Little Battles Page 16

After long moments without air, I put my hands on her hips. I had to stop them from moving like that, because it was becoming too much and I couldn’t let her see the full extent of my dysfunction.

  “SSSSSS-SSSS-SSSSoph-ph-phie,” I panted as my arms tensed with the effort, “w-w-w-we sssshould sssstop.” She buried her face in my neck and swept her tongue out across my skin. “SSSSoph-phie, sssstop.”

  I felt like I’d squeezed her hips a little too tightly, and she pulled back, out of breath and staring at me with wondering eyes. She had just told me that she thought her purpose was for men’s pleasure, so how could she be questioning why I didn’t want to prove her right? How could she think I ever wanted to make her feel like that? How, after everything that happened on Saturday night, could she want to do this?

  Robin was right. Sophie folded everything up as neat and small as she could and shoved it in her metaphorical back pocket until she forgot it was there. But the fact remained that I knew Anderson had no right doing what he did. No matter how drunk or high she was, not only was it immoral, it was assault. Sophie hadn’t been in her right mind. He’d been talking all week about her in such a derogatory way, and I should’ve done something about it. I should have seen this coming. I should have gone to that party with her or tried harder to get her to stay with me.

  Sophie bit her lip, pressing her hand into my chest as she lifted herself off of me. Kneeling, she ran her hands down her face, stopping momentarily to dig the heels into her eyes. Then she had them in her hair, her fingers curling and clenching in a way that should have been painful. Her jaw tightened and released, as her eyes flashed all around the room.

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was fascinated and paralyzed. When she was finished pulling at her hair, she laced her hands together and tightened her grip.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice so soft it nearly wasn’t there.

  She shifted and swiveled, moving away from me and off of the bed. I didn’t want her to go. I extended an arm, my finger catching one of hers. “D-d-don’t.”

  She straightened for a second, and then curled in on herself.

  Then she slipped away from my touch.

  “I’m going to go sleep on your couch, if that’s cool. We have school tomorrow and I’m…” she paused to swallow and shake her head, “tired.”

  I drove Sophie to school on Monday, while Jane and David took his Scout. She was quiet and so was I. While what happened last night desperately needed to be talked about, neither of us was willing to do that just yet.

  As she went to get out of the car, I took her finger, wrapping mine around it. She stopped, but didn’t turn back to me. I wanted to tell her not to get high, but I had a suspicion that she already was. I wanted to tell her that it would be okay, but I had no real idea if that was true.

  No words formed in my head, and so I released her finger and let her get out.

  I walked into the school on my own and went to my locker to arrange the books as I always did. I hoped that Sophie was getting her books too, and not out in the woods with Jason.

  I stiffened when I heard him. His laugh made me tense and when he called to me, I thought perhaps I would break myself with the pressure.

  “Hey, D-D-Dalton!”

  I should have just walked away. I wanted to, but instead I pivoted, and saw Chris across the hall with about four of his friends. He nodded to me, silently indicating he wanted me to come over. Like a fool I did, because I would rather have his fist buried in my stomach than hear his voice.

  “Fucked your girl on Saturday. Did she tell you that?” He laughed as if what he said was actually humorous. His sycophantic friends laughed with him. “Funny thing, Dalton, she didn’t say your name once as I pounded into her.” Another laugh. My jaw clenched tighter as my chest seemed to grow smaller and my lungs closed, my heart feeling like it could rip the paper skin of my chest. It thumped harder and louder than it had in a while.

  “And she was so fucking tight, D-D-Dalton, but you know what they say: the bigger the slut, the tighter the pussy.”

  I didn’t want to listen to him. I didn’t want to hear his voice or the wicked cackle of his laugh as he stood before me with his friends, feeling like a big man for having sex with an unconscious girl. I couldn’t help but hate him. I tensed, but instead of fear causing me to grow anxious and panicked, the intensity of my hate for this one person boiled over.

  My muscles coiled and my hands balled into fists.

