Lights were flashing, strobing, making my head spin. The sweet, acrid scent of sweat and hormones filled the air. Overcrowded, the gym throbbed. Bodies were caught up in that intoxicating corner of Hell, made for sinners like me. Bass pounded, mimicking the pulse in my temples. My skinny black dress, too tight, chafed the tender skin of my underarms, and I shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the tickle of a single bead of sweat slipping down my spine. 

Ben’s hands were restless on my hips, drifting to places they shouldn’t. I tried to let go, let loose. I was always telling Grace to do that. She was so uptight, a string pulled too taught. One touch and snap. I was no better. I just hid it behind false smiles. 

The music turned slow and Ben moved closer, his breath sticky hot on my cheek. Too much punch and not enough air. I wanted out. I needed out. Out of that too crowded gym. Out of that relationship. Out of that God-forsaken town.  

I was suffocating, withering, falling apart, and there was no one, nothing to put me back together. I had made sure of that. If anyone had once cared for me, I had pushed them away until the sight of me made them sick. That’s what friends are for, right? To silently judge you as you crumble? No, I didn’t want that. I didn’t need that. I was my mother’s daughter—strong-willed and independent and controlled by no one. 

Grace—sweet, innocent Grace—stood alone, watching with that silent, pensive way of hers. I pulled away from Ben, ignoring his grab at my arm. He followed me, like always. A dog on my heels. Ha, as if. Dogs are supposed to be loyal. Ben was not a dog. He was a cat, finicky and aloof and only there when I didn’t want him. 

The blue punch smelled even more strongly of alcohol than before. Someone must have spiked it again, but I poured a cup anyway, searching for a release. I took a sip and felt sick, sweet syrup coating my tongue. Grace was exactly where I last saw her, being the perfect, safe daughter in the corner. A boy was checking her out, giving her the casual glance, but she didn’t notice. She was too busy watching Ben.  

It was a shame, really. I had claimed him first. She had always been attracted to the dangerous type. Poor Grace, always wanting to fix people, always wanting to make them “good.” 

True, she wasn’t his type. Sophomores weren’t his thing. Too innocent. Grace and I, we were a study in opposites. She was pretty, but in a pure way, blessed with a sweet face, wide and open and far too trusting—a baby’s face. Her hair was brown and straight, dull next to my natural gold waves. Where I had well-exploited curves, she kept everything covered—chaste and modest. She would make any nun proud. But we had the same eyes, our mother’s eyes. Eyes that enticed; eyes that lied. 

“Drink this. You need to lighten up,” I shoved the cup at her, nudging her in the side. She sipped the punch and gave me a look: clearly pissed. This was not her scene. It wasn’t really mine either, but it was an escape. For a brief moment of sweet rebellion, I could forget all the crap at home. I was here for release. She was only here for Ben. His presence was enough to drag her anywhere. 

“Hi, Grace.” 

My sister ogled him, punch sloshing in her hand. Her face was a beacon of adoration and Ben soaked it in. I nudged her, harder this time. Oh, no, he’s not for you, little sister. This one’s too far gone to fix. 

“Hi,” she squeaked. “Hi, Ben.” 

He nodded an acknowledgment, nothing more. 

“Coming, Faith?” The cigarettes in his hand were a dare, a challenge. 

I took it. “Don’t tell Dad,” I told Grace. She snorted. Of course she would tell. It’s why she was always following me, always reporting my grievances. She got her highs by reporting mine. Maybe, if she had looked less like Dad, I would have resented her for it. But Grace was too good. She displayed innocence. I hid sin. 

Outside, the night air was clean, fresh. It made me feel dirty, gritty, unclean. I shivered, cool sweat tingling my skin now that I was free of the press of bodies. Ben leaned against the side of the gym, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. He looked up, sniffed, ran a hand through his hair. Ben was the kind of guy every father wished their daughter never met. He was toxic and charismatic and sexy as hell. He asked me out the second week of the semester, hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. I said yes.  

