Letter Fourteen #5
I let out another sob—of relief this time—when he called me back a second later. I asked him to come to Willoughby’s and help me get Tinsley out. All he said was, “Drop me a pin.”
Location dropped, I let the phone slip to the floor and yanked at my hair, tearing the braids loose. I hated them. My hands trembled while I curled up next to Tinsley and waited for Michael.
When Michael texted to let me know he was outside on the landing, I unlocked the door and let him inside. He took one look at me and reached for my face. “Elliot, what’s going on? How’d you get this?”
I brushed him off and led him to the bed. “Help me with Tinsley.”
Michael’s gaze raced over Tinsley’s body. “What—what happened here?” He bent and gently tapped her cheek, asked her to wake up. When she mumbled incoherently like she had with me, he said, “Seriously, what the hell happened here?”
My voice quavered when I said, “She’s fine. She’s okay.” I gestured to her costume, still very much intact. “Does it look like anything happened?”
His gaze dropped to my bare thighs. “Is that your whole costume? Is that all you wore here?”
“Yes.”
His eyes shimmered with fear.
“Michael, this is it. I promise. I want to go home now. Just—help me.”
Michael slipped off his jacket and draped it across my shoulders, then scooped Tinsley up and carried her down the two flights of stairs.
Hal looked worried as we approached, but he dutifully opened the door so Michael could deposit her onto the back seat.
I crawled in beside her while Michael rounded the car and climbed in the passenger seat up front.
Once he’d pulled away from the curb, Hal’s gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. “What happened in there?”
“Nothing,” I said, hands shaking as I stroked Tinsley’s hair in my lap.
“Ell,” Hal said. “Tell me the truth.”
“Tinsley got a little carried away,” I told him. “She had too much to drink.”
Hal cast a sidelong glance at Michael, who nodded. But Hal wasn’t convinced. “Then what’s that on your face?”
“Caught someone’s elbow while dancing,” I lied. “It’s no big deal.”
Hal eyed me warily the whole way home.
At the house, Michael carried Tinsley all the way up to my bedroom and placed her on my bed. We removed her shoes, turned her onto her side, and tucked her underneath the sheets.
Still shivering, I flung off the pumps and thigh-high tights, then dropped Michael’s jacket to the floor. Sweat had fused the bodysuit to my skin. I frantically clawed at my back, trying to find the zipper.
Coming to my rescue, Michael freed the zipper for me. “Hold still,” he said gently, peeling the latex down my body. “I’ve got it.”
But I couldn’t hold still. I tore at the bodysuit, pushing it down as I gripped his shoulder and he helped me step out of it.
In my floor-length mirror, I studied the angry bruises those assholes had left on me.
The one blooming on my face. The dark, splotchy mass forming between the hem of my bra and that of my underwear.
The one around my neck—the angriest bruise of them all.
My breath caught as I brushed my fingers over it.
Michael lifted my chin. “Elliot,” he whispered, dragging his eyes away from my neck to search my gaze. He could barely get the words out. “What happened to you?”
I knew what he was asking, so I said, “Not that.” I grabbed some leggings and a t-shirt off the floor of my closet, then your cardigan off my desk chair. I wrapped its cozy softness around my body, but nothing stopped the shivering. Out on the landing, I curled up on that camelback settee.
Michael joined me. “Tell me what happened.”
Still shaking, I told him everything except their names.
“Tell me who it was,” Michael said.
“No. I’ll handle them myself.” My hatred for those boys burned so brightly I thought I could. I’d come up with a plan. I’d destroy them both—Greer especially. I’d hurt the shit out of him for the way he’d hurt me.
“The hell you will.” He glanced over at Tinsley, visible from the landing, still passed out on my bed. “They roofied Tinsley. That’s serious, too, even if they didn’t touch her. Tell me their names.”
I grabbed Michael’s wrist to check his watch. Five minutes to midnight. You’d be home soon. “Do you think I can hide this from Casey? From my dad?”
Michael touched his fingers to my cheekbone, head shaking. “No. I don’t.”
“I can cover it with makeup maybe. I don’t want to upset Casey. I don’t want to get him in trouble.” I started to cry. Big, fat tears. That fear—Greer’s hand around my throat, the certainty I was about to die—bursting forth and ravaging my body with sobs. Michael drew me against his chest.
A little while later, you found us on the settee with my head in Michael’s lap and the sleeve of your cardigan pressed to my mouth.
You paused on my landing, gripping the rail. To Michael, you said, “What are you doing here?”
But he didn’t answer.
