Becoming Sarah Read Free Page B

but I didn't care. I began to cry in earnest, a great flood of heartbroken tears.
    I cried for Maria, and how I’d hurt her just now. I cried for my mother, at home grieving my death. Who would take care of her? How would she manage without me? Last but not least, I cried for myself -- whoever I was now.
    What had happened to me the night before wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. Ricky had hurt and violated me. He'd murdered me; that I hadn't died was a fluke. Maybe I should go to the police, but why should they believe me when even Maria didn’t?
    Ricky Jones had stolen my life and there was nothing I could do about it.
    Nothing.
     
    Because I didn’t know what else to do, I dragged myself back to Sarah’s place. On the stairs, my head down, eyes on the carpet, I almost collided with a guy in his early 20s.
    “Sarah,” he said, as he took my arm to steady me, “are you okay?”
    I must have stared at him with a blank expression. “Matt,” he said. ”Matt McCormick. You know, I l-live right under you?”
    “Oh. Sorry.”
    “No problem.” A wry chuckle. “I’ve only been your neighbor for, like, t-two years now.”
    A wistful note in his voice made me look closer. Curly brown hair, mild blue eyes, a little chunky. Sweet but awkward. A slight stutter. The kind of guy who’d probably played chess, not football, in high school. From the way he was looking at me I had a feeling he was half in love with Sarah, and that she’d never given him the time of day. But I didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with his crush.
    “Look, um, Matt, I’ve got to --”
    “Oh, yeah, sorry to keep you. Y-you probably have a million things going on right now. Okay, sure. But if you're upset about something and you ever want to, you know, talk or anything. . . .well, I’m here.”
    “Thanks.” I forced a smile. “Really, thanks.”
    I let myself into the apartment. Sarah’s phone was wringing again. I turned it off. God, I felt wretched. My eyes felt dry and itchy from all the crying I’d done. My throat was still sore, my stomach muscles strained, and I was dizzy with hunger.
    In Sarah’s refrigerator I found a few cartons of yogurt, an apple, a case of Evian, an unopened bottle of champagne, and a takeout carton of Thai food – chicken with basil – that didn’t smell too bad. I threw the chicken in the microwave, then ate it straight from the carton, scraping out the last of the sauce with my fingers.
    When I’d eaten, I dragged myself to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. I kicked off my shoes, but fell asleep even before I could wriggle out of my jeans.

CHAPTER FOUR
    I slept long and deep, then woke gasping from a dream where Ricky’s hands circled my throat again.
    It took me a few moments to realize where I was. I lay there gasping in the dark, frightened and alone. I’d never slept in a house by myself before. Even when my mother worked the night shift as a nurse’s aid, she was home before I got up for school.
    The sleek glow-in-the-dark clock on the dresser told me it was 4 a.m., but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I turned on the lights, pulled down the shade, and slowly undressed in front of the full-length mirror.
    I’d never imagined having a body like this. I admired my reflection, vain for the first time in my life. I had to remind myself that this wasn’t truly my body. I didn’t choose the butterfly tattoo on my left shoulder blade. I didn’t remember why I had a long white scar on my right shin. I wasn’t the one who’d had my pubic hair waxed down to a heart-shaped patch in front -- acutally , I couldn’t even think about that process without blushing. So I had no right to revel in the long, slender legs, the toned arms, or the effortlessness with which I executed a graceful pirhouette.
    Food and sleep had improved my mood, and my outlook. So Maria hadn’t believe me right off. Well, she was in shock. In a few days I’d try again. Maybe I’d talk to my mom, too. I’d think