Held Against You

by Season Vining

  The air was sickeningly sweet with Chanel perfume and aged wine. I made my way around the private dining room, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. I stopped and exchanged pleasantries with my mother’s closest friends while avoiding the birthday girl completely. My usual saving grace, Aunt Nora, was absent, no longer able to face my mom and her abusive husband.

  My boyfriend, Paul, stood beside Dennis, each of them perched like voyeurs at the highest point in the room. I approached them and placed a kiss on Paul’s cheek.

  “Hey, baby,” he said. “Sorry I’m late. It’s quite a good turnout though, right?”

  I nodded and sipped my wine. Dennis did not acknowledge me.

  “There’s Patrick,” Dennis said to Paul. “We should go ask for a rematch on that last golf game.”

  Paul followed Dennis across the room like a puppy after its master. The admiration he had for that man made me sick.

  “I don’t even know half these people.” I turned to find my mom beside me. She looked beautiful and wore her pretend smile perfectly. The thick makeup on her cheek covered a bruise that I knew was still there.

  “Then why invite them?”

  “Dennis says it’s good for business, socializing with his high-end clients.”

  “All about appearances, right?” I asked, shooting her an angry glance. “What’s your story this time, huh? You fall down a flight of stairs?”

  She unconsciously touched her cheek and then folded her arms across her chest. This was her defensive move. I had seen it too many times.

  “Don’t start, Katherine. Not tonight.”

  “Why do you stay with him?”

  Her gaze drifted across the room and landed on Dennis. “I love him.”

  “Love shouldn’t leave you black and blue. When you’ve had enough, let me know. I’ll do anything to help you. Happy birthday, Mom.”

  I walked away, knowing the battle wouldn’t be won that night. I caught Paul’s eye and waved toward the bathroom, letting him know where I’d be. Once inside the posh sitting room, I set my clutch on the counter and leaned into the large gilded mirror. My makeup was fine, but I searched out my lipstick and reapplied just to kill some time. Just as I traced the curve of my bottom lip, Marilyn appeared in the mirror beside me.

  Her appearance was flawless—designer clothes, impeccable hair, and permanent sneer firmly in place. Like her brother Dennis, she maintained an immaculate façade to hide the ugliness underneath.

  “Katherine,” she greeted without meeting my eyes.

  “Marilyn,” I responded, mocking her tone.

  “I see your mother has somehow wrangled the Warby sisters into her social circle.”

  I shrug. “Sad you didn’t get your raggedy claws into them first?”

  Her face remained expressionless and I assumed all the Botox had done some permanent damage.

  “I’ve always heard they’re a bunch of bleeding hearts, so I’m sure they’re just thrilled to tackle a case like your mother.”

  I turned to face her, but she continued to face her reflection. I curled my hands into fists and wondered at what angle I’d have to punch her to knock the feeling back into her forehead.

  “Maybe they’ll keep her occupied,” she continued. “Heaven knows I’m tired of seeing her hanging around the office like a goddammed groupie, decorating the lobby with her tacky taste. She needs a hobby or something. Don’t you think?”

  “I think you should worry less about what she’s doing and more about those telling age spots and crow’s feet decorating your face.”

  I left her there and rejoined the party, taking my place among all the other fakes and forgeries in the room. Every time my mother moved, she was tugging at her long sleeves, making sure to hide beneath the silk charmeuse.

  When the photographer approached, I turned away, only to meet my mother’s pleading eyes. She silently begged me to play along. To make her happy, I raised my glass to the camera and pasted on my most convincing smile.

  I run my fingers over the photo version of me and wonder how Steel got this photo. It could have only come from someone in the family. That stings and sets thoughts in motion that I don’t have time to dwell on. I leave the photo in his wallet and take the money.

  Each lock on the door seems to be louder than the one before. I cringe when the deadbolt finally slides free. Steel doesn’t move. He still lays on his side peacefully sleeping. I take one last long look at him. I memorize this moment, his face and exactly how I feel. Whispering good-bye, I squeeze out the door and into the dark. Before I realize it, I’m sprinting. My feet feel like lead as they carry me away from that building, away from him. Tears build and spill over and I’m not sure why.

