by Shey Stahl
“That girl,” Roman whispers, letting out a low whistle watching Barrette in the distance. She’s hunched over inside a car searching through it, her ass clearly visible in the high-waist shorts she’s wearing.
That girl is right. She’s the kind that should come with a label. Cute, tiny, and has the potency to knock you dead with one look. Underside effects it should say, May destroy your heart forever. I want to tell her she’s all I’ve thought about these last four years. I want to tell her I’m sorry I disappeared from her life. But I don’t say anything. It’s clear by the way she’s acting she wants nothing to do with me.
“Is she—” I pause, struggling with the words. I certainly don’t appreciate the way Roman says “that girl,” like he’s had her. The idea, the assumption, it hits me right in the chest like a knife. It takes the breath from my lungs. I stare, contemplating his meaning. Hell, I fucking shake. Clearing my throat, I don’t look at him when I mumble, “Is she with someone?”
Roman snorts and raises his eyebrows. “With someone?” I nod, and he smirks. “B?”
“Yes, fucker.” I shove him away from me and jerk my chin toward her. The impatient part of me needs to know. I don’t have time to play around. The teenage boy in me is the one hesitant to know. “Is she seeing anyone?”
He gives me that look. The one that screams, “I wish it was me,” but he doesn’t say anything to that effect. At least not around me because he knows if he ever touched her, I’d kill him.
“No, not that I know of,” he says, smiling. Roman rights his sunglasses on his face, hiding away his expression from me and pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. “She’s off limits if you know what I mean.”
Off-limits? I need a second to clear my head, but I don’t have it. I snap my eyes to him, drawing in a breath. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“You know exactly what the fuck it means.” Roman stands tall, his linebacker shoulders stiffening. He’s not a linebacker, but he’s sure built like one.
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Yeah, I suppose I do know what it means at least on my end, but hers, no, I don’t. She certainly wasn’t waiting for me, was she?
He flips his shades up, his eyes focused in the distance on a group of guys. “Why are you even questioning it? That girl has been hung up on your ass, for like, ever.” He slaps his hand to my chest. “She don’t pay any mind to any of these fools.”
For reasons I don’t understand, anger and jealousy surge through me that I left her with guys like this, the ones watching her ass, and that she’s been hung up on me the entire time. I should be glad that she is, but the feeling isn’t there yet.
I don’t know any of the guys hanging around in the driveway, but they’re watching Barrette with rapt attention. It sends a jolt of jealousy through me when one approaches the car she’s at.
While she’s bent over, he makes an obscene gesture toward his friends like he’s fucking her doggie style or something.
“What a douche,” I mumble, only to have Roman snort. He leans forward, rocking on his heels to see who I’m talking about.
He laughs and then looks at me. “Sounds ’bout right.”
In the distance, Barrette straightens up, turns around and faces the guy behind her. She smiles a familiar smile, one she used to give me. I probably don’t deserve those smiles anymore, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting them.
Roman nudges my arm with his. When I don’t look, he slaps his palm to my chest. “Bro, Heather’s lookin’ for ya.”
My stomach tightens, and not in a good way.
“No thanks,” I mumble, my eyes fixed on the interaction between Barrette and the guy next to her. “Who’s that?”
Roman sighs, his frustration with me evident. “Xander. Graduated this year.”
I nod, trying to appear uninterested, and failing at it. I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try. I hate when she laughs at something he says, or when she takes his fucking shirt and gives me the stink eye like I did something wrong.
I did, though. I left and didn’t call her when she called my mom’s house looking for me. I didn’t call her back because I felt bad about the way I just left without much of an explanation. I was trying to deal with the turn my life had taken and didn’t know how to talk to anyone about it. Not exactly the best way to keep a friend. Especially someone who was supposed to be my best friend.
“C’mon, man. Let’s party. It’s been a while.”
I look back at the house where the party is in full swing, and then at Barrette who’s walking away with Xander, his arm around her shoulder. I walk back to the party with him knowing damn well I shouldn’t.
