Secrets and Lies 6 (The Ferro Family) (4 page)

I lean over the banister and yell down at him. “Then why are you running away?”

He doesn’t stop. Nate pushes through the doors and is gone.

I feel sick and lean my back to the wall, and slump down to the floor. I gather my knees into my chest and sit there for a while, replaying this evening’s events. I don’t understand why he bolted, and thinking about it isn’t clarifying anything. What did I do wrong? Was this payback for bolting on him last week? Is he that petty? Or did I really hurt him by skipping out? I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The look in his eyes in the stairwell tonight wasn’t something I want to remember. It was cold and calculating, like Ferro’s soulless gaze.

There’s nothing left to do but go home. I can’t fix anything sitting here, and I don’t want to cry anymore. When I stand, I don’t realize that my foot is on the skirt, and the stitching pops as the hem tears.

S
leep is evasive that night
. Beth is mad at me, Carter turned evil, and Nate ran off like I doused his scorching body with ice water. I feel alone and it pains me, because I don’t see how I could have prevented any of it. My actions weren’t perfect, but I don’t think they should have gotten me here. I frown and roll out of bed.

Chelsey is preening in front the mirror on her side of the room. She’s been uncharacteristically silent since Matt and Mom were here. She fusses with her curling iron, trying to make her pin straight blonde locks fall in spirals. She hisses when the curl doesn’t lay right and then glares at me. “What are you looking at, Bacon?”

I don’t bother replying. She found the source of the stink under her bed and promised repayment tenfold for that little stunt. There’s yet to be any move on her part. It makes me leery to sleep in the same room as her. If she ever got together with Carter, I’d be screwed.

I pad past her, go down the hall and shower. I take my time, hoping Chelsey will be gone when I get back to the room. When I pass a rumpled Beth in the hallway, she stares past me acting as if I didn’t exist.

I roll my eyes without meaning to, and she sees it. Beth whirls around on me, towel over one arm, bath caddy in the other, and her body wrapped in a tight terrycloth robe. “Do you think it’s funny? Do you think I’m a joke, and that none of this matters to me?”

I’m wearing a robe and have my damp towel in one hand and my bath bucket in the other. It’s filled with shampoo, soap, razor, and shaving cream. I tossed my shower shoes in there too. It’s not pretty like most of the girl’s caddies with a cute pattern or pretty handle. I literally have a bucket from Wal-Mart. It cost a dollar instead of ten. Beth’s caddy is designer, like her robe, towel, and shampoo. Maybe we’re too different and this wouldn’t have worked. Maybe I’m supposed to be a loner.

Either way, I need to diffuse this and get to my meeting before Ferro comes looking for me. As it is, I’m running late. “Beth, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m sorry. I’ll keep saying it until you accept my apology.”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Then there’s nothing else I can do. I screwed up. You forgive me or you don’t.” I start to walk away and hear Beth make an aggravated sound in the back of her throat.

She growls at my back, “Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Not just my family and my brothers, but everyone talks about Josh and what he did. Do you know what that’s like? Loving someone who screwed up so royally?”

Turning, I look her in the eyes. “Yes, I do.” My mother’s face is vivid in my mind. It’s not the same kind of mistake, but it damned our relationship and I can’t fathom how to fix it. Apologies won’t work, so I’m frozen, waiting for something to happen that forces forgiveness. Until then, I can’t think about it without feeling sick.

“This is different. You’re not a pariah because of your family. The only reason you were friends with me was because I gave you cookies.” She looks away, frowning.

“I’m not five years old, Beth. I could have Googled you. I could have looked you up on Facebook or Instagram. I didn’t, and that was intentional. I wanted to know who you are now, and the same thing goes for your brothers. I admit that I didn’t like Josh at first. He was hot and cold, mean and sweet. I understand why he’s so bipolar now—he doesn’t trust himself anymore. I get that, and I don’t blame you for something he did. You’re not him.”

“You kissed him. He told me. And I warned both of you, more than once. No, I begged you, I asked you to keep your distance. You didn’t. I had my reasons and you didn’t listen. What am I supposed to do with that?” She watches me with those large green eyes, pleading for an answer that I don’t have. If I knew how to forgive someone for a massive betrayal, I would tell her. I’d take my own advice and patch things up with my mother, but I haven’t a clue.

“I don’t know.” My voice is weak, ashamed that I hurt her so badly.

“All of this is tangled up for me. I don’t want my friends hurt and I sure as hell don’t want Josh—” her voice stops suddenly and she shakes her head.

