Uninvited

Page 12

She holds up a hand as if to stop him from saying anything. “No, Zac. I told you not to bring her here.”
She told him? Like they somehow have a relationship now? A friendship? As though Zac listens to her? Since when?
Since you got labeled a carrier. I ignore the voice, refusing to give it validity, refusing to admit that I’m any different than I was last week. These are my friends. I’m still me. Not a monster. They should see that.
“She needs to go.”
“Who are you to decide where I can and can’t go?” I demand, the emotion I held in check seeping out.
Her gaze is back on me, withering and sharp, and I can’t help wondering where my friend went. Tori couldn’t pick out lip gloss without getting my opinion first. At that moment, I realize how much I had enjoyed being in control of our friendship—how gratified it felt knowing my best friend couldn’t win over my boyfriend. And yes, I knew she had wanted him. Like so many other girls, she had stared longingly after him. But winning Zac was something I alone had the power to do. Secretly, that had pleased me. Petty, but there it is. I swallow my suddenly constricted throat, not liking this insight into myself.
“You don’t go to our school anymore.” Tori flips her hair over her shoulder.
“This isn’t school. It’s a party.”
“You’re not one of us anymore.” For a moment, I hear the hurt in her voice. The accusation. As though getting identified as a carrier was somehow a betrayal of her. Like I failed her. I see it in her eyes, too. For a moment they glimmer wetly like she might cry. Then she blinks and the hint of tears vanishes.
Gradually, I become aware of the lack of conversation around us. It’s just the pump of music from the speakers. I glance at the faces of my old friends. There’s no comfort, no reassurance in their eyes. Carlton stares down into his cup as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.
Zac looks pissed. He shakes his head at Tori. “I told you not to do this tonight.”
And that’s when I fully understand that they have been together . . . discussing this. Discussing me. At length. Tori knew I would be here tonight. Zac told her he was bringing me and she had objected. My best friend, who couldn’t even bring herself to call me, didn’t want me here. She didn’t want me around at all. And Zac had never mentioned any of this to me. Not even when I asked him about Tori.
“I told you not to bring her,” Tori returns, tapping her head. “Not smart. Try using your brain.” Her gaze scours him and there’s no missing her meaning. She thinks he’s using another part of his anatomy.
A slow hiss escapes me. “How can you treat me like this?”
She crosses her arms. “I’m only glad that we found out. Before you hurt one of us.”
I tremble from the shock of her words. She actually thinks I’m dangerous?
“Leave Zac alone. I know you think you would never harm him, but all carriers think that at first. And then they snap. It’s always family and friends that get hurt. It’s just a matter of time. . . .”
Before you snap. She didn’t finish the sentence, but the words were there as if she had uttered them aloud.
I’m tempted to throw my drink in her face, but instead I tighten my fingers around the cup. That would only prove her point. That I’m some volatile person about to go off the deep end. Instead, I laugh. It’s a brittle sound and Zac looks at me uneasily. “Since when did you become any expert on . . . anything, Tori?”
It’s mean, but I’m feeling mean. And angry.
Her eyes narrow to bright little slits and I start to suspect that she is going to throw her drink on me.
“Come on.” Zac pulls me after him. At first, I think we’re leaving, but he steers us up the stairs, his strides determined, his steps resounding thuds on the limestone.
I glance quickly behind me. Tori’s face is flushed, splotchy like it gets when she works out.
“Where are we going?” I ask when we clear the top.
“Carlton’s room. We can have some privacy there.”
A relieved breath rushes out of me. We can finally talk about everything and figure stuff out. We need to come up with a plan if we’re going to make this work. I catch myself. Something pinches sharply in the center of my chest. I’ve never thought in terms of if before when it came to us.
Obviously, we’ve hit a hurdle. We no longer attend the same school. Our friends aren’t our friends anymore. That will make being together a struggle—but not impossible. Not as long as it’s what we want. And Zac must want us to work out. He’s here. I’m here. We’re together now. He came back after the shock of learning that I’m a carrier.
I step inside Carlton’s room. It’s full of rich browns. A mahogany dresser and bed. A desk with a built-in case behind it that overflows with rugby and diving trophies. On the paneled wall hangs a photograph of our entire senior class at our fall retreat. I’m on Zac’s shoulders, waving for the camera. That day seems very long ago.
I turn around to face him, to explain to him how much it means to me that he’s standing beside me when none of our friends are. But he’s there. In front of me, sliding his cool palms along my cheeks, delving his fingers into my hair, pressing his mouth over mine and drowning out any chance for words.
For now, this is enough.
Seventy percent of all violent crimes are committed by offenders known to the victim. This figure jumps dramatically—to 90 percent when the perpetrator is female, with the most common target being significant others and family members. . . .
—Lecture from Dr. Wainwright to the National Center for Analysis of Violent Crime at Quantico
TEN
FOR WHAT SEEMS LIKE FOREVER, ZAC KISSES ME long and deep, nearly smothering me. I hold his wrists, loving that this is the first thing he does. Almost like he has to do it. Like he can’t wait. After the ugliness of downstairs, it’s a stamp of affirmation. I’m the only thing that matters to him. Not the opinions of others. Not my carrier status. Just me.