I DON’T KNOW that many people at this party, but they all know me. They ask me questions and make conversations. I sit across from her, a fire raging between us. And every single time someone touches her, it sends a jolt of jealousy through me, especially when Xander approaches her again. I don’t know him, or her anymore either, and it fucking kills me.
I know where this is heading. If I stay, I’m going to go over there, and I know what will happen. I’ll get in a fight and my dad will be right. I’m emotional and raw and not in my right mind.
That’s what the therapist says so it must be accurate, right? Or maybe I’m just an eighteen-year-old kid who doesn’t fucking care and has lost everything he loved.
I don’t leave. I sit and bounce my knee. I drink even though I know I shouldn’t. I bite my nails and obsess over the girl I can’t stop thinking about. I don’t know anything about her anymore, but then again, I know everything there is to know. Little things like the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s nervous or the way she stares at the trees like they hold meaning for her. She’s always been obsessed with the forest and the mystery it has.
She’s wearing a sweatshirt now, and it’s not mine. It’s another guy’s, and I want to rip it from her delicate body and toss it into the fire where it belongs. She should be wearing mine, and that should be my body she’s clinging to.
I breathe in through my nose. It doesn’t help. Do you hear my heartbeat? I don’t over my breathing, but I know it’s probably racing. Do you notice the way my throat tightens every time I attempt to swallow my beer? They’re all signs that I’m losing it. I’m hanging on by a thread and if I don’t leave, I’m going to cause a scene.
I stand, and I have no idea what I’m going to do next. Knowing I can’t be here with Barrette in the arms of someone else, I turn to leave.
“Where are you going?” Roman asks, one arm around a girl just as gone as him, and the other holding beer by the neck.
The smoke from the fire shifts and turns in my direction. I squint at the burn, my eyes lifting to hers. Barrette catches my gaze and then quickly looks away toward the boy who doesn’t matter. My entire body fights with the need to rip his arm from her. Running my fingers through my hair, I shrug. “Leavin’.” My voice doesn’t hold as much conviction as I intend for it. I look over at Barrette with blank eyes.
She looks at me for a moment and then moves to the one she has her arms around.
Roman attempts to hand me another beer. “No, stay. Get shitfaced with us.”
Get shitfaced? There’s more to life than getting drunk and forgetting your problems.
Rage festers inside me. My jaw clenches and I swallow, pushing the beer bottle away. I pick at the rough skin around my thumb to avoid eye contact. “Nah, I’m good.”
And then I leave. If I stay, I’m going to rip that douchebag’s arm off her and cause a huge scene. One I promised my dad I wouldn’t cause this time.
He left. I think, no, I know it’s what he does.
Cadence shifts toward me, glaring at Xander and shoving his shoulder as he’s trying to kiss my neck. “Get off her. You’re mauling her like a damn bear.” Her eyes lift to the distance where Asa is walking up the hill toward the house. “Where’s A going?”
I twist on Xander’s lap. Setting my cup beside me,
I shrug because I don’t know. “I don’t care,” I mumble, knowing it’s far from the truth. I want to chase after him, tell him I’m sorry for ignoring him, but something stops me.
I don’t move and instead, look down at my drink at my feet in the dirt. It’s beer and I hate the taste but love the feeling it gives in return. I’m on Xander’s lap, my arm around his shoulders. I’ve known Xander since he was three and he used to eat his boogers. He’s a year older and we really don’t hang out. I’ve never liked him so why I’m on his lap is probably a testament to Cadence’s claim that I’ve had too much to drink.
Unable to make sense of my actions, I down the beer and retrieve another one.
Cadence notices and reaches out for my hand, tugging me up. I smile and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I pull back and smash my face to hers. “You’re pretty.”
“And you’re drunk.” Cadence tries to pull me toward her, her voice rising. “C’mon, girl. It’s time for a change of scenery.”
I resist and sit back down on Xander’s lap. “I’m good here, thanks.”
