Perfect - 02
Page 14
We are strangers. But I hope that will
change. Your father and I want you
and your sister to be part of our family.
And here’s the thing. I’m worried about
you. Are you aware of the damage
an eating disorder can do to your body?
I know you want to be thin so you can
model.… What is she talking about?
“I don’t have an eating disorder!”
I’m practically shouting, something
that becomes obvious when Yummy
Guy’s head snaps in my direction.
I lower my voice. “I am in perfect
control and know exactly what I’m doing.”
She starts to say something, changes
her mind. Here comes your dad.
But, honey, you are way too skinny.
You definitely have a problem,
and when you’re ready to ask for
help, I will be here for you.
Who the Hell
Does she think she is? I have
a problem? She’s the one who
is marrying some loser guy ten
years her senior. He settles in again
across the table, head swiveling
back and forth between Shiloh and me,
nothing but love for either of us reflected
in his eyes, and I feel like a total bitch.
You two didn’t have to wait for me.
Dig in, girls! He takes a giant bite
of a very big turkey sandwich, and
is trying to manage chewing it when
I hear the door open behind me.
Suddenly, food flies out of his mouth.
Who the fuck is that with your sister?
Guess it’s time for Dad to meet Andre.
Sean
It’s Time
To quit overthinking.
Quit plotting. Planning.
Worrying about outcomes.
Time
for action. Reaction.
Putting things into motion.
Emotion, something it
isn’t
easy for me to communicate.
But there’s more. Lust.
This snarling inner animal.
Always
in the past I have controlled.
it. For her. But pleasing a girl
is confusing. You can be
on your
best behavior and still not
make her happy. And she won’t
tell you what’s going on in-
side
her head. You generally find
out the hard way. So I’m taking
a risk. But it’s definitely time.
I Have Never Insisted
On Cara having sex with me.
She didn’t seem ready for
the longest time, and being
in love with her meant more
than getting off with her.
It was enough to hold her.
Kiss her. Inhale the “her”
of her. Enough to gather
in the heat of her skin,
knowing that she was mine.
Then something changed.
That night in the truck,
something had opened
inside her—some sudden
bloom of womanhood I didn’t
expect. She was a wildcat,
come into season—enough
to drive any man crazy,
and that’s what I became
when I couldn’t give her
what she wanted. Practically
begged for. Betrayed by
my own body! Thank God
she didn’t think I was gay
or something. She gave me
another chance, and tonight
we will make serious love
right here, right now, on
Chad’s sweat-reeking, not
real comfortable couch.
Those girls on the TV are
beautiful. But I’ve got
the real deal, stripped
down to nothing but skin,
beneath me. She moves like
an eel. Sinuous. Cautious.
My kiss is a question.
Her tongue answers.
Now she pushes my head
lower, asking for much more.
She tastes of soap and salt.
A knockout combination.
It makes me high. Makes
me thirsty. Makes me hungry
for even more. This could
easily become addiction.
Tonight my body hints
zero treachery. Tonight
it wants to go for hours.
“I love you,” I promise,
though she can’t doubt it.
I prove it with my mouth.
My fingers. My tongue.
This is her first time,
so I want her to be ready,
and I think she has to be.
“I don’t want to hurt
you,” I tell her. “Ever.”
She is flushed, her skin
hot as summer sand.
I’m crazy again, this time
with the need to make
this all real. I lift myself
over her, working forearms.
Biceps. She closes her eyes,
moans as I move into place
right up against her sweet
spot. Pause at the resistance.
“I need you,” I say, before
kissing her. Before going all
the way with her. One push
and we will be joined in
the most amazing way.
Connected by love. Now.
I have to have her now.
But just as I test the barrier,
everything screaming yes,
go, she opens her eyes.
And out of her mouth
comes a single word: No.
I Heard Her Wrong
I know I did, and even if
I didn’t, I know she means
now, not no, so I go ahead
and push. Hard. Oh. Oh.
