Inhale, Exhale - By Sarah M. Ross Page 0,59
that age, so we pretend to be who we think others want us to be, or expect us to be. We go along with whatever’s in vogue just to fit in. I was a skinny, runt of a kid who liked computers and math through most of high school. The only people who liked me were teachers. But kids are stupid. Hell, most people at your age or even my age still haven’t figured it out. I haven’t figured it out. That’s what growing up is for—figuring shit out. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this. He lied to you. He hid who he really was. He’s a fuckin’ coward who knew what he was doing was wrong and did it anyway.”
She shifted on my lap and looked up at me. “What do I do now, Grant? Do I turn him in? Do I pretend like it never happened? Tell his parents? Try to get him in rehab or something?” She paused, groaning. “Ugh! What am I going to tell my parents about my face? My dad will go ape-shit if he finds out. He’s stressed enough with work and Gamma. I can’t tell him this.”
“The first thing we’re going to do is go get some ice on your cheek and eye before it swells any more.”
She smiled shyly. “We? You’re not mad at me for being an utter bitch to you?”
I brought my lips to hers, kissing her gently. “Yes, we. For as long as you’ll have me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
A week later, my bruise had faded from vibrant purple and throbbing to a dull yellow-green and sore to the touch. That first day was by far the hardest I’d ever had in my life. So many emotions ran through me, and nothing made sense. I felt adrift at sea. Amazingly, my anchor who stabilized everything was Grant.
I never thought of myself as a girl who would hide behind a man or rush to have him save her. I wasn’t a damsel in distress. Trish, Ava, and I had all taken a self-defense course when we were seniors in high school, and I’d always thought I could handle myself if the time ever came. What I didn’t count on when learning the steps was the emotional impact of being attacked. Even a single blow packed more of an emotional punch than I could have imagined. The betrayal, the shock, or the fear would paralyze you from thinking, let alone defending yourself.
I second-guessed everything I did that day over and over in my head. What should I have done differently? How did I not see this coming? Was I so blind to all the red flags? Should I have waited and confronted him? I had too many questions, and no answers.
The worst part was that I couldn’t stop the haunting images of Christian, of his drug-dealing buddies, and what might happen next because of what I did. The threat of the consequences of my actions was paralyzing—except when Grant was with me. My whole body calmed when he was there, like my subconscious knew he was my safe place. When I saw him coming toward me that day on the playground, I could finally breathe.
The day of the attack, Grant and I went back to my house to talk things over. Ava and Trish were there, all psyched to take me out for my birthday. When they saw my face, Trish went ballistic, throwing herself at Grant and pounding on him thinking he was the one who hit me. I loved her a little more for that. Ava had to literally sit on her to prevent her from getting in the car and going after Christian once we told her what really happened. Hell, Grant was ready to go with her.
And when I told them the reason, what he’d really been up to—let’s just say Fidel Castro probably would have gotten off easier with the three of them.
We went round and round for hours, debating on the best course of action. There were a lot of factors in play, but in the end we decided as a group to not go to the police. The drugs were gone, I had no idea who the dealer was who delivered them, and there was no other hard evidence against Christian, the surf shop, or anyone else. The only thing going to the police would have done was stir up more trouble for me, and I wanted to pretend like the whole thing hadn’t