“You can call me green bean, and baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule. Let me live that fantasy!” We scream with laughter.
We dance and laugh and sing until the entire sky is covered in dark shades of orange and red, like the flames of a blazing fire. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
CHAPTER 10
Amy
“Popcorn or ice cream?”
“I haven’t had either.”
“Well then, you’re having both. We have to eat until we feel sick. That’s what movies and junk food nights are about. We need to do this at least once a week.”
Dillon told me I could pick out any movie from Laney’s stash and he’d watch it with me. When I brought down The Notebook, he rolled his eyes. I’m not sure why. Laney told me it was her favorite movie. She has the book too.
Dillon pops popcorn, pouring it all into one huge bowl and then he smothers it with salt and butter. I help him spoon heaping scoops of vanilla ice cream into a couple of bowls and then we top them with hot fudge and whipped cream. We sit by side on the couch, with the popcorn between us and the ice cream bowls on our laps, and proceed to stuff ourselves. We alternate, one handful of popcorn and then one spoonful of ice cream and so on. Dillon even sprinkles popcorn on top of his ice cream and claims it’s the best thing ever, so of course I have to try it too. We eat until we’re both moaning and holding our bellies.
“So, what do you think?”
“Oh God. I’m so full. I couldn’t stop. It was so good.”
“Relax, get comfortable.” He moves the popcorn bowl and puts a pillow there instead, next to his lap. He pats the pillow, encouraging me to lay down, so I lay on the couch with my head on the pillow and my legs stretched out. He keeps his arm stretched on the back of the couch, but the entire time, I’m wishing he would put his arm around me.
Halfway through the movie, I cannot stop crying. Dillon just laughs and shakes his head at me and hands me tissues. “I’ve seen this movie no less than twenty times with Laney and she cries like that every single time.” He moves his arm down from the back of the couch and barely, just barely draws circles on my shoulder with his finger. Every once in a while I feel him twirl his finger in my hair.
I haven’t been touched like this in years. Probably before I turned eight, when my mother was taking her medications on a regular basis. I remember her running her fingers through my hair and rubbing my back when I wasn’t feeling well or if I was upset. At some point, she just stopped touching me. His touch brings me comfort. It soothes me.
The day starts to catch up to me and my eyes start to burn from my tears. With each blink, it becomes harder and harder to keep them open. They become so heavy that they begin to close and my body just melts into the couch. I haven’t slept for days and I just can’t stay awake any longer. I feel myself dozing and then all of a sudden I’m back at that house.
I’m cowered in the corner of the bathroom. My mother has my hair in one hand and scissors in the other.
“Amy, you look like a whore. Do you know what this is good for?” She pulls hard on my hair. “It’s so that they can hold onto it to keep you still.”
“No mother, please,” I beg.
“No mother, please.” I hear his voice mocking me. It’s not my mother anymore. It’s the faceless skinny man in the suit. I’m all of a sudden in my mother’s bedroom, bent over her bed with my face pushed into the mattress. I see her. She’s in the closet. She can’t help me. He kicks my legs apart and yanks on my long hair.
“NO!”
Then, he’s shaking me. “NO!” I kick hard and hear a loud grunt. I force my eyes open and see Dillon bent over holding himself. His face is all red. Oh God.
“I’m sorry! Oh God, I’m so sorry.” I hold my hands over my mouth, my body still shaking from my nightmare.
“I’m okay. Are you? Are you okay?” His voice is still straining, even though he’s trying to disguise his pain. He comes toward me, I’m assuming to comfort me, and I want him to so badly, but my body language must tell him different because he stops. I’m still coiled on the couch, wrapped around myself protectively.
“I’m okay.” I really don’t want him to ask me about it and he doesn’t. I can tell he wants to, but instead he distracts me, as always.
“You missed the end of the movie. It was really sad,” he says sarcastically while standing in front of me with his thumbs in his front pockets.
I nod my head, still feeling bad for hurting him.
“I’m okay Amy,” he says to reassure me.