Author's Note: This is a middle piece to accompany "Limits" and "The Perfect Space". If you haven't read those already, I would recommend that you read those before you read this one, or at least read "Limits", because this is the sequel to that story. You don't necessarily HAVE to read "Limits" before reading this one, but hey, why not give it a try? Because apart from basically setting up the entire story of this fic with some key plot details, "Limits" is probably the fic that I'm most proud of having written, and I've never had the urge to delete it (which, if you read me regularly, you know is a pretty big deal).
Because both "Limits" and "The Perfect Space" were written before New Beginnings aired, this fic will go AU. It takes place where Now Or Never left off at the end of "Dead And Gone" Part II, in the summer between that and New Beginnings. The events that happen in this story will bridge the gap and lead up to "The Perfect Space", which I guess is an epilogue of sorts.
This will be switching point of views between Drew and Bianca as they navigate their relationship after everything that's happened since Spring Break while also dealing with their separate traumas and emotional struggles.
I owe an enormous thanks to necklace890 for helping this story finally come to be. She took a trainwreck of an outline and helped me trim it down to a salvageable story. Plus, she's a great brainstormer and diehard Drianca shipper like me, and she never let me give up on myself when I was getting frustrated. So she's basically awesome all around =)
Reminder that I am on Twitter: AlbatrossTam14 (protected tweets)
Also on Tumblr: welldeservedobscurity
I don't own Degrassi.
I.
Even though she's been staying with them for almost two weeks now, for some reason Bianca still has a hard time falling asleep in the Torres's guest bedroom.
It's a lot nicer than her own, certainly a lot bigger and brighter, and she has her own bathroom and an enormous closet and a great view of the park from outside her window. But there are nights that it's still hard to fall asleep.
When she does sleep, she usually dreams. Sometimes it's of Vince, other times Anson, and sometimes it's about nothing at all. Sometimes she's just standing there, feeling the shifting give and take of the earth under her feet as the world erodes away beneath her.
She usually wakes up gasping in a sweat, and sometimes there are tears on her cheeks. It takes her a minute to remember where she is, to remember that she needs to fight the urge to run. Sometimes she's almost out of bed before she finally does remember, and she has to untangle her legs from the sheets, taking deep breaths until she calms down.
She's a free woman, done with guns and gangs. She's not in that world anymore.
She's safe now.
As if anything could get her here, anyway. The Torreses have a security system installed on their house, with a keypad next to the garage door. For some reason it kinda freaks her out, even though it's supposed to be what keeps the spooky things away. She's never lived in a house that was protected by more than a flimsy chain on the door, and this alarm makes her feel jumpy, even though it's probably one of those paranoid suburban mom things, put up to make people feel safer rather than actually protecting anyone. It's not about what it keeps out, it's what it's keeping in. And no reason why a little extra security shouldn't help. Besides, even if she were sleeping on the street in a cardboard box, Vince or Anson still can't hurt her.
Still. That fucking alarm always weirds her out. There are some nights when she wakes up at some random noise in the house and just lays in the guest bed, waiting for the thing to go off like a siren, like an emergency. Like danger. Like everything coming back to get her.
II.
Bianca never says she's staying, but she always ends up not leaving, again and again and again, and his parents don't say anything about it. So she stays, and joins their dinner table, and does her own laundry. Drew notices the smell of her detergent is the same as the kind his mom uses. It makes her start to even smell like his house, like she's always been here. He memorizes the sound of her feet on his kitchen floor.
III.
The weirdest little thing about staying with the Torreses isn't all that weird compared to the grand fact that she's staying with the Torreses.
But for all the weirdness of the whole situation, one thing that she can't get over is how cold this house is. Literally. She's used to her place with the old, outdated units, the kind that aren't attached to the house but you buy and haul home yourself. She has one in the window of her bedroom. She used to get annoyed by its constant clank, rattle, and wheeze, and it only cooled a three-foot area, so she had to push her bed as close as possible to the piece of crap in order to feel the air. Most nights she slept without clothes, just out of pure necessity – it was fucking boiling in her cramped little bedroom, and there was no other way to get cool on the most humid nights that threatened to smother her.
But the central A/C in the Torres house is just eerie. It's too quiet. It makes the whole house hum, like there's a restless current hidden in the atmosphere. When the A/C does click on, it scares the shit out of her, even though it barely makes a noise – there's just an upheaval in the air around her and whoosh, here comes the rush of cold wind out of nowhere. It's like she's in a freaking Paranormal Activity sequel and she's at the part where the ghost shows up, and all you hear is the scream before it goes black.
It's almost the middle of summer, so hot outside that her flip flops seem to melt into the street every time she steps outside. But inside, it's so cold that she wears Drew's borrowed sweats, because even when it's unbearable outside she needs to be bundled up in this house.
