☆☆☆ Chapter 61 ☆☆☆

Summer Seventeen

*Ane's Point of View (POV)*

When I was fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, I was a whole different person.

I was full of hope for myself, for everyone. I lived my life as a proud social butterfly and gossip queen. Not like I went out of my way to catch everyone's attention, but most of the time I was the scoop for the day. As someone who had been told to have a heart of gold, I used to fight for what was right— literally. I had a nice group of friends with bad luck. Drama would come their way and I would get them out of it. Whether it was a crazy jealous ex or a no-good bully, I had their backs. Fights weren't a problem for me so long as I knew I was on the right side. It would get me in trouble with my parents and the principal but at the end of the day they patted my back. My intentions were always pure.

Everyone knew for a fact that if I was their friend, they were safe, and boy was I glad I had friends. The more the merrier. They would help me in classes, tutor me when needed or pass me cheat-sheets when my brain just couldn't get it. That's how I got by in school.

I had plans for my future to follow my big sister Tess, who was dead-set on becoming a doctor. A security guard at a hospital sounded just right. All I needed was a high school diploma. And if I really wanted to work for it, an EMT sounded pretty good too. I didn't think too hard about it, I made sure to keep my options open. So long as I was by her side I didn't care about what I would end up doing with myself.

My love life? It was alright. I asked three guys out in high school, dated two of them. One for four months, the other for three. We hung out all the time, fooled around a lot. Typical good stuff. And in the times I was single, I would fool around some more. I even had a name going for me. Handsy 'Mani. I was "boy-crazy," as Mom used to say under gritted teeth, but for me it was harmless fun. Nothing bad came out of it.

My life turned upside down right before I turned seventeen.

I was fresh out of my third year of high school, chilling in the heat of the summer season, when I met him. It happened in the parking lot of the mall from the next town over. He had a nice bike, ripped jeans, a leather jacket, the whole bad boy deluxe package. And by everything, I mean everything— from the tattoos down to the cigarette. My girls and I stopped what we were doing and approached him. We weren't shy. I wish we were.

We walked away with the image of his crooked smile burned in our minds, his phone number, and an invite to his next party. In it, in front of everyone, we made out on a whim and I caught him off his guard with my signature moves, the ones that lived up to my name. He said it's always the ones lacking in something that do it best, so I impressed him and that was that. From then on I was his to claim, but he never made it official. Didn't seem to matter.

The signs were there from day one. I overlooked them. I overlooked them all.

I wasn't ready for sex, but a week into our relationship a handjob, a boobjob, any job, wasn't enough anymore. I got drunk off my mind at another party of his and the morning after he told me I did great. With no memory of the details, I bragged about it to my girls. It was the best thing I'd ever made up and they would've believed it had one of them not stepped up to tell me she saw him drag me up the stairs. Apparently I was already half-naked, with scrapes on my knees and elbows. The girls were all alarmed at that, they thought that was strange. They were afraid for me.

When I told him about it, he said that they were strange, and only put up with them for me. He claimed that what he did was normal. So I believed him and his terrifying charm. After all, who knew better than the bad boy who'd done it all?

By the end of our third week together, his word held more weight to it than anyone else's. It didn't take long for me to ghost my friends for him, especially after they went out of their way to confirm my sister's suspicions of him.

"Shut up! He's a nice guy," I would tell Tess, like a broken record. "Just don't mess with him and nothing'll happen." But when she would ask me what I ever did wrong to get punched I had nothing to say because if I did, I knew she wouldn't understand. No one would.

Some day in early July, he set someone on fire. It was a normal day, like always. I woke up and headed straight to his house, where I found him and his friends playing with matches, bored out of their minds. He brought me up the stairs and had his way with me, then went about his day until he exploded on an unsuspecting soul. As I said, a normal day. Except that this time, his routine made someone go to the ER with half a chance at life.

As someone who thought he could do better— as someone who thought he could change, I told him off. Gave him the lecture of a lifetime in the hopes he would think over what he'd done. He laughed it off and said to grow a pair.

