Dirty Red
Page 24
I kept my head down, dated boys in the math club who could keep up with me mentally and never stopped plotting against Britney and her lackeys. I changed that year, and no one noticed. They were too busy ostracizing me to notice that my C-cups came in. I learned how to use a blow dryer and makeup. I lost my puppy fat.
That same year, my sister and Britney had a falling out over a boy named Paul. They both wanted him. To save their friendship, both girls had sworn off him in an emotional embrace, insisting that nothing — especially a guy — could come between their friendship. Britney lasted a month before she slept with him. My sister was crushed. I didn't like seeing Courtney cry. And that's what she did for two weeks. I even caught her clutching a bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom one day.
“Not for a boy, Courtney,” I’d said, snatching the bottle from her fingers. “Seriously, when did you become so weak?”
She’d cried silent tears while staring at me with her bruised eyes. I’d realized then that she was probably always weak. She stood up to our parents when it came to me because they parents favored her. It wasn’t an act of courage to defy your parents when they never so much as raised their voices to you. I’d walked her to her bedroom and tucked her into bed. Then I’d crawled in next to her so I could watch her.
The next day I’d cornered Britney at her locker. She was officially Paul’s girlfriend, and now that she’d severed the bond with my sister, I didn’t have to keep my mouth shut anymore.
"You are a worthless slut, you know that?" I poked her in the collarbone for emphasis.
Paul was waiting for her a few feet away.
Britney glared at me, slapping my hand away.
"Eew! Don't touch me, lesbian," she spat. I ignored her, turning my attention to Paul. I had planned this out. Paul was smiling slightly. I could see the words chick fight forming in his miniature, underdeveloped brain. A few people were gathering around us to see what was happening.
"And you," I said, looking at Paul. "You're gonna need this..." I tossed a condom at him. It bounced off his chest and landed between his Nikes. He looked at me, then at the red square at his feet. "She has herpes, you ass."
The look on his face was worth every lesbian comment Britney had made over the last two years. Before walking away, I glanced at Britney. Her face was ashen. I wasn't supposed to know about the herpes. The walls in my house were thin, and she'd had one too many sleepovers with my sister.
Destroying Britney's reputation like she destroyed mine was just the ax I needed to loosen my shackles. It started with Britney, but soon I was sleeping with everyone's boyfriends. I liked how easily I could make boys follow me around by dangling sex in their faces. I liked the way their girlfriends came to school with puffy red eyes from crying, after they found out their boyfriends cheated on them.
I hadn’t joined ranks with the popular girls like my sister; I’d outranked them. I was flying high, and I didn’t intend to stop.
Chapter Thirteen
Present
“We’ve been together a long time, Caleb.”
He doesn’t look up when he says, “Yes.”
Normally, I would get a 'Yes, Red' or a 'Yes, Love' but this time I just get 'Yes.'
It feels lonely, that ‘Yes.’
“Do you remember the time we went to Los Angeles and ate at every celebrity hotspot we could get into?”
He shoots me a look and keeps shuffling mail. Caleb is nostalgic. He likes talking about old memories.
“We didn’t have reservations,” I continue, “but you talked your way into every restaurant we wanted to try.”
He’s quiet as he listens.
“We didn’t see a single celebrity, but I felt like one the entire week … just being with you.”
I take the mail from his hands and set it on the counter, entwining our fingers.
“Caleb, I know I’m a mess. You know I’m a mess. But, you make me better. We have so much history … so much love. Please stop ignoring me.”
His jaw is working.
“I didn’t want to go to those pretentious restaurants, Leah.”
“What?” I shake my head. I thought this was going to work. I don’t even have a backup plan.
“I went because of you. I had a good time because of you, but that’s not who I am.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. His fingers are trying to pry themselves away from mine.
“I’ve been someone different with you. Someone I don’t understand.”
“Well, then be someone new. I don’t care. We will change together.”
Caleb sighs. “I don’t think you’ll like who I am.”
“Try me, Caleb. I’ll work hard to get to know him. Please. We can fix this.”
“I don’t know if we can do that, but we can try.”
I smile tightly and hug him. I feel only the slightest hesitation before he hugs me back. I breathe in the smell of him. We can try. I silently repeat to myself. Words I want, but they have an expiration date. We can try ... until we can't anymore. We can try ... but this already feels doomed.
I will have to think of a way to make this more permanent.
The next few weeks are peaceful. I pull out all of the cookbooks I got as wedding presents and actually start making meals rather than ordering out. If my man wanted a stay at home mom and wife, that’s what he was going to get. I could totally be traditional. I make us eat at the dining room table we've never used. I even wheel the baby’s movable bassinet into the room so she can be with us. He likes my cooking, or he says he does. He eats all of it and seems genuinely happy that I’m trying. I go shopping for girl clothes for the baby and throw out all of the yellow and green. I proudly display them on the bed for Caleb to see. He picks up each one and nods in approval.
“She’s not wearing this,” he says, holding up a little t-shirt that says Date me.
“It’s cute,” I argue, diving for it. He grabs the shirt before I can and holds it above his head so I can’t reach it.
We spend the next five minutes chasing each other around the bedroom for ownership of it. We haven’t played like this in a very long time. It feels good, like it did in the beginning of “us.”
