by Mila Ferrera
I have a right to this, I’d thought to myself. It’s time for me to experience something for my own pleasure and for no other reason. And as soon as Caleb’s fingertips slid over my skin, I knew he could give that to me.
But it was over so quickly. He jumped up, looking totally spooked, and I realized I’d been leaning forward, practically asking him to kiss me. No wonder he wanted to escape. He has women throwing themselves at him all the time, and I proved myself to be one of them. I had the opportunity to be a friend, and instead I acted like all those prowling women at the front of the class.
It won’t happen again. I can’t believe I did that to him. Maybe I should do us both a favor and drop the class. Except … Dr. Greer might not be happy if I do that. He might think I’m withdrawing from the world again. I’m stuck.
Eric nudges me. “Ready? Or did you want to sit through the credits?” On his other side, Jude is standing up, putting on his jacket. Eric turns to him, and Jude pushes his boyfriend’s glasses higher on the bridge of his nose and gives him a quick kiss.
I get to my feet. “Definitely ready to go.”
We scoot out of there and I climb into the back seat of Eric’s tiny hybrid. “I’m starving,” Jude says. “Can we make a run to Sammy’s?”
“What, my risotto didn’t fill you up?” Eric asks.
Jude tousles Eric’s light brown hair, which is shot through with gray. He’s not even thirty, but it gives him a serious, grown-up kind of appearance that must work in his favor when he’s facing down other lawyers in the courtroom. “I’ve got the appetite of a lumberjack,” Jude says to him. “Plus, Romy needs the nourishment. She’s wasting away.”
Jude glances back at me and I roll my eyes. Sammy’s is open all night and is a prime place for drunken frat boys to hang out, but the omelets are actually really good. “I’m game,” I say.
Eric pulls away from the curb. “There’s our fun-loving Romy. I was afraid you’d gone away.” He says it lightly, but he reaches back and gives my hand a quick squeeze. It’s both awesome and painful, a reminder of how different I was when I moved here and started this graduate program. I was so confident, ready to be an adult, eager to have a career and make my own money instead of living off my parents. When I met Alex a few weeks into the semester—so handsome and smart, a law student who seemed determined to sweep me off my feet—I felt it all falling into place. And a few months later, it was all falling apart, and Eric and Jude were the ones who helped glue me back together.
“Eh. Let’s scale it back to fun-liking Romy,” I tease. “I’m not sure I’m ready to commit.”
“You don’t have to commit to anything, babe. But fun is something you definitely need. Jude was telling me about this avoidance cycle thing the other day. How, if you’re scared of something and you stay away from it, that thing only gets scarier over time? If you want to treat a phobia, you have to expose yourself to what you’re scared of. Did I get that right?”
Jude puts his hand on Eric’s thigh, and I can’t tell if it’s purely affectionate or if he’s giving him a little squeeze that means shut up, honey.
“I don’t have a fun phobia, Eric.”
He shrugs. “Speaking of going away, though, where did you run off to during the movie?”
The heat of embarrassment creeps up my neck. “I went for a walk.”
“Alone. In the dark,” Jude says in a flat voice. He gives Eric a sidelong glance.
“I … actually, I ran into Caleb. Our painting teacher?” I try to sound casual, but my voice quavers when I say his name.
Jude turns all the way around in his seat. “Are you serious? Was he at the movie, too?”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “I ran into him on the street. We chatted for a bit.”
“And?” Jude’s fingers are curled over his seat.
“What do you mean ‘and?’ We chatted. He’s starting up an oil painting class and thought I might be interested.”
“He’s starting up a class a few weeks into the semester?” Eric asks, his tone drenched in skepticism.
“He did look like he might be interested in you,” says Jude, giving me a questioning look.
I lean my head against the window. “I think you might have read him wrong.” I think I might have read him wrong, too, and I’m more disappointed by that than I should be. I rub my face, hard. “Besides, I’m trying to focus on myself right now.”
