Naked

by Stacey Trombley

  And snatches the dress from me so quickly, I can still feel its phantom weight in my hands.

  “What are you—” I start to say, in such shock the words are out before I can stop them.

  He raises his index finger. “Don’t.” He holds the dress with one hand, looks it up and down.

  Mom says, “Martin, please. You’re being—”

  He slams his hand onto the table. The dishes clank. “I said don’t!” His fist clenches around the waist of the dress. I wince just a little, knowing he’s already wrinkled it and hoping he doesn’t ruin it completely. Any second he could flip and rip it apart.

  “Martin,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. “It’s not her fault. I bought her the dress…”

  “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he says to my mother. “The things you talk about when I’m not here? The things you do when you go out together?”

  I don’t know what happened to push him over the edge, maybe nothing, or maybe another argument with my mother. But I do know that he’s close to his breaking point. He might already be there.

  It takes everything I have not to leap forward and grab the dress from his hands, but the look in his eyes tells me today isn’t the day to mess with him. I’ve been in situations like this before. Him. The johns. Even Luis. When they’re angry, there’s nothing to do but play along and hope today isn’t the day they explode.

  “Dad?” I say in a light tone, trying to pull him back. Trying to sound as innocent as possible.

  “It is my fault,” he says to himself. “My fault we’re in this mess. If I hadn’t let her coddle you”—he means my mom—“none of this would have happened. Well, you can be sure that’s not going to happen again. I won’t let you ruin this family.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He cocks his head. “Okay?”

  I nod. “Okay.” He’s never seen this trick before. Three years ago, I’d have shouted at him, run to my room, hidden until he came inside to unleash his fury. But now I know better. You don’t want to get hurt? Then don’t ask for it.

  He shakes his head slowly, and when he looks at the dress again, his nostrils flare in disgust. “You’re out of your mind—you’re both out of your minds—if you think I’m letting you go to this dance.”

  My heart plummets, but I can’t let him see. “Daddy.” Sweat trails down the back of my neck, and my forehead feels cold. “I promise I’ll be good.”

  “Good? You think you even know what that means?”

  “I want to know what it means. That’s why I need you.”

  His chest swells, like he’s proud I see him as a source of wisdom.

  “You’re broken,” he says. “Until you admit that, you’ll never get better.”

  “I know I am,” I murmur, I’m afraid too softly, but he must like what he hears. The quiet. The certainty. Because he’s right. I am broken. “That’s why I need you.”

  He looks at my mom, and I can guess what he’s thinking. See? This is how we get Anna to behave. This is how we fix her.

  “Please let me go to the dance,” I say. “Let me…prove myself to you.”

  The words nearly choke in my throat, but now I’m thinking of everything I sacrificed to leave and everything I sacrificed to come back. I’m thinking of the dance. I’m thinking of Jackson.

  After a long moment, I guess finally satisfied that we’ve been reminded who’s in control here—who has the power—he holds out the dress.

  I close myself in my room. I put the dress back in its garment bag and shove it far under my bed.

  I should feel terrified after what just happened, but instead I feel a quiet confidence. Maybe I learned a thing or two while I was away. Maybe now I know enough to get what I want and keep my father happy.

  I pull out the book I’m reading for English. Jen gave me another one once I told her I couldn’t do the first, and I’ve finally found a bit of a rhythm. This one’s pretty interesting, anyway. It’s called The Catcher in the Rye, and it’s nothing like the kind of books I would have thought they’d have us read.

  I’ve found that reading’s not as bad as I thought. At least it gets me out of my own head for a while. I probably should have done more of it in New York.

  But not long after I pull out the book, something distracts me. There’s a strange tapping on my window. My heart pounds in my chest as I remember the last time.

  Nothing happened then, but I do sort of wish I had Zara with me now. I take a deep breath and tiptoe to the window and peer out. A happy face peers back at me.

  I blink and then slide open the window. “What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?”

  His eyes are bright and alive, and I realize I’m very happy to see him. “I want to show you something,” he says.

  “Normal people come to the door, you know?”

  He shrugs. “You told me your parents were strict—figured this was the safe way.”

  I shake my head. He’s crazy. And sneaking around my parents with a boy, even a boy as innocent as Jackson, probably isn’t the best idea in the world. Especially after what happened at dinner.

  I narrow my eyes. “Is it important?”

  He nods eagerly, and I sigh. Good thing I didn’t change out of my school clothes yet. Besides, the chances of my parents coming to my room are nonexistent. After that big speech, my dad will want to bask in his own glory while he gives me time to think over his “lesson.”

  I grab a pair of tennis shoes from my closet, flick off the light so my parents think I’m sleeping, and climb out the window.

  “Okay, what’s so important?”

  He grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine, which makes my heart patter in a completely idiotic way. And then he runs, pulling me with him. I notice he’s wearing a backpack.

  We run down the street and behind one of the houses, back to the field with the honeysuckles and my mini Central Park.

  Then we stop.

