Razorblade Kisses

by R. L. Griffin

  His smile was lopsided and endearing. “I enjoy anything that includes you.”

  Ignoring him, Emery walked past him, following the same path as her sister toward the depths of the backyard. She wanted to get far enough away so she could neither see, hear, nor smell Phil.

  As the remaining partygoers said their goodbyes, she surveyed the mess of empty cups, plates, and underlying dread. Her mother directed the caterers to clean up and then smiled at Emery. Her lips were stained a light purplish red, which meant she was on about glass number seven.

  Emery took her mother’s full wine glass from the table where her mother had left it and walked to the back of their expansive backyard. Sinking to the ground, she looked up at the sky full of smog and hardly any stars. She squeezed her eyes shut as she sunk to the ground and wished for it all to be different. That her dad was there. That no one had ever touched her. Emery guzzled the wine, finishing it in two gulps. It was cheap wine. Her mother only pulled out cheap wine for parties. Emery wished she had weed. She hadn’t bought enough to make it through the weekend. Stupid girl.

  “Emery!” her mother called from the back porch.

  Emery pushed herself up off the pine straw where she’d sat for a few quiet minutes. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Head to bed, baby,” Celeste McCreedy called from where she stood. The porch light framed her golden hair and bright blue eyes, a subtle sadness always present. Both Emery and Ashley had their mother’s coloring, their hair like a golden halo of waves cascading down their backs.

  Making her way back to the porch, she looked over her shoulder longingly at where she’d been able to escape, even if it was just for a few minutes. “Okay, Mom.”

  It was after eleven and time for her to go to sleep, but the dread that buzzed through her arms and legs urged her not to go to her room. She would be safer here, watching people clean up the mess of her birthday party. All she wanted to do was stay up for the rest of her life. If she stayed on the couch watching The Vampire Diaries, she would be safe. Maybe if she was a vampire, she could stay up forever. If she was a vampire, she wouldn’t be touched.

  Alas, that wasn’t realistic.

  “Thank you,” her mother sang out and placed her hand on Emery’s shoulder.

  “I love you, Mom. Thank you for the party,” Emery said politely, moving away. She couldn’t help the sadness that seeped into her words.

  “I love you more.” Her mother winked. “And you’re welcome. I think it was lovely. The castle was the main event, huh? Even if I rented it for Ashley’s friends.” She looked toward the table where her wine had been. “Where’s my wine?” She swiveled to take stock of the entire back porch. “I swear I put it right there,” she muttered under her breath. “Brandi, bring me another glass of wine!” she called to one of the servers.

  Emery smirked and walked slowly into the quiet house. The silence unnerved her. She made her way up the stairs and passed her sister’s room. Emery opened the door to see her sister peacefully sleeping on her four poster bed, draped in pink covers. Emery prayed, even though she was pretty sure she didn’t believe in God. She asked him to keep Ashley this way, perfect and innocent, to protect her from Emery’s fate. Then she went to her room and stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on her spotless floor, and pulled on a t-shirt, leaving herself bare from the waist down. She fell into bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly.

  The bed depressed with a creaking noise that shattered the silence of her room. She woke instantly. Please, no. She willed herself to go back to sleep, to escape what was coming. Instead, she felt rough fingers in her, probing inside her in a way that was both familiar and revolting. She swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. She’d thrown up once and he’d made her regret it. His breath was hot on her neck. It made her skin crawl and she, again, tried not to vomit. Once she heard the familiar rip of the foil packet, her mind left her body and drifted to the window. She looked at the serene blue of her walls, the chevron pattern of her comforter. Then she stared outside at the hazy stars that came in and out of focus. She’d trained herself not to think. Not to hurt. Not to feel.

  His hair grazed her neck. Pinpricks of terror spread throughout her body as her mind was sucked back into her brain. Emery bit her forearm to quiet her hidden scream. The skin broke at the force of her bite, but the pain was a welcome substitute for what he was doing to her. He repeatedly tore her apart from the inside out.

  After four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, Phil grunted and released himself in her. Happy Birthday.

  Her eyes were squeezed together so hard she felt like she may never be able to open them again. The mattress raised as his weight lifted from the bed. Her sheets were the perfect complement to the comforter; a smaller pattern that mimicked the bigger one. Blue, then yellow, then gray, repeated over and over.

  “Don’t forget what happens if you open your mouth.” He closed the door quietly.

  She focused on breathing and the zigzag of the lines on her sheets. There were fourteen blue points and thirteen yellow and she kept counting them until they blurred. Her mouth felt like a soiled wash rag. As she closed her eyes, she welcomed the feeling of falling into an abyss. Sometimes she just wanted to stop breathing, like things would be better if she just closed her eyes forever.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Click, Click, Boom

  The next morning, she soundlessly crept down the stairs when she heard her mother stirring in the kitchen. She heard Phil’s deep baritone and tried to disappear into herself. She needed to get high so that she could block out his voice, his smell, and the feeling of his five o’clock shadow on her back and neck.

  “Headed to the mall,” she called toward the kitchen, not even waiting for a response before she slammed the front door.

