by Sonya Sones
Luke drums his fingers on the steering wheel.
Then suddenly, they shoot out
and snatch the phone from my hand.
He switches it off
and slips it into his pocket.
My Blood Freezes
But I don’t want him to know how scared I am.
So I hiss, “Turn this car around, Luke.
I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He pulls over to the curb and reaches for my hand.
“Please don’t be angry, Lily.
It’s just that I wanted this night to be . . .
to be so romantic . . . Like one of those love
stories you’re always reading . . . I wanted—”
Then his voice cracks,
and he doesn’t finish his sentence.
His lower lip quivers,
like he’s on the verge of tears.
Now I sort of feel like crying too.
“Oh, that’s okay, Luke,” I say.
“I’ll bring you back to the dance now,” he says.
“But can we just make one little stop first?”
I hesitate.
“Please,” he begs, his voice trembling.
“There’s something I really need
to show you.”
Then he flashes me the saddest,
most heart-piercingly beautiful smile.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard.
“One little stop.”
Twenty Minutes Later
We park in front of a building
in a really seedy neighborhood.
There’s two drunk guys
swearing at each other on the steps.
Luke takes my hand
and leads me past them,
then down a long corridor that smells
of stale cigarettes and grease.
He stops
in front of a scuffed-up metal door.
He unlocks it and shoves it open
with the toe of his boot.
Then he turns to me and says, “Ladies first.”
I enter, and he flips the lock behind us.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I glance around the small, dimly lit room.
There’s only a stained gray love seat,
a lamp with a torn shade on a beat-up end table,
and a thin vase with a single
bright red lily in it.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I . . . I dunno,” I say. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a dump,” he says with a grin.
“But it’s my dump. I signed the lease this morning.”
A Shudder Runs Through Me
“But . . . But don’t you want
to live in a nicer apartment?” I ask.
“Don’t be daft,” he laughs.
“I’m not going to live here.”
Then, as he pulls out a couple of candles
from a cabinet in the tiny kitchen alcove,
and starts lighting them, he adds, “This is just
a place where you and I can be alone.”
He says he chose it because
the neighborhood is so sketchy
no one we know
ever comes down here.
He says that he can “tutor” me here,
and nobody will catch us coming and going.
That it will be lovely,
once he fixes it up.
That we’ll have much more privacy here
than in that study room at the university.
“And we’ll need it,” he says.
“We can’t do what I have in mind
in a room with no lock on the door.”
My Heart Flings Itself Against My Ribs
Well, at least there’s no bed, I’m thinking.
Not much can happen if there’s no bed.
And just then,
he reaches for a handle on the wall
and yanks down
a hidden Murphy bed.
“Ta-da!” he says,
flashing me a hungry smile.
“I put pink satin sheets on it.
Just for you.”
I want to tell him to take me home—
to take me home right now.
But when I open my mouth to speak,
the words refuse to come.
He Unties the Bow at the Neck of My Cape
He lifts it off my shoulders,
and lets it drop to the floor.
His eyes burn
as he looks me up and down.
Suddenly
I’m wishing I hadn’t worn
such a clingy top . . .
such a short skirt . . .
I reach up and wipe away
the bead of sweat
that’s rolling down
the side of my face.
And That’s When I Notice
The two wineglasses
on the kitchen counter.
Luke pulls a bottle of champagne
from the fridge.
“Time to celebrate!” he says.
But I’ve never felt less like celebrating.
He puts his hand on the small of my back
and steers me over to the bed.
Then he lowers himself onto it
and pats the spot next to him.
“Join me,” he says, his eyes glinting
like an animal’s in a nightmare.
“I’m good,”
I manage to say.
But he takes hold of my hand
and pulls me down.
Luke Pours Two Glasses of Champagne
Then he gives me one,
and clinks his against mine.
“To us,” he says.
“I . . . I don’t want any,” I say.
“But this is the best there is,” he says.
His mouth is smiling, but his eyes aren’t.
He guides my glass up to my lips.
“I don’t want any,” I repeat.
I try to turn my face away,
but he catches my chin in his hand.
“Please, Lily,” he says.
“Don’t ruin this special night for us.”
I think about bolting for the door.
But it’s almost as scary out there
as it is in here.
And Luke still has my phone.
I have no choice—so I choke down a sip.
It’s bitter, but not as bad as beer.
He starts rubbing my shoulders.
“Have another sip, Lily,” he says.
So I have
a little more.
And then, at his urging,
a little bit more . . .
I’m Feeling So Light-Headed Now
The room’s blurring around me,
like I’m riding a merry-go-round
that’s spinning way too fast.
I’m so dizzy I have to lie down.
I shut my eyes and let myself drift a little
on the satin sheets . . .
Then Luke’s lips
are brushing across my forehead . . .
my lashes . . . my cheeks . . .
And now he’s pressing them to mine . . .
Gently . . . So gently . . .
Like the very first time we kissed . . .
I feel
Luke’s hands
drifting over my shoulders . . .
I feel
Luke’s hands
gliding along my thighs . . .
I feel
Luke’s hands
sliding up under my skirt!
My Eyes Pop Open
The champagne
lurches
in my stomach.
I try to push
his hands away,
but suddenly
my panties
are around my
ankles
and I’m struggling
to sit up,
but he’s easing
> down onto me,
pinning me under
the crushing dead weight
of his body.
He Starts Fumbling with His Fly
Tugging at his jeans and
everything’s happening
way too fast and
now his cold hands
are on my knees and
he’s trying to spread
my legs apart but
I’m clamping them together,
clawing at his fingers,
trying to pry them off me, and
all the while
he’s kissing my neck,
murmuring,
“Come on, Lily.
You want this.
You know you do.
I’ve waited so long for you.
