The Year We Fell Apart (24 page)

Rocking back against the wall because my balance isn’t so good anymore, I listen to it ring.

“Hey,” he says when he answers.

“Did he say anything—” Someone knocks on the door. I run my hand over my forehead and squint at the phone. Cory. Why did I call Cory?

“Harper?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

I remember. Declan. That’s what I want to ask.

“Did he say anything about me?”

“Who?”

“Declan. I want to know what he said.”

He pauses. “Are you drunk?”

Mackenzie’s voice filters in from the background and I feel stupid because I probably interrupted their dinner. Or maybe they were about to have sex. I start laughing.

“Harper, where are you?”

“Just . . .” My hand latches on to the sink and I propel myself forward. “Never mind, ’kay?”

“Wait—”

“Just tell him it’s fine. I get it.”

I hang up. Then I rest my hands on either side of the sink and lean forward to look at myself in the mirror.

My hair is straight. Between that and the dark, smoky eye makeup Sadie applied, I look too much like the version of myself I’m trying not to be. I hate the girl who stares back at me.

I hate you.

Two poles pull me in opposite directions. There’s the girl I’ve been lately, the things I’ve done. And there’s the person I want to be. The girl Declan used to love. And right now I’m neither. I’m stuck, floating between the broken ends.

Someone knocks again, louder this time. I down the remaining vodka and throw the empty bottle in the trash bin, taking one last look at the girl I loathe before unlocking the door and spilling out into the hallway.

Kyle is waiting for me.

“Whoa, Sloan.” He reaches his arm out to steady me. “You look like you need to sit down.”

He takes my hand and leads me through the hall. I pinball against the walls behind him, and people are watching me, but I don’t know who they are, they’re just faces, and then we are up the stairs, standing in a room that’s too dark.

Kyle fumbles around and turns the lights on. We both blink in the sudden brightness.

“Here, sit down,” he says.

We sit on the end of the bed, and I curl forward, clutching my head. This isn’t what I wanted—I never meant to get this messed up.

“You don’t have to stay here,” I tell him.

Kyle shrugs. “It’s a lame party anyway.”

I sit up again, bracing my hands on either side of my hips. Kyle slides over, moving my hair off my neck. Then he’s leaning close, skimming his nose across my jaw.

I shrug away, losing my balance. “Kyle, don’t.”

“What’s the problem?”

His hand is on my waist, pulling me upright. My mind is working, but I can’t keep up with how fast the room is spinning.

“Wait.” I try to think faster. Kyle’s hand slips under my shirt. “Stop. I love Declan.”

His breath is hot on my neck. “It’s okay, he never has to know.”

I’m still working through this logic when his hand finds my leg again, squeezing the inside of my thigh. Kyle looks at me, same as he did all summer—like he wants me—and it’s familiar and empty and Declan doesn’t love me back.

I can’t sit straight anymore and when I fall backward he comes with me and that’s when the kissing starts. My limbs are made of lead and my eyes are watering and my lips are answering Kyle’s.

The world spins further away and I feel nothing, nothing, nothing like what I had with Declan.

His hand reaches under my top, down my side, jumps inside my thigh and presses up again, sliding under the waist of my jeans. Under everything.

This, finally, snaps me out of it.

I push his hand away, try to say no, but his mouth on mine keeps the words from coming out. But I can’t do this anymore, and it doesn’t really matter whether Declan loves me, because being with someone else won’t make my feelings for him go away.

“Stop.” I shove my hand against Kyle’s shoulder. He’s heavy on top of me and I can’t breathe. “Kyle, stop!”

He lifts his head to look at me. His breath smells of stale beer and weed. “I remember what you like. It’ll feel good, promise.”

He leans down again and I turn away. His mouth lands on my neck and I gasp for air.

“Get the fuck off me!” It comes out piercing. Hysterical.

He lifts himself away with a scowl. “You used to be a lot more fun.”

I curl to the side and roll out from under him, landing on my knees but then standing. The floor is too tilted and I crash against the door before walking through it, back into the hallway that’s too loud but away from Kyle.

