hills of the rich beyond ignited, taunting me with what I’d never have. The storm rolled in, bringing the pitter-patter of rain. I watched it come, a shower of greatness. Here to wash away the stench of our garbage-laden street.
It didn’t wash away the hurt in my heart, though.
“Fuck Clinton Clarke.”
The rain battered against my window as lightning pierced the sky overhead. The clouds hung low, pregnant with rain. They were so close I imagined I was almost able to reach up and touch them. I placed my forehead against my window, the same window I’d crawled out of that night I first slept with Clint. I closed my eyes and reminisced about how much I’d hated the fact that he’d found me. How much I’d enjoyed opening up to him. How wonderful the bike ride had been and how kind he’d been.
How gentle he was.
“Stop it,” I muttered. “You’re torturing yourself.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks with every flash of lightning. And as the thunder crashed, I let my sobs run free. All day, I’d kept them in check. Throughout history, where I felt Clint staring at me. Throughout P.E., where I saw him in the bleachers watching me from beyond his sunglasses. I dealt with the snickers and the names murmured under people’s breath as I passed by. Cleaver Beaver the Dick Eater. How quickly shit like that worked its way around the school.
I wondered if I was turning into my mother.
“Shit.”
I put my head in my hands and cried. I didn’t try to hold it back any longer. The thunder covered up my sobs and the lightning heated my tears. And as the rain battered harder against my window, it was almost like the storm was trying to wash my sins away. Wash my tears away. Cheer me up with its furious might. I was envious of the storm. How strong it was. How it could rage, and people didn’t bat an eye. If anything, they cowered away. Respecting it. Admiring it. Sitting out on the porch and watching it in a mesmerized sort of awe.
Now I know how Clint feels.
I didn't know which was worse, being invisible to the masses or being seen only for my greatest mistake. But the truth of the matter was that I still didn’t regard Clint as a mistake. I never could. What we’d shared was tremendous, even if he didn’t feel it. Even if it was faked on his end. Even if he completely fabricated his words and his actions and his emotions, I hadn’t. I didn’t. And I never would.
“That’s what makes you better than him.”
I sat up from my arms and dried my face. I sniffled until my nose was clear, then went back to watching the storm. I’d had my moment of weakness, and now it was time to press onward and forward, like nothing ever happened. It was all I had, and it was all I’d use. Because in the end, that made me better than them. They could flash their money around and ride in their expensive cars and wear their designer clothes to school. But, in the end, what made me better and stronger than them was my ability to persevere.
Whereas they broke down over a scuffed tennis shoe. Or a broken nail.
Except Clint.
I shook the thought from my head. He was like them. Just like them. He wasn’t different. He showed me that today. There was no use in crying over him. He was nothing but a cup of spilled, spoiled milk.
I hated that I’d fallen for it, though. I was angry at myself for falling for his tricks. His ruse. Not seeing through the wolfish grin long enough to latch onto his plan. His ultimate plan to destroy me. His ultimate plan to play the best trick this fucking high school had ever seen.
Fucking around with the school charity case before exposing her to be like every other girl who wanted to ride Clint Clarke’s cock.
It was genius. And simple. And I’d fallen for all of it.
I sighed. “You’re such a fool, Rae. Holy shit.”
A knock came at my door and I shot up from the windowsill. I dove back into my bed, covering myself up as I tried to make myself look presentable. The last thing I needed was my mother knowing any of this, for more shame to come down onto the people in this family. I called out for her to come in, hiding my reddened cheeks with my pillow.
When the door slowly swung open, she arched her brow at me.
“You okay in here?”
I sighed. “That obvious?”
She snickered. “I may or may not have been standing here for a few minutes now.”
“Oh.”
Mom walked into my room and closed the door behind her. She came and sat on the edge of my bed, patting my leg. I didn’t like her seeing me like this. I had to take care of her. That was how this dynamic worked. That was how it always worked with us.
But I needed my mom, too.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked.