Chapter 55
Zoe
I hate therapy. Actually, that’s not true. I hate that there’s a reason I need it. No, I hate the fact that I need therapy for this reason. And I really need it.
—Zoe
It feels strange to be at home again. Especially without Jase. The last two days felt like a time-out. An involuntary one, sure, but still just a break. School didn’t matter, and neither did ballet. Nothing in the outside world mattered.
It was just him and me. Days in bed and on the sofa. Whispered secrets and tears.
Today, it’s different. He’s back at school, and I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be back with him. Caleb isn’t here, and Dad had to go to work, so I’m alone with Mom. The more time that passes, the more restless I become. I don’t have anything to do.
My legs are twitchy. Everything is twitchy. I need to move. I need to dance. I want to dance. But I can’t just go back to school. Charlotte is there, and the thought of seeing her again makes my stomach turn. I don’t know what will happen to her. I don’t know if anything will happen.
“Zoe, dear?” Mom’s concerned voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look up. She’s standing in front of me, her face so worried that it makes my heart clench. She’s holding out a steaming cup to me.
“I’m sorry. I was thinking.” I take the cup, and she sits down next to me on the sofa.
She looks tired. I’m not used to seeing her like this.
She’s dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, with her hair in braids and no makeup.
There are dark circles under her eyes, and I know she hasn’t slept much in the past few days.
Because I haven’t slept much either. Every time I woke up in the night and went to the bathroom or to get something to drink, there was still a light on in her study, and I could hear her voice.
I think she was on the phone with her lawyer.
Because of me. It reminds me of last year, and I hate it.
It’s all about me and what happened. I want it to stop.
I want to turn back time and make everything normal. Why can’t I do that?
“How do you feel?” she asks gently and pushes my hair off my forehead.
I shrug and take a sip of tea. Lavender and honey. Calming. I don’t know how to answer that question anymore. I feel too much.
“Do you want to talk to Dr. Somers?”
“What good would that do?” I say, sinking deeper into the sofa. “She can’t change what happened.”
“I know. But she can help you deal with it. She helped you last year too.”
I don’t answer, because she’s right. Dr. Somers helped me convince my parents to let me apply to dance school if I got my panic attacks under control. She worked with me for months. She was patient, even though I behaved terribly sometimes. Deep inside, I know that she can help me now.
But I don’t want to talk about it all again. I just want to leave it behind me. If only it were that easy. Nothing about this situation is easy.
“I’m afraid it will start again . . . the stuff about touching,” I say quietly. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to think about it. In the last few days, I’ve been refusing to acknowledge it. Because then it might be true. And that would be unbearable.
“Why do you think it might start again?” Mom’s voice is soft, and tears well up in my eyes.
“I don’t know . . .” I falter, hesitating.
I cling to the cup a little more tightly.
“It started again the first time I had to dance with Jase. I don’t know why.
The panic just came back. And now . . . how can it not happen again?
” I take a shaky breath and wipe the tears off my cheeks.
“Jase can lie next to me in bed, and it feels good. It really does. But I wonder all the time . . . whether it will stay that way. And what will happen if it doesn’t. ”
Mom sighs. When I look at her again, tears are running down her face. She wipes them away and smiles at me lovingly. “I don’t think any of this makes sense. As long as it feels good and right to you, it is good.”
“Since I found out, we haven’t . . . you know.” I turn red, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. Maybe it’s strange that I’m talking about this with my mom, of all people. Who wants to talk to their mother about sex? But I have to get this off my chest.
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.” The word comes as a soft sigh. “But I don’t know. Somehow, I’m afraid that it won’t work after everything we’ve been through. But I want it to.”
God, I want so much for it to work. I want to be touched by him, to lose myself with him. I want his hands on my skin again, to feel his weight on me. I want him.
“Have you talked about it with him?”
“Not really.”
We haven’t talked about it at all. But I know I can. I know I can tell him everything. I just haven’t been able to so far, and I don’t know why.
“Are you going to talk to him?”
“Yes. But I don’t know how. It’s all so . . . I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“I’m sure he feels exactly the same way,” Mom says.
“Probably.” I sigh. “This is all so damn hard.”
“I know, dear. I wish it were different.”
“Me too.” I lean against her, and Mom puts an arm around my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.
“It’s going to be all right. I’m sure of it.”
I hope so.
* * *
It’s late afternoon when the doorbell rings. I assume it’s Jase, even though he should still be in class. It wouldn’t surprise me if he skipped theory class to get here earlier. But it’s not Jase standing on the porch. It’s Mr. Pearson.
“Hello, Zoe.” He smiles kindly, but he also looks exhausted. Then I remember that he’s Reed’s uncle, and I tense.
“Hi, Mr. Pearson,” I say, and then don’t know how to continue. My heart pounds against my ribs. What is he doing here?
“I’m sorry for turning up unannounced. I should have called,” he says. “I’d love to talk to you, if that’s okay.”
I stand there frozen and can’t make a sound. I don’t know if it’s okay. I don’t know anything anymore. What does he want?
“Zoe? Who’s there?” Mom comes to the door, and I feel a little better with her standing at my back. “Mr. Pearson. What can we do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to Zoe,” he says again. He’s talking to my mom, but he’s looking at me. His gaze is serious, but unexpectedly warm. “But if it’s not the right time—”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s okay. Come in.” If he leaves, I won’t be able to think about anything but the fact that he came here, and I need to know what he wants from me.
Mom and I step aside and let him in. She looks at me carefully, making sure it’s really okay with me that my school principal is suddenly here in our house.
“Would you like a drink?” Mom asks politely, inviting Pearson to sit down at our dining table. But he shakes his head.
“No, thank you. This won’t take long.”
“What’s this about?” Mom asks, because my voice still isn’t working.
I’m so tense that my shoulders hurt.
“First of all, I want to apologize for what Reed did to you. It’s unforgivable, and I know that no apology in the world can make up for it. Still, I’m sorry that you have to go through all of this.”
“Thank you,” I mumble. My shoulders relax a little. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“I want you to know that you can take all the time you need. Your place with us is safe. In case you were worried about that.” He gives me a tiny, encouraging smile.
“I . . . I don’t know if I can go back yet. Charlotte . . .” I break off; my throat is constricted.
Pearson nods as if he had expected this answer.
“As for Charlotte, we also heard about what she did. She was expelled from school. We do not tolerate such behavior. The school is your second home, and we want all our students to feel safe there.”
“Charlotte had to leave?” I stare at him in disbelief. I’m sure I misheard him.
But he nods. “I don’t know what other consequences her behavior will have, but she is no longer a part of our student body.”
I want to say something, say thank you. Anything. But I can’t speak. Charlotte is no longer at the same school as me. I don’t have to see her in class. I can go back, and she’ll be gone. And then I burst into tears again. Tears of relief.