by Bailey B
When he does, he lifts his lips into a crooked smirk. “Elaine Melrose Walker, are you attracted to me?”
Our waitress returns with our orders in hand. She sets the plates in front of us then walks away without asking if we need anything else. Asher picks up his lobster sandwich, but waits to take a bite until he asks, “Well?”
I drop what’s left of my roll in the basket and grab my fork. I twirl the spaghetti on my plate, refusing to meet Asher’s gaze because my cheeks are bound to be red they’re so hot. “Don’t ruin the moment, Asher.”
“Just answer the question.” I hear the smile in his tone and give into temptation. I look into those eyes. The same pools of purple I loved as a child but dismissed as I grew up. Now, at eighteen, I’ve come full circle, falling into their depths and finding new slivers of color every chance I get. Today, the rich hues have trails of silver.
I stare into them until my own eyes burn. I blink twice, water covering my sclera, relieving the dryness. “What question?”
Asher smirks and folds his arms on the table, his sandwich forgotten. I huff out an exaggerated groan. This is so embarrassing. “Fine. Asher, will you go out with me and be my real boyfriend?”
He scoots his chair back. Stands. Then moves to the open seat next to me. I feel my heart everywhere. In my chest. My toes. Even my eyelids. Asher is grinning, so I think whatever he’s about to say is good, but that doesn’t soothe my nerves.
“Under one condition.”
I swallow hard, expecting him to tell me I need to change the way I dress, or wear more makeup, or do something to my appearance to be worthy of the girlfriend title. Most days I wear my hair in a ponytail and put on a little eye makeup. Tonight, I straightened my hair, then curled the ends. To my amazement, it’s holding. I’ve also put on a full face of makeup. Foundation. Eye shadow and liner. Lipstick. “What’s that?”
“Go to prom with me.” Asher reaches for my hand and I swear this must be what a real proposal feels like. “I’ve been wanting to ask you, but wasn’t sure how you’d take it since things between us were supposed to be fake.”
I don’t have a dress, or shoes, or a hair appointment. I doubt I could get any of that at the last minute, but I don’t care. I nod, my lips stretching wide across my face. “Yes!”
“Good.” Asher reaches forward and threads his fingers through the hair at the base of my neck. He looks me dead in the eye and this time, there's no doubt in my mind that he's gonna kiss me. “Because none of this was fake for me, Ellie. I’ve wanted you since the sixth grade. Now that I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go.”
Asher presses his mouth to mine before my brain can analyze what he said. He parts my lips with his tongue. I melt into him, scooting from my chair into his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, and close my eyes, falling deeper into the kiss. Asher’s mouth is dangerous, a hot sear of temptation and desire. It’s better than I remembered, making it too easy to forget where we are. We feel right like this, but I need to remember we just started dating. As great as the last few weeks were, if we rush things, it could ruin them. But then this feeling of lust slithers through me and all thoughts of caution are forgotten.
Someone clears their throat and we’re forced to break away. I fight the urge to yell at whoever interrupted us, but remember we are at a restaurant and look up at the person with a smile instead. It’s our waitress, holding styrofoam containers. Her cheeks are red as she asks, “Do you want to finish everything here or take it to go?”
“Here,” Asher says, applying a little pressure to my hip.
I slide back into my chair, the pang of disappointment slithering through me. He has an empty hotel room three blocks away. We could take our food there and get to know the parts of each other we’ve been dying to touch. But no.
I force a smile and return my napkin to my lap. Asher must be thinking the same thing I was a few minutes ago. We shouldn’t rush things. Going from chaste kisses to sex on day one is a little much, but prom is in two days.
All bets are off on prom night.
My cheeks burn and I try to contain my smile. In two days, I’m going to sleep with Asher Anderson.
“I want to meet your mom,” I say the next morning on the way to my locker.
Dinner was nice. We finished our meals and then, since Asher didn’t suggest we do anything else, I drove us back to my house. I may be more anxious to ride him than a junkie looking for her next fix, but I don’t want him to think I’m promiscuous.
