On the Night She Died: A Quarry Street Story Read online

  "Shit," Allie said, stepping back. "What happened to you?"

  "Nothing." It was no use resisting. Jenni sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest.

  There were leaves in her hair. Shit. How did she get leaves in her hair? They’d been in his truck the whole night. Hadn’t they?

  A vague memory of laughing and stumbling through the dark with trees slapping at her face rose. She’d gone out to the old shed in the woods, the one that had once been used to store equipment when the quarry had been in use. That was where she and Barry met up to exchange pills for dollar bills. She could only remember swallowing a few from the supply she’d brought with her to work. Had Steve urged her to go get more? Another memory swam up from the depths of her mind, even less firm, of Steve driving them to the end of Quarry Street farthest away from her house, of her feet dangling from the high cab as she dropped to the asphalt. He must have sent her to get them more drugs. Damn it, Jenni thought. He’d scammed her.

  “You look like crap," Allie said. "What happened to you? Jenni, what happened to your neck?"

  Jenni touched her throat and felt a small but angry red scratch just below her chin. She pulled the blankets up higher, hiding herself from view. "It's just a hickey or two."

  "Gross. Mom will kill you --"

  At the words, Jenni let out a low, snorting laugh that cut off, strangled. "She won't. Kill me. She wouldn't actually kill me."

  I could kill you, and nobody would figure it out.

  The pressure of fingers around her throat, squeezing. Pleasure, rising along with the pain. The haze of drugs and alcohol, his voice in her ear, his hands on her.

  I could kill you, if I wanted to, and you’d love it the entire time.

  Allie grabbed panties and a bra from the dresser and slipped into them with her back turned, self-conscious in front of her sister, in a way that Jenni had never understood. They had the same parts. They were sisters. But Allie had always been shy about showing her body. It was good though, for her to turn away. It meant she wasn’t staring at Jenni anymore.

  "It's just a saying.” Allie pulled on a pair of jeans and one of her favorite t-shirts. "And if she or Dad see those hickies all over your neck, you'll be in such bad trouble you'll maybe wish they'd kill you, instead."

  "I would never wish to be dead."

  It was a lie. Jenni wished to be dead almost all the time. It used to be she’d wonder what people would say about her. How they’d gather for a funeral. How’d they all talk about her, so sad, missing her.

  She didn’t care about any of that anymore. Now, she thought about the long quiet darkness that would accompany death. She imagined it was like sleeping without dreams, not having to wake up, ever again.

  Allie whirled around, frowning. “What?"

  "Nothing. Never mind. Forget it, you're right, I'm hungover. Shit, maybe still drunk." Jenni mumbled her answer, words slurring a little, and cut her gaze from her sister’s. It was the truth. The room was starting to spin again. She dove beneath the blankets again. "Leave me alone now. Tell Mom I'm sick, please? She'll believe you."

  Allie was quiet for a second. "Where were you last night?"

  "Out in the woods." Also the truth, although nowhere close to all of it.

  "Yeah. I can tell. With who. A boyfriend?"

  God. That word again, that thing, that stupid term that meant nothing. Jenni was eighteen. Steve was an adult. He probably had “girlfriends” all along his route. She didn’t care. What they did wasn’t about dating or love. Still, there’d been those times in the darkness of his cab’s bed section that he’d buried himself against her and whispered sweet words she’d almost let herself believe, if only because he sounded like he did. If nothing else, he might be the one to give her a ride when she was ready to get out of here. What might happen beyond that wasn’t anything she could think about, especially not right now.

  Jenni giggled, surprising herself with the humor. "What if I was?"

  "Since when do you have a boyfriend?" Allie asked.

  "I didn't say he was a boyfriend."

  Alicia turned, a pair of knee-socks in hand. "You're out with him often enough, whoever it is. Just tell me, Jenni, who is it? Is it someone I know?"

  Jenni was silent beneath the blankets for a moment, before she mumbled the lie, “yes. You know him."

  It was possible Allie would recognize him. He was at the diner a lot. But Jenni knew for a fact her sister didn’t know anything about him. Hell, Jenni didn’t even know Steve’s last name, herself. Jenni lied because she wanted her sister to think she’d been sneaking out to fool around in the woods with a boy from school.

  "Ilya."

  "Who? What about Ilya?" Jenni flipped the blanket back, startled and disgruntled that Allie could even say such a thing.

  "He's your boyfriend?"

  "Why? Did he say he was?" Jenni felt weirdly hopeful, but it lasted only a couple seconds. She and Ilya had gone around and around. He was never going to be what she needed. She would only ever be something he wanted. She pulled the blanket back over her face. "Was he talking about me?"

  "I haven't asked him. I asked you. If it's not Ilya...who is it?"

  Jenni faked a soft snore. Allie didn’t ask again. After a moment, Jenni heard the click of the door closing behind her sister. She waited for her mother to come up and demand she get out of bed, but Allie must have done Jenni a solid and told their mom she really was sick. Jenni would owe her, she supposed. That was okay.

  She slept restlessly and woke feeling like shit. She stumbled to the bathroom and ran the shower. She bent over the sink, meaning to brush her teeth while she waited for the water to heat. The sight of her face in the mirror startled a low cry out of her.

  Bruises, small but distinct, ringed her throat. Allie was right. They did look gross. They did not look like hickies…because they weren’t. Jenni’s knees sagged, and she gripped the edges of the sink to keep herself from falling.

  She should go to her parents, to the police. She should never let him touch her again. What was wrong with her? Why did she let him do these things to her, over and over, getting worse and worse?

  Why did she like it?

  Jenni climbed into the shower and tipped up her face into the water. It stung the scratches on her neck. More bruises dotted her body. Her knees, one hip. Those had been from stumbling, high and drunk, through the trees. But there was another pattern of bruises on her breasts, and one nipple had been abraded. She didn’t remember what had happened.

  She pushed a hand between her legs, unsure what she was feeling for. She found only her own body, no pain, no evidence of anything bad. That meant nothing, but the chances they’d used a rubber were pretty fucking small. She put both her hands flat on her belly, imagining it getting round with a trucker’s bastard. Shit, shit, shit.

  No. She wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be. She had too much to do, too many places to go and see. She wasn’t knocked up. She was fine.

  Shaking, she washed herself. By the time the water had started running cold, Jenni felt a little better, at least until she got back into her room and looked again at her naked body in the mirror. Why the hell had they been in the woods last night? Why had she taken him to the old equipment shed?

  Another wave of sickness washed over her. Vaguely, she remembered the pressure of Steve’s fingers on her throat. She’d given him all the money she had saved. He promised to keep it safer for her than it would be buried in a jar in the dirt floor of the shed. At the time, it had seemed like that made sense. Now, sober, she realized she’d been the stupid bitch who’d given up everything she had to a man who got his rocks off by threatening to kill her.

  It would be okay, she soothed herself. It would be all right. Maybe not all the money was gone. They’d been beyond wasted. Maybe she really hadn’t given it to him. Chances were they wouldn’t even have been able to find it, right? The jar, buried under rocks and leaves and dirt? Just because her hands were dirty didn’t mean they’d found