  Going to church with her family was something she refused to do. She couldn’t take the irony of Phil sitting in a pew like an upstanding citizen. Emery had so many questions when it came to God that she didn’t even know where to start. How could these things happen? How could Phil even enter a church without burning to a crisp from his sin? How could her father, who was the best dad, be dead and this guy be allowed to live?

  Emery allowed herself to absorb the sun as she made her way to her brand new BMW. How can the day be so pretty when her life was so revolting?

  As she opened her car door, the front door opened and he walked out in his navy suit and yellow tie. Emery couldn’t keep the disgust off her normally poised face.

  “You know, I didn’t buy you a car so you could just leave whenever you wanted.” His low voice floated across the yard and landed on her chest.

  She looked down at the car and then back at him.

  “You will ask me for permission to go anywhere that isn’t to school from now on,” he said and began to walk toward her car.

  The escape she desperately needed was turning into a trap and slipping through her fingers. “I-I…” she stuttered. Emery never talked to him. She could count on her hands the times she’d actually spoken to him.

  “Emery, if you use this car in a way I don’t approve of, I will make you understand what the parameters are in a manner that you can understand.” He lifted his fingers to his nose and smelled them.

  Her stomach fell.

  “And,” he licked his finger, “if that doesn’t work, we can always include your sister in the lesson.”

  Emery stumbled away from him and fell into her car, cranking it and reversing out of the driveway as fast as she safely could. She was looking at him as her mother came out the front door wearing a white Chanel dress, Ashley trailing her looking like a carbon copy. Phil waved his fingers at Emery as she sped down the street in an attempt to forget their exchange.

  She unconsciously pulled on the cuff of the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing as she turned onto Ashford-Dunwoody Road. She lived her life in a haze, not really looking at anything and not feeling emotion. It was getting harder to be in her house, though. After three years it felt
like a prison to which she was banished for life.

  Squinting at the sun, Emery pulled her Braves baseball cap down over her blond hair and delicate features. She slid on sunglasses that hid most of her face for the rest of the drive to Perimeter Mall.

  Emery was hitting up her dealer. Chandler Drew was a kid from her neighborhood she’d known her entire life. He probably knew more about her than anyone else, and that was only that she smoked a lot of weed.

  Usually she could close her eyes and count to thirty-seven and her emotions disappeared; her life evaporated like a magic trick she’d taught herself. Last night was still fresh and her body was sore. In the last three years, she’d realized she’d need something to help her through the memories, the ache and the fear she felt every second of her life. She was scared of Phil on many different levels. She was afraid she would give something away and her sister would pay the price. There was a trickle of fear that her mother would find out and he’d make her pick him or that her mother wouldn’t believe her. She had an irrational belief he would kill her one day. There were times that weren’t necessarily scary, but a welcome relief from what he was doing. There were so many layers of her terror that it seemed almost surreal to her. There were tiny moments when she saw the look in Phil’s eyes—when she could even meet his eyes—and her hair would stand on end, her mouth would feel suddenly full of cotton, and she thought her heart would explode with the horror of her life.

  Emery was taking the abuse, but it was something she could live with as long as Ashley was safe. She was absolutely terrified she’d miss the opportunity out of this tenuous situation for her and her sister.

  Emery sighed in relief when she pulled into a parking spot near Nordstrom. She would have just a little escape, even if it was only in her mind. As she weaved through the store, Emery took in the high end clothes and let her mind wander to what she would look like in some of them. That blue top was kind of cute…and those jeans… She quickly shook off the notion. Letting her mother pick all of her clothes was just easier. Years ago, when Emery had made it clear she wasn’t interested, her mother stopped asking her to go shopping. Her mother stopped buying her clothes without long sleeves around the age of fourteen.

  No, she wasn’t shopping for clothes today. She needed to numb herself.

  As she exited Nordstrom and walked into the mall itself, she scanned the couches looking for Chandler. Chandler normally sat on a couch outside the store; if he had a book and was reading, you could buy. If his book was on the couch or his lap, you should come back.

  He was reading. My lucky day. Quickly, she walked over to the couch and crossed her legs. She put two fingers down on the couch, symbolizing she wanted two bags. “Hey, Chandler. How’s it going?” She made polite conversation at the same time and took in the people walking past them. They all had smiles and were laughing and chatting with one another. She couldn’t remember the last time she genuinely smiled; she was sure it had something to do with Ashley.

  Chandler’s brown eyes narrowed a bit under his long, unkempt brown hair. “Hey, Emery, what’s up?”

  “Not much. I didn’t see you at the house last night. You too cool for my party?” she joked.

  “I was planning on going actually, but something came up.” He pulled his backpack up from the floor and opened it. “Here. Was going to give this to you last night before I was pulled away.”

  She leaned over and looked in his bag, stuffing bills into the bag. He handed her a manila envelope. Perfect. Emery nodded to him. “Thanks. Talk to you later.” She rose and walked back toward Nordstrom, leaving immediately to light up the magic called weed that helped anesthetize her brain.

  All of a sudden, she was sandwiched between two middle-aged men. Alarm pricked at her spine but she continued walking.

  “Ma’am. We’re going to need to see what’s in your purse.”