He nudges me back and we fall on the bed, bodies tangling together. I laugh lightly against the insistent press of his mouth, but even that sound is quickly swallowed up in his anxious lips.
The heavy weight of his right leg curls over my hip, pinning me. He’s heavy. Solid. I press a palm against his firm chest, reveling in the feel of his heartbeat, strong and swift.
I break from his lips to speak, to get out the words I want to say, need to say, but he quickly captures my mouth again. His hand flows along the slope of my thigh, pulling me in closer to his body.
“Zac,” I gasp.
“Davy,” he returns, still kissing me. Not stopping.
I push both hands against his shoulders and force him up. “Zac, can we take a minute?”
“For what? We’re finally alone.” He brushes a strand of hair back from my face and tucks it behind my ear. His brilliant green eyes pin me. “I’ve missed you, Davy.”
“I’ve missed you, too, but I thought we should talk.”
“About what?”
“Everything, Zac. Everything is changed. I’m not even welcome here.”
“Carlton doesn’t care—”
“I’m not talking about Carlton. I’m talking about everyone. Tori—”
“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “I can handle Tori.”
And this irks me. She’s my best friend—was. He shouldn’t be the buffer between us. Talking to her. Talking to me. Being pulled in two directions. And maybe there’s the fact that I know she’s always wanted him for herself. And if not her, there are others. Other pretty girls at Everton, waiting in the wings who are a better fit for a guy with everything going for him.
His head dips to kiss me again, but I press a hand to his mouth, stopping him. His eyes gleam with frustration.
“Okay. What about our plans? Or future? I can’t go to Juilliard anymore.” A heaviness sinks inside me as I acknowledge this out loud. “That’s not going to happen for me.” I slide my fingers from his lips. “How can we make this work? You’ll be at NYU in the fall. I’ll be . . . here. . . .” That’s a safe guess. I can probably go to the local community college. Get a job at Dad’s bank.
I wait, eager to hear the words that will make me feel better.
Make me believe in him . . . in us. I need something to hang on to. Something to believe in. Something that won’t go away, vanish down the drain in a whirl with everything else.
“Do we really have to talk about this now, Davy? Can’t we just enjoy being together?”
His coaxing voice, his melting gaze. All of it gets to me. This time I don’t stop his head from lowering. We kiss. His hands roam and mold to me. Our breathing grows harsh, air passing from his mouth to mine.
His fingers trail down. Lifting my shirt, he grazes the sensitive skin underneath. He seizes the snap on my jeans and pops it free with an easy flick of his hand. The zipper is loud on the air, a discordant rip over the crash of our breaths.
My hand flies to his, closing over him. It’s an instinctive move. One I’ve been executing for months now.
He stills. Looks down at me with slightly dazed eyes. “C’mon, Davy,” he pleads, kissing my jaw. I feel the tip of his tongue there and shiver. “You said we would. . . .”
I look up past his face to the blur of the fan blades above, not wanting to debate the point that I had not actually agreed to sleep with him. I had been considering it. On the verge, true. But I hadn’t agreed. Yet.
“I just . . .” My voice fades. I don’t know what to say. Before, it had felt right. A definite likelihood. I’d felt ready. But now. Now . . . everything about this feels wrong. Here. In this room. With people downstairs who think I’m sort of deviant. It’s wrong.
“I need this, Davy,” he whispers against my ear.
This. Not me.
He doesn’t need me.
“I can’t,” I announce. This time the words fall with no reluctance. No regret. I know. I can’t do this.
He lifts up to peer at me, evidently recognizing from my tone that I’m not in a place where he can sweet-talk me. He stares hard at me for a long moment, his expression varying, shifting from frustration to anger. “Why not?”
I sit up and re-snap my jeans. “This isn’t how I envisioned—”
“Have you envisioned it?” he demands. “At all? Because I’m beginning to wonder.”
I look at him, baffled at his tone, at his seeming anger. It’s not as if I haven’t told him no before. “Why are you so upset with me? I just don’t feel—”
“I’ve waited for months, Davy. And you just keep teasing me with promises. You should be grateful that I’m the kind of guy who’s patient . . . especially now.”
I angle my head, my flesh suddenly prickling. “Why especially now?”
He looks away briefly before turning back at me. His lips compress as if he’s holding something in.
“Why?” I stab him in the chest with my finger. “Why should I be especially grateful now?”
I wait, my chest swelling with the aching hope that I’m wrong. That he won’t say it. That he will say something to erase all the horrible things running through my head. I desperately need confirmation that he’s not as bad as the rest of them. That he doesn’t see me as damaged.
I wait, hungry to hear him say that he didn’t bring me here tonight expecting some kind of reward for sticking with me.
The words never come.
He crosses his arms over his chest as he faces me, his expression odd. It’s almost like he’s a stranger staring at me, his eyes dull and somehow less green. His mouth unsmiling. “You know why.”
I suck in a sharp breath.
And he’s right. I do know why. I understand.