Beatless

by Amber L. Johnson

  The heat in his stare as his hands roamed my figure only served to ignite the nervousness I was experiencing, so I closed my eyes and allowed him to search, finding every last part of me, each bend and fold, every soft spot that I’d kept hidden until now. It was slow and deliberate, the way he progressed down my body until he was kissing across soft lace and I finally, finally let myself go.

  Being quiet was difficult, but under the glow of twinkling lights, we only sighed and whispered, listening to small gasps and the rustling of sheets as he removed the things I’d bought for him and bent over the side of the bed to retrieve a small blue foil packet from his jeans. I waited, open and shivering, until he nudged my thighs apart and silently asked for permission with his eyes. Gripping the base of his neck, tugging his hair gently, I met his lips with my own and reached between us to guide him. And when he pulled his hips back and pushed forward, I bit my lip against the discomfort that I knew would accompany my first time.

  His eyes were shut tightly, brows knit together as he let out a small sound, and I couldn’t stop staring at him, the way his eyelashes fluttered before he moved again, deeper and slower. Lazy eyes opened to find my face and he started to speak but I wouldn’t let him, silencing him with my tongue in his mouth until he fell into a slow rhythm that took my breath away.

  Sometimes, he took all of the air in the room. Completely from my lungs. This time I didn’t even try to fight it.

  ***

  His lids were drooping with impending sleep as he held my hand against his chest and turned to kiss my head. “I forgot to tell you that you looked so pretty . . .” He fell asleep quickly and I watched his chest rise and fall beside me, one arm lifted over his head while the other cradled mine.

  A small smile was all I could give, even though he wouldn’t see it. Because it felt like I’d given so much. And the finality of my decision weighed on my heart with a whisper that I’d changed more than I’d anticipated.

  Mal,

  You know how movie stars are always asked in interviews what superpower they’d like to have?

  . . . I think it’s a bullshit question.

  The question I’d like the answer to is: What would you do if you had a time machine and could go back to change anything in your life?

  For me, it wouldn’t be about altering the things I’ve grown to regret.

  I’d go back in time and un-meet all of the people that changed my life for the worse.

  And I’d spend more time with the ones that made it better.

  Sam

  ~*~11~*~

  He left before sunrise, quietly and with a promise that he’d call later. It was his day with Eliza, he reminded me, before wrapping me up in a warm hug and lingering kiss goodbye.

  I sat in my bed for a while, staring at the wall and wondering exactly how I felt about everything. I’d gotten what I wanted, and yet the strange feeling of shame, or something similar, was settling into my bones. Like maybe, even though they weren’t here, I’d disappointed my parents with what I’d just done. For the last few months I’d pretended not to care. But my entire life up until that point had been about gaining their approval, and it wasn’t a thing I could just brush off altogether.

  I had just drifted off to sleep again when my phone rang. My knee jerk reaction was to answer quickly because it had to be him. Tucker was calling and all my anxiety was for nothing. Everything was fine and nothing had changed.

  And then, when I read the caller I.D., my mouth went dry and my stomach tightened in anticipation.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. What are you doing?”

  Lassiter was on the other end of the phone like she hadn’t been missing for months. Like no time had passed. And just like that, I was back at square one.

  “Nothing. I was just about to take a shower. How have you been?” It seemed the obvious question.

  “Oh God, I’m so good. I’m pledging a sorority next week. But I popped in for the weekend and we should get together for breakfast or something. Brunch. Meet me at the IHOP in an hour. I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

  I wanted to say that I’d noticed. I wanted to say no. But that familiar pull – that part of me that missed her in ways I couldn’t reconcile – made me agree.

  I stood in my closet trying to decide on what I would wear to eat with someone I really didn’t know anymore. Berkley had given me a huge box of her clothing one night before she left and I settled for one of her flannels and some tights. An old worn pair of boots. It was cold but not freezing, and the warmth of the shirt’s material was comforting as I drove my car over to the restaurant and sat in the parking lot. I kinda wanted to tell Lassiter how much it hurt that she hadn’t reached out to me. I wanted to reveal everything I’d been up to while she was gone. To tell her about Tucker and last night and my new friends and how I was planning on auditioning for the upcoming musical at the local theater. About Sam and my mom’s new boyfriend. About Beatless.

  But as soon as I saw her cross the parking lot, digging through her purse, her perfect hair flying in the wind and wearing a thick cream colored knit sweater over skintight jeans – a magazine’s definition of physical perfection - every last word I’d wanted to say fell from my tongue and I rushed out of the car to meet her at the door and hugged her so tightly I thought I might break her in two.

  She pushed back and looked down, smiling the same way she always had at me. Affectionately and mildly amused. “What are you wearing?” She laughed and rubbed the flannel between her fingers, scrunching her nose.

  I shifted a little and laughed back self-consciously. “My friend gave it to me . . .”

  Lassiter opened the door and shooed me inside, asked for a booth at the very back of the restaurant, her facing the door and me facing the wall so that she could people watch, like we’d always done. Once we were seated, she folded her hands on the table. “I have so much to tell you.”