  Emery slowly stopped walking and turned to face them. “Excuse me?”

  Oh, this is not happening.

  Her head whipped to where Chandler was sitting with his head in his hands.

  “Your purse. We need to search your purse.” One of the men attempted to pull her bag from her, but she refused to let it go.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?” She started to turn and caught a glimpse of Chandler’s face as he mouthed “sorry.”

  I’m going to die.

  “Ma’am, we have probable cause and you’re under arrest for the purchase of illegal drugs,” barked a stoic young male cop who had joined the other men, apparently two plainclothes cops, which drew the attention of a few passersby. “Please come with us.”

  One of the cops pulled her hands behind her back in front of the small crowd that had gathered to watch out of morbid fascination. The cop was reciting something, but Emery blocked everything out. She was lost. Embarrassment and shock tangled together and stained her face crimson. The cops guided her down an interior hall she’d never seen. One of the officers pushed her into what looked like a conference room where another girl was sitting with her head down.

  “Stay in here. We’ll be back to get you and take you to the station.”

  She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak. She nearly fell down into the first seat she saw, and then realized there was no easy or comfortable way to sit down with your hands handcuffed behind your back. She tried to maneuver her hands to the side so that she could sit, but had no luck.

  “It’s a bitch, right?” the girl a few chairs down commented. “They do that shit on purpose, to make you uncomfortable.”

  The girl muttered something under her breath as Emery stared at the wall, wondering what the hell she was going to do. She guessed she’d call her mother, and cringed at the thought. Her mom would be livid, as this would be very embarrassing to her position in the community and with all of her friends.

  “I’m Rachel,” the girl called.

  “Emery,” she responded.

  “Like Emory University and hospital?” the girl asked, wide-eyed.

  Emery nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “Pretty much.” Emory was her mother’s maiden name, and her family was from money. Her mother had changed the spelling because she liked it better.

  They were quiet, each contemplating their own fate.

  Emery snuck a glance at Rachel. She was striking in a natural way. She had obscenely long hair the color of coffee. Her lips were perfectly shaped and she was wearing nude lipstick that accentuated the plumpness of her lips. Her eyes were wide and a warm brown, but full of mischief. She was wearing black leggings with rough-looking black knee high boots and a short-sleeve shirt that hung off one shoulder and read Bitch.

  Rachel looked at Emery again. “It could be worse.”

  “And how’s that?” Emery asked, doubtful. She was going to have to face her family and it wasn’t going to be pretty. Every day she woke up with a mission to disappear and stay off everyone’s radar, especially Phil’s. Emery strategically avoided her mother. She was afraid that she would blurt out what was happening to her and then hell would come to her room and burn it down with her in it.

  “You could have gotten arrested for buying from your own fucking boyfriend and your father would have to come get you and he’s a criminal attorney that may just leave you in jail.”

  You may have to call your mother, who will send your stepfather, who will use this as leverage to rape you. I win.

  “Chandler’s your boyfriend?” Emery asked instead.

  Rachel’s face turned in an instant to show disgust. “Now ex-boyfriend. What kind of sick fuck does that? He could have at least warned me, you know?”

  “The least he could do,” Emery agreed. “How do you know each other?”

  “We live in the same neighborhood and my dad had to handle some issues for him a while back. We got together then.”

  “Arrested and broke up with your boyfriend. That’s a rough Sunday.”


  “I should say so...” Rachel mumbled.

  They sat there, neither speaking for a few minutes. Eventually Rachel awkwardly got up and walked down to sit right next to Emery.

  “How do you know Chandler?” Rachel asked.

  “We live in the same neighborhood, too.” She shrugged.

  “You go to Dunwoody?” Rachel looked at the door as it opened and a guy around the same age as them was pushed in.

  “Nope, Perimeter Catholic. You?”

  “Dunwoody. My dad thinks I need a lesson after being kicked out of Atlanta Christian.”

  “Why’d you get kicked out?”

  “Ugh.” Rachel rolled her eyes. “I streaked during homecoming my freshman year. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. Undoubtedly it is. Never get drunk and naked then run on a football field,” she advised. “You will be tackled.” Her entire body shook as she relived the tackles that had landed her a couple of broken ribs and expulsion from school.

  “Seriously?” Emery raised an eyebrow.

  “Seriously. I still have a scar on my back.”

  Emery never talked to anyone. She tried to stay away from all people for fear the tatters of her reality would fall from her mouth, but sitting here in this room with this girl…she felt something she’d never allowed herself to experience. It was a want—no, a need—to be near someone, anyone, that treated her like a person. It scared her. She clamped her mouth shut.

  “You going to get killed at home?”

  Emery nodded.

  “You scared?”

  She felt her resolve crack. “Something like that.”

  “Maybe I can get my dad to represent you and get you out the same time as me.” Rachel leaned awkwardly back in the chair, her face hopeful. “Maybe your parents won’t have to know.”

  Relief pushed through her walls, knocking them down completely. “You’d do that?”

  “Sure! I mean, you’d have to pay him at some point.”

  “Right, of course,” Emery replied, staring at the beige wall.