Angela’s lips were soft. She was smaller than any guy, and gentler. It all felt more … polite somehow. Wetter. Sweeter. She tasted of Coke and rum and lip gloss. It wasn’t exactly good, but it wasn’t really bad, either. It was … different. And not as weird as Geo might have thought it would be, if she’d thought about it before at all.
Calvin was behind her now, his hands snaking up her dress, his lips on the side of her neck. Angela was still in front of her, and they were still kissing, but her friend’s eyes were open. Watching everything. Missing nothing.
But then the room began to spin again, the queasiness back with a vengeance. Geo hated throwing up. She would not throw up, no matter what. It would be the ultimate buzzkill, and they were all having a good time.
Weren’t they?
“Need a break,” she said, gasping a little. She extricated herself from the group. “You guys keep dancing.”
She fell back onto the bed, almost sighing with pleasure as her back hit the mattress. It felt so good to lie down, to close her eyes, to let the pulsing music wash over her. She could hear Calvin saying something and Angela laughing, and after a few moments she forced her eyes open to peer at them. They were still dancing, Angela grinding up against Calvin. Her boyfriend was shaking his head, but he was grinning, too. He pulled Angela closer, wrapping his arms around her, his hips pressed into hers as they moved to the beat.
It bothered Geo. Of course it did. But it was all in good fun, right? Angela was her best friend. Calvin was her boyfriend. They loved her. They weren’t going to do anything inappropriate. It would be all right. Geo could take a little snooze and wake up refreshed, ready to keep partying.
She closed her eyes, and it was blissful. The music faded. The world went black.
* * *
Geo didn’t know how long she was out, but her ears woke up before her eyes did. The music had stopped. She heard a grunt, followed by heavy breathing, and then another grunt.
When she finally opened her eyes, she was met with darkness, and it took her a moment to focus. All the lights in Calvin’s apartment were off now except for the night-light in the kitchen, casting a dim glow. Still lying down—her head felt like it weighed a million pounds and there was an intense throbbing behind both eyes—she forced herself to pinpoint the sound of the breathing. She spotted Calvin on the love seat against the side wall. He was on top of someone. Geo could make out an arm dangling over the edge, a flash of dress, and bare legs spread wide open. Her boyfriend was in between them, moving at a rhythmic pace.
Angela.
White lace panties were crumpled on the floor. Calvin’s jeans were piled beside them, along with his boxer briefs. Geo could see the mounds of his bare ass cheeks flexing as he thrusted, grunting as he did it, making a sound she had never heard him make before.
Her boyfriend and her best friend were having sex.
Geo opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Her throat was tight, and her stomach felt like it was churning butter. She tried to sit up, but her muscles were Jell-O, jiggly and soft and without substance, utterly useless.
She tried to speak again, but the words still wouldn’t come. Her eyes were adjusting to the dimness, and it was then that she caught sight of Angela’s face.
Her best friend’s eyes were open but glazed, her lips parted. The two girls locked eyes, and Angela’s mouth formed a word that Geo couldn’t hear.
But there was no mistaking what the word was, and Geo wasn’t even a lip-reader.
No.
Calvin grunted and made one final thrust, his body shaking as he finished. He pulled out, and Geo could see his penis, still erect, glistening in the dim light. He hadn’t worn a condom. He stood up, reaching for his underwear and his jeans. Angela remained on the couch in the same position she’d been in, legs still splayed, dress hiked up to her waist, vagina exposed. Her eyes were dull, her face ashy, and when she moved her head, a tear ran down her temple, disappearing into her ear. She moaned a little, finally bringing her legs together.
The fog in Geo’s head was heavy. It seemed impossible to process what just happened.
What had they done? Had Angela even wanted it? Did she even know?
Geo’s throat opened up, and the words finally came. “What did you do?” she said to Calvin, her voice hoarse.
Her boyfriend turned and saw Geo staring. He grimaced.