  Then pain in my hand registered within my brain and I realized that I’d hit him, my fist connecting with his jaw. I was sure that there was a lot of noise around me, but everything I heard narrowed down to Chris’s breaths and the blood thumping in my ears.

  My instincts took over as my mind decided it would just sit back and watch this moment happen. I found myself straddling Chris’s chest as my fists kept flying down at his face. It was quite a surreal experience to watch my arms and hands inflict that sort of damage. There was a part of me that was intensely satisfied with the amount of blood seeping from him, and as bad as my hands hurt, I felt like I could’ve continued to beat his face until he had no more blood to spill.

  The quiet that I’d been experiencing shattered as a cacophony of sound violently assaulted me. Arms and hands encircle me. I wanted to continue hitting Chris. I wanted to hit whoever was pulling me off of him for touching me.

  “I told you to punch him in the face, Elliott, not kill him.”

  I relaxed just a little when I recognized David’s voice.

  “You’d better take him to the principal, and someone call an ambulance for Chris.” I looked down to see Ms. Flynn, the chemistry teacher, crouched beside Anderson as he cradled his bloody face in his hands. She’d always been so nice to me, her eyes so kind, but in this moment, her glare was hard and she looked at me like she looked at other students: without sympathy or pity. That was oddly satisfying.

  Most of what happened next was a blur. Mr. Campbell, the principal, yelled at me. It, too, was satisfying. He said something about the school board and then left the room. David spoke to me, but my mind didn’t hear him. I watched as he quickly pressed buttons on his phone, no doubt alerting Stephen and everyone else about my status as Chris Anderson’s facial re-constructionist.

  Sophie’s father came in with the sheriff and sighed loudly when he saw me. I supposed that he was here with the paramedics or EMTs that would have been first responders. I felt very calm, nearly all of my anger lying dormant again. The sheriff asked me a few questions, but David answered them when it was clear that I wasn’t speaking.

  When Sophie’s father wanted to look at my bloody, throbbing hands, I tucked them painfully under my arms, unwilling to let him touch or see them. Stephen would set the broken bones and clean the cuts over my knuckles where the skin had given way to bone as I’d pounded them against Chris’s face.

  I felt calm and almost relaxed. My explosive reaction had given way to a neutral state of mind. It was almost as if I hadn’t done those things. I had simply watched the action unfold and was reviewing it like an episode of “The Real World” on the DVR.

  It was a while longer before David was allowed to lead me out of the building and to his car. I wasn’t worried about my car, but I was about Sophie.

  In under a half-hour, I was sitting in Stephen’s study, facing him and Robin. I had no idea which hat she was wearing: concerned maternal figure, or cold, analyzing therapist. Stephen was openly studying me as a doctor would study a cancerous cell on a slide under a microscope.

  “What happened at school, Elliott?”

  I sighed in frustration. They knew what happened. David had told them. The principal had called, and Stephen had been working today. He was probably there when they brought Chris in. I hated when they played dumb.

  “D-d-didn’t the sc-school tell you?”

  Stephe
n sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was Robin who summed it all up.

  “You were fighting with the Anderson boy, but what were you fighting about?”

  “H-h-hhhhe’s a d-dick.”

  Although he cocked an eyebrow, Stephen’s face remained clinical. “According to David, he’s been mean to you since middle school. Robin is asking what specifically happened today.”

  “N-n-nothing h-happened t-t-today.”

  Robin smiled and I didn’t like it. “Elliott, you don’t fight. You don’t even argue, and now you’re suspended for getting into a fistfight with someone you usually let intimidate you. Please let us know what’s happening. What made you hit him?”

  My jaw was tensed, causing me pain. I didn’t want to tell them anything, because it wasn’t their business, and they were clearly ill-suited to help people like Sophie and me. But my mouth made sounds that formed words. “H-hhhe f-f-f-f-fffffucked SSSSSoph-ph-phie at a p-party w-when sssshe was p-p-passed out.” I’d never used that word before.

