by S. M. Soto
I try on the clothes, surprised that they fit perfectly. The outfit is easily something I would’ve worn before, but I’ve become so accustomed to my baggy pants and hoodies that these clothes feel…uncomfortable. They’re tight, restricting, and they hug my body in the most uncomfortable ways.
My eyes rake up and down my body in the mirror. The shirt accentuates my C-cup breasts, and the material of the cut off skinny jeans show off my lean legs. I suck in my bottom lip, chewing on it in my indecision. I can’t get over how different I look. Under my baggy clothes, it’s easy to hide, but with these clothes on it’s impossible. All the things I try to hide from Connor’s leering eyes are on full display in this outfit.
It still amazes me that after all these years, no one has been able to see through Connor’s act. Not even Jenny. She thinks he’s the perfect partner. My mom thinks he’s the perfect son. And his dad thinks he’s an incredible asset to the firm. Why can’t they see what he really is? An evil, hateful, narcissist.
A monster.
“Bea!” Jenny yells from outside the door, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Someone’s here to see you!”
My brows dip into a frown.
What?
Cautiously, I make my way down the hallway toward the front door. Wiping sweaty palms on my thighs, my steps falter and my eyes widen when I get a good look at my visitor.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Jenny says with a smile, before she disappears into the kitchen. I swallow thickly, trying to ignore my pulse pounding in my temple.
“Hey, Bea,” Myrah says in an apprehensive tone. I guess I deserve that. Especially after how our last conversation ended a few years ago. I still hate that I had to push her away and rip apart our friendship in order to protect her.
“Hi.” I somehow manage to squeak, still trying to process what she’s doing here. In my house. After so many years.
“You look good—different in those clothes,” she says pointing to my outfit, trying to make conversation. I dart my eyes down to my clothes and tense up. I completely forgot what I was wearing. The sense of protection I get from my baggy clothes isn’t here to help me through this conversation. I decide to take the safest approach and stay silent.
“Liam’s back in town. Have you seen him? He’s here visiting from San Francisco. That’s where he lives now.”
Hearing his name out loud hurts. It feels like someone is jabbing an ice pick into my heart, repeatedly. Why would she say his name? She has to know how hard this is for me, even after years apart. It’s like she’s bringing him up to hurt me, to get a reaction out of me. I fix my gaze on a photo of me and my mother, taken when I was a child. A happy, carefree child. I don’t reply to Myrah. I don’t even look at her. I just hope she’ll leave soon, so I can head back to my room and change back into my armor.
“Did you want to go somewhere and catch up? Maybe get pedicures. We used to love those, remember?” she asks hopefully.
Without warning, Jenny pops into the living room.
“I think that’s a great idea, don’t you, Bea? With your first day of classes tomorrow it’ll be good to go out and get pampered.”
I swing my gaze to hers with wide eyes, begging her to stop. She gives me a look, urging me to go. A whole silent conversation passes between us with our looks alone, no one the wiser.
Turning back to Myrah and the hopeful look on her face, I’m taken back to when we were just little girls. Best friends. Sisters. And I relent.
“Okay,” I say, my voice shaking with uncertainty. My vocal cords tickle the back of my throat at finally being used.
“Great!” Jenny says loudly with a clap of her hands. She scurries into the kitchen, immediately coming back out with her wallet and bills flying in her hands.
“Jenny, you don’t have to—”
“Please,” she cuts me off, her eyes shining with sincerity. “I want to do this.”
“You already bought me clothes. I can’t let you. It’s too much.”
She shrugs. “Your mom would want me to. And don’t worry about the clothes, I bought you some other stuff to last you the rest of the school week. Those baggy clothes aren’t going to work, sweetie,” she says with a wink.
Turning my back on Jenny, I fight the urge to roll my eyes and follow Myrah out the front door, unsure of how to act. I haven’t spent time around Myrah in three years. I haven’t talked to her in four years, and I haven’t been her friend for the last six years.
I’m way out of my element.
Once inside the car, Myrah turns to me with a reassuring smile. “I usually go to the nail salon down on 11th. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say distantly, as I try to think back on the last time I got my nails done with Myrah. We were still sophomores, using our allowances every two weeks to get manicures and pedicures. We used to do our own nails, but over the years as we grew up, Myrah lost her touch and steady hand when it came to the craft.
Everything about our friendship was so effortless and easy back then. I never needed to think twice about how to act, what to say, or what to do. But now I have to. I feel so out of my element, and not to mention my comfort zone.
We ride in silence to the nail salon, thankfully it isn’t too far from our houses. The tension in the air is starting to give me a headache. In a nervous tic, I rub my sweaty hands along the seats of her Kia.
“So, how’s your mom?” Myrah asks, cutting through the thick silence.
“She’s good. She retired a few years ago, so her and Richard are traveling,” I say, but I’m sure she already knew that. “How are your parents?”
“They’re doing okay. My grandma got sick a few months back, so my parents have been staying in Oregon to take care of her. I think they were worried about leaving me here alone at first, but I was actually glad I had the place to myself.”
“Your brother, what’s he doing now?”