We didn’t talk much. There was never much to say. His dad beat him. My mom left. We both needed a distraction. He wanted someone hot to have a good time with, and I had an image to upkeep, an ego to satisfy. Ben smoked and drank. I hated the taste of alcohol. It wasn’t worth the hangover. I couldn’t stand the smell of smoke. Cigarettes kill. Sex made me feel dirty. I was a closet prig, of sorts. I had morals. I just didn’t follow them. 

“Here.” The cigarette he held out to me wasn’t an offer. 

I took it. 

He tossed a lighter at me, but I made no move to catch it. It hit the sidewalk with a muffled clink. I stared at it, running my fingers over the wrapped poison in my hand. 

“I don’t want it.” 

“What do you want, Faith?” 

I felt my face flush, hands shaking. That was a loaded question and he knew it. He always knew where to throw his punches, which spots would hurt the most. What did I want? I wanted to walk away. I wanted to throw something, the cigarette, the lighter, him. I wanted to scream, curse, cry. My hands shook, still clutching that stupid cigarette. 

“Don’t.” My jaw hurt, emotions fighting to break free. 

Ben studied me, calm. Passive. “Don’t? Don’t what, Faith? Tell me. What do you not want me to do?” 

“Stop.” My pulse thumped in my throat. 

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything, Faith. Nothing. You’re the one who is freaking out over a damn cigarette.” 

It wasn’t the cigarette and he knew it. It was everything. It was all closing in. The whole world was suffocating me. My mom abandoned us, left the family, left me for her stupid new life and her stupid new husband. Dad’s face was lined and heavy, weary. He had loved her. Still did, probably. And she left him for someone with a few more zeros on his paycheck.  

But she’d left me behind, her copy. Her little protégé. A constant reminder of all he’d lost and all he still had left to lose. Grace, of course, was relentlessly perfect. But me? My parents’ morals, their religion, had been forced upon me. But now, with Mom gone and Dad’s belief’s crumbling, I was left to figure out right and wrong on my own. I knew what sin was. I had tasted it. It tasted good. And I hated it. I was dancing on the edge, caught between feeling too much and nothing at all. 

Everyone expected something of me. Mom wanted me to accept her new life. Dad wanted his naïve little Faith back. Grace wanted Ben, and Ben wanted me. Well, he wanted my ass. And then there was my future, my failing grades. Teachers nagging—what were my plans, my goals? Where was I going with my life? 

Nowhere. I was going nowhere and no one knew it. 

“I can’t do this.” My voice betrayed me, shaking. 

Ben pushed himself off the wall with that freaking annoying grace of a man too comfortable in his own body. “What can’t you do, Faith? Me? Cause you know that’s not true.” 

I felt sick. 

He smelled like tobacco, sweat, alcohol. Sin. His tongue on my neck was hot, possessive. I pushed him back, but his hands gripped tighter, tugging my dress. I felt his teeth graze tender skin. It hurt. 

“Stop.” I choked, pushing him, frantic, but he his body was hard, solid. His mouth heavy on mine, his tongue invading. Fingers dug, dragging my dress down. Panic. My back hit the wall of the gym. I was suffocating. I bit his arm, hard. Teeth tearing soft, hairy flesh. Blood blossomed, a soft trickle of red on white. Innocent, a rose. My tongue tasted metallic, and I spat in his face. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

Ben stared. No one had ever told him no, certainly never a girl. His eyes turned cold, acid blue. He let go of me, the ache of his grip lingering on my arm, my waste. He wiped his face, flicking the wet back at me. With a harsh chuckle, he smoothed his hair, studying me with his arrogant cool. “Feisty bitch.” 

“You’re sick.” I was shivering, my skin tingling with regret. Shame. 

Ben traced the line of bloody teeth marks on his arm. “You know, Grace is pretty hot for a sophomore.” 