And her eyes pop wide
and she screams, Stop. I said
no. Stop, goddamn it. And
her little fists try to pound
against my chest, which
only feels good and I can’t
stop, even if I wanted to,
and I so don’t, so I won’t.
And she starts to cry and
I don’t understand so I tell
her, over and over again,
“I love you. I love you.
I love you.” Rhythmic.
In perfect time with my
body’s rhythmic beat.
“I love you. I love you…”
There’s A Strange Buzzing
In my ears. With a final
thrust, there’s a brilliant
flash and the emptying
is syncopated. My head
clears as the mist slowly lifts.
And I see what I have done.
Cara lies, stiff as old toast,
tear-glossed eyes staring
up at me. I told you no,
she whispers. Why…?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What
the hell just happened?
“You wanted this! You
told me so. In fact, you
practically raped me.…”
She sobs, and her entire
body shakes with the force
of it. No. You raped me.
Her voice slices, tempered
steel. I told you to stop.
DNA Evidence
Soaks into Chad’s lumpy
sofa in sticky, red ropes.
But I didn’t rape her.
“Cara. We both wanted
this. I love you so much.
Please don’t say I raped
you. I’ve waited for this
for months and months,
until I was sure you were
ready. And I was more than
sure tonight.” Cable TV moans
and groans remind us both
of how this little episode
went down. I nod toward
the noise. “You even liked…”
She strong-arms me aside,
jumps up, stalks over to
turn off the tube, blood
trickling down her legs.
Bastard. You set me up.
I have no idea what she means.
Sudden anger is a tornado,
hurtling through my veins.
“Look. I’m not sure exactly
what happened here, but you
are everything to me. Even
if you weren’t, you have
to realize you can’t get
a guy all worked up, then
tell him to stop. It’s not fair.”
Cara snatches her clothes
from the floor, stomps off
to find the bathroom.
Rule one of the Rapist’s
Handbook. Blame the victim.
I run to catch her, grab
her shoulders, swing her
around, pinch her cheeks.
“You shut the fuck up, hear
me? I. Did. Not. Rape. You.”
When I Let Go
Of her face, crimson finger-
shaped marks remain. Jesus.
“I’m sorry, Cara. Really,
I am.” I reach for her, but
she slaps my hand away.
Don’t touch me. Ever again.
I can’t believe I trusted you
enough to be here like this with
you. Can’t believe I thought
I was in love with you. Stupid!
“Cara, please. I didn’t mean
to hurt you. I wanted to
make you feel special.
You are in love with me.
You have to be. I—I…”
Her lips curl in a feral snarl.
May I go now? I’d like to get
rid of the… residue. She
doesn’t wait for an answer,
but leaves me to consider
what all this means. Have I lost
her? No way, right? She’ll think
things over, and understand
that this was a mutual fuckup.
Of course she will. And I’ll figure
out a way to make it all up to her.
Losing Cara would mean losing
pretty much everything good
about me. I’ve programmed
my entire existence around
constructing a life with her.
College. Career. Marriage.
Family. Together. With Cara.
Because what good are
any of those things alone?
She Emerges
From the bathroom, ghostlike.
Pale. Silent. A colorless shadow.
“Give me a few and I’ll take
you home.” I really need to pee.
And it would probably be good
not to have any residue on me,
either. I run the water hot,
wash traces of blood from
me. Chase them all the way
down the drain. I want to puke.
Instead I get dressed. Comb
my hair. Pull myself together.
She will forgive me. I’m sure
she will. But even before
I open the scarred white door,
I know she is gone. Amplified
by the empty room, the whoosh
in my ears is deafening. I could
run after her, try to find her.
But what good would it do?
Andre
What Good
Can come of one-sidedness?
A house with a single side
is nothing more than a wall.
Not much in the way of shelter.
What good
is there in chasing rainbows?
Even if you found yourself
haloed with prismatic light,
would it
promise a happy ending?
Could an ending do anything
but break your heart? And
yet, what good would it
do to
shutter your windows, never
dream of rainbows or find hope
in promises? Why choose to
walk away
rather than hold your ground
and fight for love?