I listened to Tess that night, and didn't bother to drop by his house the next day.

Then Uncle Jesse died.

The bad boy brought me flowers, said he was sorry for my loss, and petted me. He had his way with me that night, and the next, and the next, until I forgot all about the guy he burned alive. I missed Uncle Jesse and the bad boy made the pain go away.

I missed his funeral.

Then the bad boy beat me up so bad I barely managed to limp my way home. Tess freaked out. Talked me out of dating him. We planned to drop the bomb on him as soon as possible. And the rest... the rest is history.

Today's history— yes, it's midnight now; twelve o'clock on the dot, or so the clock above says— today's history, because on this day, three years ago, my sister and I crawled out of hell, Mom and Dad got a ticket for speeding to the local hospital, and Molly cried on her own in the waiting room, too scared to see our battered and broken selves. We had no clue we would lose her too in a matter of weeks.

Yes, today's history, because on this day, three years ago, my life changed forever. Right before I turned seventeen.

☆☆☆

I used to swoon over him.

I didn't know. I was young. I was manipulated. But it's not like I want to understand the why's. I actually don't. I know right from wrong. Mom and Dad taught me well. I was just blinded enough to choose not to see the problems in him. All in the name of what I thought to be love. Was it wrong of me? Did I trust in humanity too much? Yes, and I hate myself for it. I've suffered enough for it, and so has everyone around me. That's what I tell the doctor every time we meet. We talk about it in depth. Of how I shouldn't be taking those feelings out on my wrists, family, everyone I know, and all sorts of other stuff. But somehow when I think back to the past, whether it's because of my want to get better or because of the timing, I turn to the why's before I get to the who's, the when's, the what's, the where's, and the how's. I just don't get it.

I didn't crave attention. I had more than enough of it without me having to change my routine, and even though I was seen as a "big girl" in high school... heck, since kindergarten, I had a pretty good self-esteem. Nobody bullied me into a corner. I had everything going for me. I just don't get it. Is there something that I'm missing?

I don't know. I don't have a single clue, and I might never know. Will I be able to live with that?

The doctor says I can't define myself by my past, but isn't it a part of me, isn't it why I have two to three sessions a week with him? Isn't it why I had to call him just now, to talk all about it and not end up losing my mind some more? Isn't it why I am who I am today?

If there's one thing I wish I could've done when time was kind, it would've been to walk straight ahead on that parking lot where I swooned over the one demon, the one monster, that infected me with its poison.

I wonder how well off I would've been. How Teresa would've been. Would we have been happy, happy from the bottom of our hearts? Would I have ever wanted to punch her? Would she have ever wanted to punch me? I wish I knew.

☆☆☆

In silence, I chewed the last bits of fries in my mouth before looking down at my plate. Nothing in it was different from what I'd usually order, but something about it suddenly looked disgusting to me. The fries, the coleslaw, the burger, the side of bacon, everything actually. I had to look away if I didn't want to throw up.

I caught the sleeve of my waiter as he passed by my booth. "'xcuse me, Juan, hey, I know I just got this but can you wrap it up for me?"

There was a twitch in his eyebrows. "Sure thing, miss." When he came back with my food ready to go, he held his hands together and softly cleared his throat. I couldn't keep my eyes on him for some reason, so I looked back at the clock above us. Tik. Tok. Tik... "Forgive me for intruding, miss, but would you like someone to walk you out? It's dark and pouring outside. I understand your husband isn't here with you tonight."

As quick as the lighting outside, I heard myself gasp a no. Heat rushed up to my head before I could do anything about it, left me dumbstruck. "Sorry. No thanks. I'm fine." Lies. Lies, lies, lies. "No, no, I'm... getting better? I hope so?"

I snatched my food from his hands and rushed my way out, hoping it would be the last time I'd ever have him as my waiter again, but I knew it wouldn't be.

It wasn't until I was miles away from the diner, staring at the screen in front of me with my butt buried in the permanent dent on my bed, that I realized the food was ice-cold.