A Cruel Kind of Beautiful

by Michelle Hazen

  “It’s a festival, Mom, not a fair, and so far there’s only one radio appearance scheduled.” I rip out the seedy part of the bell pepper and toss it into the trash. “Bump In The Night is big, but it isn’t exactly Lollapalooza.”

  Her lips purse with disapproval like she heard everything I left out of that statement. “Jera, it’s amazing that you got this festival spot. Hank told me all about what a great opportunity it is for the band. But when the show is over, school is still going to be there, and your professors aren’t going to let you turn in work whenever you get around to it.”

  “I’m not behind! I’m just...busy.” Busy rehearsing, that is. Every spare hour the band can scrounge together is about to be spent in my garage, which means until the festival I’ll be doing all my homework at night and sleeping will become a teensy bit optional. Which would make a pretty good excuse for cancelling on Jacob. I bite my lip. Listening to records is almost like research for our show, if you think about it. Pink Floyd was the master of the narrative set list.

  “Okay,” Mom says dubiously, as if she can scent the stretching of the truth on the air. “I just don’t want to see you putting all your eggs in one basket. The music world is tough, you know that. Even if you do get a foot in the door, it’s not like they have a 401-K.”

  My mother, ladies and gentleman. A cliché for every occasion.

  “That’s not really a problem.” I flash her a tight smile. “I’m just going to sell my body, get a little cash for if I don’t happen to be good enough to get a foot in that door.”

  “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You three have been working so hard and I’m so proud you got a place in this show.” She bumps me with her shoulder. “I told all my friends on Facebook about it.”

  I start threading bell peppers onto sticks, my smile softening. “Somehow, I’m not thinking our sound profile is quite their speed, but thanks for the free publicity.”

  “So,” Mom says, and I can practically hear the dot dot dot. “Are you bringing a date to the show?”

  I bite back a groan. I’m not in the mood to do this with her today. “Nope. Still not seeing anyone. Just like the last forty times you asked.”

  “What about Andy?”

  Chapter 8: Requiem for a Rubber Chicken

  I damn near stab myself with a kabob stick. “What?”

  “I just wondered if you two were keeping in touch.” Mom doesn’t look up.

  Did she find out he left school? Or is she just being her normal level of nosy? “Uh, no. Andy and I broke up. Not talking is usually part of that package.”

  “I know that, but...” She smiles. “Do you still have that rubber chicken he got you? I remember the day I came over to visit and its neck was sticking out from under a pile of textbooks. It freaked me out but you just laughed and said Andy was always doing that: stashing the chicken around as if furniture or dishes or something had just fallen on him and squashed him. You thought it was so funny and I figured any boy who understood you so well must be...” Mom trails off.

  The bell pepper suddenly seems cold against my fingers.

  That rubber chicken lives in a box on the top shelf of my closet. I kept it, and the voicemail, and I know what my mom was about to say. She thought Andy was maybe the one for me. A wave of irritation shivers up my spine, mostly because I thought he was, too.

  Mom sighs. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. Anyway, he was nice. I don’t understand why your dad hates him so much.”

  Of course she doesn’t. We never told her about the night when Andy was drunk, shouting and crying outside my locked front door, and I had to call Dad to make him leave. Granna was so sick by then that she slept straight through all the yelling, thank God. It was also the last time I saw Andy. I don’t know if he dropped out or transferred, and I really hope it was the second because it makes me ill to think I was the reason he left Portland University. But that night wasn’t until weeks after our quiet, anti-climactic breakup.

  I finish the last skewer of bell peppers and set it on the tray, grabbing an onion and slicing into it.

  “It wasn’t Andy’s fault,” I tell my mom. “We both tried really hard. It just...didn’t work out.” I just wish I didn’t have quite so many vivid memories of why it didn’t work out.

  A door slams somewhere else in the dorm, and I nuzzle my face into Andy’s neck and inhale. He’s sort of sweaty but beneath it is the clean, sporty scent of his soap from the shower he took right before I came over. I leave a kiss in the soft hair just behind his ear and catch my breath as he slides another finger inside me. He takes that as encouragement and pushes deeper, and I’m glad he can’t see the quick grimace that crosses my face. I’m still kind of dry, but when he nudges my thigh, I shift my legs farther apart for him.