Fight For Love?
Would I? Could I? Should I? If it came
down to fighting
someone else for Jenna’s love, I might.
But fighting to hold on to her love
is something else.
Especially considering I’m not sure
she loves me, or if she’s even capable
of loving someone.
Hiding somewhere in that girl is a soul
defined by pain. I don’t know what sort
of hurt left her fragile,
and she would argue that she’s strong
as brick. But beneath her wall of bluster
is uneven ground.
A good hard shake could bring it all
crashing down. The question I keep asking
myself is, do I want
to be standing there when it happens?
I Really Have No Option
Any crumbs of choice blew away
the first time
she kissed me. And she knew it too.
Now I’ve got you right where I want
you, she said. Of
course “where she wants me” seems
to change, practically from day to day.
And where she wants
me today is having lunch with her father
and his fiancée. The one she’s pissed
about. My gut tells me
this may not go well. We arrive at Rose’s
a full half hour late. Jenna is always late.
But this was, I’m
pretty sure, a deliberate grand entrance.
She never ever talks about her dad.
And I’m really
very sure he has no idea about me.
That Theory Is Confirmed
The second we walk through the door.
Who the fuck is that
with your sister? The words slap the air,
accompanied by chunks of sandwich.
Way to break it
to him, Jenna. At least her mother
didn’t yell. I consider making a sharp
U-turn and running
like hell. But Jenna tightens her grip
on my hand. Come on, she says. He
won’t hurt you. I
won’t let him. And she drags me across
the short distance to the food-sprayed
table. Sorry we’re
late. I had to change my tampon. Man!
If looks could kill, I’d be embalmed
already. Jenna’s dad
is seriously disturbed. By us? Me? Both?
Kendra says nothing. Just sits, staring
at us with a mixture
of amusement and—relief?—in her eyes.
The fiancée keeps one hand on Jenna’s
father’s arm, as if
that could keep him safely anchored.
Jenna pushes me into an empty chair.
I am starving. She checks
out Kendra’s plate. Not for spinach,
though. We’re all transfixed, even her
father, who clearly
can’t quite process what he’s seeing.
Finally Jenna notices our blank-eyed
gawk. What? Oh.
Introductions. This is my boyfriend, Andre.
That’s my dad. And that… She points,
quite rudely. Uh, not
sure what her name is.
Back to the menu.
Part Of Me
Wants to break the spell Jenna has put
us under. Another
part knows I really need to keep my mouth
shut. And there is still that little voice that
keeps insisting, “Run!”
I look at Kendra, eyes begging for help.
But it is the fiancée who finally speaks up.
I’m Shiloh. Glad to
meet you, Jenna. And you, too, Andre.
Jenna ignores her, but my manners kick
in immediately. “Thanks
so much, and very pleased to meet you, too.
And you as well, Mr. Mathieson. Oh, and
congratulations on
your engagement.” I extend my right hand.
What was anger just seconds ago swells
into palpable fury.
Listen here, boy. I don’t know who you
are, and I don’t want to know, but if
I were you, I’d get
the fuck out of here right damn now.
“Excuse me, sir, but I don’t understand
what I did to make
you so angry. Is it dating Jenna? Because
I’m not the first guy she’s gone out with.”
I glance at Jenna, who
for some inane reason seems to be enjoying
the whole thing. Chill out, Dad, she says.
I don’t choose who you
date. Let alone who you get engaged to.
The room has fallen morgue silent. All
activity has ceased.
“Uh, Jenna, maybe we should just go.”
Mr. Mathieson starts to stand, only to
be braked by Shiloh.
You go, he says. Jenna is staying here.
This Is Insane
I have no idea what my next move should
be, other than to do
exactly as he has suggested. Every eye
in the restaurant is looking at us—me—
and that makes me
extremely uncomfortable. I can’t meet
Jenna’s father’s gaze, so I speak directly
to Shiloh. “Very sorry
about—” Wait. What am I sorry about?
“Scratch that. I’m not sorry. I didn’t do