11. Unlike Them, Unlike Him

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Uncertainty flits across his handsome face.

Cruz hesitates before answering, "To be honest, Alison looked pretty fried when she was talking to me."

Fried?

Oh, yes.

From the dub I sold her.

He offers, "I doubt she picked up on what Chrissa and Brody were trying to do until we found you in that room. At least, I hope that's the case."

"Jesus," I mutter.

Speaking of money and weed—

Where's my money?

Where's my leftover weed?

Right then, another kind of panic overtakes me. My eyes go round. I spaz out like a crackhead seeking her next hit, looking this way, that way, everywhere in the car for my missing purse.

Did I leave it behind at Sam's house?

Shit!

Shit!

Shit!

My voice sounds shrill when I demand, "Have you seen my purse?"

"In the backseat," he replies with a cocked eyebrow. "Don't worry, I think most of your shit is still there."

I squeak, "You looked in my purse?"

"Yes."

Damn it!

Now the spawn knows way too many of my dirty, little secrets. If he ever turns on me, my ass is so fucked.

Cruz seems to read my mind. "Relax. I promise I won't tell anyone about your shady side hustle."

"Really?"

"Really."

I don't trust him. "I thought you hated me?"

He doesn't address my pointed remark. I don't even know if he heard me. His eyes dart away for a second as though he's distracted. Cruz looks like he's deep in thought. "I've been meaning to ask you something..."

His tone sounds serious.

I sit up a little straighter. "What's up?"

"When Alison and I found you in the room with Chrissa and Brody," Cruz stammers in a halting manner, "your, ah... underwear... was still... on, so I'm hoping that nothing bad happened, but I wanna be sure. Do you remember if Brody... or anyone else... did anything... inappropriate... to you?"

There's a light flush on his cheeks. I can tell this conversation is making him uncomfortable. Hell, it's making me extremely uncomfortable. My neck burns with mortification because, the truth of the matter is—

I don't know.

I simply don't remember enough to answer his question properly, and the not-knowing is starting to mess with my head.

I reply honestly, "I wish I knew, but my memory's kinda fucked."

"Shit," he murmurs, "I'm so sorry this happened to you, Athena, I wish—"

I know he's trying to be nice, but I don't want to hear it. I'm over it. I don't have the brain cells to deal with this nightmare. I already feel too drained to give a shit.

"It's fine," I interject, "everything's fine."

"Agree to disagree," he declares as his eyes drift towards the hospital. "This is why we should go inside. They can help you answer all of the unknowns with a physical."

I fall quiet for a moment. There was a time in my life when going to the doctor wasn't an option. Mom didn't have any insurance, and we simply couldn't afford that shit out of pocket. As of recently, money isn't as tight. My aunt's job at the university gives us decent insurance, Cruz's dad is a goddamn doctor, but, as of right now, I don't want to go to the hospital for a completely different set of reasons.

"I already told you," I counter, "I don't wanna see a doctor."

"I just wanna make sure you're okay. You'll need medical evidence, too, if you plan to press charges."

"It's not worth the trouble."

His brow furrows. "Why not?"

"I can already predict how this will play out. If the tests show that I'm clean, then nothing changes. If the tests show that I was drugged, then what am I supposed to do? Go to the police? I doubt anyone will take my word over Chrissa's or Brody's."

Brody Carlisle and especially Chrissa Lawrence are God's favorites at school. Rich, popular, likeable. Good students from good families. Teachers love them.

Unlike them, I'm a nobody. I'm a slut, a bitch, a dealer. The only after-school activity I'm involved in is detention. On good days, teachers ignore me. On bad days, they do everything possible to make me feel like shit about my subpar grades and below-averageness compared to everyone else at our school.

To my surprise, Cruz asserts, "I'll vouch for you. I'm a legit witness. I literally walked in on Brody and Chrissa when they were messing with you. I saw that shit with my own eyes. I bet Alison will be willing to speak up for you, too."

Easier said than done.

I appreciate the gesture, I really do, but Cruz is one of the chosen ones, too. Star athlete. Top student. Girls want to date him. Guys want to be him. He doesn't know what it's like to be judged and ridiculed and stepped on.

Unlike him, I've been misunderstood all my life. Everyone thinks I've fucked half the guys at school. I may not be a virgin, but I actually don't mess around with boys that much. Everyone thinks I'm trash for dealing weed. They don't know that I'm doing it for Persie.

I've learned, though, it's impossible to change people's minds once they're set, so I gave up the fight a long time ago.

I shake my head. "Thanks but no thanks, I just wanna forget this night ever happened."

A pained emotion passes over his features. I side-eye him.

Why's he acting all butthurt?

I have a hard time believing that he's bothered because of me. We're not friends. We're nothing to each other. 

His words. 

Not mine.

Still, Cruz sounds genuinely upset when he says, "Look. I'm not gonna force you to seek medical attention, but I think you're making a big mistake here."

He thinks I'm making a big mistake?

Indignation sparks. I fire back, "How would you know? It's not like you've ever been in my position!"

"Maybe not," he answers, "but..."

I snap, "What?"

His expression dims. "There was someone I knew who went through something similar, and I don't want you to suffer the same shit that she endured."

Curiosity gets the better of me. "Who is she? What happened to her?"

Cruz shrugs it off, refusing to answer me. His silence feels kind of cryptic. He quickly changes the subject, offering, "How about this? You go get the tests done, and I'll handle Katrina if she gets pissed at us."

My anxiety shoots up. "I don't want my aunt to find out about my results, though."

"I'm pretty sure the hospital will keep this shit confidential as long as you fill out a Limitation of Access form—"

"Really? Even though I'm a minor?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Huh."

I'm still anxious, but Cruz's dad is a doctor, so I assume the guy knows what he's talking about here.

I hope he's not wrong.

He keeps fighting the good fight, "Once you get the results, I promise to fuck off and let you call the shots. You can toss them in the trash for all I care, but, at least, you'll have a choice and a chance to make things right. I don't know what you plan to do, but I think Chrissa and Brody deserve to be fucked over by karma after the shit they pulled on you."

For better or worse, his words leave an impression on me. I stare at Cruz for a long time. He gazes back at me.

His outrage makes me feel seen. His expression appears earnest. I've been let down so many times by my dad, by my aunt, and by life in general that my trust issues have trust issues, but, stupidly, I almost want to believe in the spawn.

"For the record," Cruz adds, finally circling back to my question, "I don't hate you. I just don't think your aunt should be with my dad."

After witnessing what Ron did to Cruz's laptop, I'm not so sure I want Aunt Katrina to be with him, either.

My resolve wavers. I sigh, "Fine, you win."

"You'll go?"

"Yeah, I guess so—"

I feign annoyance to mask my worries, rolling my eyes and making a face at him even though I'm a bundle of nerves on the inside. I don't want to be poked and prodded like an animal. I don't want to be questioned or judged. I think seeing a doctor is a terrible idea, and I'm scared out of my fucking mind.

"But I'm gonna bitch and moan about it the whole damn time because this is your stupid idea. Not mine."

He grunts, "Bitch and moan all you want, Athena. I'm used to it by now."

I'm about to fire back an insult as well when Cruz suddenly flashes me a lopsided grin, and my breath hitches.

God, the spawn looks damn good when he smiles.

"Come on," Cruz urges gently. "Let's get you inside. I'll be with you every step of the way."

My bundle of nerves ease a little. His support actually feels genuine, and it does something to my heart that feels warm and lovely. I don't want to admit it, but I'm thankful that the spawn is the one who found me tonight.

Maybe he's not such a bad guy, after all?


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