A/N: I wrote all but 300 words of this in less than 3 hours, so I apologize if it's a little rushed. I just wanted to give you something else before I leave for band camp in like 30 minutes. So, just to tell you, this will be the last post until at least Friday- that's the day we get back. After being deprived of writing for a week, I'll probably be able to crank one out Friday night unless I pass out. But you can definitely expect one by Saturday. So... yeah. Here's chapter 11; hope it's enjoyable.
Days pass without any mention of Rodney or the rape or my breakdown. In fact, Mitchie barely speaks during those days. I make a conscious effort to stay out of trouble so as not to hurt her anymore. No matter what she told me the other night, I still feel a little inadequate and have been trying to not make any more mistakes. Mitchie's noticed this, but I don't think that she wants to say anything, to just let me go my own way for right now until I sort this out. Which is probably a good thing, since I've spent the last few days walking on eggshells around her so as not to stress her out.
Nothing is worse than this awkward feeling we have between us right now. The fact that we act so strange together is horrible, because it gives Justin and Nate perfect excuses to try and speak with us. Nate, even though I basically destroyed him at the dance, keeps trying to get near me. His sadistic mother is enabling this, always pushing him on me during break time and whenever she gets the chance. I have to sit through each painful advance with a pretend courtesy because I don't want to get into anymore trouble.
Being without Mitchie is tearing me apart, but I know that the only way I'll ever be able to get things back to how they used to be is if I step up and admit that I have done a good job, even if I do need a little help myself sometimes. For some reason, that's ridiculously difficult for me to do. And it's hurting her more and more every day that I can't manage to wrap my mind around this concept.
Today, though, it's even worse. Break time has just started, and Mitchie has wandered off to go to the bathroom or something like that. I think she just might want to escape the awkward situation I've created. At any rate, Nate sees this as a prime opportunity to strike up a conversation with me. I see it in his sped up walk, his quick and casual good-bye to the friends he's walking with, and most of all in his giant smile. Stretching my memory back as far as it goes, I can never recall a time that he's smiled this widely- I only remember a handful of times that he's smiled at all.
"Hey, Alexandra," he greets, plopping down next to me in the grass. For an early fall day, it's certainly sunnier and warmer than usual. To me, this seems ironic, as the whole week has been this way, just as Mitchie and I have started to fall apart.
I don't bother telling him to call me Alex, because I've started to see it as a sort of nickname that only my brother and Mitchie can use. "Hi, Nate." I don't say anything more nor give him any indication that I'm thoroughly invested in this conversation. Because really, I'm not. I just want Mitchie back.
He stares at me blankly and blinks a couple of times before getting a very intense and serious look on his face. "You know I meant it when I gave you that corsage, right?"
"Yeah," I reply quietly. There is no doubt in my mind that he's fishing for more of an answer, something to confirm that I, too, wish to receive his affections.
"That's a great response," he spits out sarcastically. "But I was thinking more along the lines of, 'Yeah, Nate, I'm really glad you gave it to me?'"
Stupidly, brainlessly, tiredly, I sputter out, "I can't lie to you."
Nate seems to have gotten better at controlling his anger because he does not blow his top at me like he usually tries to do. His fists remain unclenched in his lap and his face impressively retains his traditionally stoic expression. "Then I'll just have to try harder."
"Nate, there is nothing in this world that would make me want to become your wife in four years," I tell him honestly. Maybe it's just because I've kept my emotions mostly to myself since the blow-up, but I find it easy to open up to Nate in a very cautious and incomplete way.
He sighs, clearly frustrated, but still stops himself from harming me. "What is it that you want? Because I can give it to you."
I think of Mitchie: of her generous heart, of her quiet strength, of her subtle yet stunning beauty. And then I look at the boy in front of me: his misogynist views, his wild switches of emotions, his constantly brooding features. There is no comparison. "No, Nate, you can't. You really can't."
"Then who can!" He's getting closer to the Nate I know, his voice now raised just a little bit and the anger punctuating his calm eyes.
I really don't know how to answer that question. On one hand, it would be easy to reply with Mitchie's name, but at the same time we're still in a very strange place. It's like we've already fought a war together, but now we're scared to leave the house because of everything we've seen. And whose fault is that? Not hers- she did everything she could to make me see the reason, to make me understand that I have been doing the right thing all along. But really, who am I to say if I've been doing the right thing to help her? If it's for her benefit, the only wrong way is the way that she doesn't approve of, the way that makes her want to run from me just to be rid of my horrible help. She's not begging to be let go of; she's begging to be taken care of. In the end, it's all about her in this case. And all I have to do is be what I was before, not worrying about my end of the deal, because it never was a deal to begin with. It was just a friendship that turned into another sort of relationship all together. We both need to get back to that, and it's up to me to make it work.
