It was 6:07am and I hadn't slept yet. I tore my hands through my knotted hair. It stuck to my face. I pulled on an oversized gray sweatshirt, Dad's probably, and a pair of black leggings that was crumpled up on my floor, and trudged across the hall to the bathroom. I ran the sink for a minute, just standing there and staring at my reflection. Puffy eyes, smeared red lips. Wondering how I could have fucked up this badly. DJ never would have fucked up this badly. DJ never would have fucked up, period. Once upon a time, I was like that. Not anymore.
The water burned my palms. Perfect. I splashed some on my face, which immediately turned red, and rubbed away the black streaks that trailed down my cheeks. It wasn't enough. So I ran the bathtub faucet, too, as hot as I could crank it. And I stepped in. It seared my skin, but I lowered myself into the water and folded my knees up to my chest.
You can't take this back.
You don't even love him.
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up," I mumbled. Begged. I rested my head on the top of my knees and closed my eyes. I dug my nails into my scalp.
There was a knock at the door. I sighed. Of course, it was Monday. DJ had an early class on Mondays. DJ. The perfect one.
I pulled the shower curtain shut. "Come in."
Her feet padded closer on the tile and then stopped before the sink. She slid into her usual spot. I didn't even have to look to know she was sitting on the bathroom counter, squeezed between the sink and the wall. Soon, she'd be pulling out her makeup brush and dusting it over her cheeks.
"You're up early," she said. I wasn't in the mood for pleasant conversation.
You don't deserve pleasant conversation.
"Cramps or something?" She asked. Because why else would anyone be awake and in the bathtub at 6am if they didn't need to be?
"Yeah." Or something.
The buzz of her toothbrush drowned out the silence. I stretched out, submerging myself under the hot water. When I came up for air, it was quiet again. Peeking around the shower curtain, I watched as DJ rummaged through the cabinet under the sink, finally pulling out her flat iron. She headed for the door.
"Hope you feel better," she said. "Take some Ibuprofen, it'll help."
She said it like I didn't know. Like she hadn't given me the same advice hundreds of times before. Like I didn't already down four Ibuprofen a day when I had my period. But that was DJ. And it would've been annoying, if it weren't for the way it came out; sounding so motherly, so soothing. Suddenly I didn't want her to leave the bathroom. I felt like I might just come apart at the seams if I let her walk out that door.
"Deej? You can do your hair in here if you want."
She smiled. "That's all right, I was gonna-"
"Please."
I must've sounded desperate because something in my voice convinced her to stay. She looked a little confused, but she plugged in her straightener. She peeked around the shower curtain.
"You sure you're okay, Steph? Maybe you should stay home today. You don't look so great."
"Gee, thanks." Like I needed another blow to my self-esteem. I rolled my eyes. "Besides, we all know how much Dad loves the 'really bad cramps' excuse. He doesn't fall for that anymore."
"I'll talk to him," DJ said.
So I ended up back in bed, with loads of time to replay the events in my head of Saturday night. Over, and over, and over again. And loads of time to hate myself. Over, and over, and over again.
"Oh come on, Steph. You're not rebellious enough for a middle child," Mickey says. She stands in front of her vanity, brushing on the last few drops of mascara as I lay on the bed flipping through last month's issue of Cosmo. Mickey swivels around, hands on her hips. "See? Just thirty minutes and I could easily be twenty-four."
And she could, too. She has enough glitter over her eyes to cover three strippers, and her lids are lined thick with dark blue. Mickey's always been cool. Glamour is something people like me read about in magazines, but Mickey? She's the real deal. Her body looks fantastic in a tight blue miniskirt, with her belly button peeking out below a crop top. She doesn't even work out. Some people just have it, I guess. And me? Well, some people get lucky. Lucky enough to somehow make friends with people like Mickey. Which is why, even though I know I won't look half as good standing next to her, I agree to go out. It's not really my thing, but maybe Mickey's right. Guys don't tend to notice girls who sit at home and read books for fun. Maybe I could use a tad of rebellion in my life.