I can’t wait a minute more.
I love you . . .
I love you so much.”
And That’s When
I hear the three voices—
the voices
of my heart
and my mind
and my body.
And all of them
are screaming
just
one
word.
“Nooooo!”
It’s so earsplitting
it shocks Luke
into pulling back.
And the second he does
I slam both fists into his chest
and shove him off me.
Then I leap up
from the bed but
he grabs my wrist
and yanks me back down
and now his arms are closing
around me
and every muscle in my body
is tensing,
bracing
for what’s coming
next.
And Then—
He starts crying.
Sobbing,
really.
Like
he’s the most
miserable man
in the world.
He’s Telling Me He’s Sorry
He’s so, so sorry.
And then I’m crying too,
and he’s wiping away my tears
with his thumbs and we’re looking
into each other’s eyes.
But as I stare into his,
something slowly comes
into sharp focus.
It’s like I’m seeing Luke
through the lens of my camera
and his secret is finally being revealed—
something is missing there.
Something is off.
Way off.
He’s looking into my eyes,
but he’s not seeing me—
all he’s seeing
is his own reflection.
That’s the only thing
he cares about—
himself.
That’s All He’s Ever Cared About
Suddenly,
I feel emptier
than a swimming pool
that’s been drained for the winter.
We may
be crying together.
But we are crying
for two very different reasons.
And When Both of Us
Are finally all cried out,
he says he never meant to hurt me.
He says he’d never do anything to hurt me.
But he says we’ve been taking things so slow.
So slow it’s killing him.
He says he knows I’m inexperienced
and he respects that and he’s tried to be patient.
But he’s a man, not a boy.
And a man reaches a point
when he needs more.
And he says
if I’m not able to give that to him,
he’ll understand.
He will.
But if that’s what I decide,
it’ll just be impossible.
Impossible for him to bear.
So he’ll have no choice.
No choice but to pack up his things
and move someplace far, far
away.
He Pauses Then
As if he’s waiting
for me to say something.
And that’s when
it dawns on me:
He’s expecting me
to beg him to stay.
Even
after everything
that’s just happened.
He’s expecting me
to tell him I can’t live
without him.
But that
is the opposite
of how I feel.
So I look him
right in the eye
and say,
“Then I guess it would be best
if you did leave town.”
Luke Stares at Me Like He Can’t Believe His Ears
He squeezes his dark eyes closed.
And when he opens them again,
a few seconds later,
he sighs a sigh deeper than a bottomless pit.
Then he puts his hands on my cheeks,
cradling my face in his palms,
and says he doesn’t think I understand
what he’s saying.
He doesn’t think I realize
that if he’s forced to move away,
forced to break every tie
with me and my family,
he’ll have to take all his money
out of my father’s business.
And he’d hate to have to do that.
He really would.
“Because if I do . . . ,” he whispers,
pressing his forehead against mine.
“If I do . . .
your family will go bankrupt.”
His Words
Are chains,
binding my clenched fists together.
His words are a jail cell,
its walls closing in
around me.
Luke has locked me up
with his words
and
swallowed
the
key.
How Could I Ever Have Loved This Man?
There’s a stone in my chest
where my heart once was.
I imagine the look
on my parents’ faces
when Luke tells them
he’s taking his money back.
I see our house—an eviction notice
plastered across the front door,
all our stuff boxed up on the lawn
with nowhere to go.
I see Taylor and Rose and Presley,
standing on the sidewalk,
not knowing what to say to me.
I see Alice,
sitting on one of the boxes,
rocking back and forth
with her arms wrapped around herself,
her eyes lifeless and lost.
I could save myself.
But at what cost?
Then
I feel
Luke’s lips
on my neck again.
And this time,
when he places
his icy fingers
onto my knees
I don’t
even try
to pry them off . . .
When We Get Home
And Luke and I
walk through the front door,
my parents are right there
waiting for us.
They thank Luke
for picking me up from the dance.
He says it was no trouble at all.
My parents ask me
if I had a good time.
I say I did.
Why can’t they see?
Why can’t they see
what’s happened to me?
Shouldn’t
they know?
Doesn’t it show?
I Force a Smile onto My Face
And tell them the danc
e was awesome,
carefully avoiding eye contact with Luke.
I make just enough small talk
to keep my parents from getting suspicious.
Then I say good night, rush up the stairs,
lock myself into my room,
and collapse against the door.
I reach up and grab hold
of Luke’s tsavorite necklace.
It feels like a noose, strangling me.
I yank on it with both hands,
sending a shower of green stones
skittering across the floor.
Then I race to my closet
and get out my stepladder.
I climb to the top,
reach up to the ceiling,
and start tearing off
the glow-in-the-dark stars.
I scratch at them till my fingernails
are nothing but broken nubs,
and every single one of those stars
has been obliterated.
Later
I lie on my bed,
imagining what would happen
if I told my father
what Luke did to me.
I picture the color fading from his face.
I picture him grabbing the Maasai spear
from the hall closet—
the one that Luke brought him
from Kenya.
I picture him raging up the stairs with it,
the booming echo of his feet
making it sound like whole worlds
are being trampled beneath them.
I picture myself
dashing up the stairs behind him
and watching as he kicks open Luke’s door.
I picture Luke’s eyes widening
when he looks up and sees
the spear in my father’s hand.
I picture the bursting out of the blood,
like a sudden blooming star on his chest,
and the terror and relief
spreading all through me
like the deep red puddle that’s spreading
on the carpet at Luke’s feet.
And Then
I picture my mother.
And Alice.
I picture them rushing into the room
at the sound of my shrieks.
I picture the squad cars
screeching up to our house.
And I picture my father’s face—
strangely expressionless now,
like a blank sheet of paper.