  The sky is a dark blue, but there’s still a little bit of light peeking out over the horizon. The field is right in front of us, with the little specks of lights flickering in the darkness.

  “Fireflies,” I say.

  Jackson turns to me, his eyes bright. “You are human!” he says with a sly smile that makes my stomach tumble. At least my cheeks don’t get hot. I do have some composure. “But they’re actually called lightning bugs.”

  “What? You made that up.”

  “Did not!”

  I laugh, and we both grow quiet and watch the little specks of light in the dark field.

  “My family used to go camping in the summer when I was little,” I say. “My mom and I caught fireflies together. But we haven’t done it since I was eight or so.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “I don’t know. My dad started working more, we stopped talking to our cousins and even my grandparents for some reason, and my parents got stricter and stricter.”

  I shrug, wondering if that was actually the beginning of the end of my parents’ relationship, and I just hadn’t seen it. The same way they didn’t see the way those changes affected me. “That’s around the time that everything changed for me because they wouldn’t let me out to play with kids my age, and they stopped playing with me, too.” I’m telling him more than I’m supposed to.

  “Loneliness sucks.”

  I nod.

  He takes off his backpack and pulls out a jar. “Maybe we can make her a present.”

  “My mom? You don’t think she’ll say they’re too…you know…childish?”

  He takes my hand. “Maybe. But maybe she needs to remember what it was like when things were good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just some things you’ve said… It sounds like you guys haven’t been happy in a long time.”

  He’s right. It’s been a long time since we were happy. Not just me. My mom. My dad.

  Then he tugs on my hand and brings me into the field, thankfully saving me from ha
ving to confirm or deny anything.

  I wonder why they’re even still here, the fireflies. It’s September; aren’t they usually gone by now? There aren’t as many as there are in the spring and summer, but there’s enough for me to catch about ten in Jackson’s jar. When we’re finished, he pokes tiny holes in the lid of the jar and hands it to me.

  We walk back to where he left his backpack, and I set my jar down.

  “Is the night over?” he asks, his eyes alight with something else. Something very unchildish, and it kind of scares me.

  My whole body feels alive. At his look, heat rises into my cheeks. Thankfully, it’s too dark for him to see. I don’t know what Jackson and I are, but I do know that I don’t want to go home. Not yet.

  “I’m not ready to leave if you’re not.”

  His smile lights me up from the inside. He rummages in his backpack again and pulls out an iPod and little speakers.

  “Some music?” he asks.

  I nod. Is this how real dates happen? I’ve seen movies about these things, but it’s safe to say I’ve never had anything close to a real date before.

  He places the speakers down and lets the music play softly, enough for us to hear but not enough to bother the neighbors.

  I don’t know any of the songs, but they’re kind of nice with their upbeat melody and acoustic guitars. Bugs chirp in the nearby woods, the tones mingling with our songs playing on his little speakers. We sit there in the field, just listening and watching the sky change.

  But when a slow song comes on, Jackson stands and asks me if I want to dance.

  “Seriously?”

  “It’ll be like practice for homecoming.”

  I raise my eyebrows. I hadn’t really thought about the dancing part of homecoming. Maybe dancing here, with him, is a good idea, because no one else will be around to see me look like an idiot. It’s just practice; at least, that’s what I tell myself.

  I get up but then just stand there awkwardly.

  He wraps his arms around my waist, and I place mine over his shoulders. I’m not sure if that’s right, but it feels right. He doesn’t say anything, so I guess it’s not completely wrong. We sway to the music. We’re close, closer now than we’ve ever been before, and my heart pounds.

  It’s weird to like him. It’s strange how good it feels when his hand gently touches my arm and sends a shiver all the way down my body.

  This feels different. So different from all the other times I’ve been with boys.

  I look into his hazel eyes, clear like crystal. They’re actually a little like Luis’s, only lighter…and kinder. Much kinder. Luis always looked at me in pieces—my boobs, my butt, my belly. It made me feel sexy at first, until I started to wonder if he only really saw me as a combination of sexy parts rather than a person. Jackson looks at me in a way I’ve never seen from him. Not from anyone. The looks that I’ve always loved getting from Jackson are still there, just different. More intense.

  He’s not looking at me as a way to get something he wants. That’s what I’m used to, but he isn’t like those other guys. I can feel it in his every movement. He wants me, but not like he wants to use me. It’s like he wants to keep me.

  Heat rushes to my face, and even though he’s close enough now to see, I don’t turn away. I want to soak up that look, remember it for the next time I feel myself slipping into the darkness of my past. I’ll close my eyes and remember this. Remember Jackson.

  He leans in closer and pulls me against him. The pressure of his body against mine awakens the memories of everyone who’s ever done this to me before, whether I wanted them to or not. But one look at his face and those memories feel too far away to matter.

  My stomach tumbles again; my heart pounds. I find myself wanting him to be even closer. I lean in, too, and I rub my thumb along the top of his neck, the feel of his skin there.

  He presses his cheek to mine, his lips brush my ear, and he whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

  And now I’m lost. In this world of lights and music, everything else disappears.