I plaster a smile on my lips. "My turn," I say.
Mickey squeals with glee, and I close my eyes, awaiting my makeover. "Don't worry," she says, "I've got the perfect concealer to cover up that zit on your forehead."
When she's done I look….well, I look older, that's for sure. By some miracle, my hair lays flat all the way down my back, and with this makeup job I really might be able to pass for twenty-one. Mickey gives me free reign of her closet, too.
I grab a sequined black top from its hanger and pull it over my head. I turn toward Mickey, showing off as if to say, "Well? How do I look?"
She looks me over and bites her lip. "Hmm," she says. "Maybe something a little looser." She thinks for a minute and then holds a finger up. "I've got it." She holds up a baggy maroon top. "With black leggings," she justifies.
I nod. "Love the color," I say. But I feel a little bit like I've been punched in the stomach. I glance at myself in the mirror. At first, I don't think the shirt looks that bad on me. But then, the longer I stare, the more I can see it. The folds in my skin, the way my stomach protrudes, spilling out ever-so-slightly over the top of my jeans. I change into the looser top.
"I thought the party started at ten," I remind Mickey after checking my watch.
"What time is it?" She asks.
"Ten twenty," I say.
She smiles. "Perfect. We'll be right on time."
That's another thing I've forgotten. "On time" in the glamour world, means being fashionably late.
When we pull up to the house, rented by one of Mickey's college friends, Mickey has to park her car halfway down the block. With one glance at the line of cars out front, there's no question as to what's going on here. A chill runs through my body, and I have to admit I'm a little nervous that we might get caught.
"Steph," Mickey assures me, reading my mind, "I do this all the time."
We walk in and I'm enveloped in what looks like a haze. The lights are dim and there are crowds of people crammed into every room. I see a few people I know from school, but everyone else must be in college. I tail Mickey to the kitchen, where she walks right in and opens the fridge. It's stocked full of bottles I've never seen before. I reach for a Mike's Hard, one of the only ones I recognize, figuring it's pretty safe. But Mickey grabs my hand and shakes her head. She pulls out a bottle of something clear, probably vodka, and pours a row of shot glasses.
"Drink up," she yells over the noise. She downs three before I have the courage to do one.
I raise the tiny glass and dump it down my throat all at once, like Mickey does. Cough syrup, that's what it reminds me of. Burning, unflavored cough syrup. But I swallow it without even gagging.
"You're a natural," Mickey says, winking. I down three more as she waves to a group of people I don't know.
She motions to a punchbowl on the counter, so I grab a cup and scoop in some of the purpley-red mixture. By the time I turn around, Mickey's gone. I try to find her, but every room is so packed full of people, I give up. I walk around alone for a little while, trying to nurse my drink while bumping into people. People are shouting and laughing, but I can't bring myself to understand what makes this fun. Then again, I'm the only one alone.
After aimlessly wandering for probably twenty minutes, I finally stumble upon a torn up couch, but it's empty so I take a seat and finish my drink. By this time, my head has started to spin.
"What's up, sexy?" Some guy says, sliding onto the cushion beside me, a drink sloshing in his hand. He's close enough that his pant leg rubs against mine. He's fairly attractive, I can't help but notice. Plus, he's a college boy, and he called me sexy. I can't wait to tell Mickey.
"I'm Stephanie," I say.
"Bethany," he says. "You're hot."
I don't bother to correct him. He tells me he's on the track team, and something about his frat buddies that I can't hear over the music. And then out of nowhere, he sets his cup on the floor and he's kissing me. He crushes his lips over mine so hard and so fast I have to struggle to breathe. When he pulls away, he puts his hand on the small of my back and motions upstairs.
This has gone too far, I think. I shake my head, no.