  “Slow, okay?” I murmur.

  He pauses, then resumes the push and retreat of his two fingers at a more measured pace, reaching up with a thumb to prod at the top of my sex. My face twitches again and I have to force my legs to relax, but he’s on the right track so I let out a little sigh so he’ll keep trying. He brushes a kiss over the pulse in my neck and my arms tighten around his back. The next time he moves his thumb, excitement flickers up through me. I hum a muted moan and my head falls slack on the pillow. Andy’s breath hitches at the sound and his fingers shove harder, which shocks my eyes open.

  His alarm clock rests on his desk right next to his bunk, and I blink at the numbers. Crap, less than twenty minutes before his roommate, Zach, is going to be back from class. I close my eyes and focus on the feel of Andy’s sleekly muscled back beneath my hands. I try to bring up a scene from the steamy novel I was reading last night. His fingers feel wide and foreign and I can’t concentrate. I curl my hips, hoping he’ll get his thumb in on the action again, but he doesn’t take the hint.

  Twenty minutes is enough if we get started right now, except then I’ll have to ask him to get the lube out of the drawer, and I can’t take the look on his face when I have to suggest that.

  “Maybe we could try, um, if you used your mouth. Just for a minute,” I whisper.

  He makes a sound I don’t know how to interpret, but he withdraws his fingers and I’m ashamed at the twinge of relief that follows.

  Without meeting my eyes, he scoots down on the twin bed, kicking a stray pillow out of his way. I wriggle farther up on the mattress to make room, crunched into half a sitting position against the bookcase crammed in next to the bunk beds. He settles in, and when he lays his tongue against me, I exhale and my shoulders ease, even though the edge of the bookcase digs into my arm.

  My breaths get shorter but then he moves and it’s good but not...

  “Honey, higher...just a little higher.”

  He stops altogether and my eyes start to come open but then he complies. I sneak a glance at the alarm clock. Fourteen minutes. I can feel myself relaxing a little, and decide that’s good enough.

  I manufacture a throaty moan I hope doesn’t sound too overdone, and tug at his shoulders. “Now, Andy. I need you now.” My face flushes. He said he likes it when I talk that way, so I just hope he’s turned on enough he won’t notice if I’m not exactly pulling it off.

  He reaches back and tugs open the bedside drawer to get a condom, blond hair falling carelessly over his forehead. The sheets bunch as I slide down on the bed, running a hand over his arm while he covers himself. Is he into this? He’s turned away from me, so I can’t quite see his expression. He moves back and settles between my legs. I wrap my arms around his neck again, lightly scratching him with my nails in a way I know he likes. Where our bodies meet, there’s just pressure, like he’s not lined up right, and when he moves his hips forward, it kind of hurts.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. “We were messing around so long, and would you mind...?”

  “Of course.” I agree quickly, because he just did it for me, so even if I’m not really in the mood for that right now, I owe it to him to make the effort. I grab a quick kiss as we switch places
on the bed and he ditches the condom, tossing it toward the trash can by his desk. The clock stares at me before I turn to kneel in the space between his thighs. Eleven minutes. I really wish Granna’s health were better and I could get my own place. Even a single room in the dorm would be more privacy than we have now. Andy has practice tomorrow, and I have band rehearsal the next day, so this is our only chance for a while.

  I lick my lips and take him into my mouth, trying to ignore the faint tang of latex that still clings to his skin. I hate doing this when he’s not hard, which I guess is stupid because that’s the whole point, really. But it puts this small, squirmy feeling in my stomach that’s the furthest thing from sexy, and until he starts to swell I feel so awkward, like I’m doing everything exactly wrong. I guess he was probably feeling the same thing, or he’d still be excited now, too.

  I smooth my hand over his hip and try to remember how much tongue he likes. Jeez, I’m thinking way too much. I need a fantasy that doesn’t involve the way the springs of this cheap mattress are digging into my kneecaps.