  “Oh,” was all Stephen could contribute, while Robin frowned.

  “Did she tell you that?” she finally asked.

  “Y-yes.”

  “And you were protecting her today?” I said nothing. “What do you think about what Chris did? Do you have any feelings about it?”

  “Hhhe’s a r-r-rrrrapist! And it m-m-mmmakes m-me m-mmad.”

  “Did she say that he raped her?”

  “N-n-no, b-but one c-can’t ggggive c-consent if they’re n-not c-c-c-c-c…aw-w-wake.”

  The room was quiet for a moment, and then Stephen took a deep breath. “You broke Chris’s jaw, Elliott.”

  “G-g-ggggood.”

  He looked up in shock, but I hardened my expression. Maybe Chris wouldn’t be able to talk now.

  “You broke his nose.”

  My jaw tightened.

  “I hadn’t thought you capable of that.”

  Neither had I.

  I was happy that I found her online after Stephen and Robin let me go to my room.

  EDalton123: Are you there?

  YoSoph: What the fuck, Elliott? Did you do that shit to Anderson?

  Apparently I wasn’t quite as over my agitation as I thought, because I had no idea what her tone was and if she was upset with me, and pushing me away, or being sincere. I didn’t think I could handle her being upset with me for hitting him.

  EDalton123: Yes.

  YoSoph: Why?

  EDalton123: You don’t know?

  YoSoph: Don’t get in trouble because of me. That’s fucked up. I’m not worth that shit.

  EDalton123: Yes, you are.

  YoSoph: That’s jacked.

  EDalton123: Fine, I hit him because he’s an asshole, which in no way involves you, so my getting in trouble wasn’t because of you. Is that better?

  YoSoph: No.

  EDalton123: Are you mad?

  YoSoph: At you? No. Why would I be? Anderson never looked so good.

  EDalton123: Funny. Come over tomorrow?

  YoSoph: Tom’s being a parent. I’m “grounded.” BTW, did you tell Dr. Dalton or Wallace about me smoking pot?

  I’d never told either of them, even if we’d had a hypothetical discussion about it.

  EDalton123: No.

  YoSoph: All my shit’s gone and I don’t appreciate it.

  EDalton123: You don’t have to get high all the time.

  YoSoph: Whatever, Elliott. So what’s your punishment for beating Anderson?

  EDalton123: It’s not really a punishment. I have the rest of the week off of school.

  YoSoph: I’ll skip tomorrow and take the bus to see you.

  EDalton123: Don’t get in trouble for me.

  YoSoph: I’ll get in trouble for me then. Is that better?

  EDalton123: No. But I want you to come over anyway.

  YoSoph: What time will everyone be gone over there?

  EDalton123: Stephen works at 10, so probably 9:30.

  YoSoph: In case you did hit him because of me, thank you.

  I sighed.

  EDalton123: You’re welcome.

  It was just a little after ten in the morning when Sophie rang the doorbell. I didn’t want her to get in trouble for skipping school or for breaking her father’s grounding rules, but I was extremely happy that she was here.

  “Trick or treat,” she said with a smile as I opened the door.

  I smiled back, having forgotten that it was Halloween. “H-h-hhhi.” I motioned to the red pointy horns atop her head. “N-nice.”

  Stepping aside, I invited her in. “They sell them at work. I thought they were perfect for me, since I’m apparently corrupting you into school suspensions and bare-knuckle boxing.” She came in, bringing her lovely scent with her, but stopped short when she saw my hands, and gently touched them. “Jesus, Elliott.”

  I flinched and knew she wouldn’t like what she saw. “They d-d-don’t hhhurt.”

  She shut the door before taking my bandaged hands. “That’s bullshit. I know that hurts.”

  “It w-was w-w-worth it.”

  I was surprised but delighted when she pressed into me, burying her head in my chest as she coiled and fisted her hands in my shirt. I’d begun to work on pure instinct around Sophie, and my arms very naturally reached out and pulled her close to me, as close as she could possibly get.

