Chapter 13
The door creaks way too loud in the quiet trailer, even as I try to open it gently. Mom’s on the couch, an arm hanging off the side, snoring loudly, dead asleep. I can smell the alcohol from here.
I toe off my boots and head for the kitchen to grab the glass of water I’ve been imagining for most of my walk back home. Halfway through filling my cup, a voice comes from behind me.
“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
I jump. Water sloshes onto the counter.
Gary’s leaning against the doorway in one of his stupid cut-off tank tops that show too much chest hair, with beer spilled down the front. His drunk eyes drag over me in that way that makes my skin crawl.
“I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You don’t hear much, do ya, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
My blood goes cold. It didn’t sound like that when Diana said it.
“I’m just getting some water and then I’ll get out of your hair,” I try to joke.
“You’re always gettin’ somethin’,” he says, stepping further into the kitchen. “Late-night snack, late-night drink… Never any late-night company.” His eyes flick toward my lips.
I grip the glass tighter. “Leave me alone, Gary.”
His smile widens, lazy and drunk. “That any way to talk to the man of the house?”
“You don’t live here.”
He barks out a laugh. “Your momma ain’t told you the good news yet. I’m ‘bout to be your new daddy.”
“What?”
“So you best start mindin’ your manners, little girl.”
I stare at him. Mom wouldn’t marry this guy. She’s not that stupid. But Gary looks so proud of himself… No. No way.
“You’re drunk,” I accuse, crossing my arms.
“Maybe.” He shrugs, stepping closer. “But drunk men don’t lie. They say what they really mean.”
I take a step back, bumping into the kitchen sink. He follows, making me scrunch up my nose at his scent. “You’re real pretty, y’know that? Got those big green eyes like your momma. Makes a man wonder what else you get all wide-eyed over.”
I can’t breathe.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I can’t believe this is happening. “Stop,” I whisper.
“Why? We’re gonna be family, real soon.”
“Bullshit,” I step to the side, trying to slip past. But he mirrors me, blocking the exit. His breath reeks like beer and cigarettes, and he leans in enough that I have to tilt my head back.
“Bet the boys ‘round here love you. Stare at you when you walk by.”
I shake my head. “No one stares at me. Gary, stop—”
But he’s reaching out. “You’d be surprised what a man notices. Even when he ain’t supposed to.” His eyes fall to my chest, looking down my shirt as his palm lands on my hip.
Sweaty, fat fingers, nothing like Diana’s hands.
I move before I can think of the consequences, before I can freeze the way everything in me wants to. My knee comes up hard.
Right between the legs.
Gary makes a sound like someone punched all the air out of him at once, a choke, then a strangled groan. He folds forward, clutching himself, face turning a furious red.
“You bitch!” he gasps.
I stumble back, wiping my hip like I can scrub off the feeling of his sticky handprint. My whole body is shaking, but I keep my voice steady. “Touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”
I don’t wait for a response or retaliation.
I don’t even grab my stuff.
It’s almost three in the damn morning, but I’m pounding on Pat’s RV door. My lungs burn, and my feet hurt, and I shouldn’t be here. But my whole body is buzzing with panic, and he’s the only person I want to see right now.
“Pat,” I shout, hitting the door harder. “Pat, open the door!”
When he finally does, he squints out at me, his hair sticking up in ten different directions, wearing nothing but a pair of loose boxers. He blinks, slow and sleepy, like his brain is still booting up.
“Lil?” he croaks. “What the hell? Do you know what time—”
“Let me in,” I say, pushing past him.
He stumbles back with a surprised noise, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. Fuck.”
I slam the door shut behind me, leaning on it like I’m holding something out. It feels like I am. In that moment, Pat finally gets a real look at me. His eyes widen, and the sleepiness in his eyes disappears in an instant.
“What happened? Where are your shoes?”
“I left.”
“Left?”
“Home.” The word tastes bitter. “Left my own fucking home because Gary is a disgusting piece of shit and my mom…” my throat threatens to close up, “She wouldn’t even care if I told her!”
His face hardens and his hands clench into fists. “Did he do something?”
My own hands are shaking, and I hate that he has that effect on me, but shit. He’s a big guy. He’s a cop. if he wanted to… I don’t even want to think about what he could do.
“Lily, did he touch you?”
“He didn’t, not really, but it felt like he wanted to.”
He curses under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair. He looks like he wants to punch a wall. Or Gary’s disgusting face.
“I hate him,” I say, words ripping out of me. “I hate him, I hate my mom, I hate my dad for leaving me with this bullshit, I mean, what did I do to deserve—”
“Hey,” he says in his stupid calming voice, resting his hands on my arms. “You’re safe here.”
And something about that, the gentleness, the certainty that I have somewhere to go, that I’m wanted, it makes me calm down a little.
“You want some water or something?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I choke out a humorless laugh. “Yeah. No shit. My feet hurt.”
“You should sit down before you fall over.”
“I’m not gonna fall over.”
I fall over. Onto the lumpy old couch.
He clears his throat. “Uh. Let me put pants on.”
Pat disappears down the tiny hallway, and I hear drawers opening, clothes rustling, a quiet goddammit when there’s a crash that I can’t help but giggle at.
He reappears in sweatpants and a faded T-shirt, stopping when he sees me curled up on his couch, arms wrapped around myself for comfort. His face softens, not with pity really, just… concern.
He drags a hand through his hair again. “You want the bed?”
“‘m good here,” I mutter, exhaustion already taking over.
Right now, this lumpy old couch with questionable stains feels like the most comfortable bed in the entire world.
