14. Fourteen #2
As these thoughts hammered against the inside of my skull, I kept wandering, until naturally, I ended up at the Throw.
Somehow this circle of stones became the place where so many things in my life both started and ended.
The day was hot and still, as July days often are.
With no breeze, the trees hung limp all around me, even this far into the forest. Without birds chirping or branches rustling, the sounds of activity all across camp carried further than they normally would.
Being at Throw always felt a bit like coming home after being away for too long.
In the six years since Toni’s trial, I’d only ever come out here a handful of times, three of them last summer.
It had been nearly that long since I’d used these rocks as a hiding place.
Now, as I approached the largest of the boulders, my shoulders slumped.
My body felt too heavy to carry any more.
I was so much taller and broader now than I’d been at sixteen.
Still, I cast a silent prayer that this rock was still big enough to hide me, then sunk to my knees
Shame gnawed at me, partially for believing Mitchell, but also for being like him.
For being like Carl. For fuck’s sake, I’d started this summer by punching Toni in the face.
It was an accident. But was it really? Or had I let my anger at her and our history take the reins?
I would never know, because I wasn’t sure my anger at Toni would ever fade.
Sick as I was at the thought of what Mitchell had tried to do, as happy as I was that Xavi and Brennon had been there to stop it, a twisted, cruel little part of me still wanted her to hurt as much as I did, as much as I had for all the time she’d been gone.
The last time I’d sat in this spot, I’d been grappling with the same anger and altogether different kind of shame.
Unlike last time, though, I didn’t cry. Nor did I stay and wallow until someone found me.
I couldn’t. At sixteen, I’d still been a camper, a kid.
Now, I had responsibilities. Still, my knees were stiff from kneeling on the ground for so long when the faint sounds of Abbi’s voice on the dining hall mic caught my ears.
Small pebbles and twigs left imprints and pockmarks on my skin even as I brushed them away.
Abbi’s announcements were a reminder not only of what the afternoon still held for campers, but of what it still held for me.
It wasn’t until much later that day that I caught up with Greer.
At dinner that night, I slid onto the bench beside him at his cabin’s table.
After saying hello to all the boys, listening as they made dumb jokes and occasionally punched each other, I elbowed his side and quietly said “Come see me in the Section Office tonight.”
Unlike Brennon, Michele, or I, he was a cabin leader.
That meant anytime he wasn’t running a program, he had his cabin full of kids around him.
I wasn’t about to ruin their good time by exposing those boys to all this bullshit, or to the fact that their leader was a fucking monster, so, staff time in the evenings was about the only chance I had to confront him.
But after I said my piece to Mitchell tonight, I would be telling Jack.
The Director might be absolutely useless most of the time, but there was no way he would let a guy capable of multiple assault attempts keep his job.
Especially not when that job revolved around working with children.
At fifteen I’d kept my mouth shut about Nick when I shouldn’t have at Toni’s request. But I would never make that mistake again. History would not repeat itself.
I was in the middle planning the next Boy’s section theme day when Mitchell came through the door. Thankfully, Abbi spent most nights with Toni and Michele, or with her little boyfriend, Riley, so I often had the office to myself. Tonight was no exception.
Greer had always carried himself with the swagger of someone with a much higher scoring percentage, but it was even more pronounced as he wandered over to my chair and slapped me on the shoulder, “What’s up, Michaels? What’s with the summons?”
I spun my chair to face Abbi’s desk and gestured to her chair, “Grab a seat, Greer.”
“Oooooh,” he taunted, “So serious.”
But still, he sat, twisting his own seat so we sat facing one another in some kind of perverse face-off. How do you tell someone you finally figured out what a slimeball they are? The only way I knew was just to say exactly that.
“You’re a slimeball, Mitchell.”
He rolled his eyes, “Oh, what now? Did Abbi or one of her little bitches come snitching about some comment I made.”
“No, but I’m guessing that’s not because you didn’t say something creepy as shit.”
“Ugh, those girls are all so fucking sensitive. One comment-”
I didn’t need to hear about one more shitty thing he’d said or done. Between Brennon’s story, and Michele’s, the list was long enough, so I cut him off, “Brennon saw you last night.”
The accusation flew out of my mouth with a snarl.
“He saw you! Taking fucking photos of Toni and Xavi without their consent!”
He licked his lips, rolled his shoulders and gave me a closed-lipped grin that chilled me. Michele always said Greer gave her the creeps, but this was the first time I truly got it.
His was the face of someone who didn’t give two shits that he was being called out. And that was only reinforced as he tossed back,
“Well, if those two didn’t want a camera crew, they should have been a little more careful about where they decided to fuck. Besides, it’s not like they knew your little rockstar was there either.”
I sucked in a breath and cracked my knuckles, battling the desire to kill him right then and there.
“Yeah, well, Brennon wasn’t exactly snapping photos either.”
“His loss. They turned out pretty good. Might put them online, make a buck or two.”
I launched for his chair, fixing it in place as my hands landed on the arm rests. He tried to spin, but there was no way I was letting him look away. Through gritted teeth, I snarled, “Delete them. Now.”
“Fine, captain. Mr. Big Man,” he jeered, “Hot shit, popular. Even my own fucking Mum used to call you handsome when we were kids.”
Then, he smiled, “But you couldn’t even satisfy one, lousy piece of pussy.” Without looking up, he whipped his phone from his pocket and thumbed across the screen.
“Everyone used to talk about how perfect you two were together but turns out Michele would rather go clam-diving than fuck you anymore.”
Confused and annoyed, I waited for him to elaborate.
He chuckled and spun the phone in his hand, holding it out for me so that the screen was visible, and on it, a photo that my mind couldn’t quite make sense of.
There was Michele. That much registered.
She was on her knees, in what was clearly the Cluster’s supply closet again.
But instead of me, or even some other guy, there were tanned, smooth thighs and a skirt pushed up to reveal a black thong.
Michele’s face was partially obscured, kissing the skin of those legs, but her eyes were angled upwards.
Looking back down at her was Isabella, her own face flushed.
Mitchell flicked his thumb once more, switching to the next photo, where it was all too obvious what Michele was doing and how much Isabella was enjoying it.
Then, he did it I again, bringing up yet another photo.
This one of Bells hauling Mich to her feet.
Then, again, so he could show me the two of them, lips pressed together in a passionate kiss.
Bells arousal still fresh on Michele’s lips.
Before I could stop myself, I knocked the phone from his hand sending it smashing to the floor.
“Fu—" he tried to scream, but my hand around his throat stopped that. I dragged him from the chair and shoved until his back thudded against the door. He tried to fight back, except Mitchell’s muscles were all show. Unlike me, his training was inconsistent, and steroid fuelled. He didn’t have a Carl Michaels whispering inside his head all the time, telling him to push harder, lift heavier, be better.
All of which made it easy for me to squeeze and squeeze until his cheeks started to turn red.
Flecks of saliva flew out his mouth, hitting my face, as he tried to speak. Too bad I was done listening.