Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I explain the bullying, the intimidation, the fear. But it wasn’t just that. It was rumors, and insinuations, and harassment. He wanted to make my life a living hell and he managed to do it, day in and day out, and no matter how hard I fought back, no matter how often I stood up for myself, no matter how many times I went to the administration to complain, nothing happened. It didn’t stop.
“All because of that stupid war,” I say and try not to start crying again. “So today when I watched him hurt that guy, I realized, he could’ve done that to me a hundred times. He could still do it to me. He could break me without really trying. And I’m supposed to trust my life in the hands of a man like that?”
Elise is quiet. She runs a finger down her thigh like she’s got an itch she can’t get rid of. “I was attracted to that once,” she says and her voice is very small. “When I first met Casso’s father. I liked that he was a big man, a scary man. I liked that I was afraid around him. The idea of him smacking me around a little bit was frightening, but weirdly attractive, because I thought I’d be special. I thought I’d be the one to tame the bear, and all his aggression would only come out when I wanted. That danger, it’s a thrill, isn’t it?”
I stare at the pool and say nothing. She’s right: it’s a thrill. But doesn’t that make me broken? In some deep, intrinsic way, doesn’t it make me sick and wrong if I like to be afraid, just a little bit? To want a man like Casso is to court self-destruction, and I don’t want to hurt myself.
“I know you won’t believe this,” Elise says, “but I really do think Casso cares about you more than he’ll ever admit, despite what he did to you back then.”
“God, isn’t that nuts? I mean, he made my life a living hell and now I’m supposed to forget it? That’s like the ultimate schoolboy bullshit, torturing the girl you secretly have a crush on.”
“It wasn’t like that though, was it? He tortured you because your families were at war. Look, I really don’t want to be the one defending him, but the reason behind what he did matters. It wasn’t out of hate, it wasn’t really even about you at all. It was about him and your family.”
I bite my lip hard enough to hurt. There’s more I don’t tell her—the party toward the end of the year, a hot, steamy night at Roger McPherson’s house, his parents out of town, the entire place a rager. Kegs of beer, bottles of vodka, dozens and dozens of drunk high school kids letting loose. And Casso in the mix, the center of attention, the king of the party, and when his gaze fell on me out of everyone in that room, his eyes like spotlight burning into me, it was more intoxicating than the single beer I drank. It was hard to handle, it was heavenly. There was always an undertone, but that night he threw away pretense. He gave up on subtext that night and I made the biggest mistake of my life.
How could I like that attention? How could I want it from a man like Casso who did nothing but hurt me, again and again? And the one night he decides I’m not some toy good only for smashing against the ground, that night I throw myself at him like some slobbering, love-sick puppy. It’s pathetic.
“I should go inside.” I get up and turn toward the house. “I know you mean well, Elise, and you might be right. But I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him. I’m not sure I ever will be.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “If I could do more to help you, I would. I don’t want you stuck in a loveless, awful marriage like I was, but sometimes the world gives you shit, and it’s all you can do to keep from drowning.”
“That’s not exactly making me feel better.”
She laughs loudly and shrugs. “There’s always wine down here if you want it.”
I head up the house. I look back and Elise salutes me with her glass and takes a long drink before I step inside into the coolness of the house. My mind’s abuzz with old memories and what Elise said: context matters, context is important. There was a war back then but there’s no war now. I’m free to live my life. But how can I do that when the scars of those days are still fresh? When it feels like Manuel is barely buried, like his body’s still warm? I want to find a way past what happened, but I’m not sure I can.