Collateral Damage

Chapter Eighteen

That night, I lay wide awake in bed. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, several hours before I was supposed to get ready for school. If I didn't get some sleep soon, it was going to be a very long day.

Insomnia wasn't new to me. I spent many sleepless nights agonizing over the possibility that I was a rapist's girlfriend. Even after he was proven innocent, the guilt still kept me up late. It happened so often that I should have been used to it by now. Still, it isn't fun on a school night.

I was completely wired. Every nerve in my body was tingling, not even allowing me the luxury of feeling tired. I tried every technique I could think of: counting sheep, deep breathing, muscle relaxation, switching pillows. Nothing worked.

I glanced down at the foot of my bed. Kody slept there ever since I was little. Technically, he wasn't allowed to. "A puppy isn't a stuffed animal," my mom would lecture me as she led him down to his kennel. Nevertheless, the second my parents were asleep, I got up and snuck him back into my bed anyway. They later tried to compromise with a special dog mattress for my bedroom floor. He used it sometimes, but sooner or later, he jumped back on my bed where he belonged.

Through the darkness, I imagined I could see the outline of his body, curled on top of the covers. I remembered his warm weight nestled against my legs, and how secure it made me feel, knowing that no matter how bad things got, I had someone there, watching out for me. Now that he was gone, the bed was colder. Another empty spot in my room, just like the bare corkboard.

I missed him so much.

Sighing, I turned over on my other side for the fiftieth time. Inexplicably, an oldie song started playing in my head: "Tossin' and turnin', turnin' and tossin', tossin' and turnin' all night..."

That was me, all right. At least this time it wasn't because of Matt.

I just couldn't stop thinking about John's story. People divorce all the time, and yes, they could get ugly. Some parents were so busy throwing bombs at each other that they didn't notice if their children got caught in the crossfire. But to lie about your child being molested—to make your child lie about it—was beyond contempt.

"Do you think she's sorry?" I asked him earlier. "About any of it?"

"Yeah, she's real sorry," he said sarcastically. "Especially in front of the courts and the social workers. When they aren't around, she doesn't waste time finding someone else to blame. Like if I had just kept my mouth shut, the cops wouldn't have gotten involved. Or better yet, none of it would have happened at all if Dad hadn't 'broken up our family.'" He shook his head. "Can you believe that? Still bitter after all these years."

I rolled over in bed again, clenching my teeth. The way she simpered over Jasmine the other night, making a big show of how she much she loved her...that was all it was, a show. An overwrought act to cover up what she really was: a woman so obsessed with revenge that she destroyed her own children's lives. She didn't deserve to be called a mother any more than Marge McCloud.

And John's father...the poor guy. His whole life ruined for nothing.

It was just like Matt. Frances screwed over her ex, just Bernadette did to Matt. And why? Because they were dumped?

You were Matt's girlfriend.

That boy was no saint. He only wanted one thing from my daughter...and when he couldn't get it from her, he obviously got it from you.

Screw them. She had her chance with Matt. I didn't care how badly she was abused by her disgusting parents. She could have done something. She could have told anyone what was going on at her house. Hell, she could have even told Matt how she really felt about him instead of just staring at us together with that wounded, cow-eyed stare. Instead, she just secretly resented us until it all came rushing out at Chad Griffin's party...