Sam watches our marital transformation with amusement.
One day at breakfast, I ask Caleb where we are planning on vacationing this year.
That same year, my sister and Britney had a falling out over a boy named Paul. They both wanted him. To save their friendship, both girls had sworn off him in an emotional embrace, insisting that nothing — especially a guy — could come between their friendship. Britney lasted a month before she slept with him. My sister was crushed. I didn't like seeing Courtney cry. And that's what she did for two weeks. I even caught her clutching a bottle of sleeping pills in the bathroom one day.
“Not for a boy, Courtney,” I’d said, snatching the bottle from her fingers. “Seriously, when did you become so weak?”
She’d cried silent tears while staring at me with her bruised eyes. I’d realized then that she was probably always weak. She stood up to our parents when it came to me because they parents favored her. It wasn’t an act of courage to defy your parents when they never so much as raised their voices to you. I’d walked her to her bedroom and tucked her into bed. Then I’d crawled in next to her so I could watch her.
The next day I’d cornered Britney at her locker. She was officially Paul’s girlfriend, and now that she’d severed the bond with my sister, I didn’t have to keep my mouth shut anymore.
"You are a worthless slut, you know that?" I poked her in the collarbone for emphasis.
Paul was waiting for her a few feet away.
Britney glared at me, slapping my hand away.
"Eew! Don't touch me, lesbian," she spat. I ignored her, turning my attention to Paul. I had planned this out. Paul was smiling slightly. I could see the words chick fight forming in his miniature, underdeveloped brain. A few people were gathering around us to see what was happening.
"And you," I said, looking at Paul. "You're gonna need this..." I tossed a condom at him. It bounced off his chest and landed between his Nikes. He looked at me, then at the red square at his feet. "She has herpes, you ass."
The look on his face was worth every lesbian comment Britney had made over the last two years. Before walking away, I glanced at Britney. Her face was ashen. I wasn't supposed to know about the herpes. The walls in my house were thin, and she'd had one too many sleepovers with my sister.
Destroying Britney's reputation like she destroyed mine was just the ax I needed to loosen my shackles. It started with Britney, but soon I was sleeping with everyone's boyfriends. I liked how easily I could make boys follow me around by dangling sex in their faces. I liked the way their girlfriends came to school with puffy red eyes from crying, after they found out their boyfriends cheated on them.
I hadn’t joined ranks with the popular girls like my sister; I’d outranked them. I was flying high, and I didn’t intend to stop.
Chapter Thirteen
Present
“We’ve been together a long time, Caleb.”
He doesn’t look up when he says, “Yes.”
Normally, I would get a 'Yes, Red' or a 'Yes, Love' but this time I just get 'Yes.'
It feels lonely, that ‘Yes.’
“Do you remember the time we went to Los Angeles and ate at every celebrity hotspot we could get into?”
He shoots me a look and keeps shuffling mail. Caleb is nostalgic. He likes talking about old memories.
“We didn’t have reservations,” I continue, “but you talked your way into every restaurant we wanted to try.”
He’s quiet as he listens.
“We didn’t see a single celebrity, but I felt like one the entire week … just being with you.”
I take the mail from his hands and set it on the counter, entwining our fingers.
“Caleb, I know I’m a mess. You know I’m a mess. But, you make me better. We have so much history … so much love. Please stop ignoring me.”
His jaw is working.
“I didn’t want to go to those pretentious restaurants, Leah.”
“What?” I shake my head. I thought this was going to work. I don’t even have a backup plan.
“I went because of you. I had a good time because of you, but that’s not who I am.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. His fingers are trying to pry themselves away from mine.
“I’ve been someone different with you. Someone I don’t understand.”
“Well, then be someone new. I don’t care. We will change together.”
Caleb sighs. “I don’t think you’ll like who I am.”
“Try me, Caleb. I’ll work hard to get to know him. Please. We can fix this.”
“I don’t know if we can do that, but we can try.”
I smile tightly and hug him. I feel only the slightest hesitation before he hugs me back. I breathe in the smell of him. We can try. I silently repeat to myself. Words I want, but they have an expiration date. We can try ... until we can't anymore. We can try ... but this already feels doomed.
I will have to think of a way to make this more permanent.
The next few weeks are peaceful. I pull out all of the cookbooks I got as wedding presents and actually start making meals rather than ordering out. If my man wanted a stay at home mom and wife, that’s what he was going to get. I could totally be traditional. I make us eat at the dining room table we've never used. I even wheel the baby’s movable bassinet into the room so she can be with us. He likes my cooking, or he says he does. He eats all of it and seems genuinely happy that I’m trying. I go shopping for girl clothes for the baby and throw out all of the yellow and green. I proudly display them on the bed for Caleb to see. He picks up each one and nods in approval.
“She’s not wearing this,” he says, holding up a little t-shirt that says Date me.
“It’s cute,” I argue, diving for it. He grabs the shirt before I can and holds it above his head so I can’t reach it.
We spend the next five minutes chasing each other around the bedroom for ownership of it. We haven’t played like this in a very long time. It feels good, like it did in the beginning of “us.”
Sam watches our marital transformation with amusement.
One day at breakfast, I ask Caleb where we are planning on vacationing this year.