But she does kind of like wearing his clothes, enormous as they are on her. It's like wearing armor, soft and Drew-smelling, and when she lays down and they swallow her in the folds of extra fabric, it's like someone else's skin on top of hers. Like someone helping her hold herself together. It's a nice feeling to have, especially after so many months of feeling like someone was ripping her inside-out, and the only skin she felt on hers was someone's who made it crawl. Or bruise.
And since she knows he doesn't belong to her, this is almost the next best thing.
IV.
Then one night his mother tells Adam to pass the asparagus and asks Bianca what her plans are.
Drew stops mid-chew. Beside him, he feels Adam tense, and both of them keep their heads down and eyes up.
Bianca twirls a bit of salad on the end of her fork, staring at her plate.
"I wasn't sure," she says. "Besides what the lawyer tells me."
His mother doesn't say anything. Neither does Bianca, whose eyes skitter around the table at the rest of them. Her eyes find Drew's for a second, then look back down at her salad, hanging her head like a prisoner receiving a sentencing.
"I meant about the living situation," his mother says.
Bianca flinches, her eyes still on her food.
"Whatever you think is best," she murmurs.
His mother nods. She pokes at her chicken her fork, then clears her throat.
"I guess it's settled, then," she says.
Adam and Drew exchange glances.
"Meaning what?" Adam asks Mom.
"Meaning everything's fine like it is," she says. "Unless anybody has a better idea."
Bianca finally lifts her head up, eyes wide. His mother doesn't make any further comment, just goes back to eating.
Drew looks at Bianca and she just shrugs, and that pretty much does it. He's more than a little surprised that his mother isn't dragging this out into a painfully long discussion, or just holding up one hand in that gesture Drew knows so well and saying, "Because I said so" as she kicks Bianca out, but he's definitely not gonna question it.
Still, it's awkward to say the least, and not just because Adam makes some stupid comment about padlocks on bedroom doors, and his mother gives him one of those looks that says she will completely fuck him up, bum arm or not, if he finishes that statement. After that, Adam slinks away and Bianca practically tiptoes back to the guest room. Drew has to help his mom clear the table, then stands in the kitchen alone, hands on his hips like he has no idea where to put himself. And he really doesn't, to be honest.
It's not until he's getting ready for bed that it really hits him: Bianca is upstairs, as in only a few feet above him, as in living in his house. Like she actually lives here. It makes him feel weirdly self-conscious; but that's stupid, because she's basically been living with them for the past two weeks.
Plus, it's not like they haven't already slept together since she's been staying here. Twice.
Even though he has a girlfriend. Even though they're both still wrecks. Even though they're going on acting like nothing's changed, because if his mom knew she'd kill Drew and then bring him back to life just to kill him again.
But to him, those stretches of days right after prom feel like they didn't really count. Like they happened another lifetime ago, or like they weren't actually real days at all. Like they were just a dream. Plus, it's not like any of them expected Bianca's living situation to actually be permanent.
He crawls into bed and tries to keep his thoughts focused on something stupid, or running football plays in his mind. He feels like she can see his thoughts, even though he knows that's impossible and stupid as shit. She's upstairs and people can't read minds. But it still kind of freaks him out even though he can't explain why.
V.
Living with Drew every night turns out to be…not living with Drew every night. With Drew's bedroom on the basement level and Bianca staying in the guest bedroom upstairs – which happens to be conveniently located next to the master bedroom – it's hard to sneak around, and Bianca's situation is so up in the air as it is that she's afraid of rocking the boat. The last thing she needs is to upset Dragon Lady and get herself thrown out, because without Drew's parents still agreeing to help her out she's as good as screwed– in jail and out of options.
Besides. He's still, technically, with Katie. And he hasn't said anything about what he's going to do about that.
It's the elephant in the room. The huge pink fucking elephant with the big loud trunk that refuses to just go away, always needs to be heard:
Boiler Room Bianca, Boiler Room Bianca, Boiler Room Bianca…
On the nights they actually get together, they actually do sleep, not just fuck; and even when they do fuck, it's more like something she's never had before than too much like before, or even like what they've done before. It's a need more than a want, a pain rather than an itch. It's solace, and it's a hell, too. Because they're still so raw with it all that sometimes it's like they're ripping themselves apart while they're coming together, like they're trying to burn that hell through each other as they try and find some relief from it.
But on the nights when they actually do rest, it turns out there isn't much resting. They both fall asleep fine, their bodies pressed against one another, feeling warm and safe, and he doesn't stop touching her. Even when they're asleep, he's pressed against her shoulder, an arm draped over her hip, a hand holding hers. But it's always a couple of hours later when one of them either jerks awake or needs to be woken up, because their hells are still burning, filling their dreams, and it's the alley, always the alley, she's never sure which one but does it really matter, because both times it was an alley and both times it was blood and tears and they saved each other.