You cautiously walked toward us, eyes flying to my cheek immediately. “What the fuck’s happened to her face?”
“Something happened at Willoughby’s,” Michael said.
“Where’s Tinsley?” you asked, voice rising with panic.
“She’s in bed,” said Michael.
You peeked inside my room, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of her. “What’s happened?”
Michael calmly explained everything while you stood very still and listened. I counted the black-and-white beads on your bracelet. Traced your hand tattoo with my eyes.
You dropped to a squatting position in front of us and brushed my hair back.
When you tugged the collar of my t-shirt down and saw my neck, your jaw clenched.
Your gaze darkened to a deep, scary blue.
“I shouldn’t have let you go,” you whispered, shaking your head. “This is on me. This is my fault.”
“No,” I whispered. “It’s my fault.”
“It’s no one’s fault but the asshole who did this,” said Michael from above.
You glanced up at him, then back down to me. “Who did this to you? Who roofied Tinsley?”
“She won’t say,” Michael told you.
“We need to tell your dad,” you said. “He needs to know about this.”
“No,” I said, rising from Michael’s lap, my hand clutching his knee. “If we tell my dad you let me go to a party, you’ll get in trouble.”
“Well,” you said, “that’s a consequence I have to accept, isn’t it? I’m responsible for you. I deserve to be in trouble for this.”
“No, Casey. I won’t let you.”
“You can’t hide it, anyway,” you said. “Have you looked in a mirror?”
“I’ll wear turtlenecks for a while. I’ll say I got hit in the face at tennis practice.”
“And you’ll let these boys get away with what they’ve done?” you asked, incredulous. “They roofied your friend, Elliot. That’s quite serious, even apart from what they did to you.”
“Oh, they won’t get away with it,” I said. “I’ll make sure of that.”
You looked at Michael. “There’s a boy called Greer on her tennis team. He won’t leave her alone.”
“I know that guy,” Michael said. “He has a reputation.”
“I want you both to let this go,” I said. “This is the way I want it. This is my choice.”
“What about Tinsley?” you asked. “Doesn’t she get a choice? When she comes to, what if she wants to go to the police?”
“Then I guess we’ll go to the police,” I said tightly. “But for right now, stay out of it. Don’t try to be heroes.”
I shot Michael a warning glance, digging my nails into his leg. He clenched his jaw, assuring me he understood.
Locked away in my room, I curled my body against Tinsley’s and watched her the whole night. I monitored her breathing and checked her pulse, Googling everything I could about being roofied. You couldn’t sleep, either, my phone buzzing every thirty minutes or so with a new text.
How’s Tinsley?
Do you need anything?
I hate leaving you alone. Let me come sit with you.
But I insisted I was fine, even though the left side of my face ached, my throat still burned, and every time I expanded my lungs to breathe, it felt like someone kicking me in the ribs all over again.
I told you I was okay, but I wasn’t. I kept flashing back to the feeling of Greer’s hand around my neck.
To his pale eyes, dead and vacant as they stared into mine.
When Tinsley woke later that morning, she rolled over in bed, disoriented and confused, but quickly sat up when she saw my face.
She didn’t believe my lie about getting elbowed while dancing and demanded I tell her the truth—she knows me too well.
So I told her the truth. And she cried. And her tears spawned more of my own, but I furiously swiped them away, not wanting to give those assholes the satisfaction.
As for Tinsley, she said she’d allowed herself one cup of punch after Rory teased her for being sober and told her to have a little fun. But after drinking it, she’d felt heavy-limbed and sleepy, so Rory had helped her upstairs to Willoughby’s guest room.
I told her about Michael carrying her out of the party and, later, up the three flights of stairs to my bedroom.
“I can’t believe Michael did that,” Tinsley said, so touched by Michael’s actions that her eyes filled with tears again.
When I asked if she wanted to go to the police, she took her time considering my question. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t want your dad to find out. I like that we get to do normal stuff together now. That we get to hang out outside of this house—without Hal or Casey for an escort.”
“But Tinsley—”
“They didn’t touch me. If they had, I’d definitely report them. But they didn’t, Ellie, so it’s not worth it. If you don’t want to go, I don’t want to go, either.”
She yanked me into a hug, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
While Tinsley hopped in the shower, I wandered down to the kitchen and found you standing over the stove, staring at your teakettle.
Despite all the clothes I wore—turtleneck, leggings, wool socks, your cardigan—I couldn’t stop shivering.
I wrapped your cardigan tightly around my body, wincing when my hand brushed over the tender spot across my ribs.