My stomach dropped. He moved forward, coming close to me again, and I stiffened, pressing myself into the wall. Cowering. 

Ben raised an eyebrow at me, condescending. He picked up the lighter at my feet. 

“Stay away from Grace. You touch her and I will kill you.” My voice was a desperate rasp. I swallowed. My hands quivered, clutching at my dress. “I mean it. I will fucking kill you.” 

Grace could be an ass, but she was my sister. My innocent sister. He might have ruined me, but he wasn’t going to ruin her too. 

“Will you?” He flicked the lighter, kindling a small flame. He was unconcerned, unconvinced. He knew me. He knew I could never defend myself. How could I protect Grace? She didn’t even want to be protected. She was more like me than she would care to admit. For all her innocence, she liked the taste of sin, too. We really were our mother’s daughters. 

"Faith?” 

Sadie Jackman stood by the open door to the gym. I hadn’t even heard her come out. She was studying me, clearly unsure of whether she should stay or go. 

“You ok?” 

“She’s fine.” Ben lit another cigarette, turning his back to Sadie. 

I stared at the sidewalk, my pulse jumping in my throat, choking. 

“She didn’t ask you.” A boy stood behind Sadie Jackman. What was his name? I couldn’t remember. 

Ben raised an eyebrow, tossing his unfinished cigarette at Sadie. It landed at her feet. She flipped him off. With a shrug, he pushed past them, shoving the boy slightly into the door frame. Not hard enough to do damage, but a warning, a threat. 

I breathed, trembling. He was gone. Gone. What had I done? Oh, God, what had I done? Trembling, I turned away, desperate to get away from that moment. I made it to the nearly empty parking lot before I remembered it was Ben who had driven me.  

Grace. Where was Grace? She would take me home. She was probably dying to leave; she hated these stupid dances. Why had I talked her into coming? Why had she agreed? 

Ben, it was always Ben. I felt like I might puke.

Entering the gym was like entering a dream. Dim lights and the lull of some overdone love song signified the end of the night. A few pathetic couples clung to each other on the dance floor, but Grace wouldn’t be there. Her corner was vacated. Had she gone home? Of course. Idiot, Faith. She would have left long ago, probably as soon as I had walked out with Ben. She would have no reason to stay with him gone.  

No, she probably rushed home to tell Dad all the trouble I was getting myself into. Getting her fix off my sins. Grace, playing the perfect little girl and me, always the rebel, the slut. I swallowed, feeling the threatening sting of panicked tears in the back of my throat. 

“Faith? Are you ok?” 

Sadie Jackman stood behind me, her nameless boy hanging back behind her. Was he her boyfriend? I couldn’t remember. He was kind of cute, but not in a stunning way. More soft, like a smile—a genuine one. Nothing compared to Ben’s hard edges. But then again, Ben was a demon—the face of an angel and the soul of the devil. I clinched my fists, fingernails forming half-circle indentions on my palms. I hated him. 

Snap out of it, Faith. “I’m fine.” 

Sadie glanced at her boy and then back to me, “I saw Grace leave. Is Ben taking you home?” Her voice was doubtful, and her eyes drifted over my shoulder. I followed her gaze. Ben was on the other side of the dance floor, talking to Emily Moore. His hands were shoved in his pockets. His flirting stance. 

“No. No, he’s not.” No point pretending otherwise, everyone would know I had broken up with the hottest guy in the school before they had even recovered from their hangovers tomorrow. All the girls would know he was free game again. Always had been, really. 

“We can give you a ride,” Sadie’s boy offered. He placed a hand on the small of her back, and she leaned slightly back, as if her body just had to be closer to his. As if she was magnetized to him. As if she trusted him. I felt the bruises from Ben’s fingers on my back and a bitter taste coated my tongue. Jealousy? Perhaps. I certainly had never trusted Ben like that. I had never trusted anyone like that. 

“Thanks,” I said, surprising myself.  

