Toxic Bad Boy(68)

-Mahatma Gandhi

GIANNA

Cell phone in hand, I read his latest text message.

I’m at your door. Your dad won’t let me in.

I hit reply. Go away, Caleb.

I hate that I hurt you.

Go away, Caleb.

I just need to see you.

I walked over to my window and texted, Look up at my window.

He backed out onto the grass and saw me holding up my middle finger as I mouthed, go away.

From his clenched jaw and drawn eyebrows, he didn’t like the message. I watched as he stalked to his car and got behind the wheel.

And sat.

An hour later he was still parked outside my house.

He finally disappeared around three o’clock and I figured he’d gotten hungry.





*****





Plopping down at my desk, I flipped open my laptop. I hated reading emails on my phone, the screen was too small and I sometimes hit the wrong keys by accident.

I deleted most of the new emails all at once in bulk, ones from department stores and social media notifications. Two emails remained, one from a dance blog I subscribed to and another from an email address I didn’t recognize with the subject line, Funny Pictures of Gianna.

Clicking it open, I scrolled down to check out the pictures and couldn’t breathe. Through a full blown panic attack, I struggled to call out for my dad. Collapsing back into the chair, I hyperventilated in helplessness. It felt as if my heart was trying to pound out of my chest. At the same time I had the scary sensation that my body was being squeezed into a ball. Through my dizziness, I threw up into my trash can.

Bent over, I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing like my therapist had taught me. Over and over, I reminded myself it couldn’t hurt me. It’d been awhile since my last panic attack and the unexpectedness of it had left me unprepared. The last few time it’d happened, I’d been in public. My home had become a safe haven, or so I’d thought.

It took what felt like forever, but was probably only several minutes, to calm down. My chest hurting and arms tingling, the moment it was possible, I screamed for my dad. Grabbing several tissues from a Kleenex box, I wiped my face and nose.

His footsteps stomped up the stairs and he burst through my door. “Gianna?”

Instead of answering, I pointed to the laptop screen I’d avoided looking at during my freak out.

He drew near, his eyes focusing on the screen. “What the hell?” In a fast move, he slammed the laptop shut. At my flinch, he pulled me out of the chair and guided me to my bed. “Do you know who sent those?”

My whole body shook and my dad squeezed me to him. “It had to be Josh,” I said on a deep shudder.

“The police assured us his access to any form of communication was heavily restricted.”

The youth correction facility Josh had been sent to north of Denver for really bad teen offenders had sent a letter to our lawyer listing the precautions they’d taken so he couldn’t contact me. His stay there was specifically tailored for his violent and obsessive tendencies. “Dad, I don’t know who else it could be.”

“Gianna, two other people were there that night before the police and paramedics arrived.”

“Caleb wouldn’t do this,” I protested.

“What about that other kid, Ian?”

I was pretty sure Ian wouldn’t either. “He’s my friend and he’s still locked up until school starts in August.”

“Are you sure?”

“Dad, he got arrested for beating up Josh. Do you really think he’d send pictures of me from the night of the attack?”

The pictures were horrible. The real life version of what Caleb had painted. I understood what Caleb had found in that cafeteria. Me, a broken mess. The image had been burned into his mind, causing him to transfer it onto canvas.

My dad still held me against him, his strength comforting. “Then Josh must have taken the pictures with his cell while you were unconscious before he left the cafeteria and someone got a hold of the phone. If the police had submitted the phone as evidence, those pictures would’ve never come to light. Josh’s cell phone must have been lost in the shuffle that night.”

“What if whoever sent them posts them online?” I asked in horror.

“Listen, Gianna, we need to take this to Officer Novak tomorrow morning. I’ll call him tonight and ask him to meet us at the station or come to the house.”

“Okay,” I whispered, wishing none of this was happening. Wishing I didn’t want Caleb’s arms around me right now. “Dad, I’m scared to sleep alone tonight.”

“Do you want to invite Cece over?” he asked. “Or I can drive you to your mom’s house. She’s worried about you.”