  I run until I physically can’t anymore. I stop on a street corner and struggle for air while my hands rest on my thighs to keep me from collapsing. Spotting a park across the street, I walk over and tuck myself inside a playground structure.

  I lean back and let the cool metal press against my sweaty back. It sends a chill down my spine, goose bumps breaking over my skin. The feeling reminds me of Steel’s hands on my body, his breath on my neck. I pound my fist against my leg, angry that he’s who he is and I’m who I am.

  I despise that I have to transform myself back into Kat on the run instead of just Kat. Her alias is Lisa. She’s charming and sickeningly sweet. She flirts to get what she wants. She steals to get what she needs. She’s a lie and I hate her.

  I can’t even identify with the girl that I was six months ago. When my dad died, I somehow let all the good things about me get buried with him. I forgot about getting joy from simple things—like chasing after the ice cream truck or finding a ladybug crawling on you. I kept my distance from people as Dennis and my mother groomed me to fit in with their high-society friends.

  Though I feel awful about Dennis’ death, I can’t help but give credit to that event for unearthing the old me. It’s as if the sound of a single gunshot snapped me out of the role I’d been playing and brought me back to life.

  With Steel, I could be myself. There was no pressure to behave a certain way or impress him. Even being from two different worlds, we shared a common history. He didn’t care about my past or my money or my education. He was a man that lived only in the present. That, along with his handsome face and inviting mystery, is what made him so desirable. I don’t know if I’m better off without him, or safer with him, but in that pivotal moment, I knew I had to take the chance.

  From here I watch the sun rise over the trees. The pink and orange hues paint my face with warmth and freedom. When I’m rested, I go in search of provisions. I ask a jogging woman where I can find the nearest store. She points me a couple of miles down the road. I start that way and as I walk, I wonder if Steel has woken up yet. Is he mad or relieved that I’m gone?

  I imagine his temper gets the best of him and he takes it out on some helpless piece of furniture that won’t survive his wrath. He’ll be angrier at himself than at me. He didn’t want me the way I wanted him. I could feel his resistance. I took advantage of him, using our mutual attraction—his only vulnerability—to get what I needed. The thing is, after only two days, there was more than physical desire there. There was a frightening underlying need to open him up and heal him, to pardon his past and give him new life. I convince myself that I can’t be that for him, or anyone else for that matter.

  The bright lights and shiny floors of the big box store welcome me in. I grab a cart with a wobbly wheel, shaky and spinning around like it refuses to follow the other three. It makes a little sharp sound and then a thump. It’s kind of a funky beat, so instead of switching it out, I keep this cart. We have a kinship.

  We squeak and rattle our way to the clothing section, where I’m instantly drawn to vintage looking T-shirts with movie quotes on them. I watch as a young girl and her friend browse the aisle, making flippant remarks about everything.

  “Whoa. Gina, look at this,” the blonde girl says with mockery in her voic
e. “I think my grandma wore this in the seventies.”

  “What does that even mean? ‘Wax on, wax off’,” Gina replies, laughing while she pokes at the shirt.

  I run over and grab the shirt from the rack, cradling it to my chest like a protective mother.

  “It’s not from the seventies. It’s from the eighties. The fact that you don’t even know what it refers to speaks volumes about your OMG LOL skinny jeans generation.”

  I scowl at them and know that I’m not really angry at these girls. They represent my past and everything I did wrong. Still, I want to rip them down until they are bare bones and innocence. They need to appreciate their futures, because nothing is guaranteed. I hold the shirt out and swing it back and forth on the hanger, realizing I’m just the one to make them see. A woman passes by, eyeing our standoff and I’m suddenly aware that I’m causing a scene. Regardless, I can’t seem to tear myself away from the fight.

  “Whatever. You’re totes cray-cray,” Gina says. “And what? You’re like three years older than us?”

  Both girls giggle as their thumbs scramble over the keys on their phones. They have dismissed me.