"Alexandra!" Nate nearly shouts at me, dragging me back into the regular world as a plan starts to form in my head. "Who can? Who can give you what you need!" He's so pissed off at nothing that if I wasn't so occupied in this thought process, I would find it absolutely hilarious.
"For right now, me." That's all I reply with as I dash back up the hill toward our house, on the look-out for both Max and Mitchie. I run into Mitchie first, coming out of our house with a very pretty flower in her head. Even though things are strained, it still makes me smile to see her so happy and in such a cute state from head to toe. How could that not make me smile?
"Mitchie!" I call out, stopping her from going further. "I need to talk to you, but first, where'd you get the flower?"
She whispers very quietly so that I have to lean in closer to hear. It's intoxicating and exhilarating to be so near to her again after a couple of days of almost no contact. "Max. We've been chatting."
This makes me beam even more, and gives me the extra confidence boost I need to make my plan work. "That's excellent, Mitchie, really. You know how much you both mean to me. And to show you how much you mean, I have a request. Meet me tonight, at the back of the house under Max's bedroom window. At, say, 10? I want to show you how much I care." I'm almost begging for this, which is normally beneath me, but when it comes to Mitchie, I'm prepared to do anything to win back her trust.
I only receive a head nod and the softest of fleeting grins in response as she walks off towards the forest, but that's enough for me.
Sprinting, I make it to the house in no time. Mom and Dad are both out working in their respective jobs around the compound to make sure that it stays self-sustained, so I don't see them lounging around the house. Justin's usually up at the chapel around this time either praying or talking up the Shepherds. No one will be around to interrupt my conversation with Max, if I can find him. The house is totally deserted I gather after my quick scan. I even call his name out a couple of times but get no response. There's only one other place he might be.
As I predicted, I stumble upon Max beside the entrance to the cellar. He's just sitting contentedly against the cold stone of our house, staring up at the few clouds in the sky like they're the most fascinating things on this planet. And really, if I think about it with the knowledge that he's gained from books, they probably are. He drums his fingers lightly on the shovel that rests limply in his lap.
"Hey, Maxie." His whips around for a few seconds before he finds me, which results in a happy look.
"Alex. This is surprising," he admits.
"I need a favor," I tell him sheepishly. I don't want to meet his eyes, so I focus on the tip of the shovel. There's fresh dirt on it. "Have you been digging?" I ask worriedly. I know what digging means in his world.
He shrugs. "I was. Then Mitchie came and talked to me." I don't think that I've appreciated the bonds of friendship more than I do right now.
I'm waiting in front of the cellar at 10:15, getting more and more anxious as the minutes pass by. I've got it all set up- in fact, I set it up two hours ago, I'm so excited. And scared. Can't forget scared. I think I might die if she hates it, if we can't get back to trust.
Finally (I feel like I've been waiting for years) Mitchie appears, trudging around the edge of the house and fumbling in the dark. She looks adorable doing so, but I don't want her to trip so I call out, "Mitchie!"
I'm hard to spot under the moon's low light, but she eventually finds her way to me. "Sorry about the delay. Your parents were sitting in the living room forever; I had to wait for them to clear out. Max helped with that, though: he faked a coughing fit. I take it he knows about this?"
I nod, so overwhelmed with her positive reaction to meeting me here. "I couldn't have done it without him. C'mon." I've already dug out the dirt from around the cellar and lit the lamp, which is sitting on the stairwell. Thrusting open the doors, we see it cast an eerie glow on the walls, the floors, the shelves.
"Alex..." Mitchie squints apprehensively at the dark unknown, more than a little panicky at the situation in front of her.
Extending my hand to her as I put my foot on the first step, I whisper calmly, "It's OK. There's nothing creepy once you get down there, I promise. Just trust me."
She glances back and forth: my hand, the cellar, my hand, the cellar, my hand-
She takes it loosely, lightly, barely hard enough for me to feel the pressure her fingers put on my own, but I can still feel the warmth. I can always feel the warmth.
I pick up the lantern as we descend the stairs slowly, just for her. She's getting less and less frightened with each step we take, probably because she can see the multitude of candles I've placed in each row. It took me ages to wrangle them all, having to root through Mom and Dad's private storage. Max helped with that, too. I'll have to thank him with a giant hug in the morning.
In addition to the candles, I've located more of the flowers that Max put in her hair earlier and sprinkled their petals across the floor in a sort of random pattern. I've never been much of an artist. Also, with different flowers (large and white with a bit of purple mixed in), I made her a crown just like the one she made me in the early, early stages of our relationship. I don't forget these things, and I know how much she loved the crown. The crown is way in the back, though, for later. I've gone so far as to plan out what I'm going to say. I've never cared about anyone or anything enough to go to this extreme, to have everything so meticulously planned.