Every time she's dreaming of the alley, she always turns and runs. But no matter how hard and fast she is, how hard she tries to get away, the more she feels like she's just falling.
He's always got her, she knows. But still – the dream get more and more real, and she keeps falling farther and farther into darkness, as if the earth is swallowing her whole. As if it wants her back.
VI.
It's funny, how before everything, he thought that all skies were the same. Especially at night. When it looked empty and felt colder, heavier. Like being buried alive. But after spending so long fearing the dark, he's come to a grudging…less fear of it.
There are still boogeymen in the closet, monsters under the bed, creatures looming in the shadows. They're all real, even if they can't hurt him anymore. They're still there, waiting for him whenever he closes his eyes.
Not that he'd ever admit it.
But not every night sky is the same. He can admit to that.
Tonight, the sky is overcast, and there's heat lightning glowing in the blackness every now and then. The night has a dirty, glossy sheen of crow's wings; the clouds look almost purple. They look like smoke that blots out every star, every sliver of moonlight.
"You need to figure out what to do."
Bianca is curled into the seat next to his. She's wearing his sweatshirt, and her arms disappear into the long sleeves as she holds her knees into her chest. "With Katie."
He watches the silent flashes of light make the sky go purple-grey, the color of a bruise. "What do you think I should do?"
"Please. Don't look at me for relationship advice."
"Who else am I going to ask?" he says. He turns to her. "Honestly."
Bianca pulls her legs tighter into her, like she's trying to be as small as possible.
"I'm not going to tell you to break up with her," she says. "If you want her, be with her. If you don't, be with me. But I'm not the one who's gonna make you feel better about whatever choice you make."
She hunches into the chair more, stretching his hoodie over her bare legs.
"I'm not gonna be her," she says suddenly.
"Who?" he asks.
"That girl," Bianca says. "The one you come back to every time things fall apart with someone else." She turns to him. "You either do this, or not. I'm not going to be that girl anymore. It's all or nothing."
He remembers the night in the alley – the second time, when she came back to him. It was hot that night, and running had made his clothes stick to him like static and conviction. It felt a little surreal, actually, though that might just have been the adrenaline and memories coursing through him then. Ones like Adam crying and blood and slick metal and Adam hurt and fist hitting bone with a crack he could hear and holding Katie's waist as he spun her around on the dance floor and Adam squeezing his hand and the sound of a gunshot and the flicker of the strobe light and Adam –
Then, all replaced by a weird sense of calm. He doesn't really remember this part much, because when he thinks about it, it feels like it was a whole other person in the scene – like Drew Torres had been split into two people, and only one of them was running the show. This other Drew was the one who gave Bianca his jacket (because even though it was practically tropical weather that night, she was still shivering, and couldn't stop even when he wrapped it around her shoulders), who made Katie call the cops, who squeezed her hand and kissed her cheek and whispered how everything would be okay, shh, shh, it's all okay, shh. Then this Drew walked Bianca over to the cops when they showed up, and had her sit down and explain everything she could. This Drew wasn't feeling scared or angry; he wasn't even upset anymore. He didn't feel anything, except purpose. He knew exactly what to do, like someone else was pushing the buttons. And all the while, another Drew was hiding in the darkness, still in tears but trying to get it together, watching this Drew take over.
He wishes – stupidly – that he could still be those two Drews. Still be the guy Katie wants him to be. He'd be lying if he said he didn't like that part of himself when he was with her; Supportive Guy, Encouraging Guy, Mr. Perfect Boyfriend.
But he'd be lying if he thought he'd always be happy like that.
That guy he is with Katie, that's only one part of him. She doesn't see the whole picture, and he doesn't think she'd able to. And if he's being totally honest, he doesn't think he wants her to.
Bianca's right. He can't have it both ways.
But he wishes it didn't have to come down to taking sides. Because that means someone gets hurt. And he doesn't want it to be anyone.
"I'm going to break up with her," he announces.
She looks at him. "You sure?"
He nods. "I'm not in love with her."
Bianca rests her head on her knees. "Were you ever?" she asks softly.
"No," he says, and he knows that's true. He stares up at the sky, at the heat lightning flashing in the distance.
"I thought, maybe…" he adds, "I could. Maybe…someday. But…it wasn't really. I was just glad she was there. After all the shit that happened."
She doesn't look back at him. She looks out at the street instead.
"For a little while," Bee says slowly, still staring out into the street, "I thought so, too."
The tone of her voice makes him hurt.
"What?" he tries for a joke. "That you were in love with Katie?"
