I tensed. “What did he say?”
“He said he was sorry.” He paused. “He acted like I was going to hurt him before I even threatened him. Why would he think that, Allie?”
The room blurred. “Because…you’re a mean son of a bitch?” I hoped repeating his own words back to him would distract him. At least enough so I could breathe again. Actually the whole not breathing thing was good. Kind of dimmed the panic of the whole Colin and Andrew thing when I thought I might pass out.
“I don’t think that’s why,” he said, so far away.
“I don’t…” My voice faded, and so did I. I wasn’t sure how I’d finish that thought anyway. I don’t know why Andrew does anything. I don’t want to think about that. Don’t make me tell you. Don’t hurt me.
I was nothing good or special. I had never deserved this knight-in-shining-armor treatment. I knew it, and now Colin would too. I felt his touch on my arms, warm and sure. The next thing I knew, I was sitting down on the couch with Colin beside me.
The stillness in the room belied the way my world was crashing down around me. I hadn’t wanted this moment to come, but it had. Of course it had.
The sound of my breathing roared in my ears. Colin’s warmth seeped into my skin, but not deep enough. I wasn’t stalling. I was bracing myself.
“If I tell you,” I said, “you have to promise me something. You can’t hurt him.”
“Fuck no,” Colin said.
“I’m serious. I can’t…I can’t deal with that too. You have to promise. And you can’t ask anyone else to hurt him either. Swear it to me.”
He looked down, and I heard him swallow. I knew he wouldn’t want to. I thought maybe he’d refuse and just go beat Andrew up anyway, knowing that if I feared it, it would probably be deserved in his eyes.
“Please.” I put my hand on his arm. “Please.”
He looked up. “Okay. I promise.”
Thank God.
“I didn’t exactly tell you the truth.” What a way to start. God, I really deserved what was coming to me.
I turned to face him and pulled my leg up underneath me. Might as well be comfortable for this. There would be few enough comforts left afterward.
I told him everything. Or really I’m not sure what I told him, so lost was I in my story, my shame.
Andrew and I were best friends. It wasn’t Shelly I called to chat about nothing for hours as I painted my nails or lay on my bed, but Andrew. And it wasn’t his buddies he confided in about the nights his father had drunk too much, but me.
His father was away, had been for days, leaving Andrew without any way to contact him and no food. As usual. We hung out in his basement and ordered a pizza from the money my dad had left me. There was a movie playing on the TV, but neither of us were interested.
“Allie,” he said. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Okay. Let’s go,” I said.
“No. I mean, out of here. This whole city. The fucking country, maybe.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d expressed discontent. More than anyone, I knew what he risked, what he tolerated to stay in this shithole of a house, but there was an edge in his voice tonight. And that bottle of rum we’d jacked from his dad’s stash had run awfully low.
“Where would you go?”
“Anywhere,” he said. “Maybe I’ll join the army.”
I snickered. “You wouldn’t last two seconds. You don’t follow orders well.”
He laughed, a hollow sound. “You’re probably right.” He looked over at me. “Come with me. We’ll find someplace to go. Anywhere’s gotta be better than here.”
I shifted on the couch. That was true enough for him, but not for me. I wasn’t sure I loved my dad, that guy who stopped in with his semi between long-distance routes every couple of months, but it was comfortable.
“Come on,” he said. His eyes turned stormy. “Do you want me to stay here? You think I deserve this?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Are you sure?” he said in a singsong voice. “I might deserve it. Maybe I should tell you what he did, and then you can decide.”
Selfishly I didn’t want to know. It was easier to pretend his dad was an ass. The ordinary kind. I didn’t want to see the remembered pain in the eyes of the boy I loved, not when I’d be helpless against it.
“Stop it,” I said. “Just stop.”
“Maybe I should show you,” he went on. There was a strange glint in his eye, and I couldn’t tell if he was teasing me or was angry with me. Maybe both. “Then you would have all the facts. What do you say?”
“Please stop. I’m sorry.”
That only made him angrier. “You’re sorry,” he spat. “I don’t want your fucking sorries.”
He crawled over me on the sofa, and I shrank back into the thin cushions until the springs pushed into my back. I was afraid of him, afraid he’d yell at me, or afraid he’d say something mean. So when he tilted my head up and pinched my chin hard, I was more surprised than anything.