Hugging the wall, I move away from the bedroom and start down the stairs. I want to get back outside; I need fresh air. From the landing halfway down the staircase I see the sliding glass door to the backyard. Then, I see Declan.

He’s standing just inside, and he sees me too. He weaves his way through a few people toward me, and I let myself breathe again because everything is better now. He came.

I sink against the railing, holding it with both hands.

“Declan.”

“Hey.” He smiles at me, like his night is better because I’m in it. “Sorry I’m so late. I got into this massive fight with my dad. But I have some good news—”

His eyes flicker over my shoulder and his spine straightens. I follow his gaze to the bedroom, to Kyle, who just emerged from it. Kyle brushes past me, past both of us, but Declan doesn’t take his eyes off him until he’s down the stairs and out the door. Then, slowly, he turns back to me. And I can see it. Suspicion. In the way the corners of his mouth turn down and his jaw works. His eyes skim over me, and all I can do is hope that my hair isn’t too frazzled and that Kyle’s cologne didn’t rub off on me. Declan’s eyes lock tightly on mine as though he’s reading me. Deciding something.

I don’t pass his test.

Declan huffs out a breath and his smile dims to nothing. He swallows and shakes his head and then he’s backtracking, moving down the stairs faster than I can keep up.

“Declan, wait! Where are you going?”

I catch his sleeve when he gets to the door. He spins around. I shake my head, searching desperately for the words that will make him understand.

The words don’t come.

He steps away. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

I step closer and he matches me, backing up again.

“I have,” I say in a small voice.

His hand tugs through his hair. “Just look at yourself, Harper.”

My head is still swimming. I try to stand straighter, to stop swaying. “It’s just . . . I didn’t think you were coming.”

It’s the absolute worst thing to say. Declan grits his teeth and rocks onto his heels.

“Right. Real sorry to interfere with your plans.” He turns and starts walking to his car. “Won’t happen again.”

THE WHOLE DRIVE HOME WITH
Graham, the monster of guilt living inside of me keeps growing stronger, and my stomach starts to not feel very good. Every time he slows down for a red light a new wave of nausea rolls through me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth more than once to keep everything, including the truth about what happened, from tumbling out.

Graham leans back in his seat, pounding on the steering wheel with his fingers. “What I want to know is, how are Mom and Dad so freaking naive about your drinking? I got caught every time I sneezed in the wrong direction, but you . . .”

“Are you going to tell them?”

Graham stares out the windshield. “You’re not giving me a lot of options here, Harper.”

I sink back against the door, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.

“Who were you even with tonight? What kind of friend gets so trashed they can’t drive you home?”

“I went with Sadie. She didn’t want to go home yet.”

“Where was Declan?”

My eyes close, pushing a tear down my cheek. “He left.”

“He left you there? Did he get you drunk? I swear to God—”

“It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t even there while I was drinking.” I hesitate. “Or smoking.”

“Jesus, Harper, what the hell were you thinking, getting that wasted? Especially after what happened in the spring?”

Fresh tears well up in my eyes, and my brother shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“This can’t happen again. If Dad were the one to come get you, you’d be dead.”

“I know.”

“This is the last thing they need to deal with right now—”

“So don’t tell.”

I’m curled up, resting my head against the door, when we get to the house. Squinting through the window I see a light on upstairs. The clock in Graham’s car reads 10:37, so yeah, my odds do not look great.

I’m falling asleep again.

“You need to get to bed, Harper. Are you ready to go inside?”

Weepiness saturates my voice. “I’m a bad person.”

Graham sighs. “No, you’re not. You’re just a very drunk person.”

He walks around to my side of the car, opening the door carefully. He guides me up to the front door and pauses.

“You’re going to have to be super quiet, okay, Harper?”

I press my finger to my lips. Graham shakes his head, looking more than a little wary. He unlocks the door and we step into the foyer. No, he steps. I trip.

Just as he closes the door behind us, the downstairs light flicks on and I see my father standing at the base of the steps.

