We Are Us

Chapter 7 Sackett, Co

Spring, Junior Year, High School

“You’re late.”

Today, instead of saying you’re early, I just agree. “I know. I couldn’t help it. My mom was in a real mood.”

Gavin throws his arm around my shoulders as I sit down beside him, still panting after nearly sprinting all the way here. “What’s wrong—anything serious? Did she…”

The concern on his face has my chest cracking open just a little bit wider, my heart filling up with even more love than I thought possible. “No, she didn’t do anything. Or take anything.” Yet.

Like always, I silently tack that word onto any response concerning my mom’s addiction. I don’t think she’s used drugs since we’ve lived in Sackett, but the first thirteen years of my life are impossible to forget. She hasn’t left us yet. She hasn’t relapsed yet.

It’s like there’s a ticking clock inside my head that only I can hear. It’s just a matter of time.

“She was fired up about a letter that went around to all the parents.” Two towns over, a girl was found unconscious behind the bleachers of the football field. One of the players, a high school senior, was arrested and everyone is saying something different, except for the girl herself, who was so drunk she doesn’t remember anything. But apparently there are pictures and texts confirming that something happened.

Gavin merely nods. “The incident with the football player?”

I pull back to meet his eyes. “You’ve heard already?”

“We had a school assembly about it today.”

“We’ll probably have one tomorrow then.”

“It’s too bad the douchebag isn’t eighteen.” Gavin’s shoulders are tense, his tone dripping with disgust. “If he did do it, he should get more than just a year or two in juvie.”

“From the way my mom was talking, it’s the girl’s fault for getting drunk.”

I shake my head, wishing it was possible to dislodge my mom’s voice from inside my ears.

I didn’t raise my girls to be so stupid. If you lose control, you’d better be prepared for what happens. Never trust anyone but each other.

Gavin scoffs as he grabs a nearby twig and snaps it in two, then throws the pieces back into the woods. “Nothing against your mom, but that’s bullshit. The only thing you deserve for drinking too much is a hangover.”

I hesitate, analyzing my feelings about something I haven’t faced and can barely even imagine. I don’t know any of the people involved. I’ve never had a drink in my life. And I’ve never had sex.

When my mom gets drunk, I blame her for the things she does, the things she says. I blame her for unscrewing the bottle, for every splash of wine into her damned mug, and for every time she lifts it to her mouth. I blame her.

I blame her for the years Sadie and I spent in foster care, the situations she put us in when she was doing drugs. Sometimes I even blame her for my reluctance to talk to strangers, and for Sadie preferring fictional worlds to our real one. As far as I know, no one has ever made my mom swallow a pill or smoke a pipe or take a drink.

“You don’t think it’s the girl’s fault?” I ask, wincing at the tentativeness of my question, at my lack of conviction regarding what’s right and what’s wrong when a situation is distorted through an alcoholic lens.

“You mean for getting attacked while she was unconscious? No, I don’t. Poison ivy from puking in the bushes, grounded by her parents for missing curfew, losing her phone—any of those, yeah. But assaulted, no. Definitely not her fault.”

I let his words sink in. If someone took advantage of my mom when she was drunk or high, hurt her while she was vulnerable—even if she was in that state because of her own actions—I wouldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t say, she was asking for it.

But that’s what my mom is saying about a high school girl she’s never even met. That’s what a lot of people are saying about her.

I nudge him softly. “You’re a good guy, Gavin Cross.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what all the girls say.”

Girls. The word is like a laser beam to a kitten, distracting me from the topic at hand. I think about Clarissa and all the other girls who have probably gone out of their way to have Gavin pump their gas since last summer, inviting him to the beach or their pool or a party. Probably into their pants.

Clarissa even cornered me in the bathroom once last semester, peppering me with questions about Gavin. Implying that if I was willing to bring him along, I’d be welcome to hang out with her and her friends.

I wanted friends… but I wasn’t about to fall for her blatant ruse. If anything, it only made me even more protective of what Gavin and I had. What we share together.

“Um… Have you ever…” I clear my throat, not sure I really want to know the answer to the question. “…you know.”

“Have I ever…”

I look around furtively, then whisper, “Had sex.”

Gavin’s brows edge upward until they disappear behind the hair falling over his forehead. “No. Not yet.”

I blink at him, strangely unsatisfied. “Why not?”

“Why not?” he repeats my question, but doesn’t answer it. “Have you?”

“No,” I shoot back. “Of course not.”

“Then why are you asking me if I have? I kind of figured it’s something I should do with my girlfriend. You know, when you’re ready.”

Instantly, my lungs feel like they’ve been replaced with tanks of helium, my lips curving in what I can only imagine is a stupid grin. “You just called me your girlfriend.” A word I’d been hoping to hear from his lips since the cold spring day we’d witnessed a very vocal mockingbird find his mate. After spotting them together several times since, either stoically protecting their nest or warbling and chirping at each other as they danced from tree to tree, we’d nicknamed them Fred and Wilma.

Gavin makes an exasperated sound. “Of course I did. You are, aren’t you?”

Hell yes, I am. “But you’ve never said it before.”

“Oh. Well, now I have.”  

“I guess that makes you my boyfriend, huh?”

“It sure as hell d—”

I cut Gavin off with a kiss, savoring the press of his lips on mine, the warm slide of his tongue. Ribbons of desire unspool inside me as his hands wind through my hair, gathering fistfuls of it as he cradles my head within his grasp.

The last lingering thoughts of a girl I don’t know and a football player I don’t want to know evaporate from my mind. There is only us, in our cozy cave, in our enchanted forest.

“You know, speaking as your girlfriend, if you wanted to do something… more than kissing, I wouldn’t mind.”

The blaze inside Gavin’s eyes sets my face on fire… until his groan douses the flames. “I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

I let my forehead fall against his neck. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been doing a damn good job convincing myself more isn’t on the menu.”

“Why?” 

“Because I love you. And you’re my best friend. And the things I want to do to you…”

Intrigue wraps around me like a net of silken strands and shimmering fairy lights. “What do you want to do to me?”

“Everything.” Guilt is written into the sharp slice of his cheekbones, the chiseled set of his jaw.

“I want that, too,” I say urgently. “We don’t have to make a big deal of it. Everyone says their first time isn’t all that special, anyway.”

“Maybe not, but you sure as hell are.” He cups my chin in his hand, bringing my gaze back to his face. “Don’t settle for anything less than what you deserve. Your first time—your every time—should be special.”