I said....NO

My radio alarm sat quietly in the dark.  I turned the music on quietly and scooted back until I was in the corner where my headboard met the wall.  I pulled the covers up over me, trying to make sure the covers stayed neat on the bed but all of me was covered.  It was very frustrating that I couldn't have it both ways.  I got up, made the bed and took an old comforter out of my closet, got back up on the bed in that same corner and covered up with the old comforter.  I liked this comforter.  No matter how old it was, it was still thick and soft.  I kept it in my closet where I kept my sheets and blankets for my bed.

That's another thing mom couldn't understand.  Why I took all of my bedding out of the linen closet in the hallway and put it in my bedroom closet.  The best reason I could give her was that I liked the feeling of all of my stuff being in "my" place.  Which was my room of course.  Actually, that's the best reason I could give myself.

I thought of Mary.  Her room really looked nice today.  Leaps and bounds better than what it usually looks like.  I looked around at my own room and felt good about it's neat appearance.  I took a lot of pride in keeping it neat and clean.  Funny, it drove Mary crazy to be in my room, you'd think it would drive me crazy to be in her room.  But it didn't.  I never felt uneasy in there.  I need to ask mom if I can paint the walls a cream color.  I really don't like these yellow walls.  And I need to move the furniture.

I thought all night.  Or so it seemed.  It felt like I was consciously thinking all night.  About the furniture in my room.  But somewhere in the night I had slid down until I was on my side with my back up against the wall and my head pressed in to the headboard.  I woke before the alarm went off.  Feeling kind of hazy I went through my morning routine of eating with mom and dad, showering, brushing my teeth in my robe and then going to my room for make up and getting dressed.

I stood at my dresser looking in the mirror.  At the makeup sitting neatly in it's basket.  I didn't feel much like looking good today.  Still wet, I brushed my hair out and pulled it back with a plain hair band in to a simple pony tail.  I dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt that was very soft, with our school logo on it.   I looked in the mirror, I looked young in the clothes, I felt.... what I thought eighty must feel like.  Maybe eighty doesn't feel this way.  Maybe this is what seventeen feels like when it doesn't feel right.  Great, a gloomy day was to be had by me today.  Knowing sure made it seem unavoidable.

The day went relatively fast and passed by without me being very much a part of it.  By the time I found myself in the newspaper room I didn't even remember most of the day.  I checked my notebooks and saw my notes for the day and my homework listed in my day planner, that kind of brought the day back to me.  I remembered the words and writing them.  I tried hard to focus on the work at hand now.  We were editing our first final draft of the year for our school paper and we were all pretty excited.  Mary came in late.  

She sat next to me exclaiming "what a day!"  She was smiling, like most times.  Sometimes it just felt good to be with someone who just felt good.  Like I could just absorb that feeling.  She turned to me and whispered "I think Tim Shyder likes me."

"How do you know?" I whispered back.  She grinned and shrugged, he had just walked in and sat at the table next to ours.  He looked at her and she smiled.  I turned my attention to the draft of the page I was working on.  Before I knew it, Mary was at the other table talking with Tim.  I hope he likes her.  Mary then started going back and forth between me at my table and Tim at his table.  Which was a little annoying, but bearable. For some reason I was very uninterested in this usually exciting exchange of 'discovering if someone-likes-someone-else' type drama.

Soon enough Mary and I were heading out the front door of school.  Mary had her parent's car, I really felt like walking but I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I got in the car and we headed home.

"Tim asked me out".   She was nearly giddy.

"I didn't even know you liked Tim."

"I didn't either, I don't know if I do.  It's just....he likes me, that's kind of neat.  So why not go out and see if I like him too."

"Oh."

"Oh?  Is that all you say is 'oh'?"

I can't say that id really doesn't matter to me because I can't think of anything clearly.  I and really DON'T have any feelings about it.  So I punt.  I turn sideways in my seat and smile at her.  "I'm sorry Mary, I was still thinking about the paper.  I have to refocus.  Are you going to go?  I mean, where are you going.  And when are you going?"

That was all she needed to hear.  She spent the rest of the drive home telling me they were going out Friday, tomorrow.  And they were going to start with the high school football game.  Then go out to eat from there.

"You don't mind do you?"  She said as we slammed the car's doors shut after she parked behind her house.  I pretended the sound of the doors made it  so I couldn't hear her.  "I'm sorry I couldn't hear you."

"About the game tomorrow, you don't care if I go with Tim do you?"