  My past, my future, all that matters is me and this sweet boy who thinks I’m beautiful.

  We’re alone in the middle of a suburban neighborhood, dancing like complete fools, but this feels so right.

  It feels right in a way it never did with Luis, because with him, it was always about what he wanted. When what he wanted was me, times were good. But once he started wanting to pay the electric bill, buy a new television, get some new clothes, and wanted me to start working to afford those things…that’s when things started to change.

  Now, it’s more. It’s about what I want. And I want Jackson.

  It’s about us. What we want. Each other.

  My heart pounds. I close my eyes when I feel Jackson’s fingers touch my ear and push a strand of hair away from my face. His hand lingers there, touching softly.

  I pull away only enough to look at him. His eyes search my face.

  I’m scared.

  I’m scared of what I’m feeling, scared of what it means. Scared of knowing that I can never really be with him, so how can I want to now?

  Scared of changing my mind and being trapped.

  But as I look into his eyes, I know he’s not like Luis. He’s not like the older guys I dated before I left for New York. I know he’s not like the man who raped me, or the dirty johns who only saw me as a pretty face and body they could buy.

  I can trust him.

  So when the song changes, we don’t move, don’t change our tempo or care that people might be watching us through the windows of their picket-fenced homes.

  And then he does it.

  He leans in. When he’s close, my lips buzzing with anticipation, I lean into him. I can’t stop myself. His hand comes up into my hair and gently pulls my face forward until his lips touch mine.

  I don’t pull away. I don’t run.

  This kiss is like nothing I’ve felt before. It’s so simple and soft, but so very intimate.

  My skin simmers. My heart floats.

  His warmth spreads through me like a gift. Like he’s giving me a piece of himself.

  He pulls back for a moment and whispers, “Is this okay?”

  I slowly nod, and he comes back in. When he opens his mouth, I’m delighted to find he tastes just like I expected. Fruit and brown sugar.

  Then he releases me and backs away.

  I don’t want him to stop, but I’m too scared to pull him back in. Instead I look at him, hoping he can read my desire.

  I feel silly, like this was my first kiss. How stupid is that? The whore is embarrassed to be kissed.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and I blink.

  He takes a step away, and now I’m confused. He’s almost out of my reach, but I manage to grab his hand and stop him. He turns back to me.

  “If…” I start to say, but I don’t know what he needs to hear. “Why did you…” I begin, but that sounds just as lame.

  He stands there, looking at me. “I don’t know why. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” He runs his hand through his hair. “That was dumb, I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t mean why did you kiss me. I mean, why were you walking away? Why did you—”

  “So you don’t mind?” His eyes hopeful but scared. It makes my stomach flutter a little. Maybe I should mind, I don’t know. But I don’t.

  “I didn’t mind,” I say softly. And then I remember what happened with his last girlfriend, so I tell him, “And I’m okay if you want to stop.”

  A look of relief comes over him, so intense that I realize I probably wasn’t the only one nervous about tonight.

  If my face wasn’t already red, I’m sure I’d be blushing. He licks his lips a little, like he wants to kiss me again. I guess he and I are like each other at least in this way. A little freedom is all we ever wanted to feel okay.

  I want more of his mouth. I press my lips to his again, mostly because I’m not sur
e I could resist if I wanted to.

  When we’re out of breath and finally pull away from each other, I don’t know what else to do. What’s the next step when the guy’s okay drawing the line at just kissing? So I sit in the grass and lie back. The stars are pretty bright now. The sun’s light completely lost to the other side of the world.

  Jackson lies beside me.

  “What about you, Jackson?” I whisper.

  “What about me?”

  “I’ve told you lots about me, but you’ve told me nothing about you. What are your deep dark issues? I mean, if you have any. You seem pretty perfect to me.”

  “Perfect? Seriously?”

  I nod and feel a blush inching across my cheeks again. I’m not sure he sees me, though. I’m still staring up at the stars as they slowly grow brighter.

  “I’m definitely not perfect,” he says.

  I don’t speak, waiting for him to tell me something, anything.

  “What do you want to know?”

  I stop to think. “You used to date that Liz girl, right?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers, and for the first time, I wonder if he still loves her. If he’s still upset about what happened between them. “That was a long time ago, though.”

  “Did you…love her?”

  His head whips to me, and I look back at him. He’s silent for a long time. What’s he thinking?

  “Maybe,” he says finally. “But I was only fourteen. I don’t think I really knew what love was then.”

  “Fourteen isn’t that young,” I say, thinking about how young I was when I met Luis. “Will you tell me what happened?”

  He takes in a deep breath. “We dated in middle school and most of ninth grade. She was my best friend. But then things changed. She changed. She started lying to me about things and then eventually…she dumped me for some jock guy and became…well, not a very nice person.”

  “Why did she change, do you think?” I realize I’m pushing him in exactly the way I wouldn’t want someone to push me, but I want to know more about him. This is making me hate those popular girls even more, to know how one of them hurt Jackson, but it makes me feel a little better, like I’m not the only one with a past we’d like to forget.