care if it’s a good
time
,” she hissed.

“Look,
after you left last night, Stacy had to deal with some real crap, so just back
off, okay?” Mark’s voice got harder, angrier.

Karyn
scoffed and started toward us. Mark closed his eyes and turned to meet her. But
she was coming for me. I braced as she tried to step past Mark, but he grabbed
her arm.

“Hey!”
she spat.

“Get
out of here, Karyn.”

“You’re
sticking up for
her
? I knew it!”

“Get
OUT!” Mark roared and even I jumped. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. His face
turned red and his hand on her arm shook.

Karyn’s
mouth dropped open and she whirled to face him, yanking her arm out of his
trembling grip. “All this ‘just friends’ crap, but every time she makes an ass
out of herself you’ve got to be there. Why don’t you admit she’s the one you
want to be with? Oh, wait, that’s right – because you’re too
embarrassed
.”

In
a blink she faced me, her face twisted. Mark grabbed her arm again, but she didn’t
come closer, just pointed at me and sneered. “He hates it, you know. He hates
that everyone else hates you. It
embarrasses
him. We laugh about you
when you’re not there. He–”

“That’s
not true!” Mark snapped.

“–won’t
tell you because he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. But, trust me. He
doesn’t
like
you. He feels sorry you.”

Her
words pelted me like stones, pressing into my skin and leaving bruises. Mark
swore and pulled her back and this time he didn’t let go. He yelled at her, but
he avoided my eyes. I was afraid there was some truth in what she said.

Everything
that had happened – everything she’d done – turned into a ball of heat in my
chest. I stepped forward just as Mark tried to pull her out of the room, but
she turned back, her voice high and shrieking.

“I
know you were there last night with all those guys. You think
that’s
going
to make people like you?!”

It
only took three steps to get close enough to shove her. I pushed but she
twisted and stepped back. Mark yelled “Stacy, don’t! Let me handle it!”

Karyn
smirked.

He
put one hand on my shoulder, but I just spoke past him.

 “You
two-faced cow!” I wanted to throttle her. “You let everyone think you’re a
little princess, but you’re a total snake. Tell him about all those times your
friends cornered me and you just stood back and laughed. Tell him about
snuggling with Finn! And your little notes! You don’t deserve Mark and he
definitely doesn’t deserve to be with a backstabbing ferret like you.” My
breath came too fast and my hands shook. But it felt so good to tell the truth
about Karyn I didn’t even want to cry anymore.

Mark
stared between us, gaping. But all he said was “Finn?”

Karyn
rolled her eyes and shoved away from him. “She wants you to break up with me
and go out with her. You’re so gullible!” But she never met my eye. She stared
at Mark a minute and he stared back, then she swore and stormed out of the
room.

Mark’s
eyes closed as she left. His hands were white-knuckled fists at his sides. He
jumped when the door slammed, but he didn’t go after her.

“Mark?”
I said softly.

He
opened his eyes, but his face was blank. The tendons on his neck stood proud.
His face was red and growing redder.

“Mark?”
I touched his arm. His head snapped down, looking at where we touched. “Are you
okay?”

“Just,
give me a minute,” he said through clenched teeth, peeling my fingers off his
arm.

I
nodded, watched his chest rise and fall, his fingers splay, then close to fists
again and again.

It
took me a minute to realize Mark was trying not to lose his temper. Trying not
to be like his dad…

I
covered my mouth with my hands and stepped back. Mark saw the movement and gave
a cold chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not you I’m mad at.”

Small
relief. I wanted to reach for him again. I wanted to put my arms around him and
bury my face in his chest and rub his back. I wanted to comfort him.

“Not
much, anyway,” he said in a flat voice.

“Well,
that’s reassuring.”

A
minute later, Mark blew out a breath, then turned to face me again. The
hardness still clung to his jaw and shoulders, but he ran a hand through his
hair and shook his head.

He
sighed. “Finn?”

I
swallowed and shrugged, still holding my insides together. “I caught them
kissing. At least, I think that’s what they were doing. It was just… You know.”

He
frowned. “When?”

“A
few weeks ago.”

Disbelief
and anger narrowed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because
I thought you’d think I was trying to break you up.”

“Why!?”

“Because!
I mean, she’s your girlfriend–”

“And
you’re my best friend!” Mark took a step closer. The edge had entered his voice
again.

His
anger scared me. I stepped back. “But, she’s your
girlfriend
. If I said
anything–”

“I’d
believe you. Geez, Stace, we’ve been friends since we were seven. When are you
going to start trusting me?”

“I
do! I thought
you
wouldn’t trust
me
!”

“Why
not?!”

“Because
no one else does.”

Mark
rolled his eyes. “You really think I’d believe them over you?” His voice went
up sharply at the end.

“You
do. All the time.”

“I
do not!”

“Mark
you choose them every time. You hang out with them at school even though they
make my life hell. You go out with girls who
hate
me – then believe them
when they tell you they don’t.”