“Who said you couldn’t focus on yourself?” Eric asks. “You need to reclaim your power, Romy. And maybe explore a little. You could use him as your playground. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
“What are you talking about?”
Eric tilts his head. “Maybe you could do something that’s just fun, and isn’t about someone owning and controlling you.”
“You are such a guy, Eric. You think I need to have a shallow, physical relationship with someone, and that would fix me?” I laugh. Eric always says exactly what he’s thinking.
“I’m saying a shallow physical relationship might be fun, Romy, as long as you feel safe.” He glances at me in the rearview. “And you don’t need to be fixed. You need to get back in the game and not let what that asshole did keep you on the sidelines. You need to be the one in control.”
“But she doesn’t know this Caleb guy, Eric,” Jude says gently. “He may have his own issues.”
“Who doesn’t? It was simply a suggestion. Or, I mean, paint some pictures. Whatever works for you.”
I pat Eric’s shoulder. “I’ll take it under advisement. But right now, the only simple pleasure I’m after is an omelet with sausage and cheese.” Unfortunately, I’m also having trouble thinking about anything other than exploring … things … with Caleb. He’s probably exploring with someone else right now, I remind myself. Or maybe not. He didn’t seem eager to go, at least not at first, but then he couldn’t get away fast enough. The more I think about it, the more confused I am about what exactly was going on with him.
We pull into the nearly full parking lot of Sammy’s and head inside. The hostess looks frazzled and mutters something about needing more menus as she leads us to a booth in the middle of the restaurant. I scoot in and immediately set my palm in a smear of syrup generously left behind by the booth’s previous occupants. Grimacing, I motion to Jude to let me out again. “I’m going to go wash my hands,” I tell him.
With my fingers curled over my sticky palm, I weave my way through the crowded restaurant. The booths and tables are full of laughing students, and the faint smell of pot hanging in the air tells me that the cooks are probably very busy in the back, working to accommodate at least a dozen serious cases of the munchies. Several tables are occupied by older couples or groups, all of whom probably came from the film festival, and in the booth in the corner is a lone couple that seriously needs to seek some privacy. As I walk by, his hand closes over her breast. Their mouths are locked together. Her fingers are clutching at his shoulders. I look away quickly as my thoughts once again stray to Caleb.
I skip the line for the stalls and wash my hands, glancing at my reflection as I rub soap between my fingers. What did Caleb see when he looked at me? Does he prefer those polished women with their carefully painted faces, their manicured nails, their painstakingly highlighted hair? Would I really want something stupid and casual with him? Would that really be possible? The more I think about it, the more intriguing the idea is, but would he even be interested? Jude thought he was, and for a moment, I could have sworn Jude was right. Shaking my head, I dry my hands and promise myself I’ll stop thinking about it tonight.
I push open the door to the ladies’ room and enter the hallway, nearly colliding with a guy coming out of the men’s. He catches my shoulders and mumbles a quick apology, but then he pulls up short. “Romy.”
I twist around as I hear his voice, and my stomach drops. “Alex.” It comes out broken. A whisper.
He looks the same, curly blond hair, only a few inches taller than me, but muscular and f
it. A hard, possessive grip. “Oh my God,” he says. “You cut your hair.”
I try to shrug his hands away, but he moves with me. “Let me go,” I mouth, but my heart is beating too fast to allow any sound.
“You look good.” His thumbs stroke over my shoulders, and he smiles. I used to love that smile. So confident, so powerful, so unafraid. “How have you been?”
It’s like he doesn’t remember what happened. Or maybe he does, because he hasn’t let me go. It’s what he used to do—he said I was always trying to run away, and that I needed to face things. “I’m fine. My friends are waiting.”
He edges a little closer. “Mine are, too. Listen, I’ve missed you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. A year ago, we were here together.”
My eyes burn. I’m stuck in this hallway, and people are walking by all around us, and none of them are looking at me. No one is noticing what’s happening. “That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.”
“I remember it perfectly,” he says in a low voice, like he didn’t even hear me—or doesn’t care what I said anyway. “We were so good together. Don’t you think about me sometimes?”
