You and Everything After (Falling #2)(18)
I don’t answer Paige, but I don’t lose the grin either. Tossing my shoes to the corner, I pull my backpack from the seat of my desk chair, setting it down on my bed with me so I can start sorting through things and getting ready for class this week. I’m keeping my hands busy, and my mind occupied, because I don’t want Paige to ruin this.
“What are you doing, Cass?”
She’s going to ruin this.
I huff. I literally huff, because the pressure boils in me so fast that it has to come out just as quickly. Whooosh, the air blasts through my nose as I shake my head. My sister, the protector—she will never understand. “I like him, Paige,” I say, challenging her with my stare, and waiting for her to tell me about all of his flaws.
“Seriously?” That’s all she can say in return, and the way she’s looking at me makes my stomach sick.
“Paige, unlike you, I don’t rule people out of my life based on superficial physical shit,” I say sternly. I’ve ramped up to pissed off now.
“Oh, f*ck you,” she says, surprising me a little that she’s really going to spar with me over this. Raising my eyebrows, I ready myself for one hell of a one-sided debate, but she moves to sit next to me and grabs my ankle, which is folded over my leg in my lap, disarming me.
“I’m not talking about the fact that he’s in a wheelchair, Cass. My god, give me a little credit,” she says. I purse my lips tightly, trying to force myself from launching into all of the reasons I shouldn’t give her credit when it comes to how she sees other people. “I’m talking about his rep—everything I’ve heard about Tyson Preeter…the stories you have heard. What other girls said at that party. What the sororities said when we took the tour our first day.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“Don’t bullshit me, Cass. You like him, but that doesn’t give you a good enough excuse to go blind to everything about him that screams douchebag. He’s charming, and then he’s a dick. That’s Tyson Preeter in a nutshell—and I’m sorry, but I’m not going to let him use you like that. You’ve been used enough!”
Her last comment bites. She winces a little when she realizes what she said, and I feel the apology coming.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Cass,” she starts, but I unwrap my headphones and put them in my ears to drown her out. I get it. I was the slut in high school. I’ve got notches on a bedpost, and was voted most likely to sleep her way to the top in the unofficial yearbook. But I’ve taken my lumps. Believe me, I’ve felt the wrath of what I did, and Paige has no idea how bad things got. My guard is up, and I’m willing to wait for Ty to wear it down—to earn it. And I believe he will.
“Cass,” Paige says, tugging one of the ear buds from my head, forcing me to look at her. “I just don’t think he deserves you. That’s all. And I mean it.”
I push my earpiece back in place and quickly return my focus to the class list in my lap, pretending to read. Paige walks back to the mirror and returns her focus to making everything on her perfect. And in my head, I twist the words she said to how I really feel.
“And I don’t think you deserve him.”
An hour ago, I walked out of Ty’s room feeling like the princess in a Disney movie—cartoon birds and butterflies whistling around my head as I tiptoed barefooted along rose petals. Now, I feel dark and sick and ugly. I feel just like the girl I was my senior year of high school—like the girl who let any guy make her feel better, feel special for the then and now. It’s the same way with drugs. The high lasts in the moment, and then the lows crash over you after, and the shame becomes so unbearable, you lower your standards to find the high again even faster. I lowered my standards to almost non-existent.
I was popular, and I had such a great story—the star soccer girl who was overcoming the limitations of MS. I was on the shots my senior year, and while they were supposedly helping me to keep the number of MS flare-ups down, they often left me feeling wiped out and tired. But worse than that were the red welts left behind on my stomach, thighs, and arms from the needles. I didn’t mind at first, and was only happy to be rid of the constant worry of a flare-up, when actual cell damage was occurring in my spine and brain. But the summer before our senior year, I joined Paige on a lake trip to Palm Springs. She wore her typical bikini—her body smooth and perfect, and the only thing every guy we came in contact with could look at. I wore board shorts and a long T-shirt, because despite being thin and toned, I knew when guys looked at me, the welts would be the first things they saw.
After that, upon my urging, my parents switched me to the oral meds. And when the popular and hot Jeff Collins started to flirt with me at the end-of-the-summer bonfire down at the beach, I let him take my virginity the same night. I did it because it felt good to be wanted and looked at the way Paige was. When he didn’t call the week after, and started dating someone else as soon as school started, I turned my attention to his best friend Noah, thinking I would make Jeff jealous. I waited a week before I slept with him. And then I waited—waited for word to get back to Jeff, for Jeff to get jealous, for the both of them to fight over me and want me to be theirs. That fight never happened—they both moved on, leaving me behind. The pattern of making myself feel loved and wanted by being easy became an addiction, until it almost ruined my life.