“She wanted it,” he said. “She was all over me. She wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t my fault. So if you’re going to get mad at anybody, get mad at her.” He bent down and picked up the ball of panties on the floor, tossing them into Angela’s lap. “Cover yourself up.”
There was no mistaking the disgust in his voice.
On the love seat, bottom half still naked and exposed, Angela began whimpering. It was the worst sound Geo had ever heard. Her best friend sounded like a baby, the sobs small and shallow and weak.
“What did you do?” Geo’s gaze focused on Calvin once again. “This is … this is not okay.”
She struggled to sit up. Her skull was pounding, like someone was taking a basketball and throwing it at her head, over and over again.
“He wouldn’t stop,” Angela finally said, looking at Geo, her eyes wide and her voice full of shock. “I said no, I asked him to stop, he wouldn’t stop—”
“Shut up, bitch,” Calvin said to her. “She wanted it,” he said again to Geo. On the love seat, her friend’s sobs grew louder, deeper. “Your friend is a whore. It shouldn’t have happened, but she got me so worked up there was no way I could—”
“You raped me!” Angela’s scream was like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the air powerfully and without warning. “You fucking raped me, you sick sonofabitch!”
Geo rubbed the spot on her temple where her headache was getting worse. Calvin was staring at Angela, his lips curled up, his eyes narrow, his hands clenched. Geo recognized that look. She had seen it before and she knew exactly what it meant. Angela had to stop screaming. The screaming would make it worse. She needed to warn her friend, but her brain was working in slow motion, and the words wouldn’t come together.
“Shut up,” Calvin said to Angela. “You’re a fucking whore, and you asked for it—”
“I didn’t ask for it! You raped me, you animal!” Angela’s screams were feral. She yanked her dress down over her thighs, trying to sit up on the couch. Her hair was stringy, falling over her face in a tangled mess. Her makeup was smudged, her eyeliner and mascara blending together in circles under her eyes. “You’re a sick fuck! You raped me, you hurt me, you’re a disgusting sonofabitch and I’m going to call the police and you’re going to rot in jail, you fucking sick fuck—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence because Calvin punched her in the face. She fell back into the sofa, dazed, but seemed to come to a couple of seconds later. She leapt off the couch with surprising force and made a run for the door. Before she could get there, Calvin was on top of her once again. Only this time his hands were around her throat from behind, squeezing. She managed to wriggle away, but he grabbed her again, pulling her back by the hair, snapping her head back. He yanked his belt out of his jeans, then wrapped it around her neck and pulled, one knee on Angela’s back as he held her down. Her friend’s nails scratched furiously at Calvin’s arms, her belly pressed into the carpet, her legs kicking and flailing in the air like she was swimming.
It was all happening so fast, it didn’t seem real.
“Calvin, stop,” Geo said, getting up off the bed. She managed to plant both feet on the floor, but when she took a step forward she stumbled. “Calvin, please. Stop.”
He didn’t hear her, or he didn’t care, but either way, he didn’t stop. Angela’s eyes bulged, her legs still jerking, but the fight was going out of her.
Geo took another step forward, but the room spun mercilessly and she fell. She looked up from the floor as her friend stopped struggling. Still, Calvin held on for a moment longer, until finally lettin
g go, his arms dropping at his sides, the belt still clenched in one fist.
Angela didn’t move. Her head was turned unnaturally to one side, her cheek resting on the carpet, her lips parted. A line of drool oozed out onto her chin. Her eyes were wide open and utterly blank. She looked like a life-sized rag doll someone had tossed onto the floor with abandon.
Geo turned her head to the side and vomited.
“Help me with her,” Calvin said to Geo, stepping over Angela. He pulled the comforter off the bed and spread it onto the floor. “Come on, help me.”
“What are you doing?” Geo’s stomach was heaving. Beside her, the mound of vomit was filling up the small apartment with a disgusting reek. Calvin didn’t seem to notice. The smell of it made her want to retch again, and she forced herself to stand up. “You hurt her. We have to call 911. We have to call an ambulance.”
