Two
Spring of 2001
12 years old
“M y mother says your aunt’s a whore,” said Graeme, stopping in front of me as he ate his purple Popsicle.
Ah, yes, another day of bullying.
I’d been mindlessly seated on the park chair overlooking the basketball court, painting my nails a rosy red while taking in my fill of thirteen year old Carter. He looked good this day, wearing an oversized white muscle shirt that made his tanned skin more pronounced. He was in the middle of organizing the teams when this little bastard had to ruin it. I ignored him, though, and resumed painting my toenails.
Graeme always instigated fights. He picked on everyone so long as they were smaller and younger than his thirteen-year-old self. To put it blatantly, he was a pathetic bully if he could get away with it. And, unfortunately, he got away with it a lot.
“She says you’re going to turn into a whore too,” he continued. “Says your Uncle’s waitin’ for you to be just a little older. You’re going to be a whore like your aunt. You listening to me, Leah? A whore.”
“Okay, Graeme,” I simply replied, unbothered by his words.
It wasn’t the first time someone had said this to me, and now that I was twelve years old, I was a lot more mindful of what was really going on inside that trailer some days. I didn’t need this sadistic little prick to tell me about it.
“Oh, so you’re okay with that then,” he said. “I’ve got three dollars in my pocket. You wanna ride me like your auntie rides those men?”
“No.”
“No? I can round up some boys, chip in some more coin if you’re being a stingy little bitch.”
“No,” I repeated absently.
I didn’t have to look at him to see he was most likely turning purple from anger. He was seeking a reaction out of me, and he didn’t seem to realize I was numb by it all. Growing up around foul-mouthed people was the norm for me. Graeme was too small time to care about.
I heard his steps, and before I could look up, he grabbed my nail polish and threw it hard on the ground. It didn’t break like he wanted it to. It hit the soft soil with a thud, but the damage had been done. The liquid oozed out of the bottle, disrupting the bright green grass. I stared at the nail polish for a moment, and all I could think about was Aunt Cheryl giving me it for my twelfth birthday three weeks ago and how happy I was to have it. I’d only opened it up for the first time this morning, and now it was upside down, discharging every last drop of colour that should have been used to make me look pretty.
“Whores don’t wear nail polish!” Graeme screamed at me.
I felt my blood rush into my ears. My heart rate picked up, and my skin gleamed with sweat.
“Whores aren’t meant to look nice!”
My fingers twitched as my eyes focused on the red.
Rosy red everywhere.
Rosy red that should have been on me .
“Whores like you don’t deserve nice things—”
His words died off and a high-pitched squeak erupted out of him the second I tackled him to the ground. In a blinding fit of rage, I balled my hands into fists and rained them down on him.
Little monster wanted a reaction?
I was going to give him one he would never forget!
He fought me back almost instantly, throwing me off him and jumping over me. He smacked me against the face and pulled my hair. I thrashed my body beneath him, covering my face with one arm and scratching at his sweaty throat with my free hand. I didn’t care that he was hurting me because I was feeling a rush hurting him back with equal intensity.
It was a mess, really. Graeme was a weak little shit and he’d just met his match. Neither of us had the upper hand, and I was too disoriented to understand what was happening. I didn’t know if we’d been at it for minutes, or even seconds. My brain had shut off and my body did all the work, acting of its own volition, attacking Graeme with whatever strength I had left. I was silent, too. Not a word out of my mouth except for a few grunting sounds. I was all adrenaline and determination. Who knew a scrawny little thing like me had it in me? I certainly didn’t. I was waiting for my inner coward to beg him to stop, but all I had to think about was my poor nail polish’s demise and having ugly toenails all over again.
I didn’t want ugly toenails. I’d had too little in life to be okay with departing from the one beauty product I’d ever had. I could take the verbal abuse—hell, Graeme could have walked away after dropping those “whore” bombs on me and I would have taken it and he could have had his little victory.
But he went a step too far.
I heard sounds around us, and then the pressure of him on me completely eased. As soon as I realized I was hitting air, I ceased immediately. When I moved my arm from my face, I saw a tall body bent down, grabbing at Graeme and swinging him off of me. I saw blonde shaggy hair, a white muscle shirt, and the tanned skin of a boy I’d just been drooling over minutes prior. I almost thought I was imagining the whole thing. Had Carter really come to the rescue? Or was I so bloody desperate for my saviour to be him that I was hallucinating the entire thing?
“The hell you doing hitting a girl?” growled out a voice.
I was right.
It was Carter.
Too surprised, I barely moved as I watched him kick Graeme in the stomach. Graeme fell to the side, groaning out, “She hit me first!”
“And why’d she hit you first, dickhead?”
