by S. L. Scott
Regret rushes my veins, and I reach down to try to remove them, but a door in the corner opens and a man walks in. “It’s fine. Leave them.”
If I were in any other situation, the man who enters the room would be described as distinguished or even handsome. His gray hair is full and styled, his suit tailored to a body he takes care of by the flat stomach and muscles that wield the fine light fabric.
But we’re not in another situation.
His tan highlights his white teeth when he smiles, and his eyes are clear blue. The gold band on his left hand shines as if polished regularly. My body folds in on itself as he takes me in from the other side of the desk. In these surreal circumstances, I’d almost forgotten I was naked, but now I feel exposed.
Making me feel every second of vulnerability as though I’m a lamb headed to the slaughter. The smile doesn’t stay when his gaze lands on my chest. “Tattoos are so unseemly. I was wrong with my first assessment of you.”
When his eyes trail lower, his jaw goes taut and tics twice, revealing his displeasure. “Come around the desk.”
My legs are shaky, and I’m sure the sound of my teeth can be heard chattering. My body feels less my own with every step I take. When I reach the other side of the desk, his voice matches the firmness of his face. “Take them off.” I pull down the white cotton underwear and step out of them. “Spin.”
I do, giving everyone in the room a good view. A million questions cross my mind, but I silence them like I was told and wait for the next direction.
“Has your sister been with a man before?”
“Fuck you.” I’m backhanded so fast that I never saw it coming, but the taste of copper seeps into my mouth.
The back of my head is grabbed before I recover, a handful of my hair yanked so hard pain spikes across my scalp. “Fuck me? No, honey, I’ll be fucking you.” I’m dragged backward in the heels, and my ankle twists. My stumble doesn’t stop him from returning me to the X on the floor and then shoving my head against the desk.
I will not let this destroy me. I will not let him win. With my cheek pressed to the hard wood of the desk, I close my eyes and let my mind drift to happier times.
27
Stella
Wiping my brow, I ask, “Is it hot in here?”
Sasha’s mother glances between the water glass in my hand and my forehead. “I’m comfortable, but I can see if someone can turn down the air.”
“Thank you.” I look toward the entrance of the cafeteria, but there’s no sign of Rivers yet. He’s not late, but I was hoping he’d rescue me sooner.
After Brian accepted his award, I got stuck in what felt like an endless brag session with Josh Baird’s mother. I wanted to tell her she’s raising a psychopath, but I kept my mouth zipped.
I’m on edge. After the confrontation at school and then the nightmare I had when I got home, I haven’t been able to shake it off. I never can, but I always hope that changes. It never does.
I hate to quit something I used to love, but there’s no love if anxiety fills my day. Brian moseys over, and I roll my eyes. I don’t have patience for him anymore either. Standing next to me, he takes a sip of his tea and then looks around. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
I don’t bother responding. I just smile at the parents and pretend they aren’t raising spoiled little shits.
Surprised by my silence, he steps in front of me, and says, “I’m sorry. What more do you want me to say?”
“Sorry for what?”
“Whatever you’re mad at.”
Scoffing, I walk away without saying a word. I pick at the veggie platter, finally settling on a carrot. I shove it in my mouth just as someone leans against my back. “Ms. Fellowes.”
With a full mouth, it’s hard to smile like I want, like how he makes me feel. When I turn around, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and take a step back to appreciate him properly.
I was right having him come later. He’s a showstopper. Rivers is looking every bit the bad boy gone good for a night—wearing black from head to toe. His button-up shirt fits his frame, showing off what I’ll be licking later. With his sleeves rolled up, it’s easy to see the strength he’s built in his forearms and hands, the veins ever present. I love the way he uses his hands—on me and when playing music.
The black pants are tailored in length and the flat front brags of those six-pack abs beneath.
The matte black leather shoes look brand new without a scuff in sight and match his belt. A large face silver watch that looks more expensive than my car wraps around his wrist, and for a split second, I imagine a matching ring around his finger.
“Wow.”
He tilts his head to the side with a smirk on his face. It should be illegal that I get this wet when he licks his lips while looking at mine. When our eyes meet, he says, “You like?”
“I like very much. You look like a movie star.” I laugh at myself. “You look like a rock star.”
That brings a lighter smile to his face. “I wanted to blend in for you. This was the best I could do.”
“I never want less than your best,” I say, winking at him. “Anyway, there’s no way for you to blend in. You never did. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
“I’m really digging this naughty teacher look. I like the addition of pearls tonight.”
“First of all, I’m not dressing naughty. That’s just all in your fantasy.” Clasping the pearl necklace between my fingers, I say, “And don’t be too impressed, the pearls aren’t real.”
“You think no one notices you, that no one sees the real you, but I do. I see you.” Stepping into my space, he leans down and kisses my cheeks, then whispers, “You can wear baggy clothes, glasses, and tie your hair up in a messy ball at the back of your head, but your beauty can’t be hidden.” I feel the brush of his fingers across the bare skin of the back of my neck and then a little tug. My hair falls down, around my shoulders and past.