Bianca doesn't swat at him or roll her eyes or say anything. She just stares at him. Her face is soft, and with flashes of light fading from the sky it looks like all the lines and shapes that make up her face just disappear; like she's nothing but these wide eyes that look like they have too much sadness in them to hold inside a person.
"I really thought you chose her," she whispers.
He can't say anything, or even move. She keeps staring at him with that sky-eyed look.
"I didn't," he finally whispers back. "I don't."
VII.
In order to stay out of Mrs. Torres's hair, Bianca avoids ever asking her for anything. She does her own laundry when both of Drew's parents are at work, and buys her own toilet paper to keep in the guest bathroom. She says yes to everything Drew's mom asks her, because she's afraid of what will happen if she says no. She clears the table after dinner without being asked, picks up trash that isn't her own. She tries to play Good Girl even when his mom isn't looking, because she feels like the woman's always watching her. And except for those few nights when she risks it, she avoids Drew as much as she can. She doesn't even like going to the basement unless she has Adam with her, just so mom won't automatically think she's going to Drew's room.
They don't get to talk much since she got the official word from Mrs. Torres that she could move in, but she does like knowing that they're only separated by a single story. Even though she dares not make any type of move that his mother could possibly see, she feels better knowing he's just below her. It even makes the spooky click of the A/C and the watchful blinking light of the house alarm scare her a little less.
Doesn't help much with everything else, though. Like how this play she's acting isn't really fooling anyone, least of all Drew's mom, or that the woman still hates her, and even though she doesn't say much Bianca can still feel the weight of her judgment. And how everyone knows Bianca doesn't really live here. This isn't a life. It's just…convenient.
Drew is the kind of person who belongs in a house like this. The kind with expensive and useless security systems; stainless steel microwaves built into the wall instead of the cheap plastic kind you buy for thirty bucks and plug into an outlet; windows that go from the ceiling to the floor. The kind of person with a mom who knows what questions to ask their doctor; who gets a new car for his eighteenth birthday; who knows how to fill out university applications. Who has a university future at all.
Nothing she is makes sense here. Not her fake IDs, her police record. Her Child Services social worker, her probation officer. Her numerous suspensions, her drug use. Her food stamps and generic brand groceries.
Still, she keeps up the routine. Does the dishes, cleans the counters, holds her breath whenever Drew's mom asks her something and hopes to God she's giving the right answer.
VIII.
They spend a rainy Friday night in Adam's bedroom, Drew and Bianca lying sideways across the bed while the three of them listen to Eminem go on about the shitty hand life dealt him. But it's still a fun night, because they have a few bags of Doritos between them and when Drew gets cheesy stains on the sheets Adam squawks in protest, and the brothers end up throwing hunks of Cooler Ranch at each other while Bianca goes into hysterics, torso slumped over the edge of the bed as she laughs so hard she can't breathe.
Drew doesn't remember falling asleep, and he doesn't remember how he ended up on the couch, either. But he wakes up to Adam standing over him in the bonus room poking him in between the shoulder blades.
"What?" he mumbles, swatting Adam's hand away.
"Bianca's on my bed," he says, and what? Drew stares at his brother. "Fell asleep after you left."
He turns his face back into the couch and away from Adam. "So?"
"So," Adam says, annoyed. "She's your…whatever she is. Anyway, she's yours. So go move her."
"Dude, she's not a futon. Just wake her up and ask her to move."
"You do it," Adam argues. "Come on, man. Don't ask the guy who got shot to wake up the cranky sleeping person."
"I think I just did," he replies, but pushes himself up anyway.
Sure enough, Bianca's draped across the end of Adam's bed, arms and legs stretched all the way out and feet and hands dangling over the edges. She looks so sprawled out and free and quiet and safe that it feels like a crime to wake her up. For a minute Drew considers staying on the sofa tonight, letting Adam use his bed and just leaving Bianca here, because right now she looks like she's never had a bad dream or a bad reality before.
But he goes to her, and after hesitating a moment when he sees her calm, still face, he gives her shoulder a little shake.
"Bee," he whispers. "Bianca. Come on, wake up."
She cracks one eye open, then lets it fall shut again.
"Bianca," he says louder, feeling like an ass for not just letting her sleep. "Come on. We gotta go."
She lets out another sigh, then pushes herself up on her forearms. "What time is it?"
"Late. Time for bed. A real bed."
Bianca shrugs herself awake, blinking owlishly in Adam's bare bedroom light. She slips off the end of the bed and stumbles out, following Drew as Adam climbs under the covers.
Bianca follows him into the bonus room, then pauses when they reach the couch. She looks down at the space on the cushions where Drew had been only minutes ago, then back at him. He stares back at her, and without a word they both turn and head for his bedroom.