  By the time I get Andy worked up enough to get into another condom, we have six minutes. He hugs me and rolls me beneath him, and I take the opportunity to lick my fingers and swipe them down below, hoping that will be enough. He enters me quickly and I have to wriggle to adjust before I wrap my legs around him, making a small noise of approval to spur him on.

  He tucks his head into my shoulder and starts to thrust. I tilt my hips, searching for that angle he sometimes hits that gives me more sensation. I move one leg and he stops. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  “No, no, it’s good.” I smile and put my leg back where it was. He props himself up on his hands to get more leverage and then—thwack!—his head raps against the underside of the bunk.

  “Shit!”

  “Oh no, I’m sorry! Are you okay?” I reach up to cup the back of his head and he shakes me off.

  “I’m fine, hey, it’s fine.” He drops back to his elbows and kisses me. I try to concentrate on the slide of his tongue, on the way his kisses normally whirl my head and make me forget about school and music and literally everything but his lips.

  His thrusts are shorter now and I wonder if he’s getting close. He abandons my mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, his face creased almost like he’s in pain. I hug him tightly, wishing the heat of his chest against mine was enough to press the hollow feeling out from behind my ribs.

  The condom is drying out, and it’s starting to chafe, so when he stops, at first I think that’s why. He’s motionless and for a second I’m afraid to breathe, not sure if he finished or if something’s wrong, and not wanting to admit I can’t tell the difference. But he mutters a curse and then an apology. When he pulls out, I can tell it’s not the condom that’s having the problem.

  “Sorry. I just...can’t today.” He twists away to sit on the edge of the bed.

  I curl my legs to the side and sit up, the mild soreness between my thighs nothing compared to the chill beneath my skin. Wrapping my arms around him from behind, I lay my cheek on his back, which is a little tacky with sweat.

  “Hey, honey, it’s no big deal, okay? We didn’t have much time today.” I try for a teasing tone. “Just wait until I get my hands on you this weekend.”

  He doesn’t move.

  Someone laughs in the hall, and then a synthetic explosion from the video game playing over Jay’s ludicrously oversized speakers, two doors down.

  Andy drops his head and pulls off the condom, chucking it toward the trash can. I pretend not to notice when the condom doesn’t quite make it and slaps against the plastic trash can before it slumps onto the linoleum floor.

  “It’s getting worse, Jera.”

  My heartbeat seizes, and I let him go and move to sit at his side. “Hey, I don’t mind, seriously. I was having a good time. Next time I’ll, you know, play with you a little longer. Zach said he was going home this weekend anyway, so we’ll have this place to ourselves.”

  His room is a tomb compared to the normal sounds of dorm life beyond. I wish I had put on a playlist, even if we can never agree on what music to play.

  “It’s not only this time, and you know it. You’re always stopping me, telling me to do it this way, do it that way, and I can tell, Jera. I can tell it’s not working for you.”

  I drop my head and press a kiss to his shoulder, tears biting at the back of my eyes. “It’s just hard for me to get all the way there. It always has been, and I swear it’s better with you than it has been with anyone else. Andy, I love you.” Which is exactly why this hurts so much. I always hoped my issues were temporary, that as soon as I found someone I cared about enough, it would just...work.

  He shoves off the bed, my hands falling away. “Do you love me? Really?” When he turns on me, his familiar eyes are angry and so, so hurt. “Because I was with girls in high school and they didn’t have any complaints.” He shoves off the bed, grabbing his boxers. “I never went soft with them. It’s like you—”

  It’s like my problems infected him. He doesn’t have to say it.

  His sheets feel like a stranger’s hands on my breasts and I throw them down, turning my back on him as I find my panties and jerk them up my legs, not even caring that they’re inside out. I can’t stand knowing what he really thinks when he looks at me.

  “Jera...”

  I fasten my bra and spin it around, sticking my arms through the straps. It’s the scratchy, lacy one and as soon as I get home, it’s going in the trash.

  “Don’t say you didn’t mean it.” I push my foot into my jeans and kick at a twist in the fabric until I make it all the way through. “We both know you did.”