He leans back and takes the glasses gently from my face, folds the arms, and tucks them in his shirt pocket. “I think you’re beautiful with or without those, but wear them because you need them, not because you’re trying to hide who you are behind them.”
I want to fall into his arms and deeper into him, lose myself in his lyrics, and listen to his heartbeat as it plays our melody. Rivers Crow was different from the moment I saw him in the music room when we were fifteen, but it’s what I heard that set him apart.
Music.
I hear music. Whoever is playing the guitar isn’t missing a note of “Blackbird.” I hum along, the song speaking to me in ways I sometimes don’t like to think about. It’s a song I only know because when I’m home, I let my mind slip inside the lyrics of old bands. I seem to relate better to those than the pop songs on the radio.
I’m supposed to be going to the library to return these books for Mrs. Johnston, but my feet slow as I reach the far end of the hall. The song ends, and the musician strums another song that I know by heart. When my parents fight, and I’m made to feel less of what they want and the reason for their problems, I put on my headphones, praying one day I won’t be the one they blame. Maybe one day, I’ll fix their problems, help them in a way that no one else will be able to save the day, but me.
Or maybe one day, someone will come along who can fix me. I’m good at hiding behind a façade of the studious student, the one who gets along with everyone. I could spend my lunch period hanging out at the cool kids table or date the junior varsity quarterback. But even when he used his suave tone, I knew I was just someone he wanted to bang and brag about later.
If someone really cared, they’d realize I’m not breaking down from reading a sad book. I’m crying because it’s the only way my insides know how to cope.
Leaning my back against the painted wall, I hold the books to my chest and close my eyes, letting the song save me. When it ends, I look both ways. The hall is still clear.
A different sound—richer, deeper—another
guitar is played effortlessly from the way the notes link together. I don’t know this song, but it pulls my heartstrings so naturally that I bend around and steal a peek at the person who seems to know me better than I do.
I spy the familiar face of the middle Crow brother. Everyone knows who they are. As an eighth grader, his youngest brother earned a reputation for getting tenth grade girlfriends last year. His older brother, is known to charm not just cheerleaders, but any girl who walked in his vicinity. Rivers Crow is the quietest of the three, though his personality draws everyone into his orbit.
What intrigued me most about them was that they didn’t come off as players. Rumor had it that they never kissed and told anyone. So whether they did or not has not actually been proven.
Now the girls, on the other hand, loved to talk about landing a Crow.
Handsome.
Charming.
Smart.
They think people didn’t notice that they had frequented the honor roll over the years just as I had. The difference is they didn’t seem to have to study their butt off to do it.
They were anomalies—fitting in with the jocks who staked claim to the picnic tables, the stoners who hung out behind the trash bins, and friendly to people they didn’t even know. Some judged them by their bare-thread flannel shirts and faded old jeans. But those kids judge everyone, so that’s not news.
As for me, I’ve seen Rivers around, typed his name a few times to get a feel for the right font for the letters, and I might have once dreamed of a kiss under an oak tree, but that was just a Mr. Darcy fantasy.
I spin back, glued to the wall and hoping he didn’t see me when his gaze traveled across the music room to the cracked open door. “Is anyone there?” he calls out.
With the books cradled in my arms, I hurry in the direction I came, taking the other stairs to the library. That night I ask my dad about the different guitars there are and played “Blackbird” on repeat until I fell asleep.
. . . My heart is beating as fast as it was that day, the memory reminding me of how Rivers has always had a gentle soul. “The first time I heard you play a guitar, you were playing ‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles.”
Rivers touches my neck and runs his thumb down the slope onto my shoulders. “Yeah?”
“The awards ceremony is over. What do you think about taking off?”
He gives the ruffle of my sleeve a little tug. “I’d rather be taking this off.”
“That can be arranged.”
“Ah, the boyfriend has finally arrived, making his grand entrance.” Brian steps up from behind Rivers, popping our happy bubble. “Thanks for showing up to celebrate my award.” He pats Rivers on the arm. “I appreciate the support.”
Eyeing Brian’s hand, Rivers says, “Don’t ever fucking touch me again.”
I clap once like we’re tapping out of a wrestling match . . . or trying to avoid one more like it. “Okay. On that note, I think it’s time for us to go.”
Brian’s hands are shoved into his pockets, but his mouth is still loose. “So soon. The parents made time for us. It would be nice if you made time for them, Stella.”
“I helped set up. I think they’ll understand if I leave since most of the banquet is over.”
Brian throws on a fake smile and his arms go out as the president of the PTA joins our little party of three. “Mrs. Baird, how can I thank you enough for such an amazing night?”
She straightens his tie, causing me to roll my eyes. That is totally inappropriate, but more so is what she does next. Smiling at me, she says, “I want to have you and Ms. Fellowes over for dinner this next week. We have a special dinner for one of our future state representatives, and we’d love to have our most respected administrator and our son’s favorite teacher join us.”
Holding my finger up armed with an excuse, I say, “Unfor—”
“I absolutely will not take no for an answer,” she says, lowering my hand. “Mr. Baird will also be there to present the school with this year’s donation. He would like to personally thank you for all you’ve done for our sweet Joshua.”
