When I walk into my house ten minutes later, I catch myself in the mirror by the front door and my eyes well up with tears all over again. This girl... I don't recognize her. Her waterproof mascara has smudged to the point that she looks like a raccoon that's been sitting in the rain. Her pink lips are swollen from unwanted kisses. Her hair is disheveled from the amount of times she's run her own hands through it. And her clothes are sitting loosely on her tiny figure, making it clear that someone has had their hands up her shirt. This girl... she's me. And I feel so unbelievably stupid.

It's past two in the morning now, and I was kind of hoping my parents would be asleep. So I jump about a foot in the air when I hear my stepdad's voice from the living room. "Summer?" he calls, and I feel the blood drain from my already bloodless face. "Is that you?"

"Y-Yeah," I reply, and I don't even recognize the sound of my own voice. It's wispy and hoarse, like I've smoked a pack of cigarettes in just a few hours. "I'm home. You can go to bed now."

Please let this be the end of it. Please, please let him go to bed. I hear the squeak of the couch as he lifts himself up and then footsteps as he enters the foyer. When I see him, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old North Idaho College sweater, his ancient house slippers I bought him on Father's Day seven years ago on his feet, and a clearly angry face. But then he takes me in as well, and the anger fades away into something else: Concern.

"Oh, Summer," he whispers, and I don't know how he knows, but he does. And it breaks me. My face crumples, a fresh batch of tears begin to fall down my already tear-stained face. He opens his arms, and I run into them, sobbing into his sweatshirt. "It's okay, sweetheart," he says softly as he slides his hand down the back of my hair. "It's okay."

My stepdad leads me to the living room, and he places me on the couch where he was just sitting a few moments ago, probably worried and waiting for me to come through the front door. He leaves me on the couch as he goes into the kitchen to make me a steaming cup of chamomile tea, and when he hands it to me, the mug is so hot that I almost drop it. But I enjoy the heat. It's distracting me from the cold I feel all over my body.

I tell him everything. He doesn't ask me to, but I do anyway. It's like the words are poison, and I have to spew them out of my body in order for the world to be okay again. His nostrils are flaring, but that's the only sign of anger he shows. And I'm reminded of Baker and his calm demeanor as he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Did he...," my stepdad takes a breath, closes his eyes, and then continues. "Did he do... you know." I know what he wants to ask. He wants to ask if Ollie raped me. I shake my head, but I'm still scared about what would've happened had Baker not called me. "Do you want to call the police?"

Another shake of my head. "No. He didn't... hurt me. Like that." He was going to. I know it. I can feel it. "It wouldn't do any good."

He nods his head. I take another sip of my tea. It's so hot that the water has already burned my tongue. But it feels good in a way I don't understand. We sit in silence for a long time as we watch late night informercials on mute. I can't believe my parents still pay for cable TV. I think I'm the only teenager in school whose parents don't believe in Netflix. But right now, I don't care. I just rest my head on my stepdad's shoulder and watch the Home Shopping Network as a woman with short brown hair and crows feet on her eyes try to sell viewers a blue bag that comes with a wallet and in seven different colors.

I don't know when I fall asleep, or how I ended up in my bed. Maybe my stepdad carried me like he did when I was little and fell asleep on the couch watching cartoons. But I wake up several hours later wearing the same dress I had on the night before, and my parents having a silent argument down the hall.

"I knew that Oliver kid was bad news," my dad says in an angry whisper, and I can hear him pacing the living room furiously. "I want to call the police. Press charges against that little bastard."

"Bert," my mom says calmly, her voice a little thicker than normal. "Summer has to make that decision for herself. We can't force-"

"The hell we can't," he growls softly, and my mother sighs. "She's a minor. And he forced himself on her. I looked up the law, Ashley. What he did was sexual assault. He should be arrested."

"I don't disagree with you," my mom replies. My stepdad scoffs. "Bert, I don't. I'm just saying that this is a huge thing. And if we take the decision away from Summer, it could cause even more trauma. She'll have so many questions to answer, and there are some people who might not believe her. This isn't a small thing. This isn't like some kid stole her lunch money at school. We're talking sexual assault."

"I know that!" he says, and this time his voice is a little higher. My mom shushes him, and he sighs. "Jesus, Ashley. This kid was her boyfriend. Why would she keep going back to him? He's cheated on her twice that we know of already."

My mom takes a breath. "I don't know. But my guess would be-"

"If you say Jack, I will lose my mind," my stepdad snaps, and I cringe at the sound of my father's name. "She doesn't even remember the man."

"That's the point," my mom replies sadly. "That's the point, Bert. She never knew him. And yes, she has you. Of course she has you. And you've done such a great job with her. But the trauma of abandonment... well, I see it all the time. It can be really damaging. Summer would never admit it, but I think that's her whole thing, you know? This need to be perfect all the time. This whole Ollie thing. I just think it stems from all that."

I roll my eyes and silently groan. I hate when my mom psychoanalyzes me. Jack has nothing to do with anything. He never has, and he never will. I turn my body over and hold a pillow over my head to muffle their voices. But then the memory of the night before begins to replay in my head like the worst kind of after school special. No Means NO: Using Your Voice. Except I did use my voice, and it still wasn't enough.

