White Teeth Teens

30. Aftermath

I pull into the church parking lot by my house, park the car, and bawl into the steering wheel. I check my phone but Ben hasn't called or texted.

I'm crying so much that I lose my breath and start wheezing, panting like I can't take in any air at all. I grip the wheel in fear and then do what Dr. Moran taught me—close my eyes and focus my breath out of my nostrils and into my mouth, over and over. My breath returns to normal and the tears stop falling but my eyes are sticky and raw.

I put the car in drive and go home, feeling sore all over my entire body. It hurts most in my heart.

#

When I get home, I keep my head down as I walk through the door. Mom and Dad are watching TV in the living room.

"How was—" Mom starts.

"Sorry!" I shout, racing up the stairs. "Gotta pee really badly!"

Both of my brothers' doors are closed, thank god. If they see my puffy face, I'm doomed, but I make it to my room and lock the door.

What else can I do now but cry and listen to the most melancholy music I own? In Rainbows will have to do. I don't even have the energy to change. I just lie on my bed and let Radiohead drown out my thoughts.

My phone vibrates. Please, please be Ben.

It's not. It's Mom asking me why I'm not answering the door. I check my face in the mirror, luckily most of the redness is gone. Then I open the door a crack.

"Sorry, music was too loud," I say.

"How'd the portrait come out?" she asks.

"Oh you know... He's not the best drawer." I force a laugh.

Her eyes search my face. Any second now she'll sniff me out. She'll know I'm lying.

"Did you eat?"

"Uh huh."

She nods. "Okay, well, goodnight." She turns but stops herself. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

She's seems skeptical but she waves and walks away.

#

I wash myself thoroughly in the shower, letting the hot water sear my skin for far longer than climate activists would recommend. The sting between my legs reminds me that I had sex tonight. I forgot. The moment Ben told me to leave, everything that happened prior to that is a total blur in my memory. Wiped from my brain.

I walk into my room with a towel wrapped around my head and my brothers are sitting on my bed. Logan is at the edge with his knees hugs to his chest with his eyebrows knitted together while Dean has his back against the wall and his legs stretched out, one eyebrow up like he's expecting me to answer a question he hasn't yet asked.

"Do you mind?" I say.

"No," says Dean. He windshield-wipes his feet back and forth.

"Seriously. Get out," I say.

Neither of them move.

"What happened?" Logan says.

I scoff. "What—are you my parents?"

"No. We only shared a womb for nine months," says Dean.

There's no way in hell that I'm telling them what happened. I already know I'm a gigantic hypocrite. But worse than that, I'm selfish. My brothers are the only ones that would call me out on that and I don't want to hear the words aloud.

"We just hung out and stuff," I say. "Nothing interesting happened."

"You went over there on a school night. There's only one reason to ever do that," Dean says as if he's an expert.