“Get your crippled ass back home. I don’t need you. I never did. You were just like the rest of them—something to pass the time, but now I’m bored. So, get lost.”
Kennedy finally broke. She let out a painful sound that shot straight through me, making me feel sober in an instant. She pushed her chair back toward the football field, occasionally ripping a hand away from her wheels to wipe at her face.
In that moment, I thought there must not be a God. If there was, he’d be too disgusted with me to let me keep living. He’d open the fucking earth under my feet and let it swallow me up, because I knew I deserved it.
I slammed my fist into the hood of my car, denting it.
I was doing the right thing.
The alternative was alienating Kennedy from the only parent she had. It was choosing myself over her family. Her happiness. That’s all this was. I’d been pretending to be better for her. Pretending she had somehow managed to make me a good person when I was with her. Except even I wouldn’t be able to buy the lie if I had let things continue. I would’ve known what a selfish prick I was.
I got in my car to drive home and realized Kennedy still had my keys. I let my head rest on the steering wheel and groaned.
Goddammit.37KennedyMy mom didn’t ask me any questions about why I was so upset until we got home from the game and I was preparing dinner. My throat felt raw and my eyes were like two swollen, throbbing balloons from all the crying I’d done. No matter how many times I tried to put it from my mind, I couldn’t stop hearing the things he’d said.
You want to help me?
How do you plan to do that from your wheelchair?
I’m done babysitting your ass.
Each word struck into me with a painful punch, solidifying the truth I’d been unwilling to see. Tristan was the same asshole I’d met this summer. I let myself buy into the lie that there was a good guy in there—the guy I’d seen tutoring in the library or the one who had sneakily replaced my camera and fixed my wheelchair. The one who brought me food when I was sick every day and helped me with my essay.
But all of that must’ve been a lie. It was just what he thought he needed to do to sleep with me.
The thought made me feel used and ugly. Like some kind of discarded toy.
I hated seeing myself that way, and I hated that I’d trusted him enough to let him have that kind of power over me.
At home, I decided to clean up the kitchen. With everything that happened since Tristan went to the hospital, I still hadn’t completely cleaned up the mess from our dinner with him. I scrubbed at the pots and pans I’d used, trying not to let my mind wander. I made an effort to focus intently on what I was doing, on getting every last goddamn piece of grease and remnant of food off the plates. I scrubbed so hard my hands hurt.
I reached for the glasses we’d used and started washing them. I picked one up, and then noticed there was some kind of powdery remnant at the bottom. I frowned, turning it over and studying it. Was that sugar?
I added a little water to the tiny remnant of sweet tea that was mixed with the powder, and the water didn’t make it dissolve. I stared for a few more seconds, then decided I had just left the dishes out too long and it must’ve been some sort of gross mold.
My mom called for me to hurry up because she had an early shift in the morning, so I quickly put away the rest of the dishes, including the mortar and pestle I hadn’t remembered using. It didn’t look that dirty, so I just shoved it in a cabinet before retrieving the store-bought lasagna I’d microwaved.
“I heard about your little boyfriend,” my mom said once we sat down.
I didn’t look up immediately. There were about three things irritating in the few words she’d just muttered, so I had to forcibly stop myself from responding to any of them. “What did you hear?” I asked sweetly.
“Just some rumors from a mom of a kid who goes to your school. He failed a drug test, right?”
I shrugged. Tristan didn’t deserve for me to feel protective, so I needed to stop wanting to throw something at my mom just for asking about it. “Yeah.”
“And what do you think about it?”
“He broke up with me at school today, mom,” I said, setting my fork down with a clatter. “So you can stop worrying about it. He doesn’t matter to me, anymore. He can get kicked out of school too, for all I care.”