  I breathed her in and felt charged and replenished.

  She did not pull away from me after a few short moments like she usually did. Instead, she let me hold her like that for what had to be close to three minutes. It was unexpected, and gave me more time to get used to the feeling of someone being that close.

  There was no speaking or noise of any kind. Our arms were wrapped around each other loosely, almost just hanging on. I could feel the rise and fall of her chest against my torso. Her ear was over my ribcage in just the right place that I knew she was listening to my overactive heart thump, but I could only hear the quiet pull of my own breath.

  Even though this small moment of simple and unguarded affection lasted longer than usual, it was no less abrupt and jarring when she pulled away so completely that I was left with nothing but the quickly fading warmth she’d left behind.

  She was at least three feet away from me now, her face heavily guarded as if I’d just tried to steal something precious from her. But she had initiated that contact, so whatever her expression meant, it couldn’t have been directed at me.

  “Do you want me to make you breakfast?”

  I had already eaten a piece of toast, but if she wanted to cook me something, there was no way I was going to say no. I figured she wouldn’t offer to cook for me if she didn’t want to, and it really had been a long time since I’d had this many home-cooked meals. Sophie’s food was good. It wasn’t throw-together things. She was skilled and talented. Regardless of why she’d started when she was young, she was good at it. Even the meal she cooked a few days ago, the one she said wouldn’t be awesome, had been incredibly delicious. I was not a food critic, but Sophie layered flavors and textures in her food, and I would venture to guess that her creations were just as good as five-star restaurants.

  I nodded. “I-I-I m-made c-coffee.”

  Sophie did what she always did when she entered the kitchen; she opened up every cabinet and drawer, the freezer and the refrigerator in turn, checking out the contents. “Doesn’t Dr. Dalton make good money?”

  I shrugged, combining it with a nod because I didn’t know why she was asking.

  “I thought people who made good money would eat good food. Every time I come over here it’s like you have a box of Lucky Charms, Wonder bread, a gallon of the cheapest brand of milk, and that’s it. Shouldn’t you guys be eating the good shit?”

/>   “N-n-no one cooks.” I found it interesting that while she didn’t like to prepare food, and got annoyed when people brought up her own eating habits, she seemed to care an awful lot about what other people ate.

  “Well, what do you eat every day? Because Dr. Dalton should know those Hot Pockets are nutritionally void.”

  “C-c-can I help you w-with that?” I asked as she started pulling things out from the cupboards.

  “Not with those you can’t.”

  I looked down at my hands and suddenly wished they didn’t hurt anymore so that I could have been useful.

  “I mean, really, what the hell is this?” she asked, holding up some kind of boxed dinner. She didn’t let me answer. “It’s shit,” she said shaking her head. “You should learn how to cook, Elliott. What will you do if no one can buy you take-out anymore? You’ll get sick because PB&J and grilled cheese aren’t enough to sustain life for long.”

  I knew that, logically, she was right. I should know how to take care of myself if no one else was around, and I knew she was speaking from experience.

  “How many of those did you break?”

  I glanced at her, caught off-guard by her sudden change of topic, and she nodded toward my hands. I pulled them off of the island and into my lap. “F-f-four.”

  She sighed, but then turned back to the food on the counter. “How will you play music now?”

  It didn’t really matter how I would play music, because I would gladly give it up for the rest of my life if it meant that I could save her from people like Chris. “I-I’ll p-play it in m-my hhhead.”

  I continued to watch her, noting how quickly she worked and the way she placed the knife down on the cutting board the same way each time. She found a clean dishtowel in the drawer and spray cleaner under the sink, and would clean every spot on the counter after it had been used.

  She washed her hands five times in eight minutes, each time rolling her shoulders back as she did. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, exposing the entire length of one side of her beautiful neck. It was not the side with the fork scar. It was blemish-free.