“Let me go, Alex.” He hears me this time. I can tell by the change in his expression, the flicker of heat in his eyes.
But he doesn’t take his hands off me. “My number is the same. Call me and we’ll talk. You never gave me a chance to apologize, and I wanted to. I tried, but it was like you’d disappeared.”
With Eric’s guidance, I’d changed my number, my email, everything. “You hit me.”
He closes his eyes. “I felt so bad, Romy. I’ve never lost it like that before. I felt so much for you, and you brought it out of me. I’d like to make it up to you—”
“Did you just blame her for your abusiveness?” a familiar voice snaps. Jude is standing right behind me.
Alex’s hands fall away from me as he glares at Jude. “I was apologizing,” he growls. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
I step back and Jude slips his hand into mine. He’s shaking. Furious. “It is my business,” he says to Alex. “She’s my friend and I care about her.”
“I care about her, too, and you’re probably one of the reasons we broke up.” He glances at me. “I told you he was nosy. I told you to stay away from him.”
My mouth drops open, but I have no voice. It’s like it’s last fall, and I’m hearing him say it to me. Don’t call him. I don’t trust him. You spend too much time with him.
Jude tugs on my hand and gives Alex a cold, humorless smile. “We’re going back to our table now, and you’re not going to talk to us anymore,” he says in this fake-chipper voice. “I hope you have a fabulously shitty night. Come on, Romy.”
Alex’s jaw clenches. He looks like he wants to slam his fist into Jude’s face. Every part of me tenses up, and I shrink back quickly. Alex’s gaze shifts to me, and his features go smooth. “Think about what I said, Romy,” he says softly.
Jude puts his arm around me and guides me out of the hallway.
And like a voiceless, weak little girl, I let him. I don’t know what I’m more upset about—running into Alex or being completely unable to stand up to him. I thought I was getting stronger. Better. Over it. I sink into the seat and put my hands over my face. Jude scoots close and tries to hug me, but I shrug him off. I don’t want anyone to touch me right now. I feel like screaming.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, ignoring Eric’s anxious questions about what’s happened.
“I’m fine,” I say irritably, and then put my hand over his, as much of an apology as I can muster. “I … would you mind taking me home? I need to go home.” I stand up and give Eric a pleading look. “Please.”
His brow furrows, and he looks at Jude, who nods his head. Without even placing our orders, we leave, walking past the bitter-looking hostess and a small crowd of people waiting for tables. I look over my shoulder before I reach the door. Alex is standing near the booth we just left.
Staring at me.
Chapter Eight: Caleb
Why do things get harder right when I need them to be simple? Why is life always like that? I lie on my bed and stare at the cracked ceiling. I got home from Claudia’s after three, and I’ve barely slept. I took a very, very long shower and then lay awake, flinching every time Katie’s mattress springs squeaked.
I should be happy. I played my part last night. When I left Claudia, she had a half-drunk, sleepy smile of satisfaction on her face, and I had two hundred dollars in my pocket. A stipend, she whispered. So I could get started on the commission.
Yeah. Right. I’m a fucking prostitute, no matter what she calls it. I press my knuckles over my eyes and clench my teeth. What if I got in my truck and started to drive? How far would I get on two hundred bucks?
I sit up and push those thoughts away. I didn’t go to Claudia’s for myself. If I’d been doing anything for myself, it would have been staying with Romy on that bench. Maybe tasting her mouth, maybe asking her out, maybe trying to figure out what her story is. But my sister needs me, and then there’s Romy herself. It’s not fair to try to get closer to her, not while I’m screwing Claudia for grocery money.
“Goddammit,” I mutter, tossing my sheet aside. “I might as well go stand on a fucking street corner.”
I take another shower, turning the water up as hot as I can take it. I rub my reddened skin with the towel and then pull on a shirt and jeans. Amy’s expecting us by noon, and Katie’s probably still asleep. I pad into the hall and knock on her door.
“What do you want?” she snaps groggily.