Graeme didn’t respond. He turned his head and just looked at me. There was a storm in those little eyes as he regarded me like I’d caused all of this. I stared right back at him, perking up one side of my mouth, silently goading him to do something. I felt untouchable with Carter standing between us, guarding me like I was some damsel in distress in need of saving.
Graeme kept his mouth shut, even when Carter hit him again. As soon as the kids that had gathered around us started to laugh at him, he hurried to his feet and took off running, but it wasn’t without a kick up the ass from Carter that had him tumbling to the ground. After his face plant, he wiped the blood that ran from his busted-up nose and took off again, disappearing into the trailer park where he would most likely spend a few days hidden away recuperating.
“Yeah, fucking run, little weasel!” Carter hollered, and his friends laughed and mimicked the sounds of a wild weasel’s squeal.
When he turned around to face me, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth, I tensed and gaped at him in awe. My heart was pounding in my chest, but it wasn’t because of the fight anymore. For the first time in, well, ever, Carter Matheson was staring at me. He wasn’t staring through me, either. His eyes were focused on my face before they glanced down my body. His eyebrows shot up a tad at what I was wearing: small shorts and a spaghetti strap top that stopped at my belly button. I wasn’t entirely to blame for my lack of modesty when Uncle Russell encouraged it by not saying anything. Besides, girls my age dressed like I did around here in droves. I thought nothing of it at the time.
With bated breath, I watched him take a few steps toward me. He blocked the sun out with his frame and stared down at me. For a few seconds, I just saw him and nothing else. The world fell away when he extended his hand out to me. My eyes flickered down to his open hand, and I would have taken it had I not been entrenched in the ground from shock.
“Come on, Leah, let me help you,” he said to me in the softest voice imaginable.
Leah.
He knew my name. I can’t tell you what that stirred within me. All this time I thought I was some forlorn object in the background of Carter’s life. But no.
He… he knew my name.
I swallowed and reached out for his hand. I waited for the bolt of electricity to spark between us—you know, that delicious connection you feel every time you meet someone that has struck you down with their beauty? I’d never felt it before, and I expected it like my next breath. Instead, I felt warmth as he pulled me up to my feet. His skin was rough, and I held it for a moment longer, feeling a pleasant lick of pleasure run through me before I let it go.
I can still tell you every little detail about this moment. I’d spent nights after reliving it. I can tell you how swallowed up I was in his arctic blue eyes. That the smile on his face had lessened as he took me in with equal intensity. Or how little his chest moved, as if he too was breathless. I can tell you that although we didn’t have to touch to feel that electricity, I could feel something like it running between the two of us. It may have been my imagination, but I don’t think so. At least, I’d like to think it was mutual.
It had to be.
“You going to tell me what all that was about?” he suddenly asked me.
“Graeme’s just a bully,” I answered him in a shaky voice.
He looked down suddenly with furrowed brows. I followed his gaze. He stepped off of something and cursed when he looked under his shoe and saw the red streaks along it. I saw the nail polish just then and was horrified the colour had ruined the bottom of his shoe. I bent down to get it just as he did, and our heads slammed together. I stumbled back just as he grabbed my arm and steadied me. Looking at me with a heart stopping grin now, he muttered, “Sorry, babe. Let me grab it.”
Babe.
Sorry, babe .
Oh, my God. I’d have been happy to slam heads all day if it meant him calling me that.
He grabbed my nail polish and stood back up. By now, most of the kids around us had scattered, including his friends who all had returned to their game on the court. I watched him study the bottle before he glanced down at my bare feet. Cringing, I realized my toenails were a mess after I’d lunged at Graeme.
The worst part? I didn’t even have nail polish remover.
“He threw it on the ground,” I muttered, feeling a little awkward now.
“Is that why you jumped at him?” he questioned.
I reddened just then. I didn’t know he saw that. In fact, I was so lost in my anger, I didn’t consider there might have been an audience the entire time. I could have sworn I saw him playing, though.
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
He smiled again. “Nice. I’m not used to seeing girls getting their hands dirty.”
I smiled back. I could be a dirty girl. Hell, I’d be the dirtiest girl around if that meant impressing him.
“You gonna tell me what he said to you? I’d like to go back there and give that little dickhead a few more punches.”
I shrugged. “Nothing that needs to be said out loud again. You don’t need to do anything about it. He got what he deserved.”
I resisted telling him about Graeme’s insults regarding my aunt. I didn’t need a pity party. I also didn’t need to fill him in on how dirty my family was. He might run the other way, or worse, call me a whore too. In hindsight, I know it was silly, because I’m sure everyone knew what my aunt did inside that trailer. But I was twelve. What made sense to me at that age? I wasn’t all that bright. I just had eyes for a certain boy that made a lonely upbringing bearable.