Evan was a big part of my childhood with Myrah. He was like an older brother I never had. Until Connor, but Connor never acted like a brother.
“He’s still in Palo Alto. Has his doctorate in Psychology.”
My brows jump to my hairline. “Wow. That’s great.”
“Yeah. We’re all really happy for him. Even though we don’t see him as often as we’d like, it’s good to see him happy. Now c’mon, lets head in,” she says, alerting me that we’re here.
The strong smells of acrylic and acetone waft around us once we walk in. We head toward the wall of polishes to choose our colors and I stop short, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
“What color are you choosing? I’m thinking of black with this glitter on top. What do you think?”
“That sounds nice,” I reply distractedly as the cogs churn in my head at full mast. I hate to admit it, but I’m worried about what Connor will say when he eventually comes home.
Getting my nails done, hanging out with friends? It’s just not something I do—not something he’d ever be okay with. Whatever color I choose, he’s bound to notice, and I can’t help but wonder how bad my punishment will be.
“What about this lilac color? It’s perfect for you. I know you like the lighter, simpler colors.”
“Yeah, I like that one,” I reply distractedly, eyeing the blush pink polish with a purple undertone she’s holding between her fingers. My stomach twists with an uneasy feeling the longer I think about Connor and his reaction to this…outing with Myrah.
We get our nails done separately, and when it comes time for our toes, we’re seated next to each other on remote controlled massage chairs.
“So, college huh? Are you nervous about tomorrow?”
Blowing out a breath, I turn toward her, cracking a small smile. Something I haven’t done in a very long time. It feels weird, the muscles in my cheeks stiff and dormant from not smiling for so long.
“Extremely nervous. It’s been so long since I’ve…been around so many other people. But to be honest, I’m excited too.”
/> “I’m really happy for you, Bea.”
“Thanks, Myrah,” I whisper. Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes enjoying a moment of quiet solitude. No anxious thoughts. No wondering when Connor will walk through the door. Just silence. I try to bask in it for as long as I can because who knows how long it’ll last.
With my eyes closed, only one person comes to mind, and when his face materializes it makes my heart ache. Seeing Liam has messed with my head. It has made me dive back into past memories I’d much rather forget, but I can’t deny how badly I’ve missed him. I try not to let my mind wander, but I can’t help myself. I wonder what he’s been doing the past six years, how many girls have been with him after me. I shouldn’t care. I don’t have any right. But that icy pain shooting down the center of my chest tells me otherwise. I do care. Even if I don’t want to.
Parking her car in her driveway, Myrah cuts the engine and turns to me with a serious look on her face.
“Today was fun. I’m glad you came, Bea.” She shifts in her seat, facing me. “Would it be okay if I stopped by tomorrow? To see how you’re doing?”
I open my mouth, ready to tell her I can’t, that we shouldn’t, but the hopeful look in her eyes stops me. An overwhelming tidal wave of emotion crushes me. For the first time in a really long time, I feel…normal. Hanging out with Myrah, it may not be as effortless as it was six years ago, but it feels good. I feel like a twenty-two-year-old girl. Exactly how I should feel. So, even though I should protect myself from the wrath of Connor and say no, I don’t.
“Yeah,” I find myself saying instead. “That’d be okay.”
I climb out of the car, making the trek across the lawn back to my house. I shoot a glance over my shoulder, finding Myrah staring at me with a ghost of a smile on her face. I lift my hand in an awkward wave before turning around, walking into the place that doesn’t feel like home.
Last night was the first night in months I slept soundly without having to worry about a nightly visit from Connor. Every so often when he works late at the firm, he stays the night in Sacramento instead of coming home. Those are the only nights I can breathe a little easier. Those are the only nights I ever sleep with my door open. Those are the only nights I don’t feel like dying.
Adjusting the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder, I maneuver my way through the college campus, darting my gaze from person to person who passes by me. My hands are so clammy I have to keep wiping them on my jean clad thighs to get rid of the excess moisture. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and my pulse thuds violently in my ears. Flicking my eyes down to the paper crumpled in my trembling hand, I swallow thickly, trying to summon the courage to walk into the class. I stand outside the doors watching with wary eyes as countless people pass me to walk inside.
Everyone else seems to know what they’re doing, they’re all on a mission without a care or worry in the world, all but me. They walk to their classes with determination while I’m stuck outside of mine, feeling like the odd man out.
“First day?” A voice asks from behind me, making me jump in surprise. Whirling around, I find a girl with lavender colored hair, a septum piercing and an eyebrow piercing. I eye her up and down, my brows rising in surprise.
“You look like a scared puppy, girlfriend. C’mon.” She flicks her chin, indicating for me to follow her into the class. I do so cautiously, still not entirely sure what to make of this chick.
“Always sit in the back, it’s easier to blend,” she whispers as she weaves her way through the aisle with me following dutifully behind her. I use the girl’s body as a shield when people glance at us.
We sit in the last row with only a few other students whose noses are buried in their phones. Inhaling a shuttering breath, I slowly shift my gaze around the expanse of the room. Students fill almost every seat, some sitting patiently with a notepad and pen, others with a tablet, while the rest sit quietly on their phones waiting for the professor.