“That’s
bull. When people hurt you I try to help, but you won’t let me. You won’t say
who–”

I
threw my hands up. “I shouldn’t have to! It would be obvious to you if you
opened your eyes! They’re your friends and your girlfriends! Why should I have
to tell you what jerks they all are?”

Mark’s
jaw flexed. “Karyn?”

I
groaned. “Karyn, Belinda – and don’t forget your other
best friend
Finn.
All of them!”

He
glared, but we weren’t finished. He was gathering the courage to ask me for the
truth.

Could
I do it? Could I tell him? He was angry and might not believe me. But even if
he did, admitting this stuff was like reliving it and I wasn’t sure I could
keep myself together.

“What
do they do?”

“Forget
I said–”

“No
way, Stacy,” he bit off each word. “Tell me. The whole truth.”

It
made me mad that he’d ask like that. So I whipped him with words.

“Last
week, Karyn and her friends threw my jeans in the sink during PE. They told
everyone I wet my pants. Someone left a pack of bladder control pads on top of
my locker.”

His
head jerked back. “Why didn’t you–”

“Your
last girlfriend drew a picture of me giving the math teacher a blowjob and
passed it around class. Guys asked me for “math tutoring” for weeks!”

Mark’s
eyes dropped, but I was on a roll now. Let him hear the truth.

“Finn
humiliates me and tells me he hates me pretty much every time he lays eyes on
me. He makes sure his friends tell me that too. Do you have any idea how it
feels to have people look you in the face and tell you they hate you, and
mean
it?”

Mark
blew out a breath, but he wasn’t meeting my eyes anymore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t
know it was so…”

I
snorted. “You didn’t want to know. You were embarrassed.”

“No,”
he said, emphatic. “I’m not embarrassed to be friends with you.”

“
Then what was Karyn talking about?”

“C’mon,
Stace. She knows I like you. She’s pissed off. If she treats you so crappy why
would you listen to her? I’ve been your friend for ten years. Even if I didn’t…
even if you felt like I wasn’t paying attention, you could have told me.” His
voice kept getting louder. “You should have trusted me!”

“Well,
sorry, Mark. Sorry I doubted you. Sorry I thought you’d get sick of me like
everyone else and then I’d have no one. Sorry if that upsets
you
.”

“Grow
up, Stace. I’ve always been there for you. Even when you were a total idiot, I
stuck up for you. You should know you can trust me by now.”

“Me?!
It’s your friends who are the idiots–”

“Oh,
come
on!
You could get away from them if you wanted to. You keep
throwing yourself in front of them, then crying when they make fun of you.”

“I
do not!”

“Really?
Really?! You want to have this conversation? Because what about that party with
Dex? You came screaming out of that bedroom, crying. It looked like he’d
raped
you. I stuck up for you – I got you out of there and pushed Dex around.
Then I find out you were just drunk and crying over a fight with Finn.”

“I
told you it wasn’t as bad as–”

“And
what about last night?” he yelled. “I get that you were upset, but instead of
finding someone – finding me! – and asking for help like a normal person, you
disappear.
Everyone
looked for you – even Finn. Did you know that? They
thought something had happened to you! Then it turned out you’re just crying in
a corner. People don’t like drama. And you make drama all the time.”

Mark’s
words were knives on my skin, cutting to the bone. Couldn’t he see that I
didn’t
want
drama, drama just happened because of who I was? I couldn’t
change that.

Could
I?

“I
couldn’t have confronted them last night. Finn would have crucified me. It isn’t
a petty fight with him. He… he…”

“What?
What did he
do
, Stace? Why were you even talking to him at that party?
If he’s
so
awful, why did you agree to go to his house?”

Mark
was right in front of me, leaned down in my face, angry but wanting answers. I
wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him the whole story and give him the
letter and have him fold me in those warm, strong arms like he did a few hours
earlier. I wanted to feel his fingers twined with mine again. I wanted him to
touch me and kiss me and do things I’d never done before…

Then
I remembered Finn’s face – the wicked grin he got when he talked about the
letter. He knew. He knew Mark would freak if he read that letter. He knew it
would end our friendship forever if Mark found out I was psycho and in love
with him.

I
stepped back, shaking my head.

“Oh,
for–!”

“Stop
yelling at me!” The tears were back, sheets of tears. I hugged myself and
backed away from him.

Mark
groaned through gritted teeth, then whirled. “Fine. Forget about it. Forget
everything.” He stalked towards the door, shoving the pile of easels leaned
against the wall as he passed, sending them clattering to the floor in a crash.
I jumped and the tears came harder.

“Mark!”

“Forget
it!”

The
external door slammed.

He
was gone.

I
waited a minute, barely breathing, praying for him to come back. Even if he was
angry, if he came back it meant I meant enough to him…

But
the silence wasn’t broken by anything except the shuddering breath I had to
take a few seconds later. Then another.

The
longer I stood there, the more certain I was. It had happened. I’d been right
all along. He’d finally given up on me.