Prom is different though. Everyone has sex on prom night. It’s an unwritten rule. If you have a date, and you’ve never done it before, you’re popping that cherry. My cheeks heat with excitement as I think about it. Let’s see if he can give me that orgasm he promised.
“You’ve already met her,” Asher states, pulling me back to the moment. We stop in the hallway and he leans against the locker beside mine. “You don’t need to do it again.”
“Meeting your mom when we were eight doesn’t count.” I twist the spinner on my lock and open the door. I grab my civics binder, since that’s my first class after homeroom, then shut it again. I hold my binder in front of me, both hands on the edge, and wait for his reply.
It takes a solid three seconds to formulate a simple statement, but he says, “I’m pretty sure that if you’ve met her once, it lasts a lifetime.”
I reach for Asher’s hand. He laces his fingers with mine and smiles. It’s not the grin I’ve gotten used to. There’s no joy behind it, no playfulness in his eyes.
“Asher, what are you worried about?”
Is it his house? I’ve already been there, so he can’t be worried I’ll think he lives in a shithole. He does, but people can’t help the environment they’re born into. They can only strive to do better, and be more than their parents.
Asher is quiet for a minute, staring off into space. When he comes back to me, he reaches for his phone in his back pocket. Looking at the clock on his screen saver, he says, “If we leave now we can get there before Mom starts her shift at the diner. Clint should have already left for another job by now, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”
Now?
My breath hitches. I've never skipped class. I’ve always been that good girl that was more worried about the endgame. I needed the grades to get the scholarship. Even though my dad‘s a lawyer and we live in a nice house, we’re not rolling in the dough. He put himself through school and accumulated a lot of debt in the process. We’re not poor, but we’re not St. Anastasia’s rich, which is why I go to the school that’s somewhere in the middle. “I guess we should get going then.”
People skip school all the time. This is no big deal. Right?
Asher takes my hand and leads me out a door I never knew existed. We round the back of the athletics building and somehow end up in the senior parking lot. My car is four rows over and down a little ways, but Asher‘s bike is right here, waiting for us, as if he knew he’d be skipping class today.
"Here." He hands me his helmet.
"I don’t wanna take the bike," I tell him, staring at the helmet. Asher chuckles and I drag my gaze up to his face. "It's loud and we could get caught."
Asher shakes his head, a lazy smile lifting his lips. "We won't get caught."
"But what if we do?" Will it go on my permanent record? Will I lose my scholarship? Panic snakes around my lungs, cutting off the flow of air.
"Breathe, baby. It's fine." Asher pulls me into a hug and rubs my back. I close my eyes and focus on the sound of his breathing. I can hear his heart racing inside his chest. It's beating almost as fast as mine.
"No one will know we're gone," he insists. "But if it makes you feel better, we can take your car."
Asher lets me go and puts the helmet back on his handlebars. if I were him, I’d worry someone might steal it, but most people around here don’t mess with Asher for one reason or another.
"We'd better get going. Mom's shift starts at ten and it’s a twenty-minute ride.”
&nb
sp; I let Asher drive my car across the tracks to the side of town my friends and I don’t even joke about venturing into. He pulls into a trailer park that’s a gravel road, so bumpy my head hits the side of the window as he tries to swerve to avoid a pothole. I don't remember the road being this bad the last time I was here.
"You okay?" Asher grimaces as I rub the sore spot with my palm.
My head throbs but overall I'm fine, and I tell him as much.
Asher follows a beaten path, pulling around to the back of his trailer park before stopping in front of a faded yellow mobile home. Nothing about this place looks familiar, but the feeling of dread that washes over me has crept into my dreams. I know without a doubt that this is the home of the monster who abuses Asher.
"Shit,” Asher mumbles. He shifts the car into park and without saying anything rushes out, leaving my car door open as he runs up the doublewide‘s porch steps.
I’ve got this feeling tickling the back of my mind telling me to stay here, that something inside is wrong, but the fear of leaving Asher alone in a time of need outweighs my common sense.
I watch the door, anxiously waiting for Asher to reappear for about thirty seconds before unbuckling my seatbelt.