"Oh, come on," he says. He spends about two minutes trying to persuade me to go upstairs with him.
It was a mistake to come here, I realize. I hold firm, refusing to get off of the couch, and finally he picks up his drink and leaves.
"Tease," he shouts back at me as he walks away. My cheeks burn. I can't let this get back to Mickey. Or any of the girls at school. What's the big deal, anyway? If everyone's doing it, so can I.
"Wait," I say. He stops. When he turns around, he's got this mischevious grin on his face. Like he's won a game that he knew he was going to win. I grab the drink from his hand, down it all, and nod. He takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
In another stranger's bedroom, I let this stranger strip my clothes off. I run my hands over his bare chest. He keeps calling me "Bethany," but I don't care because he also keeps saying how sexy I am. As he slips a square package out of his pants pocket, I swear to God he even tells me he's lucky, because not everyone gets to sleep with the most beautiful girl at the party.
I reach up and kiss him, as he's opening the condom. I grab onto him for dear life, and then I focus on his body, rubbing against mine, colliding with mine, in perfect sync.
And then, just minutes later, it's over. He holds my face in his hands, pulls me in for one long, beautiful kiss, and then he gets up.
I lay there, dizzy, as he dresses himself. "Catch you later, Bethany," he says. And he walks out the door.
My skin starts to feel hot. And I can't see straight anymore. I stand up. I have to find Mickey.
I stumble downstairs. This time, I don't have to look too far. Mickey waves when she sees me, and gives a double thumbs-up. "Get it, girl!" She must've seen me go upstairs.
She turns away to get the attention of some tall, blonde girl, and walks off. Just like that. Why did she even want to bring me to this party?
And then I see him. Duncan. He's standing at the bottom of the stairs, with a group of guys. His arm is already linked through the arm of another girl. He catches my eye, and then he looks away.
That's when I run. I don't know how, but I push through the crowd, make a beeline through the front door, and stop when I get outside.
I grab onto the fence of the porch, steadying myself, because now I am swaying. My stomach is suddenly on fire and everything is moving. I make it to the grass in the front yard before I drop to my knees. Just as I open my mouth to take a deep breath, my stomach churns without warning and I puke right on the ground.
I'm dying. I have to be dying. Once I puke, I can't stop. My head starts to pound.
I throw up three more times before I finally catch my breath. When I stand up, I realize that now I actually feel a lot better. The world has stopped spinning, and I can see straight. But I'm shaking, and with this sudden rush of relief, tears start to roll down my cheeks.
Great, there goes my makeup, I think.
But it doesn't matter, because I make the long walk home alone.
They say it hurts, your first time, but it doesn't. Not in the beginning, when you expect it to. Maybe it's because my body was numbed by the alcohol. But it wasn't until after I'd done what I did, after it sunk in that I had destroyed my self-worth, that it truly started to hurt. And then, it was a deep pain. A deep, permanent pain.
I woke up to the sound of a soft knock at the door. The door creaked open. "I brought you dinner," DJ said.
Glancing at the clock on my nightstand, I realized it was already seven o'clock. I'd slept the whole day.
"Not hungry," I said. "Thanks."
DJ set down the tray she was carrying and sat on the bed beside me, pressing her cool palm against my forehead. She was so like a mother.
"Well you don't feel hot, but you must be awfully sick. Dad's really worried."
I shrugged. "I'm fine. Just don't feel like eating."
"Well I'll leave it here. Make sure you drink some of the water, at least, okay? If you need anything just let us know."
She got up and pulled the covers over me. Just like when we were little girls, after Mom had died, DJ had snuck out of bed every night to tuck me in and give me a kiss on the forehead. Like as long as I was tucked neatly into bed every night, everything would be okay. Sometimes, she'd even sneak into bed with me. Those were the nights I felt especially safe.
"Deej? Would you stay?"