“Seriously, B.” She motions for me to get up and dangles her keys in my face. “It’s time to go. Now. I’m not leaving you here with these jerks.”
It’s one of those moments when my vision isn’t quite clear, more than likely from the alcohol and the amount of sun I’ve gotten. I’ve spent the entire day drinking, smoking, and avoiding. It’s come down to this and I don’t think I’m ready to leave. Someone puts their hand on my knee. I think it’s Xander, but it’s not. It’s some other guy I don’t know. I look down at it, then to Cadence who’s still talking.
“You know I need to get home. After last time, my parents are watching me like a hawk. So c’mon. Get up.”
I laugh, and it comes out as a childlike giggle. I’ve never been a mature drunk. “That sounds like a you problem. Go home so you don’t get in trouble. I’ll find my own way home.”
Xander glares at her, noticing the tension between us. “Jesus, you’re not her goddamn mother.” He rolls his eyes, his lips closing on a cigarette. “Back off.”
With the glow from the fire behind her, anger works its way to Cadence’s voice. “I don’t like leaving you like this. You’re drunk.”
My heart thumps wildly in my chest. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t move. I’m not sure I can. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.” She tries to sound stern but fails miserably.
Her words bounce right off me as anger takes over. “No, I’m not.”
Roman approaches us, pulling the black sweatshirt in his hand over his shoulders, hood up. He smiles at me, his arm around Cadence. “Relax. She’s fine here. I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“Yeah, sure you will,” she mocks, glancing over me momentarily at the guys surrounding me, and then back to me. “Text me when you get home.”
I attempt to nod, but it feels like I’ve just taken Nyquil and its setting in, my actions, my words, slower. I urge myself to get up and walk away.
Xander pulls me closer, his head buried in my neck and though I know with every ounce of my being I should pull away from him, I don’t and let his hands wander up my inner thigh. He smells like smoke and stale beer, not like the spice and summer scent I crave.
A CRACK OF thunder rolls through the inlet, bouncing off the water in waves. Startled at the sound, I jump and smile. I stagger and wonder where I am because it’s different. Nothing looks familiar anymore. “That’s scary. Think it’s close?” I say those words, but for some reason, they’re slurred and take so much effort.
“I’ll protect you,” a deep voice says. There’s an arm around my shoulder. It’s heavy. My eyes move to see it’s a guy who I don’t know. I can’t make out his face in the darkness, but his hand, there are tattoos on it.
Maybe you know where it’s heading, maybe you’re screaming at me to make sense and move away, but I don’t.
I look around. I don’t see Cadence. I don’t see Xander, though I thought he was right beside me. I’m no longer by the fire. I’m in the forest and I don’t know how I got there, or how much time has passed. There’s rough laughter around me, but I don’t think I recognize the voice.
Blinking rapidly, I look at the cup in my hand, the smell strong, potent. I should put it down, but I don’t. I think of Asa and his smile, and I drink more.
“Come with me,” a voice says, taking me by the hand. You’d think I’d know better. You’d think a girl like me wouldn’t follow.
Don’t follow, I tell myself, or at least I think I do, but my mind doesn’t comprehend the same action, held hostage by something I don’t understand. I can’t explain it.
I take his hand, but my arm feels strangely heavy, like lifting a weight that’s too much for me. I can’t see his face in the darkness, but there are specs of light shining through the trees. I look up, lost in the darkness. I’m swallowed whole by the black. It’s consuming and unforgiving. It feels like I might be floating, but I dig my hands into the dirt, and I know I’m on the ground. I don’t know how I got there.
“I think… I’d like to leave,” I mumble, or at least I think I do, but my lips are numb. Every motion feels foreign and forced. “I want to leave.”
Why do I feel so strange? Did I really drink that much?
“No,” he growls, pressing his mouth to the curve of my neck, “that’s not happening.”
Before I know what he’s doing, it seems too late. I’m held there and my heart rate drops. Fear. I fight against him. Harder than I’ve ever fought for anything. Every ounce of strength I can muster, I use.