IX.
Neither of them bothers with wasting any more energy than what it takes to settle into a comfy space under the sheets, still in their clothes. Bianca tucks her coils of hair around her head and Drew shifts next to her, trying to find a comfortable space for his arm before draping it across her waist, brushing up against the bare skin where her shirt rides up her stomach.
Bianca inhales just the slightest bit, but Drew's fingers don't venture anywhere else. His hand curls around the hollows of her ribs. The fingers mold to the spaces between her bones like they're supposed to fit there.
"Sleep?" he asks. She's not sure why he's making it a question.
She relaxes against him, pressing her body closer to his. "It's good," she whispers. She's already sinking back into a world of silence and light, a dream she won't remember and is glad she doesn't need to forget.
X.
It's hard for him to focus on anything but her face brushed up against his, her hair loose and wispy and tickling his nose, his lips, his throat. He just lays there for a while, trying not to wake her up.
It's funny to him, how the first time they woke up in bed together, they were both naked and wounded and didn't want to talk about it, not until they got sideways again a few days later when he realized he couldn't leave her out of his life. He can tell by a pretty fucking raging hard-on that he's definitely more than willing for a repeat, but he doesn't try to do anything, doesn't make any more of an effort to move than it takes to blink himself awake and lay next to her face to face, whispering her name when he hears her start to stir.
He isn't sure if she's awake yet, but he can see her nose and the corners of her mouth twitch, and her brow furrows like she's considering something. Her eyelashes flutter, and when she opens her eyes she looks at him in this unguarded way she never has before, not even in the alley on prom night or after they'd escaped Anson or when he looked at her through the window of that police car and she'd whispered, "thank you". It's soft and bare, and up this close her eyes look more green than brown; he never noticed that before.
He wonders if he should feel awkward like this. And that's kind of a weird thing to think, seeing as how they've had sex more than a few times since she started living here. But this is different than just waking up naked next to someone. Here he is, fully clothed and inches away from her face, and yeah, his dick is definitely telling her everything he isn't saying. But she doesn't try to move away or make a joke, just stares at him with those wide eyes, and Drew decides this isn't weird. They're nose to nose and neither of them need to say anything and this isn't weird at all, just staring at each other like it's not Tuesday and they never killed someone and never went to Hell and back.
XI.
"Are you ready to begin your deposition, Miss DeSousa?"
The lawyer Drew's parents hired sits calmly on the other side of the conference table. He has a tape recorder placed in the center, the red light blinking. It reminds Bianca of that stupid house alarm, and how much it spooks her.
Shut up, she snaps at herself. Get your shit together.
Mrs. Torres sits at the end of the table with the same stern expression, the same rigid posture, the same bristling confidence as always. If the ride over here with just the two of them already made Bianca's stomach feel queasy, she figures it's only a taste of what will come when she gives her statement in front of this woman who doesn't like her.
"Remember," the lawyer says. "You need to verbalize all answers, and you're sworn to tell the whole truth."
I've seen enough Law & Order.Bianca shoots a glance out of the corner of her eye at Drew's mother, about to hear every ugly detail about the past few months of her life. Anything you say can and will be used against you.
"I know," is all Bianca says.
He nods. "Are we ready to begin?"
Not fucking way. "Yes."
The lawyer reaches over the table and clicks on the RECORD button.
"Let's start with the defendant. Vincent Bell. How did you two become acquainted?"
Bianca clears her throat, then flushes at the sound it makes in the icy silence of the office. "I met Vince the day after his…after one of his guys tried to attack me."
"That associate being the deceased, Anson West?"
"Yes. He attacked me when I was coming home from a concert."
"And that would have been the night of April 26th, 2012."
"Yeah-yes." She corrects herself. She tries to take a breath, but it burns in her chest when she does.
"Miss DeSousa, can you tell me why Vincent Bell came in contact with you at this time?"
"He was trying to blackmail me," Bianca says. "Us. Both of us. Because of…"
She can see Mrs. Torres shift in her seat.
"Because of what happened to Anson," Bianca finishes.
"Us being you and…"
"Drew Torres," she nods.
"And Mr. Torres was with you the night of the attack?"
"Is this really necessary?" Drew's mom breaks in. "My son already gave his statement about this event and was cleared of all charges."
"I know that, Mrs. Torres," the lawyer says. "But it's important that we include these things on record."
Drew's mom shakes her head and makes a quiet noise that Bianca figures means whatever. It almost makes her want to laugh, the aggravated, "fuck off" sass in Mrs. Torres's voice that isn't directed at her, but she bites back the absurd idea.
"So, for the record, Miss DeSousa," the lawyer continues. "Drew Torres was with you the night Anson West attacked you?"