Brian says, “It will be our pleasure to be there.”
Looking Rivers up and down, she conspiratorially whispers, “Will this gentleman be joining us as your plus one?”
Rivers takes my hand and kisses it, making me swoon inside from the sweetness. I don’t care if he is territorially marking me. I’m his, so mark away. He says, “I have business out of town this Thursday to tend to, but if the invitation still stands, maybe another time?”
And she blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl. “That would be delightful. I’m Margery Baird. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Rivers Crow.”
“And you do?” she asks.
“I’m in the music industry.”
“How exciting. Well, you must come for dinner when you’re back in town. Our son would love to hear all about it, as would I.” Turning back to me, she adds, “We’ll see you and Mr. Teller this Thursday.”
When she walks away, my smile falls flat on the floor as I grind my teeth. “You had no right to obligate me to a dinner with you.”
“If it’s best for the school, it’s best for you, Stella. Or do you not care to keep your position?” His hand makes contact with my arm for .02 seconds before it’s knocked away by Rivers.
Rivers is ready to bear down on him by the way his jaw tics. “What goes for me stands for Stella. You touch her again, and I’ll annihilate you right here in front of everybody without a second thought. Bri.”
A sleazy grin points up at the ends. “You’re in The Crow Brothers.” His eyes find mine. “Things are making a lot more sense now. The shirts. The music. Had I known we had a celebrity coming to the party, I could have arranged for you to perform for me.” What is happening here? It’s as if I am in the presence of a completely different Brian Teller. Surely, this isn’t just about a crush. I have enough on my plate. This has to end.
Closing my eyes, I rub the bridge of my nose. I sigh and then open my eyes. Rivers is about to say something, but I touch his chest, and instead say, “I don’t know what’s happened to you. Why you’ve turned so hateful toward me, and thus toward my guest. It’s sad and really pathetic, but worst of all, it’s disappointing that my friendship meant so little to you.”
I take Rivers by the hand and lead him through the mingling PTA members and school staff and straight out the double doors into the fresh night air. Walking toward the cars, I ask, “What do you want to do?”
“Get down and dirty with the naughty teacher.”
Laughing, I roll my eyes. “You are so ridiculous.”
“C’mon,” he says, taking my hand. “I’m going to show you how ridiculous I can be.”
28
Rivers
“I’m gonna rip it.”
“No.”
“Let me fucking rip it. Rip it right the fuck—fuck, you taste amazing. I’m going to fucking shred it.”
“No.”
I look up, trapped between annoyed and amused by her. Swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I ask, “Why not?”
Stella releases her hold on the top of the hood near the windshield wipers and lifts up on her elbows. “Because I’m not made of money. You don’t see me going around ripping clothes off you because I don’t want to take the time to undress you.”
Money. Fucking money. “I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe if you’ll let me rip this scratchy skirt off you.”
“You said you’re not that rich, so why do you want to blow money for no good reason.”
“Oh trust me, baby.” I wink and pretend to rip this cheap fabric. “This is a damn good reason. Anyway, I didn’t lie. I’m not that rich, but I’m really fucking rich.”
“You didn’t have to tell me that. That’s your personal business, Rivers.”
Running my hands up the inside of her thighs, I let the tips of my fingers trace circles in the wet. I really love how her body entices me. “You are my pers
onal business, now and always. You’re not shaking me, and so we’re clear, I have a lot of money now. That means I can take care of some of your worries, including this fucking skirt.”
“How is that possible?”
Shrugging, I reply, “The ladies and dudes love us. Well, the music.”
Lying back, her hand rolls in the air for me to carry on, but I decide I’m tired of this bullshit wooly skirt against my ears and neck. “Can I rip it?”
She lifts her ass in the air as if I’ll ever use the zipper to take the skirt off her. “No.”
Pushing her middle back down on the hood of the car, I try one more tactic. “Let me put it to you this way. Financially speaking, on a scale of one to Johnny Outlaw, I’m currently a five, moving into a seven within the year.”
Lifting her head, she purses her lips to the side and then lies back again. “Fine. Rip it.”
* * *
I gather the shreds of what’s left of the skirt and toss the pieces in through the open window of the back seat of her car. She fell asleep lying back on the passenger’s seat after we had sex on the hood of the car overlooking the whole city from miles away.
When I get in the car, I don’t rush to start it. I quite like looking at her sleeping. She’s restless most nights, kicking me in the shins a few times and almost kneeing my balls on another. But right after we make love, she finds peace.
So I stare through the windshield for a few minutes, taking in the view of the city where I once belonged. With my brothers in Los Angeles and my career based there, Stella is the only reason I’m here. And come tomorrow, I won’t be.
She stirs, slowly opening her eyes. Her troubles return as her mind wakes up. Resting my head back on my seat, I try to give her what she wants and smile. It’s not good enough to tempt one from her because she knows with each passing hour, we’re closer to the unknown.
I know.
She’s just not fully there yet. I get it. I do. I don’t like it, but I understand. She’s been through the unimaginable and had no one to rely on but herself and her sister when she couldn’t afford to confer with her.
