Jaded

  "We should call the cops now."

  "Shut up, Corrigan!" I yelled. "I don't want to talk about it."

  He yelled back, "You don't want to talk about anything!"

  "Shut up both of you!" Bryce hissed, "We're going to wake your parents."

  That shut us up.

  I stood and spoke, "I'm going to shower."

  Corrigan glanced at me and then away. He closed his eyes and laid down.

  Bryce watched me leave the room. When I turned the corner, I heard him ask, "You got more alcohol?"

  "Yeah," Corrigan said tiredly and got up.

  I closed the bathroom door and leaned against it while I slid to the floor. My hands were chalk-white as I pressed them against my legs. It felt weird. I couldn't feel my hands against my legs. I only stared at them in sick fascination. A person should be able to feel, but my legs had gone numb.

  When I saw some spots on my shirt, it took a minute before I realized they were tears. I'd been crying and not known it. Then I watched as another one fell to my shirt and realized I was still crying.

  Weak, I got up and turned the shower on. I turned the water to scalding hot and stripped my clothes off before I stepped inside. I slid to the floor and sat there, arms wrapped around my knees.

  The water pounded on me and I watched the water slide to circle the drain.

  It was slowly sucked downwards, like a vacuum.

  I wasn't surprised when the door opened and Bryce stepped inside.

  I just looked up at him and he sighed. He moved me and sat behind where he wrapped his arms around me. I hugged his arms as they hugged me.

  He rested his head in the crook between my shoulders and neck. His cheek grazed against the side of mine.

  We both shuddered for a moment until I realized it was me. I was trembling and Bryce was trying to stop it.

  A choked gasp sounded and echoed in the shower. That came from me too.

  "Where's Corrigan?" I asked, huskily.

  Bryce soothed his hands up and down my arms. "He called the police. They're going to come and get the letter."

  "I don't—"

  "They have to have it."

  I shut up. The fight had left me. I knew they were right, but…

  "I don't want that to happen. I don't want…"

  "You didn't do anything," Bryce insisted. "Whoever did that is sick and the cops have to know. He might do it to you."

  I closed my eyes as I finally felt the water hit my skin. Finally.

  "Everyone at school is going to know," I murmured, wondering why I said it.

  "I know. They'll just know that we found her. That's it."

  "Her parents," I said softly, haunted. "I bet they'll be devastated."

  Bryce frowned next to me and said, "Your parents would be devastated too."

  "Would they?"

  "Yeah," he said firmly.

  "Your mom would pray for me." She should've prayed for Leisha.

  Bryce laughed abruptly and then stopped just as quick. He swore.

  I slid my hand into his and threaded our fingers. I asked, "Why don't you want me in the mornings?"

  "What?" he asked, startled. Distracted.

  "In the mornings. We don't have sex. Why not?"

  Bryce shrugged.

  "Why not?" I pressed.

  "Sheldon," he sighed.

  "I want to know."

  He burst out, "Because it's too hard to make myself give you space if I make love to you in the mornings. It's too hard to go back and remember your 'hands-off' policy."

  The emotional ties. That was why.

  "I've never given you a hands-off policy," I said faintly.

  "It's the same thing. No commitment, right?" Bryce cursed. "I swear, you get pissed if I don't let other girls hit on me."

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  "See," he pointed out. "This is what Corrigan was talking about. You don't talk about anything, especially you and me."

  "I just asked why we don't have sex in the mornings." I turned and glared at him. Pissed. No, I was livid.

  "No," Bryce said firmly, daring me to argue with him. "I said 'make love' and you said 'have sex.' They're different."

  "It's not that different. It's still screwing."

  "No," he spelled it out, saddened. "You screw me. I make love to you."

  I pulled away and scooted directly underneath the water. It plastered my hair to my face, covering my eyes, nose, mouth, everything.

  I sat there, stunned at Bryce's words until he cursed and yanked me out of the water. He brushed the hair from my face and glared at me.

  And then he softened and kissed me.

  I moaned and clung to him, demanding. I needed this, I needed this kind of warmth.

  Bryce grabbed me and lifted me on top of him.

  I straddled him and sunk down until he was firmly sheathed inside of me. And then I moved.

  Bryce groaned and moved with me. He grabbed my hips and we both tried to drown each other.

  It didn't take long until we exploded and I fell limply against him. Bryce swept his arms around me and kissed my shoulder, a tender kiss. He ran a soothing hand down my hair and down my back.

  I closed my eyes and rested my head on his shoulder.

  Just then Corrigan pounded on the shower door.

  Bryce swore and yelled for him to leave.

  Corrigan coughed, "Cops are here. Hurry up."

  Bryce used some colorful words to describe Corrigan and what would happen if he had listened to us the entire time.

  I told him to be quiet. Corrigan joked, but he wasn't like that. We were in our world and probably couldn't hear him knock on the bathroom door. Bryce clamped his mouth shut, but his jaw was clenched tight. Too tight.

  We dressed in our dirty clothes and went to meet the police. It was two different detectives this time, but I saw Officer Patterson had accompanied them. She gave me a small nod while a balding guy in a suit started asking us questions like why didn't we hand over the letter, what did it say, where was the letter now.

  We answered each and every one. Numbly. I knew I was in a daze at the end of it when Sheila threw me a curveball. She asked, "Why didn't you say anything about the other two letters?"

  Bryce frowned.

  Corrigan asked, "What?!"

  I sat there and swallowed painfully. I surrendered when I met her all-too-knowing eyes, "Because…if I said something then it was real."

  "We went over your house after the break-in. We found both of them in the trash," she said further.

  This was a nightmare.

  "When did you get the first note?"

  Bryce and Corrigan sat stunned.

  I sighed and answered, "Wednesday."

  "And the second?"

  "Thursday."