We both watch each other for a moment, and when no more words are said, Beth walks away. It pains me that I can’t make it better, that there seems to be no action that will win back her trust. I shove the thought aside and make my way to my room.

When I push through my door I can’t believe what I see. The windows are open and my side of the room is empty. The bedding is stripped, my books are gone, and my closet is bare. The notes and papers that were on my white board are missing and the hastily scrawled messages have been erased. Meanwhile, Chelsey’s side of the room is pristine with everything perfectly in place.

I set down my bath bucket and rush to the window. Leaning on the sill, I look out into the grassy area below. It connects to the back parking lot. My clothes are scattered below, laying on the ground and hanging from trees while the papers fly away with the Texas wind. My textbooks, alarm clock, and bedding are blowing into the parking lot. A few students are gathered on the grass below and at the center is a blonde woman with long curls. Her laughter flutters up and I’m livid.

I have to be at a meeting, I’m already late, and my suit—along with everything I own—has been scattered to the wind. I could race down the stairs and beat the crap out of Chelsey, but we’ll both get suspended. Or she’ll be gone before I get down there.

Screw it. I’m sick of people messing with me. Robe tied tight, I’m out the window and on the ledge. I pad barefoot toward the fire escape and rush down the steps. When I’m on the second floor, I twist and hurl myself off the ledge and land in the grass like a deranged ninja.

Screaming wildly, I rush at my roommate. Until then, she was laughing and pointing up at me. Now, she has a horrified look on her face. Her eyes are wide and she turns to run, but her pack of idiots doesn’t part. She’s trapped and I rush at her, slamming into her, and knocking her to the ground.

People gather around and start chanting
fight, fight, fight
. Chelsey’s friends make bacon jokes and jeer at me as I grab their friend by the hair, roll her over, and push her face into the dirt.

“Apologize!” I scream as I make her eat grass.

Chelsey spits and squeals, wiggling beneath me, trying to break free. “No! Get off me, you pig!”

She shrills again when I shove her face into the lawn. “Say you’re sorry!”

I let her up for air and give her a chance to say it. Her pink lips snarl and she spits out the words, “I’ll never say I’m sorry to someone like you, you cheap slut!”

I’m not doing this all day. If she wants to be the center of attention, then I’m granting her wish. Without a word, I yank the tie off my robe and it falls open. A few guys whistle and cheer. I’m aware of flashes going off, which means there will be pictures of me sitting with an open robe on top of my roommate with her pristine face in the grass, but I don’t care.

Tugging her arms behind her back, I loop the fabric around her wrists and then grab her ankles, bending her knees and twisting the belt around quickly. I knot it off, and stand. Closing my robe with my hands, I walk away leaving Chelsey tied up, face-first in the dirt.

A guy behind me bellows, “Holy shit! Yankee Chick hog-tied her!”

The comment spreads through the crowd like a wave and as I storm away. More students are rushing over, phones out, with flashes flaring as they take pictures. Rushing at a grouping of shrubs, I pluck my suit from the branches and scurry inside as more students race out. Someone claps me on the back, thanking me for putting that bitch in her place. When I get to my hall, my resident advisor smiles at me as she passes by me.

Was Chelsey horrible to everyone? I thought she was only picking on me.

When I’m in our room again, I shut the door and look out the window. She’s still lying there, screaming. No one helps her. A sinking feeling slithers across my stomach and I feel bad for her. Even her friends post her red face and hogtied hands and feet on Facebook rather than helping her up.

I ditch the robe and pull on the suit. I have no stockings and no bra. I grab an extra pair of undies from my gym bag and pull them on. Meeting Ferro with no bra is insane. He’s going to think I want him or something worse. I button the suit jacket and look down at my figure. It’s harder to tell that I’m swinging free.

I whip my hair into a quick bun and look out the window for my shoes. They’re by the parking lot. I pad back down the stairs, rush past Beth who watches me with sad eyes, and shove through the doors. As I slip on the second shoe, I glance back into the square. Chelsey is still there. Campus police didn’t show up. What the hell? They should have stopped this by now.

I could turn and walk away. She deserved everything she got, but the prolonged humiliation and heckling from the wild crowd around her pisses me off. Someone should have helped her up by now. I can’t believe there’s not one Good Samaritan in the lot of them.

“Damn it,” I growl and march across the lawn. I shove my pointy elbows into the crowd, forcing my way to the center. When I get there I see Chelsey crying, still lying on her stomach, but now she’s covered in marker.