Bianca nods, then remembers she has to say it. "Yes. He was there. He…"
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
"Anson pulled me into this alley. He was trying to rape me." Bianca says. She tries hard not to make her voice shake and isn't sure if it's working, because she can barely hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears. "Drew found me & fought him off. Hit him with a brick, over the head."
"Who made contact first after the incident, you or Mr. Bell?"
"Vince. He found me and Drew. I had a bracelet…Drew gave it to me. It had my name on it. It fell off that night, when Anson attacked me. That's how he found us. Then he threatened us if we didn't do what he said."
"And what did Mr. Bell tell you and Mr. Torres to do for him?"
Bianca knows Mrs. Torres already heard this when Drew gave his statement, but she watches the woman's jaw clench and her eyes look away when Bianca says, "He told Drew he needed to kill someone. Another gang member. Vince told him that if Drew killed the guy, he wouldn't hurt us."
"And what happened next?"
"Drew told the police what happened. I was scared they'd hurt him, so I went to Vince and tried to make a deal with him. So he wouldn't hurt Drew. Vince told me the only way he'd leave Drew alone was if I worked for him."
"And what did Mr. Bell mean, work for him?"
"Sell drugs. Not just to people he worked with but at my school. He wanted me to ask around, see if any of the students were interested in buying."
"And all this time, you were under the impression that Mr. Bell would directly harm you or Mr. Torres if you resisted?"
"Yes."
"You also said in your original statement that Mr. Bell made several violent assaults on you. Can you describe those assaults for the record?"
Bianca stares at him.
"Just for the record, Miss DeSousa."
She rolls up the sleeve of her sweater, shows him the bruise on her wrist that is just now starting to fade to a sinister yellowish tone.
"He sprained my wrist when he grabbed me too hard. And he hit me in the face, too. On my cheek. It left a bruise. I covered it with make-up, so no one would ask about it."
Who would have, a voice in her head says bitterly. Like anyone would care what was going on with Boiler Room Bianca, Degrassi's resident skank.
"He choked me once. Put his hands around my throat. And then...one time he got mad at me, and he pushed me down and kicked me in the stomach. He didn't break anything. I don't think he did, anyway. I never saw a doctor. But I'm pretty sure he didn't."
"Mr. Bell claims in his statement that the two of you were seeing one another during the times these assaults occurred."
She shakes her head, so hard that some of the curls come loose from the bun she tied at the nape of her neck. "That was part of the deal. And it wasn't dating. He said…" Her tongue feels too heavy in her mouth. "He told me if I did him some favors, he would leave Drew alone."
"Sexual favors." The lawyer's tone is without emotion. "And you said yes?"
Bianca stares at her hands. "Yes," she says, so quietly she wonders if the tape can even hear.
"And did working for Mr. Bell entail anything else? Other than selling marijuana?"
Bianca's hands are shaking too badly to hide. She can feel sweat running down her back, pooling at the base of her spine. For a moment, she watches the room get swimmy, the lights turning everything into a haze.
"Ms. DeSousa." The voice sounds far away. "Ms. DeSousa. Do we need to take a break?"
"No," she says. She grips the edges of the chair, trying to anchor herself. "I don't."
He looks at her with practiced sympathy, but continues. "Then could you please tell us, for the record, if Mr. Bell had you do any other jobs for him other than selling marijuana."
Say it. Just say it. Once, and that's it. Once, and you never have to say it again. Just get it out there.
She focuses on a dark whorl on the sleek, perfect wood and doesn't look up.
"He offered me," she says. There's a timbre in her voice she can't even try to control. In another second she's going to throw up, so she continues instead. "To some of his friends. A few times. For their…for whatever he needed from them."
She doesn't think she's imagining the pause in the room, the way everything just freezes for a second.
"So you're saying," the lawyer says, "Mr. Bell prostituted you to his associates in exchange for their services."
Bianca can't make the answer come out this time. She just nods again, still staring at that whorl in the wood.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mrs. Torres still watching her. Her posture remains stiff, but her normally stern expression has slipped for a moment, shadowed with the tiniest bit of something that looks like horror.
The lawyer waits another moment, letting Bianca compose herself. She takes a few shallow breaths and slips her hands under her thighs, willing them to stop trembling.
"Just a few more questions. As an insider to his criminal activities, did Mr. Bell ever indicate to you in any way that he was planning on attacking the Degrassi Community High School prom on June 3rd, 2012?"
"No."
"Did Mr. Bell give you any information regarding any other such attacks he may have previously committed?"
"No."
"Did Mr. Bell tell you anything in regards to the murders of Mario Olah or Terron Murphy, two open homicide cases in which he was named a suspect?"
Bianca's head snaps up. "No," she remembers to add. She isn't sure why she sounds so stunned.
