for enjoying myself?
“I am,” I say aloud. I should’ve never brought Ben into my messed up world. I know he’s been my rock, especially when Peyton had her accident, but I should’ve shut the door the minute my life started changing.
I rinse off, glance down at my torso, legs, and bring my arms into my line of sight. True to my nature, I’ve rubbed my skin raw. And for what? To erase the idea of Ben from my skin? That’s not right. I shouldn’t feel disgusted, but I do. Not because of who he is, but of what I’ve done.
Without really thinking, I grab my duffel bag and throw some clothes in there. Once I’m dressed, I’m rushing out of my apartment and to my car. Peyton and Noah are here for at least one more day. Not only do I need to spend some time with my sister, but I need to talk to her. She’ll know how to fix things with Ben and me.
Thankfully, traffic is minimal and what could’ve taken me two hours to get to my parents’ only takes one. I wish I could say I put my morning behind me, but I can’t. Thoughts of Ben’s naked body pressing against mine play like a traffic accident on the side of the road. You’re not supposed to look, but you do. You stare, craning your head until you can no longer see, and wonder what happened. Who caused the accident? Did anyone die? Did I know anyone?
I’m not likening my morning to an accident at all, however, each time I close my eyes, I can feel Ben behind me, and I can see him in all his glory, and I wish our circumstances were different because I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try.
I wipe angrily at the tears streaming down my face. If this isn’t a good enough reason to quit drinking, I don’t know what is. I can’t go through life waking up in beds, not remembering what happened the night before.
As soon as I pull into my parents’ driveway, I heave a sigh of relief. No one, besides Peyton, is going to know what happened, and telling her is going to be hard. I don’t want to be judged. I’m getting enough of that from Quinn, and supposedly my parents. Of course, walking in today will be a shock to them. I haven’t exactly been responsive to their requests.
I don’t bother knocking, which I don’t exactly recommend. It seems I’m a hot topic of conversation. Instead of making my presence known, I stand back and listen to my family discuss me in detail.
“She’s out of control,” Dad says.
“She’s going through a rough patch,” Peyton replies.
“I’m scared of what might happen to her,” Mom says.
Noah is the only one not speaking. He’s sipping his coffee and looking out over the surf, minding his own business. I’m sure he has an opinion, but he’s likely saving it for when he’s alone with Peyton.
“Ahem.” All four of them turn and look at me. It takes a moment before their shocked expressions morph into smiles. My mom is the first to stand and pull me into her arms. Her hug is genuine, but I’m too pissed to really put much effort into mine.
“We didn’t know you were coming down today,” she says, appraising me.
“Clearly.” I look around, making eye contact with my dad. He stands and pulls me into his arms.
“We only want what’s best for you, princess.” He kisses the top of my head, and I find myself fighting back the tears. When did I become my own worst enemy?
I bury my face in my dad’s neck. Try as I might, it’s hard to stay upset with him. I don’t know if it’s because he’s always been there for Peyton and I or if it’s simply because he’s my dad and right now my heart is breaking at the thought that I’ve disappointed him.
Growing up, my friends who have step-parents always complained about them, but aside from the normal parental grumbles, I’ve never said anything bad about mine. As angry as we’ve been at each other through my teen years, never have I thought about saying the words ‘you’re not my father’ to him. For one, I know it would devastate him and two, saying something to that effect would destroy any relationship we have. My dad has, from the day he entered our lives, always loved Peyton and me as his own.
After my dad pulls away, I look at Peyton. She has tears in her eyes, making me wonder if they’re for me or if something is going on with her. I can’t imagine her and Noah are fighting. They’re ridiculously in love, it’s rather sickening.
“P, can I talk to you? Out there.” I point toward the beach. It’ll give us some privacy, and the sound of the ocean will drown out our voices. She stands and reaches for my hand, linking fingers with mine. Together, we trudge through the sandy beach until we’re far enough away from our parents.
We sit, side by side with our legs touching. Peyton reaches for my hand again, almost as if she knows something is wrong. It’s our twin thing. When she was in the hospital, I wasn’t feeling her pain, but I felt… odd. I knew when she was in the accident something had happened, but I didn’t know what.
“What’s it like to be perfect?”
Peyton looks at me, but I keep my eyes trained on the surfers riding the waves. “What’re you talking about?”
“Everything you do, it’s perfect. The way Mom and Dad look at you, the way your relationship with Noah has been. Even Kyle, who was probably in love with you, is your best friend. It doesn’t matter what you do or say. You can do no wrong.”
“That’s not true, Elle. No one sees me as perfect.”
“Noah does,” I point out.
“Ha. If you think so, you should spend a day in our apartment. He nags me constantly about my socks being on the floor, about how I do the dishes, about how I always leave a glass or plate behind because I don’t want to rearrange what I’ve already put in the dishwasher. I have flaws, E. I have scars like everyone else. No one is perfect and those who strive to be, only let themselves down in the end. And if you think Noah thinks I’m perfect, you should have a long talk with him because I guarantee you, he doesn’t.”
“But he does. So do Mom and Dad. You walk on water where they’re concerned.”
Peyton laughs. “I call it guilt. I was living in Chicago while the rest of my family was living here. I was alone, granted, by choice, but when the accident happened, they couldn’t reach me for hours. They don’t think I’m perfect. They think I’m fragile and on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”