“She’s dead.”
“She’s not dead!” Geo shrieked.
The idea was absolutely absurd. Of course her best friend wasn’t dead. That wasn’t possible. Angela Wong was a cheerleader, a good student, universally admired by everyone at St. Martin’s High School. She’d been alive and sitting on Mike Bennett’s lap a few hours ago, dancing with Geo, laughing, being Angela, being alive. There was no fucking way she could be dead.
No. No.
But yet there Angela was, sprawled out on the floor, not moving.
Yes. Oh god. Yes. Angela was dead. Because Calvin had killed her. After he raped her.
Geo vomited again, emptying what was left in her stomach.
She needed to get out of here. She needed to get help. She needed to tell someone.
“You’re in this too,” Calvin said, as if he’d read her mind. He picked Angela up with a grunt, moving her limp body onto one side of the blanket, and began to roll her up. Nonsensically, Geo was reminded of the home economics class she and Angela had taken in seventh grade, when they’d learned to make spring rolls.
“We have to call the police,” Geo said, and for the first time that night, her voice sounded coherent. “Where’s your phone?”
“If you call the police we’ll both go to jail.” Sweat was beading around Calvin’s hairline as he grunted with exertion. “You did this, too. You brought her here.”
“This isn’t my fault!”
“It’s all your fault,” he said, pointing at her. On reflex, she cringed. “You brought her here, the both of you hardly wearing anything, and she’s dancing all over me, rubbing herself all over me like the fucking slut she is—”
“Shut up! This isn’t her fault!”
“Help me with her,” Calvin said again. “Let’s get her out of here, and we’ll figure it out later.”
“I can’t,” Geo said, beginning to cry. “I loved her.”
“And I love you,” Calvin said, and she blinked. It was the first time he had ever said it. “And if you love me—if you ever loved me—you’ll help me get her out of here. You don’t, and we’ll both go to jail. Don’t let her destroy your whole life. We can make this go away. For fuck’s sake, help me. Now.”
When she didn’t move, he dropped his voice, and the next words he spoke were soft, gentle, and completely menacing. “Georgina, please. Don’t make me hurt you, too.”
Angela Wong, queen of St. Martin’s and Geo’s best friend, was now a rolled-up lump in the middle of the floor.
Calvin was putting his shoes on. He threw a sweatshirt over his T-shirt. Then he bent over, picking up the body with effort, heaving it over his shoulder.
“Get the door for me,” he said.
* * *
They buried her in the woods behind Geo’s house, the only place she could think of where there would be no traffic at that time of night. She helped her boyfriend carry her best friend’s body into the woods, and it felt like they had walked ten miles to find a spot, even though it had been only a few hundred feet.
Everyone has a single defining moment in life, something that thrusts them irrevocably into a new direction, something that affects them at their core, something that changes them forever. Her last image of Angela—with dirt all over her face as Calvin shoveled soil onto her—would stay with Geo for the rest of her life. She had seen that face every night for fourteen years, until the police showed up at her workplace to arrest her. Only then did the dreams stop.
But the guilt? It never leaves. It hangs around like a bad smell that no amount of bleach can eliminate. You can get yourself a new life, get yourself a new love, go to jail for the terrible thing you helped do … but the guilt is still there, stinking like an invisible piece of rotting garbage underneath your bed that won’t go away no matter how many attempts you make to clean it.
Because that smell—of rotting flesh, of rotting soul—is you.
23
The letters Geo received in prison are opened and read, spread out on the bed around her. One by one, she refolds them, tucking the blue paper back into the envelopes they were sent in. She places the letters in a box. She puts the box in her nightstand drawer, the one on the very bottom, beside the empty jar.
She feels everything, and nothing, all at the same time.
