Bone-deep fatigue grips me. My eyelids droop, and the urge to close them is impossible to resist.
“Fuck you,” I repeat in a soft voice. Fuck Rob Avery for assaulting me in the bathroom. Fuck the police for not believing me. Fuck Paul Adamson for seducing me. And most of all, fuck whoever is doing all this to me.
I take refuge in the handicapped stall. I slide down into a corner, pulling my knees to my chest. The cool tiles feel so good against my hot skin.
I will rest for just a moment. Then I can figure all this out. No one will notice if I’m gone for a minute. Cole is running around with his friends. Clare can handle the UK table.
My eyelids are so heavy. I’ll let them close, just for a few moments.
46
When I crack open my crusted eyes, daylight is pouring through the window. I am in my bed, but I don’t remember how I got here. I’m wearing only underwear and a bra. I try to move my legs, but they are trapped, tangled in the sheets.
My lips crack when I open my mouth. I’m so thirsty.
Someone presses a damp washcloth into my hand. I wipe it across my lips, desperate for a drop of water.
The world comes into focus. I’m lying on my side at the edge of the bed. Before me are Mark’s feet, wearing socks with pictures of little tacos on them, a gift from Cole last Christmas. He passes me a cup of water. I bring it to my mouth and sip eagerly.
“What happened?” The words grate against my sore throat. Even in incremental movements, sitting up hurts. “I don’t remember anything.”
“What happened?” Mark glares at me, radiating fury. I search my brain for what I could have done. “Let’s see, you passed out drunk at International Night. Leah found you in the bathroom. She was about to call an ambulance when someone came and got me.”
Bits of the night bounce around in my brain in an incoherent collage—the articles in Mark’s drawer, the confrontation with Vicki, Krystle and the reverse mortgage.
“I kind of remember going into the girls’ bathroom.”
“I had to carry you out fireman-style,” Mark says. “In front of the entire school community. Cole watched.”
“Is he all right?” I cringe, thinking of Cole seeing me that way.
“Not really. He was hysterical. He wanted to know if you were dead.”
“Where is he?” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Bad idea to move so fast. The sudden action makes me feel like I’m going to puke.
“Don’t worry about Cole. He’s all right now.”
I look at the clock. “It’s almost ten. He’s at school?”
“He didn’t want to leave you, he was so worried about you.”
“This doesn’t make sense. I didn’t drink enough to get drunk, let alone pass out for this long.” I push back the covers and try to stand up. I make it on my second try, with no help from Mark. I’m unsteady on my feet. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You don’t? Let’s see if I can fill in the blanks. For starters, there was an empty bottle of wine in your back seat. You’ll need to do a better job of hiding those, Allie.”
“Bottle of wine?” I shake my head. “That’s not right.”
“And the travel mug trick. It only works if you rinse it out, Allie.”
“What travel mug trick?” I pull on my terry cloth robe. Unable to locate the belt, I leave it hanging open.
“Your travel mug? You almost emptied it, but it stank to high heaven. I just thank god that you didn’t get into an accident. When I think of what could have happened to Cole.”
“Travel mug? You’re not making sense.” I sit back down on the edge of the bed.
“The travel mug you drank the wine out of, Allie! I found it. In the car. Stinking of booze.”
I recognize the words, but the meaning eludes me. “Are you saying you think I was drinking and driving? Never. You know that.” Even as I say it, I remember feeling a little tipsy as I pulled into the school parking lot. But I wasn’t drunk. “I had a little bit to drink with Daisy and Leah, but not enough to get drunk.”
“Stop.”
“Listen, Mark. I don’t know what you think you found, but if there was a bottle of wine in the car, I did not put it there.”
“Enough, Allie.”
“Someone else did. In fact, I think someone might have drugged me.”
“Drugged you? Are you serious? No one else put an empty bottle of Matua in your car. No one else put your travel mug in the car.”
“Listen to me, Mark. Someone is doing this to me. I swear—”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” He slams his open hand on the wall. The impact sends a black-and-white framed Man Ray photograph onto the floor. I freeze, staring at her cheeks, dotted with round tears. Neither of us makes a move to pick it up. Mark takes a deep breath. “I called the studio today to let them know that you’d be out sick. Imagine my surprise to find you don’t work there anymore. That you were fired.”
His face is beet red, his anger unfurled like a flag.
“I was going to tell you,” I say evenly. “I swear. It just happened.”
“Bullshit. You lied to my face yesterday. When I asked why you weren’t at work.”
“I wanted to tell you, but there were so many other things going on—”
“Uh-huh. And what about this, Allie?” He pulls a silvery object out of his pocket and flicks it at me. It lands on the floor. “How do you explain that?”
The sunlight streaming through the window glints off the object. I bend down and pick it up. It’s an empty condom wrapper, the top torn off.
“Where did you find this?” My voice is so soft, I can barely hear it.
“Under the front passenger’s seat.” He sinks down into a crouching position, his head in his hands. “I can’t do this