My phone bings on my nightstand, and when I pick it up I see I have three missed text messages from Beth and one from Baker Scott. I skip over the ones from Beth asking me how the night went and if Ollie and I are back together and pull up the one from Baker. Part of me thinks he's going to ask me if I'm okay, so I'm surprised and relieved when I see the words, "Are we still on for the CDA library today?"

And just like that, my world comes back into focus. I sit up in bed and rub my eyes, ignoring the dark mascara stains on my thumbs as I jump to my feet. It's ten in the morning, and I promised Baker I'd meet him at the library at two. But there's no reason why I can't get a head start. I grab a pair of jeans, a blue plaid shirt, a new bra and pair of panties, and a fresh towel and make my way to the bathroom to take a shower.

And as the hot water beats down on my skin, I think about all the potential evidence I could be washing away had Baker not called me when he did last night. I shudder and pour a handful of shampoo into my hands before scratching it into my scalp. And I go back and forth between thinking about the projects I have to do with Baker and the painful way Ollie was touching me the night before. Alientation in The Catcher in the Rye. His slimy tongue wiggling in my mouth. Japanese Internment camps. The gross way he called me baby as he felt me up.

I throw up in the shower, and then I watch as the contents of my stomach slide down the drain with the shampoo. Then I close my eyes, willing myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. My heart rate starts to settle down, and the pounding in my ears begins to fade away. I'm okay. I'm breathing. I'm okay. I condition my hair, then wrap myself up in my towel before blow drying my blonde locks and doing my makeup.

After thirty minutes, I'm pleased to see that I actually look like myself again. Nothing like that girl who walked in the house last night and stared at her own reflection in the foyer mirror. I don't even know who that girl was. I pull my still damp hair in a simple braid before running downstairs, catching my parents sitting in the kitchen, clearly still conversing about my fucked up night and how it connects with my fucked up father.

"Summer," my mom says in greeting. Her eyes are red rimmed, and it's very clear she's been crying. Her coffee is sitting in front of her, and I can see it's mostly untouched. "Honey, how are you?"

I reach for an apple in the fruit bowl. "Good." I take a quick bite of the apple. "Can't stay and chat. Have to go meet someone at the library."

My mom winces. "Sweetie, do you think that's really a good idea? I really think you should stay here and talk to us."

"Why?" I ask, and I'm surprised to hear how angry I sound. "So I can sit here and discuss how I was almost raped by my ex last night, and how it all probably connects to Jack and the trauma I've felt my whole life about not knowing him at all? No thanks. Sorry. I have to study."

My mom's jaw falls open in surprise, and I immediately feel guilty. But I just don't want to talk about this shit right now. Right now, the only thing I want to do is study. Do something to distract myself from... everything. I take another bite of the apple and race out of the room, grabbing my bookbag by the couch and heading out the front door. I almost make it to the driveway before I realize I left my car at Noah's house last night.

When I turn around, I see my stepdad standing a few feet behind me, holding his keys in his hands. His lips are curved up into a sympathetic smile. I return his smile with a soft one of my own. "Come on. Let me take you to get your car."

I nod my head and follow him to his car. My stepdad is safe. He won't press for more details. He won't try to psychologize me. I slide into the passenger seat of his car just as he gets into the driver's seat. I give him directions on where to go, and he follows them. We don't talk about anything else. But the questions are lingering in the silence between us, and I stick my thumbnail against my mouth and start chewing. A disgusting, nervous habit I thought I broke when... he died.

"So," my stepdad says, catching me before another full on mental spiral. "You heard the conversation between your mother and I, huh?"

I sigh and press my cheek against the window. "I wish you didn't tell her. Now I'm going to have to deal with her Freuding me for the foreseeable future. And you know how much I hate that."

He nods his head. "I'm sorry. About all of it. And I'll talk to her. Tell her to take it easy on you, okay?" I don't say anything. "So, after... everything happened... last night...." Oh God. No. Please, please stop. I close my eyes, willing him not to try and push me into calling the police. But he doesn't. He just says, "Who brought you home? Or did you walk?"

I shake my head. "No. One of my classmates brought me home. Baker Scott. We have a couple projects together, and he saw me with Ollie last night, and he called me and... helped me. You know. Get away."

My stepdad falls silent for a few moments as he takes in my words. I hear him take a shaky breath, and oh God. He's trying not to cry. But when he speaks, his voice is calm. I have no idea how he can do that. "Well, you tell Baker Scott thank you for me, would you? For, you know... looking after you."

I nod my head and continue to stare out the window, watching the trees and cars pass by as we make our way back to Noah's place. My car is still sitting where I left it last night, thank God. Bert drops me off right next to it, and I get into the driver's seat. Then I wait for him to drive away before letting my head fall into my hands. How the hell am I going to get this?

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out I see another text from Beth. Just a bunch of question marks. But when my eyes fall on Baker's text from earlier, I grin and type a response at last. "Yes on the library. I'll see you at 2." Then I pull away from Noah's house and head in the direction of the library. I know I'm going to be two hours early, but I don't want to go back home. And I don't want to go to Beth's house. I just want to be alone with my books. To drown myself in my own studies. And hopefully, if I try hard enough, I can go back to who I was before last night.

Author's Note:
This chapter was heavy to write in a totally different way than the last. I hope you're all enjoying this book so far. And I hope that Summer is growing on you as a character.

I kind of want to know what you all think of her parents? Let me know in the comments! Next chapter coming soon, as it's already almost written. Stay safe and healthy until then, my dears!
XOXO,
~Aly