Ones Ignored

Chapter 20 | "You're a pretty girl."

The others met me in the car not that long later, their lips pulled in a frown. The girls take their seats in the back, not saying one word to me. I find Ally's eyes in the rearview mirror, which she deliberately ignores. Oh, everybody is walking on eggshells around me; how freaking lovely! I turn to Jameson; surely he isn't going to treat me with pity. But he is.  His eyes are the softest I've seen as he takes a look at me.

"No," I say when his hand starts to move toward mine. I pull my hands in my lap and say, "No, don't treat me differently." I look back to find Jessica and Ally still looking out the window and say, "Come on, guys. I'm okay." They look up slowly, to which I offer them a large smile. They both return it and share a look at each other. Only this time the look isn't about me because both of them pick up their phones and shout a word that is incoherent to my ears, so I turn back.

"Flower," the guy beside me whispers as we start to pull out of the driveway. I looked out the window one last time to find the cabin disappearing from my view. I was in there a few minutes ago, and my chest was hurting with an immense amount of pain. I felt the hurt that I felt last year when I thought I got out of it. Only as soon as I saw the mattress on which I was forced to sleep for a whole night, did the feelings of uneasiness come back to me. There was no way I had felt this much last year; how did I survive?

I look back at Jameson and study his features. If I can trace him in my mind, I can cause this heartache to decrease. His hair has gotten only fuller, the top of it now falling into his eyes just slightly. His lips are pulled at the corners of his mouth, tipped in a way that tells me he is smiling. Only he isn't. When Jameson actually smiles, I know. I know his smiles, from the small ones to one of the big ones he shared with me this morning. I loved his smile; it was one of my favorite things about him. He glances at me and asks, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, James, I'm fine," I say to him and offer him a smile before looking away and into the trees that are never-ending. I tried not to let the flashbacks of the tree come back to me when I walked hand in hand with the handsome guy who had raped me later that night. It was surreal to see how everything could change in the blink of an eye. I button Jameson's shirt over my body and keep my eyes on my lap, telling myself that I will be okay. I had many things to look forward to but also many things to forget. It would all be a process.

When we get back to the camp grounds, I want to immediately go into my tent and take a nap. I wasn't in the best mood; I could feel a headache start to form. Despite hearing excited shouts about going into the lake, I walk into my tent and lay back on my sleeping bag. I'm thinking of ways to cope because I wasn't doing it well this time around. This time, my unessential thoughts just kept coming to me, harder and harder every time. I wasn't doing well; I knew that much. I hear footsteps outside my tent and feel someone walking in. Well, crawling, because tents weren't big enough for anyone to walk in. I remember when I was younger and giggling with my mom because I was able to run around in my tent when she wasn't. It was a core memory, one that hurts to think about now.

"Do you want to go swimming?" I hear Jameson's voice on top of my head. I should get up, but I don't want to. Jameson took a seat next to me, and I could feel his hand working at a button on the shirt of his that I was wearing. He was a fidgeter; I had noticed that about him the first day. I don't think it's from stress; I think it's more from the silence. "It will make you feel better," he says, and when I turn my head toward him, he is smiling down at me.

I wonder what would happen if I were to lean in and press my lips to his. Will he move away? Or will he kiss me, or maybe even place a hand under my chin for better access? I close my eyes when one thought sounds better than the other.

"I'm not feeling well," I say to him at last, and he nods, his hand accidentally taking off one of the buttons. He curses in a low whisper, and I let out a small laugh when he attempts to put it back on. I sit up in my spot, and much to his opposition, I take off all of the buttons. Slipping it off of my shoulder, I say, "But I guess if you are in my tent, begging—