Somewhere over the past week we must have said we were going together.  "No, no you go ahead.  Mom and dad would probably like having me home for a night."

"You aren't even going to go?"  She feigned surprise though both knew she wasn't surprised at all.  

I felt like I had to say just the right thing.  I don't want her to worry about me, feel guilty or think there was something wrong.  "No, I really think I've been neglecting them lately.  I really think they would feel good if they thought I was staying home to be with them."

"Okay....are you coming in?"   She had started to walk up the back steps of the house.  But I had stood still.

"No, I told mom I would start dinner tonight, and I think I'm going to try and get my homework done earlier.  I didn't get it done until 10:30 last night."

We rambled on a little then she went in and I headed home.  Mom and dad's cars were gone and I let myself in to the house.  I dropped my backpack on the bottom step of the stairway to the upstairs.  And went to the kitchen.  

I almost sucked my tongue down my throat when I saw Doug sitting at the kitchen table.  I stopped dead in my tracks.

Shit.

"I let myself in with the key they gave me.".  Where was his car?  "I parked a little down the street. I thought you might be trying to avoid me."   He stood up.  I took about five steps back in to the hallway.  He stepped forward and I stepped further back, in to the living room.  "Why are you backing up?  You act like you're scared of me.  You know you don't have any reason to be scared of me Nicky."

Get away from me!  You are a sick son of a bitch!  Why couldn't I open my mouth and scream at him!  

He stepped up to me and put his arms around me.  The stench of his cologne clogged my nose.  I couldn't breath.

"Don't....touch.....me."

I kept my arms by my sides, which were trapped by his arms around me anyway.  I didn't fight.  I never had.  And I had never, ever, said "don't touch me".

But I did, this time.

He put his hands on my shoulders and stepped back to look down at me.

"What did you say?"  I stepped back and his hands fell by his side.  I think he looked scared.

"Don't touch me."

"Why Nicky?  You always like this, with me."  Hesitantly he took a step towards me.  I couldn't scream at him all of the things that were screaming in my head.  It wasn't even words.   It was was pain.

Anger.

Disgust.

Guilt.

Shame.

It was every fear I had ever had in my life.  What was it he thought I liked?  Which one of these things screaming in my head was the part I liked?  Was it the five year old that decided I liked this?  Or the seventeen year old who felt like a whore.  Felt like trash.  Felt like everyone else was better than her.

"Don't touch me."  I couldn't say anything else.  My insides were quivering so much I thought surely he could see my whole body shaking violently.  But he just looked at me.  There was nothing else I could do.  I couldn't move.  I couldn't say anything.  He stared.  I stared at the empty space next to his ugly head.  Finally, it had to have been hours, he walked past me and out the door.  I didn't move.  I didn't breath.  After what had to have been less than a minute that lasted for years I heard a car start in the distance.  It had to be him leaving.  

It can't be over.

Gone.

For good?  For good.  I knew it.  It was over.  He knew it.  On shaky legs I walked into the kitchen.  Maybe seven minutes had passed since I had come home.  I unlocked the back door and walked my very, now obviously, shaking body outside.  I walked to the middle of the yard and sat down.  How long?  Ten years, twelve, more?  I was cold.  I was trembling-no-shaking.  I looked at my hands, and watched them shake.  My heart was beating in my ears.  Leaves are everywhere.  Why didn't this feel better?  I wanted to scream.

I had the urge to get up and physically run.

But all I could do was sit there.

I wanted to beat the hell out of something.   I clenched my hands in to fists.

All I could so was sit there.

I closed my eyes and all I could see was white, hot white!  I put my fists to the sides of my head and pushed on my head.   All this time....

All this time and all I had to say was 'don't touch me'.   He just walked out.  And that's all it took?

At some point I got up and went inside.  Mindlessly I set about to making something for dinner.  Somehow I finished it, sat down with mom and dad when they came home and ate it and made my way upstairs to do my homework.   But I sat.  Unaware of anything else because my brain was so full of this.  I heard mom and dad downstairs.  I didn't really want to be around anyone.  But knowing them, one of them would be up here before too long to see if I was okay.  I might as well head them off at the pass.

I moved.  Automatically.   Which felt so normal to me.

I made myself go downstairs.  They were just going out on the porch.  I followed.  They sat on the swing at the far end of the porch and I sat on one of the gliders.   "What brings you down from your sanctuary?"  Dad put his arm around mom while looking at me.  A show of comfort that I did not take any comfort from.  I guess he wanted me to reply in some way.