Old Wounds Page 11

  Although I could tell that Pinny didn’t like me getting high, she didn’t say anything either. She just milled around, taking pictures of bugs and leaves and rotting foliage. Two deep-ass hits were all I needed. It was early and I was still toasty from the wake-and-bake this morning.

  Afterward, when we were tromping through the woods, Pinny asked me about Tampa and how I liked Damascus. She asked me all kinds of random questions. If I liked movies. If I saw Avatar. If I thought the school was too small. If I had a dog. If I was allergic to pets. I just laughed. There was something strange about her and the way her mind worked. I liked her.

  “So Pin...um, Jane, what’s up with your dad and that Wallace chick?”

  A wry smile formed on her face. “Do-gooders with no social life beyond each other.”

  I raised my eyebrows, and then took a quick shot of a mushroom growing from the side of a tree. “So are they like, you know, knocking boots?”

  Again, Pinny laughed. “Wow, that was so totally nineties, Sophie.” She twirled around for some reason and then continued, “But if by ‘knocking boots’ you mean ‘having steamy sex,’ I think so. I mean, I have no idea how steamy it is, but I would imagine there’s more to their relationship. She’s always at our house, but they never act like a couple around us, so I don’t know.”

  “How can you stand it?”

  “Obviously you’re not a fan of Robin?” I shrugged in reply. “Elliott’s the one who gets stuck with her the most.”

  I bit my lower lip. “So what’s his deal anyway? I mean, beyond the stuttering thing.”

  Pinny stopped walking and regarded me carefully, her eyes narrowing. She made me uncomfortable and I was about to tell her to forget it, but then she said, “Elliott’s got anxiety issues.”

  “He doesn’t like people?”

  She took a deep breath and then started walking again. “People don’t like Elliott; at least that’s what he thinks.”

  I thought he was okay. I mean, I realized that high school kids might not be mature enough to get over a slight communication problem, but it seemed strange that “people” in general would have an aversion to him. “Why would he think that?”

  Pinny didn’t answer, instead quickly aiming her fancy-ass camera at me and snapping a picture before I could bat it away. “So are you coming tonight?”

  “I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  I looked at her as she looked at her watch. “We should head back.” The walk was silent until we hit the edge of the woods, the school clearly in sight now. “So what do you think of Elliott?”

  I didn’t know how to answer. It was an odd question. I didn’t know if I had an actual opinion about him yet. “He’s all right.”

  “You guys are going to D.C. tomorrow, right?”

  Obviously he’d told his family, which was…okay, I supposed. He probably had to ask permission or something. “Yeah.”

  “That’ll be awesome. Elliott rarely ever does anything fun. He lives too much in his head. Way too intellectual. Plus he, like, never leaves the house. When I do manage to drag him somewhere other than school,” she sighed, “well, it’s not pretty.”

  My conversation with Pinny about Rusty Dalton haunted me after Photography. I had no clue as to why I should be interested in any of it. But it was interesting getting the sister point-of-view on him. Still, she must have realized why he lived in his head. No one seemed to care enough or have the patience to have an actual conversation with him. He probably pushed the rest away to avoid all the verbal stumbles.

  But maybe there was more to it.

  I called Tom and let him know I had a ride to the Screw-Up Club, but refused tell him from whom. He was at work, so I wouldn’t see him until Saturday morning anyway. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to find a suitable ride for me. Obviously, since we were going to the same place anyway, Jason drove me to the Daltons. Dusted and sexed we walked in together, ready to get the shit over with.

  Unfortunately, the moment I stepped through the door, I had to go upstairs to see Bitch Wallace. She sat there staring at me for a long time and I felt like I was in a bad movie. Didn’t we do this little dance last week? I had no intention of giving in. I could sit here all night, entertaining myself with my thoughts.

  She broke first and I had to smile, but what came out of her mouth had me beyond pissed. “So, Sophie, are you sexually active?”

  What the hell! Was that her business? I mean, really? I opened my mouth and asked the first thing that came to my mind. “Do you suck Dr. Dalton’s cock?”

  The bitch in me cheered as she blushed, all wide-eyed and shocked, but she didn’t respond. In fact, she did absolutely nothing but look at me. I folded my arms over my chest, scowling at her. “What does it matter if I’m having sex?”

  “Are you?”

  Fine. Play the fucking game. Right. “Yes.”

  “When did you become sexually active?”

  It took everything I had not to throw something at her. My hands fisted. I was supposed to trust this bitch? “What do you want to know, specifically? The first time I fucked, the first time I gave head, or the first time I was finger-banged?” I asked, purposely using the most offensive language I could think of.

  I watched as she managed to keep her cool. “Any.”

  I didn’t want to tell her anything, but I could tell that she wasn’t the type to back down. “Consensually?”

  “Any,” she said again. Damn. I’d hoped to shock her just a little.

  “The first time I had a sexual experience was when I was eleven, but the first time I chose to have a sexual experience was when I was fourteen.” My jaw clenched as I glared at her, suddenly very angry. “Do you need details for your sick little notebook there?”

  Wallace had stopped the nearly constant scratching of her pen against the yellow legal pad. “Is that something you’d like to talk about?”

