The Pain of We (ON HOLD)

10

You dropped me off at home instead of having to take the bus. You walked me up to the house, stopping at my door. "Can I come in?"

I thought about what time it was. I probably have another house more than I usually have with taking the bus. I bit my lip. "You want to see my house?" You nodded. I sighed and opened the door.

I showed you the kitchen and the living room. Heading upstairs I showed you where my dad's room was, making sure the door stayed closed. I pointed out where my sister's room was.

"Can I see in it?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

You opened the door and I peeked in with you. Boxes were piled on one end of the room, a twin sized bed on the other.

"Is that her stuff?"

I looked at the scratchy handwriting on the cardboard. Kota. I wrote it. "Yeah. MY dad wouldn't pack up any of the stuff, but didn't want to see it. He said that he was going to throw it away. So I brought it all here and boxed it. Some of my mom's stuff is there too."

You nodded, shutting the door. The last room was my own. I shuffled through my brain, wondering if I cleaned up. I hoped to God it didn't look horribly messy.

Opening my door, I watched as you looked around my room, looking at all the things on my walls and shelves. I was pleased with myself at seeing my dirty clothes in a hamper and not strewn all over.

"Mind if I sit down?"

I shook my head, not yet moving from the doorway. You sat down on my bed, bringing your legs into a crisscross potion. You smiled at me. "Come sit down."

I stepped into my room, holding my arm tight to my side. I sat down on the carpet in front of my bed, leaving a few feet of space between me and the bed.

You smiled at me. "You look really uncomfortable."

I cracked my knuckles. "I've never had a boy in my room before."

"Would you rather go downstairs?"

I shrugged. "Whatever."

You got off my bed and pulled me to my feet.

Back in the living room you sat down on the couch. I mumbled a sorry and started to clear the coffee table from my dad's beer cans and bottles and his ash tray. I stood against the opposite wall from you, still tense and awkward.

"You're not used to people in your house, are you?"

I nodded a little. I checked the time on the TV. "Maybe you should get going, before my dad gets home."

You nodded. "Sure." You stood up, walking to the front door. I followed you. You took a step outside and stood, one step from the doorway.

I leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at you. You smiled back and leaned forward, kissing my lips. "See you tomorrow, Lark,"

You stepped off my porch, walking backwards towards your car.

"See you, Jarsen,"

...
You came up to me that Friday.

"Would you like to go to the football game with me?"

I was caught off guard. "Tonight?"

You nodded. "I can pick you up tonight. Bring you home whenever."

I smiled. "I'd like that."

...
I pulled on my gloves and my jeans. I pulled on my stocking cap, hoping in the dark people couldn't see the big holes. I grabbed my student ID and snuck out of the house. I jogged to your car.

"Any problems getting out?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Let's go."

...
We stood in the far corner behind the student section. You gave me your blanket to use. You looked cold.

"Do you want your blanket back?"

You shook your head. "No. Keep it. Hungry?"

I shrugged. "I don't have any money."

You rolled your eyes. "I'll get you a hot dog and a drink. What drink?"

I shrugged, smiling. "I don't know. A Diet Coke."

You nodded and jumped down the stairs of the bleachers. I checked the score. We were winning. By the time you got back, the teams were tied. I took a sip of the Coke. "Thanks, I'll pay you next time I get the money."

You sighed. "I don't think you understand how this works: I buy you something, on me, and you don't pay me back. I give you food, no strings attached."

I smiled. "Thanks for the free food then."

I finished the food and handed you your blanket. "Here. I'm going to go throw this away."

You handed the blanket back to me. "I'll come with you." We walked down the bleachers together and you led me around the back side. It was dark and deserted on that side.

We stopped walking and I leaned against one of the supporting poles. "I don't get you." I said. You leaned in close. "You're... I don't know. You're different."

You smiled, leaning your forehead against mine. "I didn't realize different was a problem."

I laughed a little. "It's not. It's just... There's two types of guys at the school: the sporty douches and the immature assholes. You're neither."

You smiled. "Again. I'm not seeing the problem. There's two types of girls at the school: the sporty friends-with-everyone types, and the popular bitches. You're neither."

"I'm not rich enough to be the sporty or the popular."

You rolled your eyes. "Money is just paper. It means really nothing. Just a different type of trade."

"Well, yeah, but—"

You put your finger to my lips, shutting me up. You put your hand down, replacing your finger with your lips.

"I really like you, Larkin Litz. I really do."

I took a deep breath, glancing down at the trash in my hands. "Let's go throw this away."

...
I thanked you and jogged to the house. Walking in and shutting the door, I realized I still had your blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I smiled and jogged upstairs to my room.

I folded the blanket and sat it on my bed, pulling off my jeans. I was facing my closet when arms wrapped around my neck.

"You went out." My father's coarse voice muttered into my ear.

I swallowed hard. "I did."

"You fucking bitch." He grabbed my shoulders, tossing me onto the bed sideways, my chest on the sheets and my legs dangling off. You unzipped your pants.

I almost pleaded, but it would just be a waste of my breath.

I braced myself.

I had given up on trying to fight it. It was something that I had grown used to: my face being pushed into my mattress, the tears running down my face. Every third or fourth push he went too deep, and I'd cry out, a hurt moan. He'd think I liked it.

"You perverted little bitch!" He'd scream right into my ear. "You into that type of shit? Huh?" He'd push harder. I'd cry more.

Tomorrow. It was all I could think about.

Tomorrow I'd think about telling you. Tomorrow I'd be in pain, wearing a skirt to school because pants would hurt when I sit. Tomorrow I'd cross my legs all day, flinch when someone gets close to my legs or touch my arm. I'd shrink if someone raised their voice, even in laughter and joking. Tomorrow I'd pretend it didn't hurt.

I clutched my sheets. Please let this all be over.

I'm sorry.

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