I run up the steps and freeze in the doorway. I recognize the woman lying on the carpet. Her hair has slivers of gray adding an elegant shine to the long honey-colored strands splayed across the carpet. A hand reaches out to me, lifeless, like the eyes that beg for help. My whole body shakes as I take a step closer. I bend down and touch her fingertips. They're warm. She couldn't have passed long ago, but there's no denying that Mary Anne, Asher's mom, is dead.
My gaze shoots up at a gurgling sound. Clint kneels over Asher, both hands around his neck. Asher thrashes widely underneath him, but even I can tell it's useless. All he's doing is wasting his energy and killing himself faster.
I watch in horror for what feels like a lifetime, frozen beside Asher's dead mother. If I don't do something, Clint is going to kill Asher. But What can I do?
The gun is still in my glovebox.
I scramble to my feet and run down the front steps. My hands shake as I yank the passenger door of my car open. I've never fired a gun before. I don't even know how to tell if it's loaded, but I would think Asher wouldn't have pulled an empty pistol on his stepdad.
I find the black piece on top of a bunch of useless papers, where he left it, and pull the slide back. I run back up the steps and towards Clint shouting, "Stop!"
Asher is limp under his weight. My heart thrums faster, fearful I was too late.
Clint stands to full height and chuckles. "What are you gonna do with that, little girl?"
I tilt the end of the gun towards Asher then bring it back to Clint's face. "Is he dead?"
"What are you going to do if he is? Shoot me?" Clint steps over Asher, toward me and I instinctively take a step back.
"If you come any closer, I'll shoot."
"You don't have the guts." Clint takes another step towards me. I pull the trigger, but nothing happens. Clint laughs and continues his slow descent across the room. Panicking, I look at the gun to see what could have gone wrong. There's a tiny lever on the side, near my thumb, facing up. I flick it down and raise my arms again.
"Stop!" I demand.
Clint laughs again and takes another step. He's just over an arm's length away, close enough to hurt me if he lunged but far away enough that I can still defend myself. He lifts his foot to close the space between us and I try again.
I squeeze my trigger and lose my balance. The force of the gun topples me backward, to the floor. I land on my ass beside Mary Anne, unable to hear anything over the ringing in my ears.
I crawl to my feet and run past Clint. He gasps on the carpet as blood pools from the hole in his chest.
I fall to the ground beside Asher and press my fingertips to his neck. I can't find a pulse. I don't know how to do CPR, but I try anyway. It can't be that hard. Pinch the nose. Breathe into the mouth. Push like hell against the chest until he comes back to life. I can do that.
I pinch Asher's nose shut with one hand and open his mouth with the other. I press my lips to his, pushing my air into his lungs because I refuse to let him die. I blow one more breath then move to his chest. In the movies, people place their hands near the center, between the nipples. I link my fingers together and press with all my might. I'm not sure if it works, but I push two more times before trying to blow air into Asher's mouth again.
On my second breath, Asher gasps, then coughs. I fall onto my ass, struggling to breathe myself as tears pour down my cheeks. "Asher?"
He coughs again and rolls onto his side. "I think you broke my rib."
"Asher!" I yell and throw my arms around him. He pushes onto one arm and holds me tight. "I thought I lost you."
He comforts me for a few minutes before pulling back and rising to his feet. His eyes scan the room, taking everything in. He walks across the carpet, picks up the gun, and wipes the handle with his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
"Call 911, Ellie." Asher walks over to Clint's body and kicks his leg. Clint doesn't move, doesn't breathe. "Call your dad, too. I'm in serious shit."
"You?" I reach for Asher's hand but he pulls back. "I did this."
"No. You waited in the car until you heard the gun go off. Then you came inside and saw all of this."
I run my hands over my face and shake my head. "What are you talking about?"
"Ellie.” Asher grabs my arm and looks me in the eye. "It's my fault you're in this mess. I knew better than to drag you into my life. I won't let you ruin your life for me. Call your dad. He'll help make this go away."