  “Cray-cray? That’s not even a word! Neither is totes. Okay, it is, but not how you used it. Have you completely abandoned the English language in favor of some text message code? You sound like idiots,” I say quietly, but firmly.

  Both girls stare at me, stunned. I spin around and stomp back to my cart, throwing the T-shirt inside.

  “For the record, ‘Wax on, Wax off’ is in reference to the original Karate Kid. Do yourselves a favor and watch it. And not that crappy remake!”

  Though I know I’ve made no headway with these girls, I feel better getting it off my chest. Hell, I’ve educated them. Once they see put-him-in-a-body-bag-Johnny and Daniel-san go at it, they’ll be thanking me.

  I spend most of Steel’s money buying myself a new pair of jeans, underwear, deodorant, some snacks, and a bag to carry it all in. I change in the bathroom with only a few side-glances from other customers.

  When I’m done, I feel human again. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and realize that I’m still young, and even if it’s a life on the run, I’ve still got a lot of life to live. And it’s then I decide where I need to go next. Just like that, I have a destination. I tuck myself into a shady spot in the parking lot and try to work out a plan. I’ve got to get to another truck stop or find someone traveling.

  “Mommy, Mommy! Look at my new doll!” a little girl shouts as she pulls a toy from a shiny plastic box.

  “I know dear, I bought it for you.” The mother barely glances at the girl as they cross the parking lot.

  “She has blonde hair like you, Mommy! She’s beautiful like you, too,” the girl says.

  She holds the doll up high in the air, barely reaching her mother’s shoulder, and smiling a gap-toothed smile as she waves the doll around. The woman never notices that she’s being admired, worshipped.

  I feel heartbroken for that little girl and angry at the mother. I long for the days of my childhood, back when my dad was still alive and my mom made me feel loved. Before Dennis and his money, we had been happy. I wonder what my mom is doing now. Is she concerned about my safety? Will she ever forgive me? No, what I did was unforgivable. I know that and I accept the penalty of losing everything in my life that mattered. At the time, it felt like I didn’t have a choice. But Steel is right, you always have a choice.

  I shove the last of a granola bar into my mouth and stand. I set my sights and dart out from between two cars, running right into the blonde’s shopping cart, almost knocking her over.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry,” I say.

  The woman humphs and bends down to pick up her purse and all of its contents. The little girl chases a rolling tube of lip gloss across the asphalt while I bend down to help.

  “Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t even see you there.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” the woman replies, painting me with her disdain.

  I’m holding a handful of receipts, her phone, a pack of gum, and a compact in my hands. She holds out her purse and I drop them inside. The little girl returns with the lip gloss and drops it in as well.

  “I helped,” she says, smiling up at her mother, begging for approval.

  “You did a great job,” I say, ruffling her blonde curls.

  The woman says nothing and drags the girl away to their car.

  “Sorry again,” I say. When she’s out of earshot, “Bitch.”

  I return to my spot and pull the woman’s wallet from my pocket. If she hadn’t been such a terrible mother, I might feel guilty for ripping her off, but as it stands, I’m kind of proud.

  I slide her license from its plastic window and read over her information. Theresa Ann Morris of State Street is five feet five inches tall and definitely lies about her weight. I open the wallet and discover around eighty dollars in cash. I slide the cash into my pocket and hide the wallet in a shrub.

  I’ve got to get out of this town, so I stand to survey the parking lot. There are parents with kids in tow. An elderly man drives in and backs out of a space three times before finally parking. Way in the back of the lot, an old RV pulls in. It’s covered in layers of dust and red mud.

  I watch as three guys and two girls pour out the side door. They are all tan and lean, wearing what looks like homemade clothes and sandals. The girls’ hair is in braids with various beads and feathers clipped in. One guy is bald while the other two have dreadlocks. They look tired and dirty, but content. The group enters the store and I’m quick to follow them in.

  I slink around, staying out of sight and listening to their conversations. I need some kind of intel that will help me get my foot in the door, literally, with this group. I follow them through the sporting goods section, shoes, bedding, and finally to the food.

