Part deux, sequel, whatever. Hopefully the uncertainty of the ending is a little more clear this time since I didn't do a good enough job on the last one for people to pick up on it...
"You can't tell anyone about this. Not ever."
I never meant for it to be this way, you know? I never intended to manipulate him or to break his heart. To be honest, I was quite fond of him. Maybe not boyfriend-girlfriend fond, but he's Toby. How can you not love Toby?
But apparently I don't possess the virtue that everyone expects. I'm just the two-penny whore, the same girl who got gonorrhoea by going down on a certain Jay Hogart. The same girl who dated behind her best friend's back just for the thrill of it.
And so here I am, with my tongue in his mouth and I'm surprised, as I have been since the day I said yes, that he's not a half-bad kisser. Yet I can't help the thoughts swirling around my brain of him practising on his pillow or a poster or a mirror. I can almost taste the fibers and germs on his tongue. Any sex appeal he might have had? It's gone in an instant.
So I pull away and offer him a gentle smile. "That was fun," I say softly. "But I have to go." I don't want to break his heart another time--like I have since he first crushed on me. I can't admit why I really have to leave--that I have to go because I find the thought of kissing him for even another instant utterly repulsive. And I don't want to feel this way. But I do. I wish I knew how to change it. But I don't.
He starts to stand up, but I shake my head. "I can show myself out." I couldn't stand to see the disappointment in his eyes, or to feel the guilt that builds up inside me every time I think about what we're doing. So I head downstairs and keep my eyes and ears open for any indication that he'd followed me. He hadn't.
And suddenly, there it is.
It's staring me right in the eye--his parents' unlocked liquor cabinet. And before I can stop to think, I've downed two sips of whiskey. It burns my throat a little, but ever since the shooting, I've learned to tolerate alcohol. It helps me forget--helps me forget the barrel of the gun pointed at my head, the muffled sound of a bullet shooting into flesh, the sight of Rick and Sean falling, and then the silence as I tried to figure out what had happened.
But I shake the memories from my mind, and finish the bottle--it was half-empty to begin with. I fill it with water, my body on autopilot, and then I leave. Maybe tomorrow, if--when--I come back, I'll resist the urge. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and I'll be in love with Toby and I'll have forgotten all about Sean and that miserable hallway that makes me cringe every day on the way to Geography class.
I stumble home and into my basement room. It's cold down there--it always is--and it doesn't do anything to help my state of mind. I flop down on my bed, hoping that maybe I can sleep for awhile, but I'm already shivering. I curl up in a ball instead, grateful that Mom and Dad are off on some second honeymoon and that they took Jack with them. Seeing me like this would have been pretty good fodder for the burning lectures I'd been getting lately.
I drift in and out of semi-consciousness, trying again to suppress all the memories that haunt me, night and day. I try not to remember the butterflies in my stomach that overtook me whenever I was near Sean. I try not to remember the clothes locked away in a trunk in my closet, still coated in yellow paint. And I try not to remember that infamous night in a van, with some beer and a member of the opposite sex.
And suddenly I feel dirty--dirty not from Jay, as I should, but dirty from Toby's hands on my body. And I hate myself for it--I hate myself for everything. Toby is more than I deserve. Toby is amazing. He's thoughtful and kind and innocent, and... and I don't care. And so I shower and scrub myself down with the ferocity of a chemical decontamination unit, and still I don't feel clean.
The phone is ringing as I'm wrapping a towel around my body, and I don't have to look at the caller ID to know who it is.
"Manny, I told you we'd talk about the science project later!" I hiss. I need him to think I'm utterly ashamed of him. I need to drive him away.
"Huh? Manny? No, this is--"
"Look. You can't call me, okay? Not now, maybe not ever. I thought I made that clear." I'm brutal, as much as I can be, anyway. I have no energy left in my body, so the false anger sounds hollow and unconvincing.
"I just wanted--"
"I'll get in touch with you soon. I promise, this'll be worth it." And then I hang up.
Oh Toby, can't you see that all of this is for you? If I hurt you now, maybe I won't break your heart. Maybe I won't destroy you like I do everything else in my life. Maybe you'll find someone who loves you for what you are. Someone who deserves you.
---
I remember it as if it were yesterday.
"Um, Emma?" We were in the nearby park. I was sitting on the tire swing, pushing myself with one foot and trying to recapture that same feeling I'd had just days before I started grade seven. I was so naive then. I had actually believed there was a guy named Jordan who was in love with me and that we were meant to be together forever and ever. I'm sure he probably shared similar sentiments, but his idea of a relationship was much different than mine.
"What?" I was half-distracted, and I didn't look up. There was a piece of discarded gum on the ground and it was almost as if I'd gone back five years, only this time, the gum was green. When I was twelve, it was pink, and slightly more decomposed.
"Um, if I...? Hypothetically? If I ever asked you out? What--what would you say?"
"Hypothetically? No." It took me by surprise, what can I say? And honestly, I didn't think he was serious. I just assumed he was joking around. I mean, sure, I knew he used to have a crush on me, but I'd been almost positive he'd gotten over it years before--or at least after the shooting.
"Oh." And then I saw how utterly crestfallen he was and I couldn't just let him walk away. So I took a gentle hold of his arm.
