Part 11 (1/2)

She stopped. ”You don't want me?” she questioned as she sat up straight. ”But I can tell that you do,” she said, accentuating her words with a rock of her hips.

”I-I-I do,” I said quickly, not able to edit my thoughts very well. ”B-b-but I...”

”Then I'll be yours,” she whispered.

Even though I was still holding onto her wrists, she tried to break free and weave her fingers through my hair again, and as much as I wanted her to, I couldn't let her.

”Just...just take it, Elliott. Just take me. I won't say no to you.”

I leaned back as far as I could, trying to break as much physical connection as possible. ”J-just b-because I w-want you, d-doesn't mean I c-can have you,” I took a breath, ”llliiike th-that.”

She tried again to press against me, but I tightened my grip on her wrists. I hated how delicate they felt. I hated the strength I had to exert to get her to stop.

Letting out a harsh breath, Sophie backed away, standing and yanking her hands away. She looked so angry and hurt as I looked up at her. I sat there awkwardly, wis.h.i.+ng I wasn't straining against my jeans and that she wasn't so angry at me.

Her teeth were clenched together as she just stood there, staring at me.

After a few measured breaths, she said, ”I have to go make Tom food before he succ.u.mbs to malnutrition. Give me a ride home?”

I nodded, hating that the softness between us had given way to this calculating coldness.

She gripped her bag tightly and didn't speak at all as I stole as many glances as I could the entire drive to her house. She didn't look angry anymore, but more like a worried child.

”S-S-SSSophie,” I tried as I pulled up to her house.

I reached out for her hand and it actually hurt when she yanked it away before I could actually touch it.

”I have to go.”

She wouldn't look at me as she popped open the door and swung her feet out.

It took me a few moments to get the words out, as they all seemed to get stuck in my throat. ”C-c-can I p-p-p-p,” I stopped and breathed, ”pick you up ag-g-gain t-t-t-tomorrow?”

With a sigh, she nodded before getting out, slamming the door closed, and running up the stairs to her house.

Sophie let me pick her up for school the next day, and the days following, but she wouldn't let me drive her home, and she flat-out refused to spend any extra time with me. Jason drove her home.

She hadn't e-mailed, even after I e-mailed her on Tuesday.

It was on Thursday evening when I finally downloaded the instant messenger system that went along with the e-mail program. It said that she was online, although I had no clue if she really was or not. Maybe her computer was just on.

Into the small white box, I typed, ”I'm sorry,” and pressed send, waiting, preparing myself for no response.

YoSoph: Why are you sorry?

EDalton123: For upsetting you.

YoSoph: You didn't upset me. We're cool.

EDalton123: It doesn't seem like it.

It was a full minute before she replied.

YoSoph: You take s.h.i.+t too personally. We're fine.

I didn't know what to type. She said we were fine, but would tomorrow be any better than the past few days?

EDalton123: I can pick you up tomorrow?

YoSoph: Sure.

The next morning when I picked her up, she smiled at me when I handed her coffee. I felt a little childish, then actual joy that she was happy about the coffee, but those feelings faded into worry because she was incredibly high again.

Apart from saying h.e.l.lo, the ride to school was silent. I couldn't think of anything to say much beyond asking her not to get high ever again, and she wouldn't like that, so I kept quiet.

Sophie was in her own head. Her leg bounced slowly as she rested her head back against the seat. Her expression was blank, except for a small smile. The vacant look in her usually deep, thinking blue eyes seemed so sad.

How could I be the only one who could tell she was so high, so often?

”Bye, Elliott,” she said as she pushed open the door and clumsily collected her things.

”W-w-will you sssssit w-with me at lunch?” I knew what I was asking of her: to forgo leaving Study Hall early and not spend her entire lunch period outside smoking pot.

Sophie stopped all her movements, facing away from me.

”I hang out with Jason at lunch.”

The way she said it was strained, letting me know that she would rather go get high than spend time with me publicly. Fear that I was not, nor would I ever be enough for Sophie, wounded me.

Sophie would choose getting high over me every time.

Just like my mom.

I hadn't realized how worked up I had gotten until I felt her hand in my hair. My eyes had been pressed shut and I expelled a stunted breath when I opened them. Despite her wildly high eyes, she looked at me softly, more so than anyone ever had. The hand in my hair was sending calming chemicals straight through me and I wondered, not for the first time, if she even felt it.

”SSSSoph-phie,” I began, wanting to say so many things to her, but she wouldn't let me.

”We'll hang out tonight, okay?”

I wished that I could've kept my mouth shut, but instead, I found myself whining to her. ”B-but you're g-going to g-get hhhhigh w-w-w-w-with JJJJJJ...” No matter how hard I tried, I could not get his name out.

”Quit trying to change me, Elliott.” She withdrew her hand from my hair. ”I'll see you in the greenhouse.”

I sat in the car for a moment and watched her walk away from me again, wondering if it would ever be less painful, and if I would ever be enough for her.

Obviously, Chris Anderson was upset that I was spending time with Sophie and that she'd ridden to school with me every day this week, because he was practically waiting for me as I got out of my car.

In addition to being punched in the same spot, he had a new comment every day this week about one of Sophie's body parts and what he wanted to do to it. It was disgusting.

Today when his fist connected with my ribs again, I winced in pain, but when he said, ”I'm going to f.u.c.k her until she's raw and begging for more,” I'd had enough.