Sadie was a low-down, a non-entity in my social sphere. No, she was too disgustingly genuine, too grounded in her morals for my world of sin. We’d been friends once, back in middle school, back when we were different people. Then we grew up. 

Sadie’s boy drove me home, one hand on the wheel and the other gently holding hers. It wasn’t possessive. It didn’t drift up her dress. Granted, I was in the car, but he seemed content to just let it rest there, safe in hers. He wasn’t searching for more. His grip wouldn’t leave bruises. What was that like, to be respected like that?  

Sadie hummed to the radio, and he watched her more than the road, a soft smile on his lips. She wasn’t exceptionally pretty. Her hair was frizzy from the wild night, and her make-up had smudged beneath her common brown eyes. Compared to me, to Grace even, she wasn’t anything special. Still, this guy looked at her like she was the only girl in the world. Like she was his world. 

I felt dirty. No one had ever looked at me like that. No one ever would. 

I went in through the back door to the kitchen. It slammed. 

“You’re late. Curfew was forty-five minutes ago.” Dad was standing at the kitchen sink, arms covered in suds as he washed the dishes. The dishes I was supposed to wash yesterday. His face was calm, stoic, hard. His usual face, since Mom ditched us. He scraped a pot, the muscles in his arms clenched. Had Grace not told him of my latest escapes into the world of sin? 

I hovered at the edge of the light, too aware of the hickey at the base of my neck. If I broke down, begged for forgiveness, would it wipe all the pain from his face? No, I knew it wouldn’t. It was Mom. He still loved her, had always loved her, and she got bored with that, so she left, taking all her boxes and hurtful words. And him too, leaving us with the shell of a man. Even when he was with us, he wasn’t, he was somewhere else, some other time. Too busy missing her to notice Grace and I were still here. 

“Grace left without me. I had to find another ride.” 

“So?” he rubbed his forehead with the back of arm, leaving a trail of suds. 

“It took a while to find someone who wanted to leave and could drive me.” I took up a towel, starting to dry the dishes he had already cleaned. 

"No one was leaving? It’s almost 2 am, Faith.” He didn’t believe me, saw too much of my mother in my eyes. 

“No, no one was leaving. It’s a dance. People were having fun.” I couldn’t tell him the truth, couldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. “And yes, it is 2 am. Why are you doing dishes now?” 

“What kind of fun?” 

“Fun! What’s that supposed to mean?” I pulled the towel tight between my hands. Did I smell of cigarettes? I had never wanted to shower more. Wash away the feel of Ben’s hands, the sweat, the emotions, the night. 

“You know what I mean.” The softness of his voice made me shiver with shame. 

“Oh, I see, I go to a school dance and suddenly I’ve lost all my morals and I’m a loose slut.” 

“Faith.” 

“No, I get it, I’m a rebellious, hormonal teenager. You don’t trust me.” I threw the towel on the counter. 

A vein jumped in his jaw. “That is not what I said.” 

“You implied it.” I turned away from him, staring at the light above the kitchen table, feeling tears prick my eyes. 

“Don’t do this, Faith. It’s late.” 

Why did I always hurt him? “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Tears trickled down my face, dripped off my chin. “I tried to get home but my phone died and Grace was gone and Ben wanted to be with his stupid jerk-face friends and—” 

A sigh. “All right, get some sleep. Goodnight, Faith. I love you, sweetie.” 

“Love you, Daddy.” 

“You’re screwed. Dad’s pretty pissed you were out past curfew.” Grace sat on the edge of my bed, her hair pulled neatly back, wearing a shirt with the neckline of a saint. 

“Go away,” I groaned into my pillow, clinging to the last shreds of sleep. 

“What happened last night?” 

I rolled over and studied my ceiling. Midmorning sunlight played with the mirrored mobile hanging there, painting rainbows on the walls. It had hung there since I was a child. It didn’t fit my tastes now, but I was too lazy to find a ladder and remove it. What had happened last night? I’d bitten Ben. My body ached with the memory of his hands gripping me. What a monster. How had I gotten home? Oh. Sadie and her perfect boy. I felt dirty. 