"One final statement, Miss DeSousa," the lawyer says. "You are swearing here today, under oath, that at any given moment during your association with Mr. Bell, you felt as if you or Mr. Torres would come under extreme bodily harm, possibly deadly, if you refused to comply with his orders?"
She doesn't know why he needs to ask her this same question again, but looks him in the eye this time when she answers.
"Yeah. I knew if I left, he'd hurt us both. Maybe kill us. I don't know. But I knew I couldn't just walk away from him or any of the shit he was making me do."
She didn't mean to swear, but no one seems to notice. The lawyer clicks the tape recorder off.
"Is that all?" Mrs. Torres says.
He nods. "I think we have everything we need," he says. "Unless Miss DeSousa has anything else she wants to add."
Both of them turn to Bianca.
"No," she says, sounding dazed. "I'm done."
XII.
She follows Drew's mother out of the office. Both of their heels click on the marble floor; one set of steps sound full of purpose, the other full of something trying to sound like it. Bianca slides into the backseat behind the driver's side, hunching into herself on the cold leather.
"Are you hungry?"
Bianca peers at the rearview. The woman's eyes are on her. "What?"
"Are you hungry? There's a McDonalds at the strip mall across the street. Do you want anything?"
"Oh." She didn't eat breakfast, but her stomach rebels when she even thinks of eating. "No. Thank you."
Mrs. Torres doesn't respond. Just backs out of the parking lot and heads towards the highway ramp in silence.
She knows everything now. Every dirty truth and secret.
Bianca's head is throbbing. She puts her hand to her temples, trying to soothe the ache, but she just feels dizzy. Colors explode behind her eyelids, and her stomach still turns even though she hasn't had anything to eat all day.
Not everything, she reminds herself. Drew never did back down from his story about what really happened to Anson.
Still. Everything else. Mrs. Torres knows. She can see right through Bianca. She always has.
She has everything together, Drew's mom. She never needs to put on the whole crappy "Good Girl" routine; she just knows how to act all the time. Never hesitates. Never questions herself. She's always sure of everything.
And now his mom knows all the little messy details that show her who Bianca really is. And if Mrs. Torres didn't hate her before…
Anything you say can and will be used against you.
XIII.
It's going to get stormy outside; somber-colored clouds that look like they're supposed to be important roll over the house as thunder quakes in the distance, but for some reason the sun is still high and hot, and the heavy humidity smothers Bianca when she opens the car door.
Mrs. Torres into the house without saying a word to her. Bianca nearly stumbles getting out of the SUV, her legs a quivering mess and her head still reeling. The adrenaline from the deposition has worn off, and now all the excess energy and nerves just course through her blood like caffeine. Her hands are still shaking, her limbs like long strands of spaghetti as she staggers into the house and up to the guest room.
Bianca reaches behind herself, unzips her dress. Lets it slip into a black puddle at her feet, and steps out of her underwear. She stands naked in front of the storm-streaked window, staring out at the bullet-colored sky.
That's all she is here. Just a guest in someone else's house. An unwelcome one, too. Uninvited, undesirable, unwanted by everyone, save the one person she knows doesn't even belong to her.
XIV.
"Hey," Drew asks, when she makes her way downstairs a few hours later. He's standing half in, half-out of the bonus room closet, surrounded by boxes and half-broken things.
"Hey," she replies. She had to shower again after getting back from the lawyer's, and made the water colder until the last of the fatigue and worry drain out of her. She padded around the bedroom naked in the darkness, the cold air of the A/C chilling her damp body and the storm outside darkening the sky into shifting, blotchy shadows. She pulled on the grey sweats Drew let her borrow; they drowned her when she slipped the flannel over her icy skin, but after huddling on the bed for a while in his clothes, she finally stopped shivering.
"Did the lawyer thing go okay?"
"Yeah. What are you doing?"
"What did he ask you?"
She stares at the piles he's made around him. "What are you doing?" she repeats.
Drew rolls his eyes. "My mom made me clean out the closet. Everything we don't use is going to Goodwill. Wanna help?"
"What are we looking for?"
"Pretty much anything that isn't a video game," he laughs. "Or one of my old sports trophies."
"You're so full of it," she smirks. She starts reaching into the shelves, pulling out stacks of VHSs without boxes, cracked CD cases (she makes fun of him for the Cyndi Lauper one, which he insists belongs to his mother) and old boom boxes, a few dumbbells and weighted jump ropes, and some glossy paperback books with spines that have never been cracked.
He reaches in and pulls out a stack of board games. Sorry!, Mousetrap, Guess Who, Junior Monopoly.
"Stick these somewhere," he says, handing the stack to her. "Mom'll probably want to donate them. Hey, I remember this."