I rub my hand underneath my nose and nod. Asher is right. Dad can do just about anything. He'll see the holes in Asher's story and realize I shot Clint. He'll know that I had no choice and he'll make everything alright.
It takes thirty minutes for Dad to make it to Asher's house. I meet him outside and tell him everything before Asher can screw it up. Dad looks at me, tears welling in his eyes, and says, "It's okay, honey. You did the right thing."
He pulls me into a hug and we walk inside together. Asher kneels over his mother but stands when he sees us and wipes at his eyes. "Sir."
Dad nods, but frowns. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"Yes, sir, but can we go outside?”
"Of course."
I sit on the steps, hugging myself as they walk around the cul de sac. I wish I smoked. Maybe that would make the shaking go away. I rub my hands along the back of my neck and sigh. Everything will be alright.
Dad pulls his phone from his pocket and places it to his ear. This is it. The defining moment of my life. I'll be put in the back of a cop car and fingerprinted, but I'll be alright. I was defending myself and Asher. Any judge will see that. besides, the world is a better place without that scum on this earth.
The cops arrive in less than thirty minutes. They walk into the house. I take a breath, preparing myself for what's next. Yellow tape is strung around the exterior as one officer says, "Asher Anderson, you're under arrest."
I don’t know how I got home. Logic tells me I got into Mom’s car sometime after the police carted Asher away and she drove. Logic also tells me that I walked inside. Changed out of my bloodied clothes. Took a shower. Fell onto my bed and possibly even went to sleep. I don’t remember any of it.
All I remember is the blood seeping into the carpet under Clint's lifeless body. I remember Mary Anne's beautiful face, ashen and covered in bruises. The purple marks on her cheeks were nothing compared to the ones around her neck. Asher’s step-dad choked his mom to death and then went after him.
Tears pool in my eyes and I shut them to push away the sting. I should be the one behind bars, not Asher. I shot Clint. I'm the murderer. And yet, I'm lying in my comfy bed while he lays on a metal slab. It's not fair. My life will go on as normal and he will lose everything. His scholarship to UF. His home. All of the belongings in that ta
ttered house.
I should collect his mother’s things and whatever is in his room before it’s lost. With no one to pay the bills, someone is going to repossess everything they have. Or worse, someone from that neighborhood will ransack it.
I sit up with a start, terrified that Asher will literally lose everything he has. I never want to go back to that place, but I’ll never forgive myself if something important to him is stolen. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and force myself out of bed. The sun has set, casting dark shadows throughout the house.
“Oh,” Mom says, startled to see me when she turns around. “You're up. I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight.”
“I have to go.” I don’t sound like myself. My voice is husky and cracks from all the crying. My throat clenches, begging for a glass of water, but there’s no time. I have to get boxes and pack up everything I can find then get to the school to move Asher’s bike and… my thoughts trail off. I drove to Asher’s house. I left my car there. Where is my car?
“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere.” Mom sets the stirring spoon on the counter. She crosses the kitchen to where I’m standing, then guides me to a kitchen stool.
I collapse into the chair and rest my face in my hands. I thought I knew what heartbreak was. I thought the tightness in my chest and the whirlwind of insecurity and hate I felt when Liam ended things between us was the worst of it. I was wrong. Those emotions are minuscule compared to this. My heart feels like it’s been put in a meat grinder. My chest is being squeezed in a tourniquet and my head feels like it’s about to explode. All of that paired with the tears that rarely stop flowing and the blanket of darkness that’s wrapped itself around me… yeah. Liam’s breakup was nothing.
“What’s going on, sweetie?” Mom’s eyes are red-rimmed and puffy from her own tears. Her makeup, which is usually a thin layer of eyeliner and mascara, has washed away. She looks older. Tired. “Where do you want to go?”
“I have to go get Asher’s stuff.” I’m trying to talk, but the tears start flowing and without meaning to, I'm yelling at mom. I take a breath to try and calm down but the air doesn’t fill my lungs. I take another and another, each one less effective than the last. Spots cloud my vision and, before I know it, I’m full on hyperventilating.
