Insidious.

When I get home, I feel like I'm high. I feel like all the feeling of being high without having to do a single bump. I feel good. I feel really good.

Angela is sitting indian style in the living room eating a bowl of cereal. The television is off and it sounds as if she's crying. I make the move to sit down next to her to see if she is okay, but I'm not sure if I'm the person she'd want to talk to.

"Zachary?" Her voice is small and I almost wonder if she'd really said something, let alone my name.

"Huh?"

"I was just... Making sure it was you."

I nod, and realize that she isn't even looking at me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

I hear her move the spoon around in her bowl of probably soggy cereal. "I uh... Yeah. I'm fine."

I can tell she's lying, but I don't want to call her on it.

I walk into the living room and take a seat on the couch, a safe distance away from where she's seated on the carpet.

"Wanna talk about it?" I ask.

Angela shakes her head, no. She's unsure, I can tell.

"You sure?"

"Dean..." she says, softly.

I'm confused. I don't know who Dean is.

"Who-"

"I met him at a party a few weeks ago."

"The guy I saw you with?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, that was some other guy. I met Dean after... After Rachel."

I never told her about Rachel, but I assume that's pretty public news. When someone dies like that it hits the news.

"I was hanging out with him today, and I... I... I just don't know what to do."

I wait for her to continue and when she doesn't I feel like I should leave. I don't know if she really wants to talk about this with me or if she's telling me simply because I'm the only one home.

"I uh... I don't understand," I say.

Angela looks up at me with red eyes. "You don't have to listen to me bitch and moan about this, you know. I'm just... I just thought you wanted to know. I thought you cared enough to know since you asked."

I shook my head. "I want to help you, Angela, I just don't know how. I never talk to you like this. Ever."

She nodded, and then paused before saying what was on her mind. No stuttering, no uncertainty.

"Dean raped me in the back of his truck."

"What?"

"Don't make me say it again, Zach."

She wasn't crying anymore. It was as if she had moved past sad and went on into indifferent right before my eyes. It was like she didn't know how to feel and decided to feel nothing at all.

"Why?"

She shrugged.

I couldn't comprehend everything that was happening. I went from feeling like I was on top of the world to feeling completely and totally incapable. I should be pissed off. I should want to kill this guy for what he did to my sister, but I couldn't feel that way.

"Angela..."

She looked up at me.

"I asked for it, Zack. I led him on for weeks. I mean... I always stopped him right before we took it all the way. He usually listened, but.... I kept making him wait. A guy can't survive off of blow jobs alone, Zack."

I stood up from my seat on the couch and looked at my sister. I wasn't sure of what to say. For a few minutes we both existed in silence. Me standing near the couch looking at my sister who looked as if she could fall to pieces at any moment.

Finally I decided to say something. I knew she needed to hear someone say something. Anything.

"It's not your fault. If you said no, he should have listened." I tried on a smile before continuing. "Besides, a guy can survive on blow jobs alone. A guy should know that no means no.... all the time."

Angela turned her head slightly so she was looking at me. Her eyes looked sad, or maybe confused, or maybe disappointed. Perhaps it was all of the above.

She drew in a deep breath.

"It means a lot that you're here, Zack, but everyone isn't as nice as you are. Not everyone listens. Not everyone does what they should or knows what they should. Sometimes... sometimes people don't listen."

My sister didn't know that I wasn't a nice guy. I hadn't always believed that no meant no. I'd done my fair share of bad things. She didn't know that I didn't always listen. She didn't know what I had done to Rachel that night she died. She didn't know a lot of things. Like that time with Harlow in the back seat of her dad's Bronco.

Angela didn't know a lot of things.

I'd bet she'd hate me if she did. I don't think she'd think so highly of me. I'd bet she'd prefer that guy who raped her in the back of a truck over her own brother.