Things They Don't See

I wake up at about ten in the morning. The birds are chirping, and the sunlight is strewn across my bed in the pattern of the lace curtains covering the windows. It’s warm in my room but nice. I grab my phone from the nightstand. There are two messages, one from Annie and one from Kyla. Annie’s reads: Hey Abby, I have two or three meetings today. I’ll be back later. I didn’t want to wake you. Have a good day. :) The next one from Kyla reads: Abbs, check your facebook. It’s really bad. I’m sorry. I think you might need to deactivate it. I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. I’m so, so sorry. Now, I’m nervous. I haven’t been on my facebook since I left to come here. I’ve been doing so much that I just haven’t had time to look at it. Actually, I haven’t even felt like looking at it. Kyla’s message makes me scared to look.

I pull my laptop out of my bag and flip it open. I keep looking at my background, which is a picture of Patrice Bergeron, to stay calm. I open google chrome and pause when I’m about to type facebook into the browser. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I start crying before I even type it in and see everything. I breathe in and breathe out. Deep inhales and exhales, over and over again. I finally gain the confidence to type in ‘facebook’ into the browser. When the webpage pops up, I type in my login information. When my facebook newsfeed opens up, I find that I have over one hundred notifications. One of the top statuses on my newsfeed reads: I can’t believe he knocked her up. Knew she was a whore. I want to throw up. Sammy’s friend, Tadd, is helping spread these lies.

I go onto my facebook page, scared of what I’ll find. There is comment after comment left on there.
“Whore.”
“Slut.”
“Baby mama drama bitch.”
“Keep your legs closed, slut.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
All of these posts make me sick to my belly. I can’t stomach it anymore. I run to my bathroom, crying, and puke my guts out over and over again. I lean back and try to breathe, but the smell of my own puke forces me puke again. I flush my puke and feelings down the toilet, and I feel completely exhausted. My body is so tired, and I can’t feel my throat anymore from the acidic stomach liquid.

I finally gain the strength to get up and hobble back to my laptop. The tears start rolling again. I go back to my newsfeed one last time, and I see Sammy has posted something: This is Sammy’s mother, Rita. If I see one more untrue word said about Abigail, I will have you all arrested. My son has already been charged. I had no idea what he’d been saying until he left his facebook open. I’ve already contacted most of your parents. I hope you all learn from this.

I burst out crying, actual sobbing tears and sounds. Rita was the best woman I’ve ever met, besides my mother. She was always there for me. I could go over Sammy’s house whenever I wanted to if I needed to talk to her, since she was a stay at home mom. Sammy’s dad, Niklas, is a surgeon who’s always on call, so he’d rarely be there. I wonder if Sammy’s father knows that he was arrested…probably. She is my gift from God. Her words are exactly what I needed. I needed somebody to stand up for me.

I finally gain the confidence to, instead of deactivate, screen shot every single thing people have posted and messaged me. I will not deactivate. I want this to be used against all of them even people who I thought were my friends or at least nice acquaintances, like Cassidy Williams, Rick Johnson, Callie Graham, and Tommy Shay. It’s so amazing how people can change so quickly or how they are someone completely different than what you thought they were. I thought Annie was a terrible person, but she is actually awesome, caring, and kind-hearted, and these people I thought were nice turned out to be some of the biggest jerks around.

After I finish taking screen shots of everything, I lay my head back on my pillows and close my eyes. Five minutes later, I feel the other side of the bed move, and it makes me jump a little. I look over to see the one person I wanted to see, Eli. He’s dressed in a grey v-neck t-shirt and khaki-colored shorts. He kicks off his tan sandals when he gets settled into bed. “Hello, beautiful,” he says to me before giving me a kiss. “Hi,” I say after our lips disengage from each other. “Don’t you cry, my girl Abby. They are awful and don’t matter anymore. Alright?” he tilts my head up and tells me. I nod. He kisses me again, and my bedroom door closes. I pull away, “Did you do that?” It’s his turn to nod before his lips reach mine again.

I close my laptop and put it on my nightstand with my phone. I pull Eli on top of me. He deepens the kiss. His body is leaning over mine, and I can feel his body heat. I place my hands on his hips and pull his hips into mine. He makes a muffled moan. I run my hands up his back to his shoulders. My hand movements encourage him to grab my right side while he steadies himself on his left elbow. He moves his hand down my side to my thigh. I bring my hands to his chest and slip them under his shirt. When I bring my hands up to his nipples then back down to the waistband of his shorts, he brings his fingers to my belly, under my shirt.

He brings his lips to my neck, and I breathe, “Eli…oh my…don’t stop.” I can barely get my words out. His lips on my neck could possibly be better than sex. He moves them to where my collarbones meet, and I gasp. “Abby, do you want me to stop?” he pulls his head up. “No, take your shirt off,” I half command, half beg him. “Abby, if we don’t stop, we might go too far,” he says while taking off his shirt. “It’s okay, Eli,” I say after taking his body in with my eyes. His chest isn’t chiseled like a MMA fighter, but it is damn fine. His chest is heaving with his breathes. I look down at his shorts and see how turned on he his. I reach for his waistband and unbutton his shorts. “Abby,” he sighs but doesn’t push me away. I pull down his zipper and that he’s wearing grey boxer briefs. His erection is pressing heavily against the tight clothing. I push his shorts down, and he kicks them off like he can’t stand them anymore.

“Can I?” he asks, pointing to my shirt. I nod, and he pulls my shirt over my head. His eyes glaze over when he looks at my body, my breasts in my peach lace bra. He kisses my stomach and works his way to the waistband of my yoga pants. I put my hands in his hair. He pulls my pants down a little, to the top of my panties that match my bra. “Dear lord, Abby, you’re going to kill me,” he breathes. I smile. He goes lower.

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An hour later, we’ve finished exploring each other’s bodies. We are laying together, all tangled up, our underwear still on. I can’t believe only yesterday I thought about him seeing me shirtless, and now it’s for real. It happened. “Eli? Do you ever think about me at random moments or dream about me if or when you sleep?” “Yes and yes. I do have to sleep. It gives my life a little bit more structure.” I look at his chest. Only now do I realize that his skin is opaque. “Eli! You’re not see-through.” He looks down at himself. “It’s because I’m with you. You make me human again. You make me breathe again.” He puts my hand to his heart. “I love you, Abby Grey,” he looks straight into my eyes. I start tearing up, “I love you, too, Eli Phippen.” He kisses me again, and after, I rest my head on his chest.