Sean had been thinking of her that night, as usual, not knowing that miles away, she was lying naked beside Spinner with tears in her eyes, and trying to block out the sound of his snoring. He wouldn't have in his wildest dreams imagined that she would be the one to choose sex for comfort.
His parents had stayed sober that night, and the day before. To their credit, they were trying. They'd been having more success lately, and perhaps it was a product of his success in dealing with everything. He'd started speaking to them again, saying hello in the mornings, and asking how their day had gone, and while it wasn't a lot, it was something. He knew that if what Emma had said was true--and he'd never known her to lie--he had to move on, for Ellie's sake if not his own.
Too bad it wasn't that easy.
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True to his word, Spinner returned the next afternoon, flowers in hand. "Here," he said. "I might as well spoil you. You sure spoiled me last night." She tried to smile and thank him, and was grateful that he wasn't particularly perceptive.
"I got everything cleaned up last night," she offered. "And no drunk Bueller. Sorry I freaked out about it."
"Mmm," he said, already finding her neck with his lips. She pulled away after a moment, and he gave her an annoyed look. "What is it? Aren't I doing it right?" He looked downright hurt.
"You're fine. It's not you," she said. "Honest. It's me. I'm just weird. Freak Girl, and all that." She laughed nervously. "You were great. I'm just tired from the excitement." She was, of course, lying through her teeth. He'd arrived earlier than expected, and she hadn't had time to get herself sufficiently drunk. She'd barely even managed to mark her regret on her arms.
"Well, I'll have to wake you up," he said, reaching for her once more. She supposed it was his way of flirting, and she had a hard time not rolling her eyes. She gave in and let him kiss her and touch her and whatever other awkwardness he wanted.
He soon started tugging at her shirt and it was then that she realized she'd worn long sleeves instead of armwarmers. She blinked in dismay, then let him pull the shirt over her head. She had prepared herself as best as she could, but his reaction stunned her.
His face twisted into a picture of utter disgust. "Gross!" he said. "The rumours were true, then. That's just--it's sick. I can't believe you let me sleep with you without telling me. It's sick, man." He was shaking his head frantically.
"Spinner, please." Ellie was desperate. "It doesn't change anything. I'm still yours."
"I don't want you," he said. "And I don't know how Sean would. But doing that to yourself, it's disgusting. And doing it while you're with me? And not even telling me?" He had inched toward the door and now ducked out, slamming it behind him. She wanted to follow him, but knew it was pointless, and instead sank down to the ground, half naked, her head in her hands.
She was in the same position when the door creaked open.
"Mom?" Ellie was stunned to see her.
"Eleanor! I came home early to surprise you..." It was then that she noticed just what Ellie was wearing--or, perhaps, not wearing. "What are you doing? Why are you dressed like a little slut? Eleanor, answer me."
"Mom, I'm sorry, it's not what it looks like. I just--"
"I don't want to hear it. A fine homecoming this is. Guess I can see why you wanted to stay with Sean so badly. It had nothing to do with me, did it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Go to your room." Ellie hesitated, then obeyed, clutching her arms tight against her body. Her mother was helpful enough to give her a hard shove toward the stairs.
She was careful letting herself into the room, not wanting Bueller to escape. She kept him in his cage only very rarely. It took her a minute to locate him--he was on top of her book case--and when she did, she plucked him into her arms. He was all, it seemed, that she had left. He put up with it for a moment or two before wiggling his way to freedom.
She sighed and grabbed her cell phone. Her minutes had almost run out, but she had enough left for one call. It took her a minute to realize that she didn't even know the phone number of the guy she'd slept with. She dug through her papers and eventually discovered it--left over from a math project she'd been forced into with him some time before. She quickly punched in the numbers and crossed her fingers that he would pick up. He did.
"Hello?" he said, his mouth full.
"Spin? It's Ellie. Please don't hang up, okay? I have to talk to you. Please." She still didn't quite know why she was so desperate for his affection.
He sighed audibly and swallowed the food in his mouth, then took another bite. "What is it?" he mumbled.
"I'm sorry, okay? I should have told you. I thought--I thought you'd find it kinky," she said finally, searching for an excuse.
He laughed humourlessly, and she cringed, imagining the food spewing out of his mouth. "It's disgusting," he said. "But whatever. If I don't have to see it again, we're cool, okay? Just for god's sake, keep your arm thingies on. I don't need to see that."
"I will," she promised. "And I'm really, really sorry. I need you, okay? You're everything to me. You're my Hormone Boy."
"Monday at lunch, then," he said. "I'll save you a seat, Freak Girl. Bring me some of those leftovers. They were good--almost as good as you."
"It's a deal," Ellie promised. She hung up the phone, a big smile on her face, and found her x-acto knife.
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She was grounded for a week, and her mother had already reintroduced herself to the alcohol. She explained it to Ellie while in a drunken stupor.
"See, Eleanor," she said, her words slurred, "if I don't drink some, it's still controlling me. 'Cause a few drinks mean nothing, they mean I'm in control. I can stop any time. And 'sides, you make me do this. My husband leaves me to deal with my worthless slut of a daughter. Now this place is a mess. Get cleaning." She giggled, then stumbled onto the couch, tossing her feet up high above her head. "Ha! Ha, Eleanor, did you see that?"
Ellie ignored her, knowing that nothing she said would matter anyway. She reached down to cover her mother with a blanket, and she was promptly slapped hard across the face. "Eleanor, I asked you a question! I'm your mother, you have to answer me." Ellie paled visibly--her mom had been bad before rehab, but not like this.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I--I love you. I--what you did, jumping onto the couch like that, it was, um, cool." She needn't have bothered. Her mother had already passed out in a pool of her own vomit.
"Great," Ellie said softly, finding the mop. "Just great." Suddenly the scars from earlier that day were no where near enough. She was hardly able to finish cleaning before retreating to her room, and continuing the familiar pattern.
It took all she had not to go dangerously deep. She pushed just hard enough to make them gape without making them bleed indefinitely. She'd become quite skilled at it, knowing just how much pressure she could get away with. When she ran out of room, she'd switch to her upper arms, her legs, over old scars--whatever she could find. She was bent on the total self-destruction that kept her alive.