Less Than Three

Chapter 32: To Dye For

Saturday, June 28 4:10 AM Bonus Term of the Day: Sacrilege – Damage to something regarded as sacred

I'm going to really think about what I write today. I don't want to do more damage to things that are sacred to me.

Once upon a time I thought writing a blog was easy – too easy even. Now? It might have been less work than an actual website but still, there are lots of things I should have considered. I was still giving some thought to the privacy aspect, when Dave left a comment:

sergio: Don't hate yourself. Watching him with you was the hardest thing I've ever done. It made me think about how he's going to feel when you tell him. And how hard it's going to be for you to do it. I almost wish we didn't feel like we do. We DO still feel that way, don't we?

sergio: Don't we?

summer: sigh ... deleting ... deleting

I spent the whole day hiding in my room with the covers over my head. I didn't answer when my dad knocked on the door. Ditto Mom. My parents are usually clueless. They are also resourceful. They sent in Tim.

"'Sup?" he said, all casual-like.

I pulled the sheets up higher.

"You could suffocate in there."

"That's okay. I deserve to die."

"Enough with the drama," he said.

"It doesn't matter. When Madison finds out what I've done, she'll kill me anyway."

"You think she doesn't already know?"

I peeked out at him. "She can't know," I said. "If she knew she'd never ..." 

Never what? Never talk to me again, for starters. But she had talked to me. I mean, things had seemed strained between us but not, in any way, as ... "She doesn't."

"She does. Everybody does. It's all over the internet."

I pulled the pillow out from beneath my head and dropped it onto my face. Good-bye cruel world. Tim snatched the pillow away and tossed it across the room. Then he pulled on one of my arms and one of my legs until I was halfway off the bed. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked.

"Getting your sorry ass out of bed."

"What's the point?"

"The point is, no matter how embarrassed you are ..."

I started to say, 'I'm not embarrassed,' but, okay, I was embarrassed. Even more than that though, "I'm ... whatever." Scared, I guess, was the closest word. How could I not be?

"No matter how 'whatever' you are, you still live here. You have to go out there and show everybody that ..."

By now the only part of me left on the bed was my fist, still clutching the covers while Tim jerked me across the room. " That what? That I'm a ..."

"That you are a girl who doesn't know what she wants. It's not really such a horrible thing to be. Is it? Besides, the concert's been rescheduled and the parents are giving me twenty bucks to make sure you don't miss it. So you're going."

"I'm not."

"You are."

7:48 PM Have I mentioned how much I Hate brothers?