  I sat, enthralled as she went into a diatribe about school and the people she had met. She went on about the parties she’d gone to and how she’d made the decision to pledge the sorority of her choice. She named people I couldn’t even picture in my head and talked about them like they were the most exciting and interesting human beings on the face of the planet.

  It made me feel small all over again.

  “Anyway, I’m seeing this guy named Paul, and oh my God, he’s possibly the best kisser in the entire world and he’s talented in a lot of ways, if you know what I mean.”

  I actually did know what she meant but didn’t say anything about it. “You have a boyfriend? That’s great news.”

  “Yeah. High school boys were such a waste. I had no idea what being with a man could be like.” She filled one of the mugs with coffee and leaned back in the booth. “He’s twenty-three. So hot. Going for his Masters. I texted Brooke a bunch of pictures of him and she’s so jealous, it’s not even funny.”

  Her words stung and I pushed thoughts of Tucker out of my mind. I tried not to dwell on the fact that she had just said she was still talking to Brooke and hadn’t so much as sent me an email. Her life was steamrolling along and she was dating a new guy and making new friends and . . . “When did you start drinking coffee?”

  “It’s pretty much mandatory. You’ll see. When you get into a real college.” Her face was slightly condescending.

  “Of course.” I fidgeted with the sleeve of my shirt and turned my attention to the food I’d been neglecting while she talked. She hadn’t asked one single thing about me. Or what I’d been doing.

  Then she did, and I wished that she would have kept talking about herself instead.

  “So, I saw something interesting on Youtube.”

  I chuckled nervously. “You did?”

  She laughed. Hard. “You were so cute up there. Struggling to get those notes out and whatever. I kept thinking about how it would have gone down if I was there and then I saw you trying so hard and . . . seriously . . . it was adorable.”

  That hu
mble-brag-backwards-compliment slammed straight through my sternum and I couldn’t do anything but laugh back. “Thanks?”

  I was instantly taken back to the times we’d hung out with bigger crowds. At parties or dances, anywhere where she could be the center of attention. She had always made comments like that, especially to me. But I’d blown it off as part of her personality. I had talked myself into believing that she teased and made fun of me because we were friends. Like I was the only person who really got her. And when she teamed up with Brooke, it was a hundred times worse. They’d just talk shit about people for hours.

  “Anyway. I also heard another little rumor. Or two.” She tilted her head and her eyes flicked over my shoulder for a second before she continued with a wicked grin. “Are you really driving that piece of shit car your dad left behind? I feel so bad for you if you are. Pulling up to junior college in that thing must be excruciating. Are you being punished or something?”

  I forced a roll of my eyes like adults were awful. “It was my aunt’s idea. She said something about girls needing to know how to drive a stick for a quick getaway if a date goes wrong.”

  Lassiter snorted. “Your family is legitimately fucked up, you know that, right?”

  I nodded in agreement, feeling further reduced to nothing by the second.

  “Speaking of escaping bad dates . . . Are you dating Tucker Scott?” The way her whole face puckered in disgust made my stomach roll. “Please tell me that’s not the case. His car is probably worse than yours. He works at Waffle House, right? And holy shit - don’t even get me started on his clothes.”

  My mouth opened to tell her she had no idea what she was talking about. I wanted to reach across the table and slap her face. To yell at her that not everyone was as perfect as she was.

  But what came out of my mouth was something so wrong and so foreign that I had an out of body experience, watching my dazed expression from above the booth as I leaned forward against the tabletop and shook my head with as much conviction as I could muster under her scrutiny.

  That was how it had always been. Lassiter called the shots. She told me what and who and where. And with those last words of judgment I said the one thing that I didn’t mean.

  “No. Not dating. Never in a million years. We hung out for the band thing. They needed another singer . . .”

  The delight on her face as she stared over my shoulder caused me to turn slowly in my seat.

  There, just behind us, was the back of Tucker’s head. And in the seat directly across from him was a girl with short brown hair, clutching a pair of arm braces, burning a hole into the side of my face.

  I was rooted to my seat as they rose and he helped her up, abandoning their menus and, as fast as was possible given her braces, Tucker led Eliza out of the restaurant.

  ***

  please call me

  please

  I’m so sorry

  I need to talk to you

  I’ll explain everything

  It felt like I was begging him from my knees to answer even one of my texts. Just to acknowledge that I was trying to get hold of him. I knew what I had done was the lowest of the low and I wasn’t even sure how it had happened. I didn’t feel that way about him at all. And I couldn’t find a reason inside of me to validate why I had done it.

  It took twenty-four hours for him to respond. Twenty-four hours of self-loathing and the realization that something was inherently wrong with me because everything I touched was bound to fall apart.

  His text was short:

  What

  I stared at my screen and swallowed the lump that had lodged there through the sleepless night before and all day until he’d responded.

  I need to see you

  Please come over

  His response came thirty minutes later.