  "And your house was broken into that night, correct?"

  It was and I felt on trial.

  Sheila glanced towards Bryce and Corrigan, but asked all of us, "Is there anyone who's been harassing you?"

  Who wasn't?

  I glanced at the guys. Corrigan slumped further in his chair. Bryce spoke up, "Chad Yerling. He's been making threats."

  "What's he been saying?" Officer Sheila was all business, the epitome of a detective.

  "Bryce," Corrigan warned.

  Bryce shrugged it off and said flatly, "That he wants to rape Sheldon. He wants to make her scream for me to help her."

  I'd figured it was something like that.

  Sheila glanced at the two detectives and asked, "How often has he made these threats?"

  "A few times. He started awhile back, but last Sunday—it got worse. He got worse."

  "What else should you be telling me?" Sheila shared me in her sweeping glance.

  Corrigan said quietly, "He did something to a girl last Friday night, a week ago. We warned him to stop and not ever do anything again, but on Tuesday…he threatened Sheldon."

  "He didn't really…" I murmured.

  "He scared you. That was enough," Co
rrigan said fiercely.

  "And what did you do?" Sheila asked.

  "Bryce roughed him up and I roughed up his car."

  I looked away.

  "I got arrested for fleeing the 'scene of an accident,'" Corrigan quoted, unapologetically.

  One of the detectives mentioned, "Chad Yerling was admitted to the hospital for two days last week. Was that your handiwork?" he asked Bryce.

  Bryce shook his head and Corrigan volunteered, "That was me and a few other guys. I'll take the fall. We wanted to make sure he wouldn't do anything to Sheldon or any other girl."

  "You were at a party tonight. Did anything happen at the party?"

  "Yerling showed up. He was doing the same stuff. We took him out back and just threatened him again," Bryce spoke this time. "We didn't hurt him too bad. He was able to walk when we let him go."

  "What'd you threaten him with?"

  "Just that if he didn't stay away from our kind, we might have to hurt someone of his," Bryce said matter-of-factly. "We wouldn't, but we didn't know what else to do. We're not going to kill the guy or keep putting him in the hospital."

  "You think this Yerling guy could've done something like that to Leisha Summers?"

  I flinched at the name. She was still so cold.

  "I don't know," Corrigan said lamely.

  Bryce shrugged. "I thought he was all talk, but you never know…"

  I stood up abruptly and asked harshly, "Are we done? Can I go?"

  Sheila studied me a moment and said, "Almost. Where's the letter now?"

  Corrigan pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. "We all touched it. I'm sorry."

  She pulled a glove on and took the letter. After she handed it to one of the other detectives, she asked gently, "Where are your parents, Sheldon?"

  "Getting a divorce. You know that," I spat out.

  "Where are they?" she asked again.

  I shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Have you talked to them this week?"

  "About the divorce. That's it."

  Sheila nodded and murmured instead, "We talked to your school counselor, Miss Connors. She's been trying to get you to talk to her. Why don't you want to talk to her?"

  "Would you?" I clipped out.

  Sheila didn't say anything. The other detective commented, "It would be beneficial for all of you to go and speak with your school counselor. Miss Connors has an excellent reputation as a counselor. She offered for all of you to sit together or individually." He glanced at me and said, "She thinks Sheldon, particularly, would appreciate the group setting versus an individual setting."

  Miss Connors could appreciate all she wanted.

  "We contacted her over the phone. She offered to come here, if you'd prefer or you could meet somewhere if you would rather not visit on school grounds."

  "Right now?" Corrigan asked.

  "She's with Miss Summers' parents right now. She would be available tomorrow or at a later date."

  Leisha's parents.

  "How are they—I mean—how are Leisha's parent's doing?" I asked before I knew what I was asking.

  Bryce watched me.

  Sheila studied me again, she hadn't stopped. She murmured, "They're pretty torn up as parents should be."

  The balding detective asked, "You say that Yerling hurt a girl last Friday? Got a name?"

  Bryce shook his head. He crossed his arms over his chest and his biceps twitched. "No. It was just a rumor, but we wanted to be safe, you know."

  "Okay." The detective finished his notes and glanced at his two colleagues. "I think we're done here. We'll contact you if we have further questions."

  "Please don't," I muttered and the cops stopped in surprise.

  Bryce and Corrigan looked unfazed.

  Sheila spoke, "Look, you're eighteen. You're an adult, but I highly recommend that you call your parents, Sheldon. They should know what's going on with you."

  If they cared, they'd know.

  "I don't think my parents have the time right now. They're too busy looking for houses and finalizing the divorce," I said faintly.

  A flicker of emotion crossed Sheila's features, but she didn't say anything. No one said a thing and then they left.

  Corrigan spoke up when we heard the door shut, "Mom's making breakfast if you guys want something."

  "No more questions," I said firmly.

  Corrigan nodded. "Trust me, I don't want them either."

  "I could go for some food," Bryce murmured and it was decided. All three of us traipsed into the kitchen and were met with aromas of pancakes, eggs, toast, coffee, and freshly cut fruit.

  Corrigan's mother smiled warmly at us and gestured to the table. She spoke with a spatula in hand, "Sit, sit. Eat."

  Corrigan's father brought a cup of coffee over and placed it in front of me. He patted my shoulder and murmured, "Just how you like it, Sheldon."

  "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Raimler."

  "No thanks," Mrs. Raimler said from the stove. "Just eat. And it's Harve."

  Bryce and Corrigan devoured their food. When I sat there and sipped my coffee, Bryce snorted in disgust and placed a pancake on my plate.

  I didn't move and he said firmly, "Eat."

  I glared and Corrigan and Bryce both snapped, "Eat."

  I ate.

  Mr. and Mrs. Raimler chuckled and filled the plates of food again.