“What’s going on?” he whispers through clenched teeth.

I lose my footing and stumble sideways into Graham, who catches me and pulls me upright. The nausea is coming back and I start to think maybe—no, definitely, I’m going to throw up.

“Shit,” Graham says under his breath.

“Oh,
Harper
,” Dad says in probably the most disappointed voice in the whole world.

Then I vomit on my shoes.

  *  *  *  

The next morning comes too quickly. I wake up all at once, feeling like I never slept. There’s that moment, a fraction of a second, before I remember. Then that moment of blissful ignorance ends.

I groan and roll onto my side to push myself up. My head and stomach both feel kind of okay until the blood rushes back to my head, which starts pounding, and the nasty aftertaste of booze and . . . God, vomit, turn my stomach queasy.

After taking a sip of water and deciding that nope, I definitely do not want anything in my stomach, I drag myself into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I’m still wearing the same clothes from last night. Mascara is smudged under my eyes, blending into dark circles that stand out against my skin, which is paler than usual. I climb into the shower but don’t have the energy to wash myself properly, so I just sit down in the tub, hugging my knees and letting the water cascade over me until it goes cold.

I shut off the shower and use the sides of the tub to help me stand. Before I wrap a towel around my waist, I stand and inspect my naked body clinically in the mirror. I look for a scar or a bruise, some kind of evidence of what happened last night blooming under my skin. But there’s nothing.

He never has to know.

Please don’t tell, I’ll handle it.

The whispered words scream inside my head. I lean forward as bile inches its way up my throat, and spin around to heave the sick into the toilet. It takes me a few breaths to recover, and my mind is a loop of
What did I do, what have I done?

I have to tell Declan everything. That I love him, that it was just a mistake. I have to tell him today.

I brush my teeth and wrap the towel around myself again, and for a few minutes I sit silently on my bed, my wet hair plastered to my face and neck, and put off the inevitable. Then I finish getting dressed and pause at the top of the stairs, taking in a deep breath before facing my parents.

Folding his paper, Dad looks up at me. “So. Would you like to tell me what happened last night?”

I lick my lips. They’re dry and cracked under my tongue. “I had a drink. And it was stronger than I thought.”

I cut a look over to my brother, who stares pointedly back at me, like he’s keeping score of the number of lies I tell. Dad looks at him and nods toward the living room. Graham gets up from the table, taking his breakfast plate with him.

Dad rubs his face. “I just don’t understand, Harper.”

He doesn’t say anything else. A minute drags by, and I can’t stand the silence.

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. I want to know what happened to my smart, sensible daughter.” He tosses his paper down and shakes his head. “How could you do this to your mother? Do you have any idea how much we worry about you? We gave you freedom this summer, started trusting you again, and you do this?”

My cheek twitches, and I pinch the skin inside my arm to keep from crying.

“You can trust me.”

“I guess we’ll see.” He clears his throat. “You’re grounded until I say otherwise.”

“Dad, I’m sorry.” It shreds my throat on the way out. I’m so tired of needing to say that word.

“Good. Now go up to your room.”

I go upstairs, stopping outside my parents’ bedroom. The door is cracked open, and I push it another inch, peeking in at my mother. She’s resting on top of her comforter, her head wrapped in a blue silk scarf. She looks over and frowns.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

I sink against the doorjamb as the first sob rakes out of me.

She pats the bed. “Come here.”

I crawl onto her bed, curling my knees into my chest, and cry. She reaches over, brushing the hair out of my face.

“I didn’t mean to.” A breath forces its way into my lungs. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Can’t change what’s already happened,” she says. “You just have to learn from it. And you’ll have plenty of time to think about it now.”

I sit up, wiping my face. “My photography exhibit is tonight. I have to go.”

She looks uncertain. “Did you ask your father?”

“I know I’m grounded, but this isn’t going out. It’s for class.”

I hold my breath while she considers it. Finally, she sighs.

“I don’t want you gone long. No more than a couple hours.”

Two hours isn’t much. But it might be enough for one last chance.