Chapter Eight: One or the Other
Hours later I was curled up in bed, waiting for Tara to stumble in so I would have thoughts to think about besides him, noises to hear besides the pouring rain and the thunder cracks.
I wrapped my sheet around me and sat up in bed when I heard her come through the door, her footsteps seemingly not intoxicated, but forced myself to wait until she got a drink of water, shut off all the downstairs lights and slowly padded upstairs.
"Tara?" I whispered into the darkness of her room. I saw her shape half rise out of her bed, and imagine her blinking in confusion, trying to see.
"Joey? You're still up?" she asked. I ran over to sit on the bed.
"What happened?" she asked, as I place my head on her stomach and began to cry, missing what I'd lost.
She was silent for a long moment, as if in evaluation. Slowly her hand reached out and brushed my hair away from my tear-streaked face.
"You slept with him?" she asked. I nodded silently, hoping she could see the gesture in the dark without me having to say anything.
"He gave you the choice?" she asked. I nodded again, almost reluctantly.
"He was using me," I whispered.
"Will likes you," she consoled.
"He doesn't. He just knows I'm easy," I said bitterly.
"You're not. He knows that," she whispered, stroking my hair.
When I awoke I was still on her bed but she was gone. I sat up slowly and noticed in embarrassment that I was still wrapped in my bed sheet.
Tara was in the kitchen sipping coffee when I went downstairs in my robe. She looked up in concern.
"How're you feeling?" she asked.
"I'm fine. I was just being emotional last night," I said, falsely shrugging it off.
She looked suspicious, entirely disbelieving, but she chose to say nothing.
I have a theory in life.
There are two kinds of problems. The first kind can be solved or at least postponed with buying yourself something new, namely lingerie.
The second kind can't.
I went to the only store in Tree Hill that sold only lingerie, my guiltiest pleasure. Until the previous night, no one had ever even seen my bras, but I'd always loved buying new ones. They could even make me feel better about myself, make the day seem less bleak.
But it didn't work that time. I busied myself in the change room with a matching bra and underwear set, a satin nightie and a bustier, but none of it was working. Nothing could make me forget.
I came out of the change room in the nightie and twirled experimentally in front of the mirrors. I blushed at how low it came, how much it exposed, and how high it was on my tanned thighs.
"Nice," said a voice from behind me. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and turned to stare haughtily at Will.
"What are you doing here? This is the change room," I said.
"Saw you come in. Thought I'd say hi," he explained. He took a step closer. "Hi."
His kiss was merely a brush of his lips on mine. Despite the lightness of it, it didn't fail to send shivers down my spine. Nor did the hand that lightly fingered the lace on the 'neck'.
"Stop that. We're not doing that here," I said.
"You're pissed at me," he said in confusion.
"We slept together and you left like ten minutes later. Gentlemen stay the night. And they don't sleep with girls who they promise they're just over to help. And they don't sleep with girls they've never dated who are years younger than them," I explained.
"First of all, I never claimed to be a gentleman. Second of all, I thought that was what you liked? And thirdly it's barely two years," he said. My hand slapped his cheek before he could stop me.
"I'm not a whore," I said. I wanted to run out, to abandon him completely, but in my current condition I couldn't. I settled for running back into the change room and firmly drawing closed the curtain.
Ten minutes later I poked my head out of the change room and cautiously looked around. He was nowhere to be seen. I paid and left the store.
Tara spent most of her time out in the world so I was surprised she was home when I got home, swinging on the porch swing, drinking lemonade like an old lady. I joined her.
"What did you buy?" she asked. I tossed her the bag and she pawed through the contents.
"Honey, it won't solve your problems," she said, immediately analyzing me and my purchase.
"I know that. At least, I do know. Ran into Hunter," I said.
"You've slept with him. Call him Will," she suggested.
"So, Hunter and I kissed, then I bitched at him, then he bitched at me, then I bitch slapped him and then I flounced off. Which is why we're not together," I said. She permitted herself to smile.
We sat in silence for a while. I stared over the lush front lawn, the basketball court, the expensive car, the one that Mom and Daddy hadn't taken away from them, Tara's car next to it. The other beautiful, expensive houses on the street. The bright blue sky. Other than the fact that my heart was breaking, it was a beautiful world right then.
"What was your first time like?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Okay, guess this had to come out sometime. Joey, I haven't had it yet," she said, blushing. I gasped in spite of myself.
"What? But you're Tara Scott! You're notorious! You're…"
"Slutty? Surprisingly, I'm not. Just kind of a rumor fueled by my hookups. Many of them. I was just… waiting," she said.
"I wish I'd waited."
"In some ways he's perfect for you. Sure he's an asshole, but he won't take any of your bitching, he'll talk back to you. He's an okay guy, deep down," she said.
"I feel like I deserve a guy that's a great guy all the way through," I said.
"Guys like that are boring," she said. I was tempted to lay my head on her shoulder and cry, but I realized I was taller than my big sister, who took after our mother in height. Taller, but somehow so much less wise.
Tara grinned as a convertible pulled up and Aidan jumped out, followed by his mother, who clicked the car locked and came up to us.
"Hey girls. Why so sad?" she asked, instantly noticing my duress.
"Someone's not quite ready to be a woman yet. How're you doing, Auntie Brooke?" asked Tara, smiling up at her. Brooke was aging, but still beautiful, still had twinkly eyes and deep dimples.
"Already? Your Mother would never approve. I'd lecture, but you know me. I'm good sweets. Parents still away?" she asked, leaning against the porch rail.
"Yeah, with Liss and Charlie. It makes the house so quiet," I mourned, surprised at my own sadness.
"I'd imagine. Our house is never quiet," she admitted.
As the conversation played out between Tara and Brooke, I ran to join Aidan on the court.
"Pass, Aidy," I ordered. He tossed me the hard orange ball, and I made the basket.
"Very nice. How're you doing kid?" he asked, as he took the ball in his own hands. Aidan was a decent basketball player, but he wasn't a Scott, or even a Jagielski.
"I'm okay," I said.
"I guess that's better than bad. I brought you guys some cookies, I figured you wouldn't have food in the house," he said. I smiled at him.
"Hey, I can cook," I said defensively.
"I know, but you can never have too many cookies. And Mom insisted. She feels even more motherly toward you guys when Kylie goes too long without calling," he said, twirling the ball on his finger.
"Yeah. I hope my mom never has to feel like that," I said.
"Your Mom," he began, pausing to pass me the ball. "Has three daughters, and therefore doesn't have to worry."
"Yeah. Yeah, I hope so. You know Lissie and Hunter's sister Robyn take the same dance class?" I asked, rolling my eyes. He nodded curtly. I swallowed painfully, wondering how much he'd know by Monday.
Author's note: I have two things. One: is there a word for a series with six parts? And if so, what is it? Seeing as I originally planned to make a trilogy, I figured I'd write one more oneshot after this just to make it double.
And two: could as many as possible of you please, please review to tell me who she should end up with and possibly why, just o I can make my choice? Thanks.