Wild
Page 50I tore my gaze from Logan as we were ushered out into the hall.
“Georgia, look at me,” he commanded.
I shook my head and stared ahead. Other members of the kink club joined us in the hall. All of them were handcuffed like we were. I spotted Annie down at the end. Her shirt was inside out. She was shooting her mouth off to one of the police officers. Once they appeared satisfied that they had us all out in the hall, a female officer read us our rights.
I didn’t think I could sink any lower in my misery, but as her voice rang loud and clear advising us of our rights, something inside me fissured. My tears dried and I felt numb. Dead to pain. It was like this thing broke inside me, taking with it my ability to even cry.
“All right. Let’s go.” The officer who handcuffed Logan and me guided us forward. Stepping out onto the porch, the number of police cars with their flashing lights against the dark night only hammered home the enormity of the situation. This was bad. I was being arrested. Me. The girl who had worried about my permanent record since kindergarten. This went far beyond the shame of after-school detention.
Drivers had parked alongside the road to observe what was happening. A few people even stood outside their cars, necks craning as they watched the group of us being led down the porch steps. Neighbors gawked from the yards on either side of us and across the street. Several even had their phones out snapping pictures. I fought to swallow past the lump in my throat. Didn’t they have anything better to do than bask in the misery of others? I suddenly regretted every Jerry Springer episode I ever watched where I let another person’s misery entertain me.
I was put into a police car with Rachel of all people. Logan went in another one with another guy, and I was actually relieved for that. I wanted to be alone with my shame. I wanted to nurse my regret, stir it into a bubbly stew inside me, and let it strengthen my resolve to get through this.
I just wanted to wake up tomorrow in my own bed and forget any of this ever happened.
And yet I wasn’t alone. Rachel was with me.
I glared at her. Feeling mean and tired of her less-than-kind attitude toward me, I snapped, “I’m not wearing panties. Ask Logan.”
Her eyes flared wide and then narrowed to slits. “Nice. I’m sure he appreciated the easy access.”
I grunted, done with talking to the girl. “Look, I’m fine not talking to you.”
“Just like you’re fine jerking Logan around.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re the first girl he’s ever given more than two damns about and you don’t even give a shit.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I accused, rattling my cuffs behind me for emphasis. “I’m in handcuffs in the back of a police car because I came here to see him—”
She tossed her head back in laughter, her dark hair shaking all around her. “Oh, you’re going to blame Logan for this?”
“I agree.” She nodded, dropping her head against the backseat. “That sounds like a fanfuckingtastic idea. I can’t imagine a better graduation gift. You’re no good for him.”
“And I suppose you’re what he deserves?”
“Oh, I know he’s too good for me. But you? You’re too much of a coward to even own up to how you feel about him. I can resign myself to not having him as long as he’s not with you.”
Her words pelted me like jagged rock, but in her face I saw that she was as much of a coward as I was. She was in love with her best friend and she had never dared to confess that to him either. I could have pointed that fact out to her, but I decided to spare her. Logan didn’t love her. Not in the way she wanted him to. Nothing would change that so why remind her?
Instead, I let her continue to vent her spleen on me. “He’s about to leave for college and he’ll meet girls who don’t look down their noses at him. And someday when he’s playing in the majors and you’re living your little boring suburban existence, you can tell all your little country club friends that once upon a time you banged Logan Mulvaney.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to open my mouth and explain that I didn’t look down my nose at him . . . that I knew he was good. He was honest and real, but he lived his life outside the box and I had to stay inside mine.
Swallowing past the words, I inhaled, the odor of days-old sweat filling my nostrils. Another smell tickled my nose. The faint, coppery edge of blood. I scooted forward on the seat, hating for any part of me to touch anything in the back of the police car.
Turning, I dropped my forehead against the cool glass of the window. I stared into the night as we pulled out of the driveway past the gawking onlookers. Glancing down, I noticed my too-tight dress has ridden up indecently high on my thighs, but there was nothing I could do about it, and this just made me feel more helpless than ever. I flexed my fingers behind me where my hands were trapped.
Right here at this moment, on the way to jail, why I stayed seemed kind of minor and petty. To avoid Mom talking about Harris? To pretend I was something I wasn’t and do wild things like go to a kink club and have no-strings sex? Clearly, I’d failed on the whole no-strings sex. I’d gotten myself trapped and tangled in those strings . . . tangled up in Logan Mulvaney. I’d taken what should have been fun and casual and made it serious. I wasn’t made for casual.
Rachel sighed and I glanced at her. “I was imagining handcuffs tonight, but nothing like this,” she muttered.
I looked back out the window again, a sob trapped in my chest that refused to rise and spill. I kept it locked up in there—with the rest of me.
“YOU’RE FREE TO GO.”
I looked up from where I sat on cold concrete in the holding cell. It was me with all the other girls from last night—in addition to one very inebriated self-proclaimed prostitute named Darcy who wanted to know where I bought my dress.