  Five minutes

  The sound of his car door slamming is what alerted me to his arrival and I jumped up from the couch where I’d been sitting in silence, rushing to open the door. He didn’t even look at me, just brushed by and walked quickly up the stairs to my room. I followed as fast as I could, clearing the door just behind him. I felt sick. I felt so sorry for what had happened. But he wouldn’t even turn around when I started to talk. He just held up a hand – bandaged around the knuckles - and peeked through my blinds like he had the first night I’d allowed him in my room.

  “Eliza asked to meet you yesterday. When we walked into the restaurant, I saw you there. Wanted to surprise you. You should have seen her face – she was actually excited. It was like a game or something. To see how quiet she could be before I turned around and said hello.”

  Tears were welling up in my eyes and I started to move toward him but he shook his head.

  “Don’t.”

  “I didn’t mean it.” I fought to get my voice out.

  “Save it, Mallory.”

  “Please look at me.” I waited, holding my breath until he lifted his head and turned to face me. The rage in his eyes scared me to the core.

  I took a step forward. And then another. When we were toe to toe, I looked up at his face. His hands were fisted at his side and I reached for the one with the white wrap across the knuckles. “What did you do?”

  “You don’t get to ask me questions. Not anymore.” The anger radiating off of him made my knees tremble and I fought back the sob in my chest.

  I raised a palm to his face and he flinched before his eyes finally locked in on mine. “I can fix this,” I whispered, leaning up to press my face into his neck. His chest went stiff and I waited, hoping above all hope that this wasn’t the end. That I’d been wrong about every last doubt I’d ever head.

  In a flash, he gripped my waist and pushed me backward onto the bed, his whole body covering mine, pinning me to the mattress beneath him. His kiss was rough, angry, and I held onto the back of his shirt while his fingers sought out the top of my pants. The sound of the zipper and my button popping loose made my legs shake, but he didn’t let up, crashing his mouth against mine with such force it almost hurt.

  Jerking my jeans lower, he breathed against my mouth. “Is this what you want? A quick fuck? Just this and nothing else? Behind closed doors because you’re embarrassed by me? Is that what this means to you? I’m good enough for this but nothing else.”

  “No . . . I . . .”

  He stopped my words again, reaching between us to press his palm between my thighs.

  For a second I thought he’d grant me a word. But he stopped and breathed heavily into my ear. “Do you hear that?”

  My heart was about to escape my chest under his weight, under his angry touch. And with the fear of Aunt Sam coming down the hall to knock on the door while we were in the position we’d found ourselves in. But no sound came to my ears. No footsteps. Only Tucker’s harsh breaths in my ear.

  “Do you hear it?” he repeated and I shook my head no, fear settling in my stomach as he inched his mouth closer and dropped his voice an octave. “That’s the sound of me leaving.” He backed up enough to look me in the eye. “I won’t be your secret, Mallory. “ He slid off the bed and crossed the room to the door, his back to me the entire time.

  And he didn’t look back once before he opened it and disappeared into the night, leaving me to finally allow the tears I’d been fighting back for months to fall as I curled up into a ball and lost myself to the pain.

  Mal,

  I’ve never told you the entire story of why Jason and I didn’t work out. There are a lot of reasons but I can pinpoint the beginning of the end to the day we learned I’d never give him a baby. There’s a certain duty a woman feels when she gets married, that she’ll be able to provide her husband with a child and complete their family unit. When you’re told that your body simply won’t carry one to term and you’ll just continue to lose them every time, it does something to the marriage. To your heart. Your soul.

  All three times I lost one, I blamed myself. My body was poisonous or my genes were bad. Or maybe I didn’t want
it enough. The thought of being a mom scared me a little. And I guess people should be scared to be parents. After all, when the kids end up in therapy, it’s always the parents’ fault. Maybe certain people shouldn’t be given the opportunity to ruin a little person’s life.

  That’s what drove the wedge so far between us, I think. He needed that baby and I couldn’t deliver – pun intended, I suppose. That’s the reason for the tattoos. Just so you know. Three babies – three wishes that never came true.

  Sometimes, when your mom would call me to babysit when I was younger, I’d pretend you were mine. And that I could do a good job raising you. Give you everything you’d need and offer my advice to guide you through so that you wouldn’t become one of the broken ones.

  I can tell that you miss him. Tucker. That you blame yourself. I once told you that he would break your heart, but I never once thought you’d break his. You’re unraveling and I don’t know how to fix it. All I ever wanted for you was to feel what it was like to be loved by someone you loved back, so that you didn’t repeat the cycle.

  I’m afraid it’s too late and that I failed to walk you through it.

  I am so sorry for that.

  Sam

  ~*~12~*~

  Monday I tried to lie to Sam and tell her that I was sick and couldn’t go to class.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to bullshit a bullshitter. You’re going to class. You missed enough in high school.”

  “Mom lets me have mental health days when I need them.”

  “Well, I’m not saying your mental health is completely up to par. But you need to get your ass to school.”

  I don’t know what I thought would happen when I got there that morning. Maybe I thought everyone would know. Maybe I thought he’d changed his mind and would want to talk and that the night before had been some sort of cruel nightmare – like the day before had never happened.