"Alex... what is this place?" Her eyes are full of wonder as her shoeless feet sweep across the floor, knocking the petals in all sorts of directions. She drags me along with her in this exploration, as she refuses to let go of my hand. And I am certainly not relinquishing hers.
I quickly give her the same story that Max told me the other night. "I added the petals, though, and the candles."
She spins around and looks me straight in the eye. "I love it, Alex. This is probably the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."
"One more thing." I dash off into the back to get the crown for her and place it gently on her head. "Remember? One of the first days, and you-"
"I remember," she replies softly, brushing her fingers against the flowers. "Alex... I love you."
"What?" My voice is barely raised now, my heart praying that my ears haven't deceived me. At Havenwood (and presumably Cascadia), that sentence is reserved for romantically entangled married or engaged couples. Even friendship isn't defined in terms of love here; just the "holy union of marriage" and our relationship with God.
Sensing that my question was more out of shock than disagreement, she reiterates: "I"- she points her finger at herself- "love"- she makes a heart out of her hands, and I let myself laugh- "you"- she gently rests her finger on my shoulder. I take both her hands in mine and press our foreheads together.
"I love you, too," I reply, meaning every last word. I never thought I'd say that phrase with any real sincerity, but here I am, and I don't think that I will ever mean it more than I do right now.
Ever so slowly, she leans closer and gives me a kiss. It's soft but yet full of passion. I don't let go of her hands as we kiss; if anything, I hold on a little tighter. We finally let the contact between our lips end, but our position is rapidly turned into a bone-crushing hug as she grips me with the intensity of a drowning person gripping the edge of a boat. "I want to tell you about Rodney. Tell you everything, because I know that I can. I know that I can, and you'll do exactly what I need you to."
Smiling into her shoulder, I say, "I've figured that out now; I understand that your comfort- it's about you. And I'm not going to complain, because if I've managed to make you love me, I'm doing something right."
She giggles and kisses my cheek as she releases me. Mitchie holds my hand and leads me over to a wall, the same one I leaned against while reading Fahrenheit 451 earlier this week. "He was a Shepherd at Cascadia," she begins quietly. "He was good friends with my parents, and they had him and his wife over for dinner all the time. His son Ben came too, but we were never interested in each other in any way. Rodney, however, took a special interest in me. He told my parents that I had special talent, and that I could easily become a Shepherd one day with a little extra effort. Overjoyed, my parents asked him to tutor me." A sob escapes her, proving her stolid composure is simply an act. One that will crumble any moment now. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and use my other one to draw her close, allowing it rest tenderly on her lap. She takes her hand, entwines her fingers with mine, settles her head on my shoulder, breathes deeply, and bravely plows on.
"The lessons went well for a while- I learned a lot about the Bible and I still probably know more than all the adults here except for the Shepherds themselves. Then it started to get really weird. At first, I didn't notice. He just put his hands on my shoulders, hugged me, stuff like that. Nothing overly horrible, but enough to make me suspect. I... I couldn't tell my parents." Tears fill her eyes, and I understand that the knowledge her parents would trust the Shepherd more than their own daughter hurts her almost as much as what Rodney did.
She doesn't say anything for a moment, but I know she needs to get this out, so I prod her. "What happened next?"
"Rodney- R-" She gives a frustrated sigh as she tries to get on with it. "One lesson, he insisted that we go to his house. Usually, it was in the High Chapel. But n-not then. N-n-not that day." Her speech becomes more broken up, more hesitant, more stuttered. We're getting close. "He l-led me to the back room- bed was there. Told me to- told me to sit on it. I, me- didn't know any better. Sat. He- he kissed me. Kissed me hard, p-pushed me down. Pulled my dress, up, up, up- off. Naked. Took off his clothes, he. Me- p-p-paralyzed. On top of me, put-put my h-hands... everywhere. Gross. Weird. Wanted to scream, but he k-kissed me. K-k-kept kissing me. Everywhere. K-kissed me... everywhere. In me. It... I... hurt. H-hands all over me... everywhere- touching, squeezing, hurt. F-finished. Left me. Crying, crying, crying and then- nothing. For a year." I try to let absolutely none of my emotions show, except for concern. I can't keep that in. But I can keep in the tears. I have to keep in the tears because she's sobbing more than enough for both of us.
All I can do is hug her closer, gently lay my head on hers, and pray that she doesn't notice the droplets of water slowly, steadily falling from my eyes to her hair.
All I can smell is the flowers on her crown.