  “No.”

  “Who was it that…”

  “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.” I sunk lower in my chair.

  “Could we talk about your mother?”

  “No.”

  She sighed and I felt a small bit of satisfaction denying her any more insight into the mind of Sophie. It served her right, and I was sure it would nag at her. “Okay, so how is school going?”

  “It’s going how school usually goes.”

  “Is there a reason you’re so confrontational?”

  “I don’t like you.” She wrote something on her little notepad. “I don’t like that you feel you have the right to know things about people. I don’t like how you assume that I’m fucked up. I don’t like how you just made me sit here for a half an hour for no reason. I don’t like your face. I can’t fucking stand your voice, and I’d rather be anywhere but here right now.”

  Then the bitch smiled at me and I wanted to kick her teeth out. “Well, we can call our session over for the week. I would like you to think about what has you so angry. I usually bear the brunt of it, but very seldom is it about me.” She leaned toward me, her hands clasping together as her elbows rested on her thighs. “Everything you say in here stays with me, unless you tell me you’re going to hurt yourself or others.” She paused and licked her lips, her eyes softening. “The bad things that happen in children’s lives are not their fault. I’m not here to punish you, Sophie. I’m here to help.”

  Standing up, I couldn’t help but shake my head. “I’m not seven. Stop talking to me like I’m a child. It’s awesome that you and Dalton have put together this little Screw-Up Club, but you don’t have anything I want and you can’t help me with shit.”

  “Sophie…”

  “You think because you have a degree or whatever, that automatically you’re qualified to help me with shit you have no clue about?” I made my way to the door, but then s
topped and turned back around. “Don’t ask me about my sex life again. Go watch some internet porn or get spanked by the good doctor, but don’t think I’m going to give you any information about what I do and who I do it with.”

  I stomped downstairs and ignored everybody. Even when Jason came and stood next to me, I didn’t look at him. “For shit’s sake, what the hell happened? You’re radiating hate.”

  I didn’t say anything, but just gave him a pointed look instead. It was great that he was an excellent sex partner and could give me the mad hook-up and all, but I wasn’t about to get all touchy-feely with my emotions with Jace. Leaving him standing there, I moved across the room and sat down on the couch. Instinctively, my legs came up to my chest and I wrapped my arms around them.

  Stupid bitch. Was I sexually active? What the hell? She was twisted, and now she’d gotten me mixed up in her twisted shit. Why did it make a difference if I have sex, or when I have sex, if I’m here because I stole a car? And I didn’t steal it. I was going to give it back. I just needed it to…

  My thoughts were interrupted when Andrea sat down next to me. Then I looked around and noticed everyone was grabbing a seat. Pinny Dalton threw me a little wave, but I was too pissed to acknowledge it. Then Bitch Wallace came in and it took all my effort to remain seated. I caught her eyes on me more than once, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from having what I was sure would be considered an “emotional outburst.” I didn’t pay attention. Jason’s partner, Olivia, spoke for a little bit, her voice sounding just as angry as I felt, and then her twin brother spoke. I had no idea what it was that they were droning on about.

  I was so furious that I would be subjected to this every Friday night until I graduated. Suddenly, a detention center didn’t sound so bad. At least there they wouldn’t care when I’d had my first sexual experience. Stupid Wallace. Stupid me. I shouldn’t have said a damn thing.

  Stupid, stupid, fucked-up Sophie. Now the thoughts were there, stuck in my head again. Even if I barricaded my door, I doubted I would be able to sleep tonight. I hated this feeling and wanted to get high again.

  I had no real way of qualifying if my life would be different had Helen left me here when she took off, but it was the biggest “what if” in my life and I had nothing else to dwell on sometimes. When I was a kid and hurting from one of Helen’s fly-off-the-handle reactions to something small, or when one of her boyfriends decided to look at me a little too closely, I would dream about the life I could have had with Tom. I would have been overly-protected. When I was in Junior High, he could have brandished a shotgun every time a boy came around. He could have threatened me with military school if I misbehaved or got a shitty grade.

  But that fantasy always faded fast in the harsh light of the reality. Now, at seventeen, I was stuck with what the past gave me; with what other people had decided for me. I was here with the Screw-Up Club, desperately trying not to listen to their shit because I had enough of my own.

  “Sophie?”

  I tore my eyes off of the carpet and looked up at Bitch Wallace. “What?” My voice was hard and I wanted her to hear every ounce of the hate I felt for her and her little games.

  “I just asked if there was anything you’d like to share tonight.”

  I licked my lips, pasted on the nastiest smile I could, and cocked my head. “Yes. I want to share how stupid I think this whole thing is. Do you honestly think that this is meaningful in any way to me?”

  Oh, how I wanted to punch the shit out of her when she gave me that smile again. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts.”

  I rolled my eyes, but Bitch Wallace turned to look at the others, not even acknowledging my anger. “So now we can pair off.”

  After we were told to pair off, I didn’t waste any time. I jumped off the couch and found Rusty Dalton sitting on a love seat next to Pinny Dalton and her boyfriend. Rusty’s eyes seemed to widen as I stomped over to him. Ignoring everyone else, I grabbed his wrist, pulling him up with all of the strength I had and dragging him along with me. I didn’t stop until we were outside of his bedroom, where I dropped his wrist and looked at him expectantly.