It’s easy to get lost in the past, to get buried under the weight and the complexity of the memories she carries with her. The only way to survive it, to have any kind of life despite it, is to compartmentalize it. That chapter in her life all those years ago in high school is best put away in a locked box and shoved into a drawer, to be taken out and dissected only when she’s forced to. The rest of the time, it’s best not to think about it.
There is no other way to move forward.
It’s taking longer than she expected for her life after Hazelwood to feel normal again. Everything seems like a luxury that she doesn’t really deserve. Long, hot showers. Staying up late. Sleeping in. Netflix. Ordering pizza. Credit cards. Even the selection of tampons at her local Walgreens is mind-blowing. In prison, there’d been one kind; you bought them in packs of two, and they were terrible.
She doesn’t enjoy leaving the house. Except for Mrs. Heller, who makes a point of staring at her, the neighbors avoid Geo at all costs. A woman who lives down the block was pushing a stroller on the way to the park that morning, and at the sight of Geo dragging a recycling bin to the curb, she crossed the street. As if she thought Geo would hurt her. Or the baby. Christ, did people actually think she was capable of that? But stories get twisted, and the more time that passes, the more they grow.
Later that afternoon, someone at the grocery store snapped a picture of her buying a can of baked beans. Beans, for Christ’s sake. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet about it; he whipped out his phone and took her picture. His Facebook post for the day, no doubt.
Geo’s back at home now, wrapped in her mom’s old sofa blanket, which is stained and worn in several places, but which her dad can’t bear to throw away. The TV is on and she has the volume turned up loud in an attempt to distract herself from her own thoughts. She knows she’s lonely, and the irony isn’t lost on her. In prison, she had friends. Her appointment book at the hair salon was always full. People were happy to see her, to talk to her, and there was laughter and conversation. She felt useful. Now, her fancy smartphone never rings, and the only emails she receives are from Domino’s, about the day’s pizza specials. She has all the freedom in the world and can’t enjoy it.
It’s the ultimate punishment. But Cat would be out soon, and things would get better. They had to.
She contacted six hair salons that morning, all of which had advertised on the Emerald Beauty Academy’s website that they were hiring new stylists. Geo had renewed her cosmetology license while at Hazelwood. Upon giving her name and asking politely to speak to the manager, two salons had hung up on her. Another two said the positions were filled and they were no longer hiring. The last two invited her in for an interview, presumably because they didn’t know who she was.
But they did once she arrived. The first manager, blanching at the sight of
Geo’s face, asked her to leave. At the second place, the owner of the salon stared at her incredulously.
“You’re kidding, right? I don’t care how good you are with hair. I don’t want my clients around you with sharp objects.”
“I could answer phones, sweep up hair, prove myself—”
“I’m sorry, but no.” The woman, about Geo’s age, shook her head. “I’m a small business owner, and I can’t afford the bad publicity.”
Geo thanked her for her time and turned to leave.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” the woman said when Geo’s hand was on the door. “I went to high school with you and Angela.”
Geo turned around slowly. Nearby, the receptionist messed around on the computer, pretending not to listen, even though she so obviously was.
“I’m Tess DeMarco,” the owner said. “I was on the cheer team at St. Martin’s.”
Geo blinked, surprised. In high school, Tess had been brunette and very slender. Now she was blond and heavyset. But her eyes, full of accusation and judgment, were the same.
“It’s funny,” Tess said, walking closer to her. “When Angela went missing, I thought that maybe you did something to her. Because your fight at cheer practice the week before she disappeared was so ugly. I remember your face as she screamed at you in front of everyone; you were furious, and so embarrassed. But then you guys made up, and everything went back to normal, and I thought, nah, you could never have hurt her. I actually felt bad for thinking it. But I was right in the end, wasn’t I?”
Geo said nothing.
“I believe in karma,” Tess whispered. “And the fact that you’re still here and Angela isn’t means that yours is still coming. Now get out of my salon, Georgina. And never, ever come back here.” She held the door open and continued watching through the glass as Geo made her way to her car.
Jar of Hearts Page 20
