In Riptides

07 | when the party's over

[chapter tw: sexual assault aftermath]

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L I A

I could be dead. I feel dead, but I only know I'm alive because of the pain. It holds me up as my feet take short, steady steps. It burns through my thighs and radiates into my stomach, ripping and raw. It coils around my skin, chipping down to the bone. Without the pain, everything else is hollow.

Each step home is a stitch in the threadbare fabric of my thoughts, drawing them closer to coherence before they unravel again. I just need to get home. It's safe there. It will make sense there. I just need to get home.

"Lia?"

I jump, my steady pace broken. Squinting at the car I don't recognize, the face behind the wheel forms from a smudge. "Nate?"

"Hmph, yeah I get that a lot," he says with a breath of a laugh.

Different voice, different hair. He comes into focus and I stumble out an apology to Nate's brother. "Tyler. Sorry. Hey."

"Hey. You need a ride home? I'm headed that way."

I waver, looking at the dark stretch of road ahead. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want him to look at me too close. But I don't know how much longer this pain can keep me moving at all.

"Okay. Thanks."

I slide in the seat carefully, stopping myself from wincing, trying not to use my lungs too much. It's the only way to keep them from touching the needles inside.

"Fun night?" he asks as he drives. "Or maybe a little too fun, huh?"

He nods to my thigh, my skirt that's ridden up, the smear of blood that was missed. The rest of it washing down the drain flashes in my head, and I hastily adjust my skirt.

"Sure," I mumble.

"I always end up hurting myself at parties. Even had to get stitches once."

"Whose car is this?" I ask, needing him to change course.

"My friend's. They sent me to the gas station for cigarettes. Technically I don't have my license yet, but I mean, I know how to drive, and when you gotta get somewhere..."

I tune him out, watching the bursts of color start to arise as we get into the suburbs. Christmas lights are still strewn over houses, strings of flashes demanding attention. Why did I ever think these were pretty? It's just a kaleidoscope of multicolored brightness that hurts my eyes and sends throbs to my head.

Tyler's still talking, so much that he hasn't realized I'm not. I can tell he's been drinking, but he doesn't drive like it. I wish he did. I wouldn't make it home, but this pain would stop. Everything would stop.

I thank him again when I shut the door, and he wishes me a happy new year before he drives off. The window of the living room glows with the dull light of the TV, and I pray that Mom and Derek have fallen asleep on the couch. I sneak in soundlessly, halfway to the staircase when—

"Lia, what are you doing home?" Mom asks in surprise, coming out of the kitchen with a glass of champagne in her hand. "I thought you were staying at Rachel's."

"I..." I pause, glancing at Derek watching a New Year's show in the living room.

"Have you been crying?" She's too concerned, looking at me too close. Getting closer. Prying further, prying it out of me. And I know I'm supposed to say something.