  His eyes moved from me, to the door, and then back to me. He really couldn’t be confused, could he? Wasn’t it obvious that I wanted to go into his room? Wasn’t it obvious, I was not happy with being here tonight and wanted a little time away from the prying eyes of Bitch Wallace?

  I sighed and my lips settled into a line. Finally, he opened the door and I moved inside quickly. Immediately I went to the leather couch and flopped down on it. I had no idea how long I lay there in silence, and I had no idea what Rusty Dalton was doing.

  I was trying just to push past the lingering thoughts and memories in my mind, when he said, “D-d-d-do you w-w-wa-want to llllisten to m-m-music?” I sat up and looked at him. Just like last week, he sat carefully on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d run laps at the gym.

  He seemed incredibly uncomfortable and suddenly I was struck by the feeling that I had to do something to help him. It seemed fairly evident that I was the one making him uncomfortable, so I took in a deep breath and nodded. “Sure. Music is fine.” In all honesty, it would be a good distraction from what was going on in my head.

  “W-wh-what d-d-do you l-l-like?”

  I stood up and went over to the bookcase. “Whatever you want to listen to is fine. I don’t really listen to music all that much.”

  As I trailed my hands over the spines of his books, I heard him fiddle with the equipment. I pulled a large book from the shelf and smiled to myself as Classical music filled the room. I should have known that Rusty Dalton was cultured enough to listen to this kind of music by choice, instead of only when someone forced him to, like most kids our age.

  I sat back down on the couch with the book on my lap and looked up at him. He seemed a little more laid-back as he sat on the bed, eyeing the book. “Classical?”

  He smiled. He really should do that more. “It-it-it’s r-r-relaxing.” He swallowed as he looked down at the book, and then back up. “D-do you l-l-liiike ar-art?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. I like photography though.”

  When I opened the book I saw it was a compilation of famous pieces of art throughout history. Some of them I recognized, and some I didn’t. Looking back up at Rusty Dalton, I asked, “Do you like art?”

  “I’m…I’m n-not g-g-good at it, b-b-but I l-l-like llllooking at it.”

  “Which ones do you like?”

  “I-in th-that book?” I shrugged, and then held it out to him. He came closer to take it. I felt oddly happy that he was close to me. Even though we sat less than a foot from each other in the greenhouse, it seemed like all other times, he kept his distance. I watched as he flipped through the book quickly and then held it back to me.

  Flaming June by Lord Frederic Leighton. It was painted back in 1895.

  “You like this one?” He nodded. “It’s very pretty.” It was of a lady in a chair or something, sleeping. She had on this vibrant orange dress. I wondered why he liked it. I mean, it was pretty, but I had no clue why he would pick it out from the thousands of pretty pictures in the book. Figuring it would take him a lot of words to explain, I didn’t ask.

  “What else?” I gave him the book again.

  He flipped to another page and he must have really liked the painting, because he smiled at it. “Th-this one.” A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat. It looked stiff and formal and like something my dead Grandma Catherine would’ve liked. I quirked an eyebrow. His smiled held. “It-it’s in Ch-Chi-Chicago. I t-t-took a fffield trip to s-s-see it.”

  Interesting. That was quite possibly the longest sentence I’d heard from Rusty Dalton, and it was about a piece of boring art. So not only did he read difficult literature, Russian no less, he also liked music and art that most pe
ople our age wouldn’t even care about. “Are you from Chicago?”

  The smiled faded, but he nodded. So he was from the Midwest. It was amazing they made Greek gods in Middle America. I knew he was adopted by Dr. Dalton, so obviously he moved here with him, but I wondered what circumstances led him to the adoption. It was totally not my business and I’d just gotten done telling Bitch Wallace that I didn’t care about any of the other kids and their stories, but with Rusty Dalton, I found myself interested in how he came to be the person before me.

  He was absolutely gorgeous and should have been the most popular guy in school, but instead, he got picked on by a miniature poodle named Chris Anderson.

  “Where are your real parents?”

  Jesus, he looked like I’d punched him in the gut. Obviously this was a sore subject and I felt like shit for asking, so I did my best to remove the tortured look on his face.

  “Do you like Dr. Dalton?” He shrugged while nodding his head at the same time. I supposed that meant, “kinda, sorta.”

  “I hate Wallace,” I offered.

  The smile returned. “S-sh-she’s hard to liiiike.” He rolled his eyes. “Sh-she’s an-annoying.”

  I laughed as I began to flip through the book again.

  “No, sand in your bathing suit is annoying. The neighbor’s yipping dog is annoying. Wallace is…she’s evil.”

  “Sh-she’s just d-doing her j-job.”

  “I didn’t hire her.” I closed the book, and set it down next to me. “Is she over here all the time?”

  “A lot.”

  “That’s gotta suck for you.” Rusty Dalton’s smile widened and he nodded. “So, your sister Jane is in my Photography class.” He nodded. “She’s pretty cool.” He nodded again.