  It makes me ache everywhere, how much I want him to hold me right now, to offer even the smallest scrap of comfort. I shove my hair out of my eyes, my jaw set against the lump in my throat as I look for my shirt.

  “I really didn’t. It just makes me feel like shit when I can’t please you, okay? Don’t be mad, Jera. We can...we can keep trying, okay? I don’t want to lose you.”

  My shirt appears in my line of vision, Andy offering it like a flag of truce he’s not sure I’ll accept. My shoulders slump. I take the shirt and mumble, “Thanks,” as I turn it right side out again and pull it on.

  This isn’t his fault. The issues all started with me, and I don’t have any right to take it out on him when he’s trying to help me get over it.

  I turn back and try a smile, smoothing my hair. “Look, let’s go somewhere this weekend, get away from the dorms. I’ll spring for dinner at that Chinese place you like.” I swear they make all their food out of jellyfish and mayonnaise, but I’ll eat ahead of time and just say I’m not hungry.

  “Can’t. I’ve got an away game this weekend.”

  “Want me to drive up?” I pick up my messenger bag and sling it over my shoulder. I’ll have to beg somebody to take my shift at the bar, and get Mom to check in on Granna, but he’s worth it.

  “I don’t know.” He glances away. “We usually sneak out of the hotel to party after the game. If you’re at the game, the coach will be watching for us to pull that and I’ll get shit for ruining it for everybody.” The doorknob rattles and Zach’s key scrapes in the lock.

  I shift my weight, my inside-out panties uncomfortable beneath my jeans. “You’ll be back Sunday, though, right?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll call you. I’ll have a lot of homework after being gone, though.” Andy bends to kiss me on the cheek, and I lift my eyes briefly to his face—both of us looking, checking to see if we’re still okay. He’s the first to look away.

  I smile brightly. “Yeah. Sure. Maybe we can get Chinese after you’re done studying. Or something.” I don’t want to keep trying to negotiate a date that he’d actually be excited about, not with his roommate here to witness all the awkward. I slide past Zach as soon as the door opens, and flee down the hall, hoping he doesn’t know what we were just doing. And if he does, that he won’t realize that’s why Andy’s
suddenly not so excited about hanging out with me this weekend.

  The faucet shuts off as Mom finishes washing her hands, and she comes over to give me a longer hug now that she’s raw-chicken-free. She’s no taller than I am, but she stands on her toes so she can press a kiss to my forehead. “Well, keep an eye out for a date for your concert. Any boy would be lucky to have you. Remember, there are plenty of fish in the sea, sweetheart. You don’t have to keep the first one you catch.”

  I bite back a sigh. She said the same thing after Brayden. I never stopped fishing, never stopped trying new bait, a new flick to my casting strategy. With Andy, it finally seemed to be working. But the harder I worked at our relationship, the more uncomfortable he was around me, in bed or out of it. By the time we broke up, he was as messed up as I was. I’m never going to risk doing that to another man, or to myself, but my mom doesn’t need to know that.

  I manage a strained, but fond smile. “Not that you’re biased or anything, Mom.”

  “My daughter is perfect.” She picks up the tray of skewers and heads for the backyard. “So perfect she doesn’t even have to be asked to set the table anymore.”

  “Obviously, I get my subtlety from your side of the family.” I smirk, moving to open the patio door for her.

  “Your brains, too.” She winks.

  I pause in the doorway for a minute, my fingers curling hard over the handle as I watch her turn on the propane and fumble with the barbecue lighter. She may have been joking with that “perfect” line, but I know my mom loves me, even if I’m not always exactly who she wishes I was. “Maybe I’ll stick around for Les Mis after all. I can do some of my homework during the movie.”

  The burner lights with a whoosh and Mom looks up, a smile brightening her features. “Yeah? As long as you’re sure it won’t put you behind, that would be nice.”

  “It’ll be okay.” I’ve got a to-do list a year long, but these days, I’m in college to learn, not to kill myself over graduating with a golden tassel instead of a blue one.