Someone wrote on her. Across her forehead it says BITCH. Along her cheek, smeared by tears, is the word WHORE. She whips her face the other way and the letters C.U.N.T. are on her other cheek.

Oh. My. God. Chelsey is screaming as tears run down her face. Grass and dirt stick to her once perfect skin, obscuring the words. A fat permanent marker lies next to her on the grass. Students are shouting demands to roll her over and keep writing on her legs, suggesting more insults to brand her with.

I bellow at them, red-faced, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

I don’t wait for a reply. They’ve turned into a mob of crazy people. I swoop in, lifting my batshit crazy roommate, and carrying her like a baby in my arms. Holy crap, she’s heavy. I need to do more pushups. I run-walk across the lawn, making a beeline for my bus at the edge of the parking lot. I’m turning into a sweaty mess and my suit is sticking to my body. The parking lot is so close. I think about putting her down and untying her once there’s enough distance between the crowd and Chelsey, but after a few moments some of the guys in the crowd follow me.

“Come back here, we weren’t done yet,” one guy with dark hair and really broad shoulders calls out behind me. They walk slowly and I feel frantic, like I’m being chased by zombies on steroids.

When my feet hit asphalt I know I can get on the bus before they reach me. Thank God they don’t decide to run. I round the front of the bus and grunt up the stairs, hoisting Chelsey higher, and banging my knee into her butt by accident. My center of gravity shifts and I trip.

Chelsey falls on the floor and cries out, “You stupid bitch! You did this to me and now you’re kidnapping me! I’m going to sue your ass off and make you so poor you’ll have to hang your toilet paper up to dry!"

“Shut up, Chelsey. I’m trying to save your pampered ass.” I hurry and shove the handle that closes the doors. They shut and I crawl up into the driver’s seat, grabbing the keys from the floor and then forcing them into the ignition and turn over the engine.

A group of guys rushes the bus and one of them manages to pry open the door. They’re acting insane—like they want to beat the crap out both of us. I can’t get the bus into gear and drive away with them inside. I don’t know what to do. I don’t have pepper spray on me. It’s in my purse. I’m lucky I left the keys in the bus. No one stole it as hoped for, but we can get away if I can keep these guys from storming my bus.

Three of them shove up the stairs at the same time, two in front and one in back. They make it to the second step when the wild hissing starts. It’s coming from the seat above Chelsey’s head. Pita, that rabid fur ball, is perched on top of the seat. He swats an inky paw at them as spittle flies from his black lips.

The bus lurches to life and the startled men fall backward. They land on the pavement in the parking lot in a pile. I don’t stop. I keep driving until we’re off school property.

When I stop at the traffic light, still shaking, Kevin the bike cop starts yelling in through the open door. “Pull over!”

I glance at him and then back at Chelsey who’s cursing and crying in the aisle. She got quieter when the raccoon decided to sit on her hair. Pita is picking foliage from it and sniffing each piece like he might want to eat it.

I glance at Kevin and put the bus in park. This looks really bad, but I could use his assistance. Maybe he won’t report me. At this point, I expect Chelsey to set me on fire and take everything I own. I’m screwed either way.

I sigh at him. “I am pulled over. Come up here. I need your help.”

Kevin blinks, surprise washing across his face. I rush down the aisle, which makes Pita rush back to his hiding spot at the back of the bus. I untie Chelsey, bracing for her to claw my face off when I pull her up, but instead she falls apart in my arms. Sobs shake her body and she hugs me tightly.

When Kevin walks up the stairs, he sees her and freezes. The guy is one hundred percent dork with shortly cropped hair and ill-fitting uniform. He’s the kind of guy that would never approach Chelsey, but today he does. He carefully asks, “Are you all right?”

Chelsey looks up at him and bawls louder.

I pry her off of me and loop her arms around Kevin’s neck. “Please take her home. Wash the marker off her face and give her something to eat.”

He swears, muttering, pulling back her long blonde locks to see what’s written on her skin. “Is that permanent?”

“I think so. There’s acetone in our room.” He stares at me like I’m speaking Greek. “It’s nail polish remover. It’ll strip off anything.”

He nods. “Who did this to her? Did you get any names?”

I’m about to say I did it, but Chelsey lifts her face from his shoulder. Bottom lip quivering, she glances at me. “I didn’t see them and I don’t want to file a report. Just please take me home.”

We lock eyes for a moment and it’s like she understands how her jeers had repercussions, that it wasn’t simply an unkind word from her lips on those days she spewed her venom my way. It was the on-lookers who jumped in and made it worse.