Too young to be doing this.
Way too young.
Tears well in my eyes and I’m panting like I’m the one who’s been caught. I’ve had my heart broken before, but none of those breakups or letdowns felt like this. What I just witnessed has absolutely gutted me.
This is my fault. I’m gone all the time. Knowing what a shit parent Mike is, I should have been here to keep an eye on Scar. She’s been lonely and I know that. It’s the reason she wants Shane here all the time, to make this house feel a little less empty with Mom, Hunter, and me being absent.
This is my fault.
It’s on me.
The back door closes after Shane hops into his clothes and bolts.
I still haven’t completely processed the fact that I just walked in on my little sister having sex, but my back hits the wall as I try to make sense of it. Scar hasn’t said a word. She slips into her t-shirt and shorts and then lowers to the edge of her bed. After a few seconds, I can only guess shame has set in, because her hands come up to cover her face. I’m aware of the quiet sobs she releases behind them, but don’t quite have it in me to go to her.
I study her—the tousled ponytail on top of her head. The chipped polish on her nails. The studded earrings I passed down to her as a Christmas gift last year because I didn’t have the funds to spring for anything new. All I see when I look at her is my baby sister. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into, and as much as I blame myself for her growing up way too soon, I blame the other members of this family as well.
Sniffling, I push tears from my cheeks and set my emotions aside. I can deal with them later, on my own, behind my bedroom door. But for now, I have to step in and be the mother neither of us ever had.
“Did you use protection?” I ask, feeling sick to my stomach that I had to form my lips to string those words together into a sentence.
She takes a moment to answer, but nods eventually. “Yes.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, grateful at least for that.
“Was this the first time?” This time, I hold my breath, unsure I’m ready to hear just how hard I failed her. For all I know, this has been going on for months.
She takes a deep breath and finally lowers her hands to her lap. “No,” she answers, ripping my heart from my chest. “The third.”
Bile rises in my throat and I’m suddenly more exhausted than before, at the idea of having to be present more, while also keeping up with the many other responsibilities that have been dropped on my shoulders.
Still, among all those things, Scar is the most important.
“Three times,” I force out. “The other two times, were you careful as well? Did he wear a condom?”
“God, Blue!” she snaps, still choking back tears. “Is this really necessary?”
“If you’re not mature enough to have this conversation, you sure as hell aren’t mature enough to be having sex.”
She rolls her eyes when I say that word. “You act like you’re an angel, but you’re not,” she shoots off, passing a hateful glare toward me.
“And I’ve never claimed to be, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re not old enough to handle this, Scar.”
A frustrated growl leaves her mouth. “Yes, we were careful all three times. Are you happy? Can we stop talking about this now?”
“No,” I shoot back. “Did he force you into doing this?”
She gets to her feet and starts pacing when my line of questioning makes her more uncomfortable than she already was.
“You cannot be serious,” she grumbles to herself.
“I am serious. Now answer the question.”
Another hateful glare passes my way. “No, I wasn’t forced. It’s something we talked about all summer, so it wasn’t just some snap decision. And we didn’t do anything until we were both ready,” she hisses. “And for the record, I’m not a child.”
We clearly disagree on that point, but it won’t help anything to start an argument.
“What happened to you two just being friends?” I ask.
I feel wounded, like I’ve been lied to by the person I love and trust most in this world.
“We are just friends,” she insists. “This is just … something we wanted to do. Lots of kids in our grade have already done it, so we decided our first time should be with someone we trust.”
My head is spinning. While I believe this makes perfect sense in her mind, I can’t understand it.
“Your first time shouldn’t be because you want to get losing your virginity out of the way.”
She’s quiet and, as a change of pace, she’s actually listening. There’s a long stretch of time that she simply paces back and forth across her floor, but some of the fight seems to leave her and she sits again.
It isn’t lost on me how uncomfortable this must be, but it’s uncomfortable for me, too.
There’s something she wants to ask. I can tell by how she lowers her gaze to her nails as she fidgets with them.
“I’m listening,” I remind her, hoping to make it easier for her to speak openly.
She hesitates a few seconds longer, but eventually softens.
“How old were you your first time?”
I glance down at the floor, unable to hold back images of that night.
“Sixteen and a half,” I answer. “Nearly two years ago.”
She nods and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “And … have you done it with a lot of guys since then?”
A small laugh slips out despite the tears still falling from my eyes. “Nope. Just the one guy.”
Finally, her gaze wanders to meet mine. “Ricky?”
I nod thoughtfully. “Yep.”
She nods, too, when my answer seems to confirm what she already knew. “Did you love
