else.
There are at least five other people dragging ass at running away. The cops don’t even spare them a glance. It’s almost like they didn’t come to break up the party.
It’s almost like…
“I told you,” Em mutters. And then, louder, turning to me with a shit-eating grin, “I fucking told you our girls were handling that fucker!”
Reyn’s razor-sharp smirk beams back at me. “Guess your dad didn’t bail him out, this time.”
I hope he can tell through my swollen eye that I’m looking at him like he’s a moron. “Not yet. He probably doesn’t even know about it.” My father is home right now, probably sitting in his office, sipping some scotch, completely unaware that he’s about to get a phone call.
The hurt still hasn’t come, all that adrenaline still pumping through me like fuel. Maybe that’s why Reyn’s words come floating back to me from before.
Be better.
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking of them for the last couple days. Wondering what that would even mean. What it might look like. What it would take to get my father to give up his prodigal son for the sad specimen sitting right here.
I’ve been wondering what kind of sacrifices that might entail and if they’d be better or worse than a life spent dodging Heston’s bullshit.
I think I already know. “Em,” I say, falling back into the seat, eyes fixed to the roof of the car. “Could I ask a favor?”
I see his eyes flick to mine in the rearview. “This isn’t the hot nurse thing, is it? Are you concussed? Do you need to go to the ER? Goddamn it, Bass, I fucking told you—”
Breathing out a laugh, I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. I feel fine.” I meet the reflection of his eyes, voice feeling thick with exhaustion. “I’ll take a ride to my house, though.”
If I can get there before that phone call, maybe I won’t have to wonder anymore.
32
Sugar
Georgia finally falls asleep around two in the morning. She’s been a mess since she got back from the station, two hours ago. Aubrey’s in the bed with her, having passed out long before Georgia nodded off.
I’m lying in my own bed, watching the clock tick away. Since I’d slept all day, I’m completely fucking wired, although I suspect a part of it is because of what happened after leaving the exhibit tonight.
The whole thing was a tough sell to Sydney, who basically wanted fuck-all to do with anything that incriminated Heston. It kind of made me sick, knowing she was protecting him, even after all he’s put everyone through. Even when we told her about the video—even when she looked surprised to find it existed—she still swore up and down that she didn’t care. I’m not sure if the others could tell she was lying, but I sure as hell could.
I happen to know a thing or two about excusing abuse for the sake of keeping your shit cogent.
Eventually, Vandy got fed up with it all and pulled her outside the dorms. They talked for half an hour. I’m not sure what was said, or why Sydney returned with a blank, tear-streaked face, but she gave Georgia the nod and that was that.
Aubrey, Vandy, and I all sat in the car while the two of them disappeared behind the doors of the station. We listened to the radio for an hour, then sent Aubrey off to get us some burgers from across the street. We ate and waited. We talked and waited. We waited and then waited some more. They didn’t get out until midnight, both returning to the car with tired eyes and grim faces. Their expressions said it all.
This wasn’t the end of a fight.
It’s the beginning of one.
I’m still doubtful it’s a fight Sydney is willing to finish, but eventually the other girls will learn. You can’t force someone into seeing themselves as a victim—as a survivor. It has to be something they realize themselves, and even then, the hunger for justice isn’t a universally shared ache.
What Doug did to me was untenable, but the thought of trying to bring him down—legally, officially—makes me physically ill. Maybe that makes me the kind of person who doesn’t stand up for herself. Or maybe that makes the kind of person who does—by acknowledging that it’ll only hurt me more. Because the truth is, the thought of looking back at it makes me tired.
Sebastian was right that day in the garage.
I’m tired of