"But in practice?" I whispered. "In practice, I might have an entirely different answer." The words slipped out before I even thought about what I was getting myself into. I wanted to heal him. I wanted, for once, not to hurt the only person who still loved me. The only person who saw me freeze and who saw me let someone else take the fall. The only person who knew I wasn't half the person I claimed to be. And maybe, maybe I could even make it work.
"Emma? Would--would you go out with me?"
I paused for a moment, then nodded. How could I say no, especially at that point? It wasn't like one date would be a big deal, anyway, and maybe I could even learn to love him. "Your parents work during the day? Even in the summer?"
"Um, yeah," he said. "And evenings, too, for the next few weeks. But what does that have to do with anything? I thought I'd take you out to that new vegetarian restaurant, maybe, or a--"
"Tomorrow night, I'll be at your house at eight o'clock. But you can't tell anyone." I don't know what possessed me to want to keep it a secret. Maybe I was ashamed. I guess I must have been. Or maybe, for once, I just wanted something that was mine. I wanted excitement. I wanted to mean something to someone--I wanted to be Toby's entire world, and more. Sure, Peter was a secret, but he was never okay with that. But Toby would be. Stolen kisses were enough to satisfy him.
Five minutes after he left, I began regretting my decision. But I showed up at his house anyway, and it really wasn't that horrible, much to my surprise. Not at first, anyway. It was nice to be wanted.
---
I head over to his house, hoping I've recovered from yesterday. And he answers the door and there's a certain charm to him. He's spiked his hair, and ditched the glasses, and he's almost good looking. Maybe in a different world, he would have been a Casanova.
But when I give him a peck on the lips, I realise that nothing has changed. I close my eyes and try to imagine that it's Sean I'm kissing, and it almost works, but when I open them again, he's still Toby. He's still just JT's Best Friend Forever, or whatever the male equivalent happens to be.
I feel my breath coming in shorter gasps and I want him to notice that I'm not okay, but he doesn't, and that's the deciding factor. "I, um, have to go," I say, the guilt gnawing away at me. "I have... a dentist appointment. I just remembered."
I leave him there on his bed, staring after me, and this time when I steal his parents' alcohol, I take more of it. I refill the bottles with water and I leave the door slightly ajar--just enough that they'll notice, because parents always pick up on these things--but hopefully not so obvious as to alert Toby.
I know there will be fireworks tonight, and so I wait by the phone. I'm worried when, for the longest time, it doesn't ring. I don't want to have to go through another day of this--and I don't want to break his heart. I need him to hate me. I need him to be angry. I need... I need him to stop loving me. And so I can't just break up with him. It has to be this way.
But I needn't have worried. The phone sounds and I have to will myself to let it ring twice before I pick up. He can't suspect what's going on.
He sounds friendly when he talks to me, and I'm not sure why. Maybe he's afraid I won't show up if I know he's pissed. I wonder how he's so oblivious to how the world works. I wonder how he's even survived this long.
My parents are still away, so meeting him in the park isn't a problem. I take my time, scuffing my feet along the sidewalk and regretting what I'm about to do--what I've already done. But I have to face him and although I get there sooner than I would have liked, I force myself not to hesitate in approaching him.
"Hey," I say. I look around, trying to figure out some way to avoid this entire drama, but I can't, so I kiss him on the cheek and prepare to feign innocence.
One more time. One more time and this will all be over. I kiss his neck and tickle him with my lips, and I can tell it's only fuelling his anger, so when he initially pushes me away, I go right back to it. I want to drive him all the way to his breaking point.
He probably thinks I'm manipulative. We both know why we're here, and it's because he thinks I used him. I did manipulate him, but he'll never know how much, or why. He'll never know that I was only trying to save us both.
"Emma." His voice is sharp and I know that it's the right moment, but I have to stay in control. I can't burst out into tears, I can't feel sorry for him. I have to become this bitter, evil Emma--I have to play the part and I have to believe it.
"What?" I snap. My voice is more acrid than I even expected it to be.
"I know what you did."
Oh dearest Toby, you have no idea. You don't know what I did; you don't know anything about me. I just hope that you never find out what truly happened.
"What are you talking about?" I have to play innocent. I can't let him catch on.
"You used me. You stole my parents' alcohol and you used me."
"I didn't!" I protest weakly. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"
Wait for it. Count to three, then burst into tears. Only... only, they're not forced.
Because suddenly, I remember. I remember how he saved me back in grade seven, when Jordan and I met up. I remember the panther dance. I remember his compassion--how he had the courage to befriend Rick when even I refused. I remember everything and in an instant, the revulsion melts away.
"Toby, please. Let me make it up to you," I say desperately. "Please. How about--what if we went on a date tomorrow? A real date this time?" And I'm not pretending anymore. I'm begging him to forgive me--to forget this ever happened. I need him to love me, just once more, and maybe I can do things right this time. "Just don't tell anyone. And we can be a couple again. Please? Would you go on a date with me?" Maybe we can bury this. Maybe we can keep hidden away my betrayal. Maybe he can be my rock.
But he stands up and walks two steps away, and my tears fall freely. I'm losing him. I took him for granted and now it's too late. Except at the last minute, he turns around, and although I know I daren't hope, I do anyway.
"Hypothetically? No," he says. He doesn't meet my eyes.
"But in practice?" I whisper.