He pulls out another one, the box for Candy Land.
"Adam played this a lot," Drew says. "When we were kids."
"Just Adam?" Bianca teases.
"It's one of those things I'll use against him someday," Drew says. He shakes the game box and arches an eyebrow at her. "You wanna play?"
She laughs. "You serious?"
"Ahh, come on." He grins. "It'll be stupid and funny. One game?"
"As long as you bring some irony," she says.
"I don't know what that means, but is that a yes?"
"This is so lame." She laughs. "Sure."
They clear a place on the floor and sit down, giggling a little as they set up the colorful snake of the game board and pick their smiling plastic gingerbread, placing the markers on the first square. Bianca doesn't remember ever playing Candy Land as a kid, but Drew laughs and says she doesn't need to know anything.
"This game's the easiest thing ever," Drew says. "No math, no fake money to count, no weird rules. Just draw the card and move."
"So, what, just pick a card and that's it?"
He nods. "And if you get a cartoon character card, you need to move back to where that character is. When Adam and I were kids, we'd always get so pissed off when one of us got the card with the green guy."
"So…" she asks, "how do you win?"
"You get to the castle." He shuffles the deck in his hands. "You just get the right cards."
"You don't need to do anything?"
"No! That's the point. A three-year-old could play this game." He laughs. "Okay, if you're having a hard time keeping up with Candy Land…"
She traces the pattern of the trail with her finger.
"Not the best game to teach kids," she muses.
He looks up at her. "Why?"
"It's not fair," she says. "They basically can't win. It's all in the cards. They've got no chance if someone else has all the right ones."
She turns the game piece over in her hand. "So really, they're losing before they even start. Because they picked the card with that fucking green gremlin-thing or whatever, and they're screwed. Because now they're back to the start. Like nothing changed."
Drew stops shuffling the cards and stares at her. "It's just a game, Bee."
"Yeah," she says. She takes her red plastic gingerbread man and places it next to Drew's blue one at the starting line. "Your move."
She takes the first card, a yellow square, and hops her little piece forward.
"Kinda sucks that the losers are already fucked," she says. "Nobody's really making choice; just going along with it. There's always someone else to blame." She sighs. "It's all in the cards."
Drew blinks. "Do you not want to play or something?"
"Why haven't you broken up with Katie yet?" The words come out in a rush.
His eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
She takes her little game piece off the board and turns it over in her hands.
"You haven't broken up with her yet," she says. "And you still want to be with me."
She looks up at him. "You belong to her."
"I don't," Drew argues.
"Then why don't you break up with her and be with me?"
Drew sighs. "Because…"
"Because why?" she demands.
"Because…" his voice trails off. "Look, Katie's been away at soccer camp all summer, and she's already so paranoid about us…"
"Looks like she was right," she says.
"Which was why I didn't want to break it off to her on the phone," he says. "I wanted to do it face to face, because she deserved that much. She deserved to have an honest conversation."
Bianca rolls her eyes. "So after spending the entire summer with me, you were going to really sit down with her and have an HONEST conversation? About us? About everything we've been doing since…"
She looks away, shaking her head. "You should have broken up with her right away."
"I know," Drew says earnestly. "And I feel horrible about it."
"No you don't," she says. Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through the room like that stupid A/C, making everything around them suddenly turn cold. "Because if you did, you would have done it right after that first time. Right after prom." She looks him in the eye. "You would have called her and told her the truth."
"I wasn't sure how things were going to work out between us!" Drew argues.
"So you were just gonna keep sleeping with me until you decided if I was worth keeping around?"
"No, that's not it at all!"
"You didn't break up with her because you wanted a reason to leave," she says. She throws the game piece down and turns away. "You wanted ME to tell you to leave your girlfriend. So you never had to make the hard choice. So you just kept sleeping with me and hoping I'd tell you what to do, because then you didn't have to get your hands dirty! And it wouldn't be your fault that you guys broke up!"
"I know I screwed up!" Drew says. He scrambles to his feet, kicking over the game board in the process. The colorful stack of cards flutters into a messy pile, the little plastic pieces upended. "I just didn't want to hurt her feelings."
"Little late for that," Bianca says.
"I know! I didn't want this to happen!"
He takes a step closer and reaches out to grab her arm.
"I just wanted to be with you!" he says. "I love you!"
She pulls her arm away. "When it's convenient."
She turns her back on his hurt face. "Like when your other relationships fall apart and you want someone to crawl back to. Someone who will always take you back."
"That's not true," he says, his voice stony.
"Really?" she says. "Because that's what it feels like."
She turns her back on him and stands with her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself together.
"If you loved me," she says quietly, "you would have already broken up with Katie."
She turns and walks away. Drew is silent and doesn't try to follow her.