“You left me.” 

Grace narrowed her eyes. “You had Ben.” 

“Had.” 

“Had?” 

“Had.” 

She shifted her weight, picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans. “What happened?” 

My body ached. “He’s a psycho. Stay away from him. Far, far away.” 

“He called me this morning.” 

I sat up so fast I saw spots. “You didn’t answer.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. Please, Grace. Please. 

“I did.” 

No. No. Breathe, Faith. Breathe. 

“He’s not a psycho…just misunderstood, perhaps. He doesn’t open up to people easily.” 

Oh God. I was going to puke. “Grace, stay away from him. You can’t fix him.” 

“Just because you don’t want him anymore doesn’t mean no one can have him!” 

My hands twisted my quilt. “I’m not kidding, Grace. He’s crazy.” 

She stood, face flushing. “No, Faith, you’re the crazy one. He told me what happened.” 

“What happened?” I shivered again, but I wasn’t cold. I was burning up. 

“He dumped you because he has feelings for me and you bit him. I have to admit, that surprised me. You bit him. What is wrong with you?” 

What was wrong with me? “Don’t be gullible, Grace.” 

“At least I’m not a slut.” 

The room spun. “What did you say?” 

She shook her head, her face turning a splotchy red. “I didn’t mean it.” 

Oh, come on. Innocent Grace, always perfect, can’t even accuse me of the truth. 

“You’re right.” 

“No, I’m sorry, it just came out.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

I rolled over, facing the wall. “You’re not.” I traced a small dent with my finger. 

She sighed. “I am.” 

“Whatever.” 

“Stop it, Faith. Stop it. I said I’m sorry. What else do you want from me?” 

“Don’t talk to Ben again,” I said to the dent. 

“Fat chance.” 

“Better than a slim one, I guess.” 

A pause. “What?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Did you just try to make a joke?” 

“No.” 

“I’m meeting him for coffee.” 

I curled up in ball. What could I do? She would never believe me. Nothing I said would change her mind. 

Silence. 

Finally, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell Dad?” 

She shrugged. “He’s got enough on his mind right now. I figured he didn’t need more to worry about. Besides, I was tired.” 

Ouch. That was Grace, letting me off the hook but making me feel like shit doing it. 

“How did you get home last night?” 

I thought of Sadie Jackman and her boy. I had never learned his name. I hadn’t thought to ask. Had I even thanked them? I couldn’t remember. 

“A friend gave me a ride.” 

“A friend?” 

“Sadie Jackman. And her boyfriend.” The perfect couple. 

Grace looked at me like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Oh.” 

I picked at my quilt. “You deserve better than Ben.” 

Silence. 

“And you didn’t?” 

I froze. Oh. Wow. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wondering how it could feel like my heart was being ripped out and put back together all at once. I sat up and faced her full on for the first time. 

“I didn’t think I did. But I do. We both do.” 

She studied her hands. “Is he really that bad?” 

“Worse.” 

“Did he hurt you?” 

I swallowed, the bruises on my arms, my back pulsing. “Yes.” 

She met my eyes, “He just wants to get to you through me, doesn’t he?” 

"Yes.” 

She let out a breath, “Bastard.” 

"What?” Did she actually believe me? 

“If he hurt you, than he is a jerk-face bastard.” 

My heart jumped at the sound of my own laughter, “Yes, yes he is.” 

She nodded once, “Ok.” 

“Ok.” 

She started to leave but paused at the door. “You’re not a slut. You can be a bitch. But you’re not that bad.” 

Maybe. Maybe not. I didn’t know. I didn’t know if I would ever know. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

She left, and I lay in bed for some time, studying my ceiling and its silly, stupid rainbows, thinking of Sadie Jackman and her boy and the idea that maybe I deserved that too.