“So, what’s your story? I’m Melody, by the way.” She doesn’t offer her hand like most normal people do, she just curls her firsts under her chin, propping her head up as she waits for me to say something. I’m starting to get the impression that Melody isn’t like most normal people.
“I’m Bea.” I don’t offer anything more, “my story” isn’t something most people would be able to handle.
“Cool,” she says, popping a bubble with her bright pink gum. “You ever been told you look like that one chick from that show Friday Night Lights? The cheerleader one.”
With my brows knitted, I shake my head. “No. I don’t really watch much TV.”
“You one of those weird people whose family don’t let them watch TV or something?”
My mouth quirks. “No.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Well, whatever. I was just saying you looked like that one chick. I think her name is Minka Kelly—some weird shit like that.”
Melody pulls out her cell phone tapping away, seemingly over our conversation. Pulling out a pen and notepad from my messenger bag, I sit back in the seat anxious for the class to begin.
“Here,” Melody says, nudging me with her elbow. “Put your number in here.”
She just about shoves her phone in my hand and I hesitate before taking it with a perplexed look. This girl is definitely not the norm—or maybe this is the norm, and I just haven’t been around others for so long I wouldn’t even know what normal is if it stared me right in the face.
“Oh, for the love of Christ, please tell me you have a cell phone, Bea?” A look of horror crosses over her face, surprising the heck out of me when a laugh bursts past my lips.
“I have one, but honestly, I don’t use it for much. I think my mom is the only one who has my number.”
Melody curls her lip in disdain. “Jesus, hurry up and put your number in. This conversation is making me sad.”
After putting my number in Melody’s phone, we focus our attention on the professor standing at the podium for the remainder of class. Once we’re dismissed, I pack my things away with a small smile on my face. I’m taking two basic classes, a math class and an English class as well as an Astronomy class. I’ve always wanted to know more about our universe, and now, I can finally keep expanding on the information I already have.
Even though I have most of the textbook memorized at home from years ago, I wanted to learn everything from the perspective of a professional, not just the book. I forgot how much I enjoyed learning about the planets and the stars, and how the universe is an interactive energy continuum in our lives. This class today reminded me of that.
“When did it start?” Melody asks suddenly from beside me as we walk out of class through the lush green campus.
“When did what start?” I turn to her with a crease between my brows. She shakes her head at me in exasperation, like I should automatically know what she’s talking about.
“When did it first start, the rape?”
Like being doused in ice cold water, my body pricks painfully, and I stumble over my own feet. My breath catches, and my heart lodges itself in my throat. Melody continues walking like there’s no problem while I stare at her like my world has just come to a screeching halt.
“W-what?” I stutter, darting my gaze around me frantically, half expecting to find Connor waiting somewhere for me with a hateful glare on his face. I swallow the lump that’s now lodged in my throat and shift back toward her. “H-how did you know?” I somehow manage to croak out.
Melody stops walking and turns around to face me. Her face is expressionless, but her eyes look sad—haunted even. She heaves a deep, tired sigh.
“Because I was a victim, too. For a long time. You wear your trauma on your sleeve, Bea. Everyone else may not notice it, but I do.”
I clasp my trembling hands together, trying to compartmentalize her words.
She’s been raped.
Melody was raped just like me.
She’s a victim and yet, she’s still surviving.
/> “How do you do it?” I ask her hoarsely, on the verge of tears. “How do you walk around like everything is okay?”
She smiles sadly. “Because in my world…it is. By living, and being happy, I win. He doesn’t have the power to destroy me and everything else in my life—don’t let him win, Bea.”
With that, she walks away with her bright hair, and color filled personality, leaving me standing in the center of the vivid green campus trying to contain my tears. I rapidly blink away the moisture, heading toward the student services office, ready for a change of pace.
When I pull up to the curb in front of my house, a shiver of dread runs down my spine making my skin pebble in gooseflesh. Connor’s silver BMW is parked in the driveway making my stomach churn with fear. My eyes drift to the time on the dashboard that reads 6:30 p.m.
I clench my eyes shut against the dread pooling in my belly.
He’s going to kill me.
After speaking to a woman in the student services office earlier, I signed up for a part-time job on campus working in the library. After my classes are over, I start my shift at one in the afternoon, and clock out at half past five. That’s where I’ve been all day. Training with another college student in the library. She was there to teach me the basics, how to check out and check in the textbooks. She taught me the library’s system, and how to refill the shelves by course code. It was all simple enough. For those four hours, I wasn’t worried about anything but my job.
I walked out of the library after my shift with a sense of pride. I was following Melody’s advice. Doing what I should’ve done a long time ago—live my life. I didn’t want Connor to win. He’s taken so much from me already, I didn’t want him to have this too. A sense of independence. Melody had given me so much to think about after our short time together.
After six years of dealing with abuse, one would think it would be easy to confide in another person. But it’s not. I don’t have anyone to confide in. Even if I did, I could already picture the conversation. They would tell me to run away, to turn him in, to fight back. Don’t they realize I’ve tried all those things? And I’ve paid for them, almost with my life.