I wake up to light stabbing me in the face, pouring through the half-open blinds. I blink hard, my vision swimming. Then it hits me. This isn’t my bed. Gary. Pat’s RV.
Diana.
I sit up so fast it makes me dizzy. “Shit.” I scramble to the little window above the bed and yank the curtain. Sunlight hits me full force. “Shit, shit, shit.”
A laugh comes from the front of the RV. “You got somewhere to be?”
Pat’s sitting at the tiny table, slouched in the chair, a leg up on the opposite seat. He’s smoking a joint, the smoke drifting lazily toward me.
“What time is it?”
He squints at the clock above the sink. “Uh… twelve oh seven-ish.”
“Noon?!”
He shrugs, taking another drag. “You looked dead. I figured letting you sleep was the humane choice.”
“I’m late!”
“For what?” He asks like he doesn’t believe that I have anything better to do on a Sunday.
“Stuff! People!” My feet pound against the carpet as I hurry toward the dresser where he keeps his stuff. “Can I borrow clothes?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Sure. If you tell me why you’re acting like your ass is on fire.”
“I’m late,” I repeat, yanking open a drawer.
“For what?”
I ignore him and start digging through the drawer with both hands. T-shirts, flannels, and jeans all thrown in carelessly.
I grab the first shirt I find.
Pat makes a startled noise when I yank my tank over my head.
I ignore him. His T-shirt goes over my head, soft and worn and big enough that it hangs mid-thigh, but I can’t be bothered. It smells like laundry soap and weed and a little like him. It brings me comfort.
“I’m going to meet Di,” I say, muffled by fabric.
He doesn’t respond, so I look over in his direction. I’m met with eyes wide and his face scrunched in confusion. “You’re what?”
I throw my arms out, my patience wearing thin. I do not have time for this. “I’m going to meet Di. You know, Diana? The girl I’ve been in love with since like, birth?”
Pat stares at me.
“You told me to check on her! We have plans to meet at the garden today.”
His jaw clenches once. Twice. “I told you to make sure she’s okay.” He gestures wildly. “Not this. Not running right back to her like nothing happened.”
I stare at him, eyebrows raised, anger threatening to take over.
Because he can’t be serious.
He rubs a hand down his face. “Lil, come on. You know what I mean.”
“No,” I say sharply. “I don’t.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt. Again. Like every damn time.”
My chest tightens like he’s squeezing my heart in his hands. “Wow. Thanks. I didn’t know I wasn’t smart enough to make my own decisions.”
“You don’t wanna hear it,” he says, coming closer, “but you know I’m right. She pulls you in, she pushes you away, she keeps you on a damn string—”
“She kissed me last night,” I interrupt. “She wants to talk. I think she might be serious this—”
“You always do,” he snaps. “You thought that last week after she fucked you and then left you!”
My stomach twists at the reminder. “You don’t know everything.”
“I know enough.” His voice cracks, like it’s hurting him to say the words, digging a hole for our friendship, but he can’t stop himself.
“I know you get your hopes up every time she looks at you. I know you come to me heartbroken when she moves on to somebody else. I know…” He shakes his head hard. “I know you deserve better than chasing after some bitch that only wants you when it’s convenient.”
I know it’s mean, the worst thing to say, but my heart is pounding, and my blood is boiling, and it flies out of my mouth before I can even consider the impact.
“So I’m supposed to what? Be with you instead?”
He flinches.
“I’m asking you,” he says quietly, pain written all over his face, “to stop letting her hurt you.”
But I can’t. I can’t quit her.
“Pat,” I whisper, “I’m going.”
His face falls. “Of course you are.”
The tired words slam into me harder than anything could have, but I grip the door handle, still barefoot.
I don’t know what I want him to do. Tell me he loves me anyway? Tell me I’m not stupid for hoping? But he just stands there, hands hanging at his sides.
So I leave.
And this time, Pat doesn’t follow me.
I’m still pissed when I arrive at the garden.
Every step down the street, my feet burning, it’s scratching inside my skull.
Pat doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He acts like he knows me better than I know myself, like he’s some authority on who I should love.
My jaw clenches.
His too-long shirt keeps bumping into my thighs every step I take, and that just pisses me off more. I shouldn’t be wearing his clothes. I shouldn’t care that I hurt him. I shouldn’t feel this stupid twist in my stomach every time I replay the way he flinched and the look on his face.
He doesn’t get me.
He doesn’t get her.
The massive oak comes into view, and so does the new swing hanging from it. I’m ready for the distraction, to see her smile. For her to light up the way she always does when she sees me.
But she never does.
Diana is sitting on the swing, fingers tight around the ropes. Her head is bowed, watching her expensive shoes drag weak, uneven lines through the dirt like she’s been doing it for a while. And when she looks up…
Concern replaces my anger like it was never there.
Her eyes are red, puffy, swollen, like she’s been crying for a long time. Her mouth won’t even let her smile, the corners barely lifting before falling again as more tears fall from her eyes. “Di?”
She shakes her head, wiping at her cheek like she can hide the evidence.
I reach out to cup her cheeks in my hands, helping her wipe away the tears. Her cheeks are warm. “Hey,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice calm even though I’m freaking out on the inside. “What is it? What happened?”
Her lower lip quivers as she grabs one of my wrists, holding on tight. And God, somehow I know, before she even opens her mouth, that whatever she’s about to say is going to change everything.
“Lily, I—” She pauses, taking a deep, shaky breath, pressing her other hand to her stomach.
“I’m pregnant.”