I pulled the covers back so she could climb in. She smiled and plopped back down onto the bed. We lay on our sides for a few minutes, tucked under the covers, facing each other. All I felt when I stared into my sister's eyes was disappointment. She may not know it, but I'd let her down. I'd let myself down, too.
DJ stretched a hand out, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Steph. Something's up." I never knew how she could read me so well. "Talk to me," she said.
"DJ, what was your first time like?" I asked, quietly.
Her cheeks turned pink when I met her eyes. As close as we were, we'd never really talked about this stuff before. About sex. "What do you mean?" she asked, obviously stalling.
"Come on, Deej. You know. Your first time. What was it like?"
DJ sighed. She rolled onto her back. But I needed this, I needed to hear how it could've been. "Well, it was our one-year anniversary, Steve and I."
Of course. Steve. The man she'd been in love with forever. The man she was engaged to, now. They hadn't even moved in together yet, that's how dedicated and true to one another they were. They knew that they could wait.
"He took me out for a romantic dinner, we spent the whole night dancing, and laughing, because dancing really meant Steve tripping all over my feet. We went back to Steve's apartment, he gave me the most beautiful flowers, turned on some slow music and the fire, and, well..." She blushed again.
For a moment, I couldn't speak. And when I did, my voice cracked. My face was wet. "Do you want to hear about mine?"
DJ's jaw gaped open and she turned back towards me. I knew she hadn't expected that. She'd probably thought I was asking because I was thinking about having a first time. Eventually. Sometime in the future. The very distant future. God, was she about to be disappointed.
I told her. I don't know exactly what made me do it, but I told her everything. Every detail, every stupid decision I made that led to another stupid decision, that led to that final, terrible, irreversible, stupid decision. And when I finished, she said nothing. She just laid there, like she'd been struck. Then I noticed the brown makeup lines, streaked across her cheeks. And the tears shining as they rolled down her face. DJ was the strong one; the strongest person I knew. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen my older sister cry. That killed me. For a moment, I wished I could take it all back.
Then DJ turned to me. "You want to know a secret? No one else knows. Not even Steve." I waited for her to continue. She turned away. "Before that wonderful night with Steve, which did happen. Before that, I was sixteen. I went on a double date with Kimmy. You know how Kimmy is," she said, and she made a face like, after all these years, she was still insanely disgusted by the thought of Gibbler sucking face with some guy right in front of her.
I actually genuinely laughed. "Yes, I'm familiar," I said.
"Anyway, so my date, Scott, and I, we had dinner with Kimmy and her boyfriend at the time. We left to give them their much needed privacy. He drove me to the drive-in movie theater, and God, I don't know. In that moment, I guess it just felt like that was what I was supposed to do. He had a car, he took me out, he paid for my food; I felt like if I didn't, you know, follow through, I was a lousy date." She shook her head. "It all seems so stupid now, and you know, he was a really nice guy. I bet if I'd said no he would've been fine with it. But after that, it just didn't end up working out, anyway."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
DJ shrugged. "I was embarrassed. I'm supposed to be the 'good girl,' the role model big sister. I didn't want you guys, or Dad, or anyone, to think less of me."
I buried my head in her chest.
"I could never think less of you, Deej. You're my big sister. You're my best friend."
She smiled and pulled my chin up so she could look me in the eye. "So you can stop hating yourself," she said. "And stop thinking you're not good enough. I love you, Steph. You're going to make mistakes. The best thing you can do is to learn from them."
"I guess since we've both royally screwed up, all we can do is hope that Michelle's got better sense."
"We'll make sure of it," DJ said, with a wink. "Now give me some covers. Not all of us got to play hooky and sleep all day."
She pulled the covers over us. Lying in that bed next to my not-so-perfect big sister, I forgave myself. If DJ had gone through the same thing as me, if DJ, of all people, could make the same stupid decision and turn out just fine, then I felt just a little bit more optimistic about my future. Maybe I hadn't entirely ruined my life, after all.