Carter’s lips pursed for a moment as he stared down at me. I could tell he had something to say, but he wasn’t going to say it. Instead, he nodded and said, “Let me take you home.”
“What about your game?” I asked.
He looked past me and at the court. After studying the game for a few seconds, he answered, “They’re doing fine without me.”
He threw the bottle back on the ground and motioned for us to go. What could I do except follow? I’d been longing for time alone with him. Now that he noticed me, I couldn’t mess it up.
Please, Leah, don’t mess it up!
*
He took me home. We said nothing the entire way, but the butterflies inside of me ran rampant with each step I was alongside him. He walked close to me, closer than you would a friend. I opened my mouth several times throughout that walk. I just couldn’t force any words out.
When we got to our trailers, I saw a random car out front of mine and I knew it meant the trailer was occupied. I’d have to be waiting outside again for who knows how long. It didn’t bother me, though. This part of my life was normal for me. I didn’t really know any better.
Turning to Carter, I told him timidly, “Thanks for walking me back.”
I could hardly look into his eyes for more than a few seconds; they were dizzying to look into, and when he stared at me, he did it like I was the only thing he was focused on. The constant heat in my cheeks wouldn’t go away. I was completely wound up in him.
“No problem,” he said to me, smiling wistfully as his eyes danced about my face.
Cue the most painfully awkward moment ever. Was he going to give me a “see you later but I really mean never” wave? Or was this an opportunity for me to strike up a conversation to keep him here? I didn’t know. Christ, I was inexperienced. I was pretty much a loner with zero social skills. Being at school nowadays was difficult. Everybody knew about my aunt. Rumours had spread like wildfire, and I was often excluded from activities during recess. I spent more time ignoring people’s wicked insults and learning to keep my face as impassive as possible. Which is why my jumping Graeme was out of necessity. I had nobody to depend on but myself to get out of bad situations.
I had no friends except Rome, an introverted boy that would one day grow to be quite the opposite. Rome was reserved like me and not popular enough to hang with the crowd Carter was prevalently part of. It was during Art class that we hit it off, and it came only after being partnered up for a project due to being the only ones left at the end.
Rome was exceptional with his hands. He was good with instruments, had been the school band drummer throughout grade school, and he could draw anything and everything. Just give him a pencil—it didn’t have to be a good pencil either—and watch the fireworks explode.
We sought each other out during recesses and lunch. We sort of just fit together naturally, two unwanted souls among a sea of judgmental assholes. I didn’t mind it at all. Rome was very soft on the eyes anyways. His dark hair and green eyes would one day slay the ladies, but until then… we were loners, together.
So yeah, there you go. That was most of my experience right now. Fending off bullies by being a passive little wimp and hanging around a kid that was just as socially outcast as me.
It was no wonder I was clinging on to this bad boy. Carter was a guy that would never have blinked in my direction had he not witnessed me maul a bully over like a freaking bulldog. He could have anyone he wanted. Hell, I was there to witness it from time to time. There were many nights I’d seen him leave the house during the evenings, and sometimes there were girls there waiting for him out front of his home. Other times there weren’t, but he’d always come back after midnight, slipping into his bedroom window while I watched through the crack of my poor excuse of a curtain.
He’d be out enjoying himself, and I was inside my prison, shut inside my room, acting like a complete stalker Fatal Attraction style.
“So…” I started, clearing my throat as I searched around us for something to talk about. I didn’t want him to go.
Oh, God, please never go.
“I’ll be at the creek,” he suddenly said, a cocky smile forming at his lips. “And since you follow me around like a crazy person and all, I expect you’ll be there.”
I froze, my eyes widening as I stared up at him in horror. What…
Did he—
Oh no.
Oh, hell no.
He knew I watched him? How long had he known?
Christ, Leah. My brain droned on. You’re not as stealthy as you think.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said casually. “I’ve always known you were there. I just didn’t say anything. Didn’t want you to feel weird.”
“I still feel weird,” I whispered, clasping my hands together nervously.
He chuckled before he flashed me those heart stopping eyes and replied, “But it’d have been weirder if I’d caught you in the act, right? I’ll spare you that trauma. I’m ready to have my only audience in sight for once anyways.”
I felt a pleasurable chill run down my spine. He disarmed me. I wanted him so much and I didn’t even understand what that even meant, or why I even felt this way to begin with.
Coming a little closer to me, he leaned down and whispered, “I’ll see you in ten minutes, Leah.”
“Yeah,” I softly muttered as he walked off in the direction of his home and disappeared inside it.
I didn’t waste time. I hurried to the creek, half of me dying from the humiliation of being caught snooping, and the other half praising whatever deity I believed in at that time for making him act so normal about it.
Maybe he was just as crazy as me.
Maybe he followed people around, too.
The truth was even sadder than I could bear.