“I’m headed to Amy’s. Still want to come?”
“I have to take a shower.”
“I’ll wait.”
The bed creaks as she gets up, and I wince. I hate that noise. I remind myself to break out the WD-40 sometime when she’s at work. Her door swings open, and my sister stands before me. Her thick brown hair is tangly around her shoulders, and her freckles stand out on her pale face. She looks sleepy and young. For a minute, I lose ten years, and I reach forward to tousle her hair like I used to. She ducks away, scowling. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry,” I say, coming back to myself. “You had a … fuzz in your hair.”
She drags her fingers over the top of her head. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“No problem.” I head into the kitchen and brew myself some lethally strong coffee, mentally reviewing what I’m going to say to Amy. She’s your sister, too. We don’t need much. Just a few hundred. It would mean a lot.
If Amy would give me a little more, if she’d cover some of the medical bills, maybe I could get out of this thing with Claudia. Maybe I could ask her to keep it professional. Maybe she’d actually buy a painting from me without all the rest of it. Maybe I could get back what little self-respect I have and forget last night ever happened.
Katie comes out of the shower as I’m buttering toast. “I’m ready,” she says. “Think she’ll have decent food there?”
I take a bite of toast. “Did you eat anything with your morning meds?” I glance at her med organizer. At the beginning of every week, I fill it with the pills she takes each day, morning and night, meant to keep her afloat. I keep the rest locked up so she can’t overdose. We took her back to the psychiatrist on Friday morning, and he added a peachy pink one to the roster. Seroquel. He said it would help. I’m not sure yet. She seems even loopier than usual.
She shrugs, slow and heavy. “I can’t remember. I think I got up, but …”
I set down my toast and walk over to the box to peek inside the “Sunday AM” compartment. I draw in a slow breath and keep my voice low and quiet. “You didn’t take them at all.” And the clock on the microwave tells me it’s nearly noon. I should have gotten up and made sure she took these. “I don’t know if you should take them now, or—”
“God, you never say exactly what you’re thinking, do you? You’re broken, Katie. Drug yourself up, Katie. You’re not good enough
, Katie.” She stomps over to the box and snatches it from my hand. The pills for this morning bounce out of their little compartment and scatter across the counter. She picks one of them up and jams it into her mouth, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes.
I want to argue. You’re beautiful, Katie. I love you, Katie. I’m sorry sorry sorry that I was so weak. I wanted to save you, Katie.
But even ten years ago, it was too little, too late.
Nothing I say now is going to change that, and right now, she needs to burn off the anger. So, while she continues to snap and curse at me, I fill a plastic cup with water—a glass would be too dangerous, so they’ve long since been packed up and stored—and I set it on the counter for her before walking away. “I’ll be in the truck.”
I close my eyes as the cup hits my back and splashes water across my shoulder blades. My jaw is clenched so tightly that my teeth hurt. I run my hand through my dripping hair, but I don’t turn around.
“I took them!” she screams at my back. “Happy now?”
“We’ll go when you’re ready.” I walk out the door but hover in the hallway to make sure she’s coming. I don’t want her to decide to do something crazy. I’ve locked up all the knives and scissors, so there’s nothing within easy reach, but you never know. There’s a black, burned spot on the ceiling of the kitchen that tells me I need to pay attention.
She comes out a minute later, tears dry, still seething but no longer out of control. She’s quiet until we reach my truck, and then she says, “You’re a dick.”
“No argument there.” I open the door for her and watch her put on her seatbelt.
We drive to Amy’s in silence. I want to say the right thing, but I know it doesn’t exist. I’ve been trying for the last few years. At first, I was sure I could get the old Katie back. I was sure she’d understand that I’ve always been there for her, no matter how far apart we were. I even invited her to live with me as soon as she got out of the foster care system. I figured she’d never want to live with Mom and Phil, not after what he did to her. And I don’t care what anyone—including Katie—says. I know what he did. I thought all those years of therapy would have helped her come to grips with that.
