Instead, Marc was there. Still in his jacket and tie from earlier tonight, although his tie was askew.
He looked wrecked and I got it. He thought he’d done this. That he’d said those awful things to me and triggered my attack. It probably had. I’d been crying so hard it got in front of my breathing. I couldn’t catch up. No matter how hard I’d tried to calm myself down. Instead, all I could manage was short pants until even that became laborious.
I breathed in deep and felt my chest expand. I was going to be okay. Whatever medicine they’d given me was working. The attack was behind me.
Marc’s head lifted and he saw I was awake.
He got up and walked over to the bed and just looked down at me.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said it. I don’t. I just snapped.”
I nodded. It was strange, but in all the times he’d been mean to me, curt with me, had snapped at me, he’d never once said he was sorry. This was weird. But a good weird.
“It’s not your fault. It just happened,” I whispered. It felt weird to talk. Like I wasn’t ready to test if I had enough air to do it.
“It didn’t just happen. I was awful and I hurt you. I saw that I hurt. I wanted to hurt you. Why do I do that, Ash?”
He didn’t know, but I did. How ironic, I thought. That even though I was two years younger than him, I saw so clearly what he didn’t see.
Marc thought he hated me. But he didn’t. He didn’t hate me at all. I knew it, like a secret tucked deep inside my heart.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. You could have…shit, Ash, you could have…”
“I didn’t,” I said.
“Were you scared?”
I nodded and he nodded back but didn’t say anything else.
“Stay with me while I sleep?” I asked him.
“George is trying to get ahold of your father.”
“I don’t need him,” I whispered, feeling the influence of the drugs wash over me.
He nodded and pulled the chair closer and sat. I went to sleep knowing he would be there when I woke in the morning.
6
One year later
Ashleigh
I stared at the carriage house and knew what was happening. George had to drive my father to Manhattan for a business meeting and they would be staying overnight. Which meant Marc had the house to himself. I could hear the music and the buzz of laughter and talking. He’d invited friends over.
It made sense. He was home for Thanksgiving break. Of course he would want to reunite with his friends from high school.
I shivered a little in the cold, and hitched the cooler of stuff I’d brought with me higher on my shoulder.
See, anyone might have thought after my horrible attack last year that things would have changed between me and Marc.
He’d be nicer to me. He’d break up with his girlfriend and start dating me instead. He’d acknowledge my existence at school and hang out with me at home.
None of those things had happened. Instead, things pretty much went back to normal.
He’d ignored me at school. Ignored me at home as much as he could.
He did break up with Kaitlin after Christmas and had decided he didn’t want another girlfriend since he was getting ready to graduate. Of course, he got into Princeton, because when Marc decided he wanted something, he almost always got it.
At least the things he could control.
There had been no word about his mother in years. I knew it affected him, even though he pretended it didn’t. Because I was the one who knew him best, so I saw it all. The hurt, the anger, all the stuff he kept bottled up so that no one else could see it.
What I was doing tonight was probably a mistake, I thought. He would most likely tell me to get lost. But this is what I did. I pushed.
I walked up to the carriage house door and knocked. The soft cooler was filled with soda and food I’d made. It was a gesture. For him and his friends. It was also an excuse to see him while he was home.
The door opened, but it wasn’t Marc on the other side. Instead it was Chris, one of the fullbacks from his soccer team. He was a senior this year, and the new captain of the team. He smiled at me in that way guys did that made a girl immediately get defensive.
Did they understand that wasn’t a good thing? To make a girl feel that way?
“And what have we here, a little present? For us?”
I didn’t roll my eyes. “Hi, Chris. I just came over because I thought you all might be hungry.”
His creepy smile widened. “I am. I’m very hungry.”
Oh, great. Lousy innuendo to go with a creepy smile.
“Is Marc here?”
“Oh, right. A prince for a princess. I get it. Oh, Marc, your girlfriend is here. Bearing gifts.”
Marc came up behind Chris and shoved him out of the way. “She’s not my girlfriend. What do you want, Ash?”
See, a near-death experience hadn’t made Marc any warmer or fuzzier. But I also knew something had changed that night. A realization between the two of us as to why he felt the need to hurt me, and why I accepted it. A realization he wasn’t ready to admit, though.
“I brought sodas, chips, sandwiches and stuff. Thought you might want something to eat.”
I lifted my chin and I could smell the pot someone was smoking inside.
“I’m guessing that a bag of chips might be popular right now.”
A smile played around his lips, until he frowned. “It’s all guys here, Ash. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Come on, Marc, let her in. Chips, chips, chips.” That was from Chris who announced to the crowd what I’d brought. Suddenly the chip chant was a real and very loud thing.
Marc looked me up and down. I wore jeans and a thick sweater, my hair loose around my shoulders. He seemed to be making some kind of assessment.
“Fine,” he said, pulling open the door to let me in. He took the cooler from my shoulder, and as I wandered into the living area, I could see there was a joint being passed around.
“Are you going to tell your father?” Marc asked me.
I gave him a glance that said he should know me better, and he conceded.
“Come sit by me, Ashleigh, and tell me how the high school is holding up since I left.”
That was from Greg. He’d been the soccer team’s goalie and knew me from all the games I’d attended. He was at Villanova now, and I heard they were having a good season.
I grabbed a soda from the cooler and went over to sit next to him. Immediately, he put his arm around me and hugged me into his side. But it was okay; Greg was one of the good guys.
I looked over and saw Marc scowling, but since he was usually scowling at me, I didn’t take offense.
“Forget about high school,” I said. “How is college?”
“It’s awesome. Freedom like you can’t even believe. The freshman girls are fucking hot. Like, all of them.”
I laughed, and Marc walked over and smacked Greg in the head. “Dude, not in front of Ash.”
“Please. She’s been around the team long enough to know how we roll. Do you still go to see the soccer games now that your boy’s not there?”
“Sure, I love soccer.” It was a lie. But it felt a little too obvious to say soccer didn’t matter to me now that Marc wasn’t playing it.