  “I want some of those veggie chips,” one guy says. The group moans unanimously. “What? You guys know those are my favorite.”

  “No, Ryan,” a blonde girl says. “Those were Hannah’s favorites. You’ve got to let her go, man. It’s over.”

  “Yeah,” the other girl of the group says, “she dumped you when she got her first gig. That’s so lame. She was using you. You know you can’t trust actresses.”

  “She’s going to be a star. I just know it.”

  The tall bald guy throws his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and nudges him.

  “Well, she’ll be a star without you, buddy. You should date a waitress. They’re totally reliable, always have cash, and smell like gravy. My kind of girl.”

  The group laughs and pulls their friend down the aisle. The veggie chips stay on the shelf.

  I head outside when they get in line and make my way across the lot. Smoothing down my hair, I apply my new fruity lip balm and park myself under a tree. When the group approaches, arms loaded down with plastic bags, I stand and make my approach.

  “Hey,” I say, giving a small wave and looking down at my feet. The group stops, but no one answers my greeting. “Are you guys heading south? I was wondering if I could get a ride to LA.”

  “I don’t see why not. We’ve got the space, right Dave?” the blonde asks.

  “Yeah, man. The more the merrier,” Dave answers. He comes over and lays his arm across my shoulders.

  “I’d love to share some space with you. I’m Amber,” the taller girl says, giving me a flirtatious smile.

  “It’s just that, my boyfriend stranded me here. He left me in this parking lot. I’m trying to get to LA so I can get my stuff before he destroys it all. I’ve been here two hours already. I don’t have much money. I spent most of my tips on food.”

  “So he’s your ex-boyfriend now, huh?” Amber asks, hopeful.

  “Looks that way,” I answer, shrugging.

  “Tips? Are you a dancer? You know, an exotic engineer? Pole slider?” Dave asks.

  “No, I’m a waitress at the House of Blues. I’d really appreciate a ride. I’ll make it up to you
guys sometime. Get you into a show or something?”

  “Sold!” Dave exclaims. The girls chuckle and climb into the RV along with the driver. “What’s your name?” Dave asks.

  “Lisa.”

  “Lisa, this is my very good friend, Ryan. Ryan, this is Lisa, the waitress.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows and escorts me into the RV. Ryan follows and sits next to me on the bench. Amber looks put out, but takes a seat across from me. It’s not a new RV, but I can tell the group has made their own improvements. I can barely make out the flowered wallpaper behind a painted mural of peace signs and birds. There are glow-in-the-dark stars affixed to the ceiling and the tabletop has been covered in comic book pages. It smells like dirt and sweat, but not in a bad way, in a way that has been earned.

  I’m relieved when we get moving. Though the air becomes stifling when I realize all eyes are on me. Dave is the first one to speak.

  “What are you doing up here?” he asks.

  This is the part that comes easy. My time on the road has made me a liar, a vandal, a thief. I’m ashamed to be an expert at these things.

  “We were visiting my boyfriend’s parents. We stopped at the store for snacks and got into this huge fight when he admits he’s been cheating on me for like four months!”

  I wave my hands around and shake my head to be convincing.

  “No,” Ryan says.

  “You can’t share the love without permission, man,” Amber chimes in.

  “I know! With his ex, too. I just couldn’t get back into the car with him. I told him to leave me. Imagine my surprise when he actually did.”

  “What a dick move,” Dave says.

  “Yeah, if I had a girl like you, I’d never leave her alone,” Ryan says as he gives me a goofy grin.

  He’s got that starry-eyed, smell your hair, steal your underwear kind of look and it makes me understand why Ryan may have lost his last girlfriend. Still, I see my opportunity.

  “Hey, I left my phone in my boyfriend’s car, could I borrow yours?” I ask him.

  He hands it over. I walk to the back of the RV and seclude myself behind a folding door. Holding the smartphone in my hand is like being home again. After dialing one of the six phone numbers banked in my memory, I take a seat on the small bed.