It’s not enough. It feels as if nothing will be enough.
I’m being held down by strong hands and I hear the words, “She’s a virgin,” but I can’t distinguish the voice.
There’s a reply, a deeper more gravelly voice of, “I hoped she was,” but I can’t tell who it is.
More than one?
“Stop!” I scream. “Get off me!” I’m pressed into the dirt, a harsh breath leaving my lungs and he’s on top of me, panting and sweating, struggling to get my shorts off.
I can’t focus. Everything is a blur and just blinking feels heavy. It’s as if I’m underwater and my arms and legs are tied to the bottom of a muddy lake. I try to listen to the sounds around me, focus in on their voices, their words, but it’s all muted and the sounds, mumbled. It seems like it takes an eternity to form a thought, but when I do, I stare at the sky, the darkness, and I think, do they know what they’re doing? Don’t they see what they’re taking from me? What did they give me?
Then the pain hits me, harder than before. Between my legs burns, aches… and it’s more than I can take. “Asa!” I scream, but it’s muffled. I don’t know why I say his name, but I keep saying it, and I beg and plead for them to stop.
Nothing works.
Pain and wetness hit my shoulder, my neck, my chest. There’s grunting and the sounds of leaves crunching, movements and pressure between my legs. The pain, it’s unimaginable.
“Hold her still!” a voice growls, the one on top of me.
There’s pressure on my wrists, and at the same time, on my thighs. “I’m trying to. How much did you give her?”
There’s no answer, at least not one I comprehend.
His breath hits my ear. “Fuckin’ stop moving,” he grunts in a broken command. “I’ll only hurt you more.”
I squirm, I think, moaning for them to stop. Intense pressure hits my face and my heart already beating fast, picks up. There’s an image that appears in my mind, working its way through the jumbled thoughts. It’s him, the one. I hold onto that. His eyes. Not this guy’s, but Asa’s. I hold onto it like that rope swing when he begged me to let go when we were nine, telling me he would catch me.
He didn’t. I belly flopped into the bay and he smiled. This time, I couldn’t, wouldn’t let go of that one memory keeping me from drifting away completely.
They continue, I fade. I feel things happening to me, but I can’t do an
ything. My arms and legs feel so heavy. Like irons bolted to the ground.
I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
Why does everything burn?
Why is my skin on fire?
I try to blink, focus enough to move away from them, but I can’t.
Sharpness hits my side, and it hurts. Worse than between my legs. I scream, my plea muffled by his hand. I bite, anything to protect myself. Something hits my face and I fade, the pain too much to endure.
I fight to hold on, I do, but the pressure in my head is too much. It’s too late. I can’t take the pain. I count seconds, and then minutes, and then I forget. The thoughts, they’re gone. I leave my body and inhabit the air and the silence in my mind as I stare at the tops of the trees. They’re black and I can’t make out any shape as the rain hits my face, but it’s better than the alternative.
Three hours. That’s how long I wait. I tell myself, forget it.
Look at me, the one so out of control he can’t even stand without moving. I’m clearly not listening because I can’t forget her, not ever.
Pain shoots through my jaw from clenching and unclenching it. Drawing in a painful breath, I struggle through emotions I don’t understand. This girl, since the day I met her, she’s been the one I live and breathe for. One might wonder why I left her then and never called. Even I don’t understand why, but I know one thing for sure. That guy, the one obsessing over every single thought and her reaction to him, he shouldn’t have left her again.
Listen to my heart, the beating, the shaking of my hands and that tightness in my chest. Do you remember the look on her face? You know what’s coming, don’t you? Do you feel it too? Something isn’t right.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I tell myself, running my hands through my hair.
Ever since I was a kid, I’ve calculated my responses. I’ve never let my emotions get the better of my reactions. Emotion, fear, anger, happiness, it all starts out the same way. A jolt. And then the reaction. For someone like me, I control them to the point of obsession. I’m careful. Cautious. Maybe that’s why I was the starting quarterback all four years at Massillon High School.
