Innocents

by Mary Elizabeth

  Leighlee relaxes when I drive into the Agate Beach parking lot. She doesn’t ask why we’re here, and I wonder if she remembers the last time we came to this place together. She was standing under the orange light when I saw her and I couldn’t stay away. By the end of that night, I’d chased love around, made her smell my clothes, and scared her boyfriend off.

  Down shore, the lighthouse stands tall on top of the bluff. The ocean breaks against the rocky cliff. My girl unbuckles her belt and gets out of the Audi without a word.

  It’s not until we’re walking toward the beach that I ask, “Remember this place?”

  She looks toward the abandoned, sea-soaked boat dock and nods. “Yeah.”

  Under the warm sun, on top of the sand, close enough to the ocean to feel its salty spray on our faces, Leigh and I sit side by side. I feel better with her near me, but it’s obvious she’s fighting some internal battle and her mind is far away. Strawberry blonde hair swirls in the wind, catching on her lipgloss, and blushing cheeks have gone pale. The sharp betrayal she had in her eyes before has been reduced to unhappiness.

  “I didn’t mean—” The lie forms smoothly.

  “It’s amazing here,” she says, cutting me off.

  Love falls back onto the beach, extending her arms in a back and forth motion, making a sand angel. I drop beside her and kiss the side of her mouth. She starts to cry.

  “It’s like Kelly can’t wait to tell Becka everything about you. She’s not hurting her, though. She’s hurting me.” Leigh wipes her tears away, trickling sand on her cheeks. “I can’t stop you from doing it, and I can’t stop her from telling me.”

  She lets me kiss her softly salted lips, and forgiveness is sweet … but sweetness turns bitter.

  Desperate hands move to unbutton my jeans. She’s mad for it, climbing onto my lap, circling maturing hips against my hard dick she knows nothing about.

  If she asks me, I’ll fuck her on this beach to feel the connectedness we starve for.

  “Bliss …” I say.

  To be inside of her …

  “Fucking you won’t take it away,” I whisper regretfully.

  “Why them and not me?” she asks, warring against my weak resistance with tears in her eyes.

  I sit up and hold her arms back by her wrists. Crudely, knowing what her reaction will be, I say, “Do you want to see my cock?”

  Bold, she holds my stare.

  I move her hips in a slow, slow circle, letting her feel how hard I am. “I want you to, Bliss. Then I want you to put your pretty lips around it.”

  She finally looks away, pulling on her wrists.

  “Come on, princess. Let me make your virgin pussy bleed right here on the sand.”

  “Fuck you.” Leigh pulls hard. I let go of her wrists.

  “No, Leighlee, fuck you.”

  A single tear falls down her freckled cheek.

  “Don’t you get it, baby?”

  “What’s there to get?” she asks.

  “That I love you.”

  “Well, you have a shitty way of showing it.”

  I smirk. “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

  Love is an insane deal.

  A few weeks have passed since the first time Leigh and I ditched school. After taking Kelly to the side and very nicely asking her shut the fuck up and keep my business away from my little sister and her friend, my girl and I have returned to the normalcy of our secret.

  With some time spent low-key making things up to love, I’m restless, ready to get faded and party. Killing two birds with one stone, I’ve been on my best behavior, so my parents are happy and letting me take the car out tonight. Polished-off, sticky booze bottles, half-smoked cigarettes, and ashes clutter my computer desk. Ben’s on the floor, rolling up on my geometry book, and Petey’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

  I swallow a couple of blue pills I stole from my mom’s medicine cabinet with red wine I took from the kitchen. She won’t notice any of it’s missing. It’s not the first time I’ve lifted from her prescription supply, and in the morning, she’ll think she drank the merlot.

  With a light head and numb limbs, I grab my keys from the top of my dresser and slip my hoodie over my head, keeping the hood up.

  “Ready?” I ask my boys.

  Pete rinses his mouth out, wipes his lips dry on the top of his forearm, and winks at himself in the mirror before stepping out. Ben pockets our joints, and we head downstairs.

  Bliss is on the couch, watching TV in an otherwise dark and sleeping home.

  “Can’t sleep, little sister?” Petey asks. He opens the front door and steps aside so Ben can pass.

  Lit by the oversized television, Bliss is painted in reds, greens, and blues. She’s chewing on a stick of licorice with a can of vanilla soda between her knees.

  As if leaving after midnight isn’t anything out of the ordinary, Leighlee answers Petey in an indifferent tone. “Nope, and Becka’s been sleeping for hours.”

  Once my best friends are out the door, I make up some excuse about forgetting my wallet and toss them the keys to warm up the car. I shut the door and lock it just in case. My girl, clingy and desperate to make me stay, circles her legs around my hips and grips onto my shoulders.

  “I’ll be here when you get home,” she says reluctantly. Her nimble fingertips caress the back of my neck before she sinks back into the couch, bundling below soft blankets that I should be underneath too. She turns up the TV, slyly dismissing me, and I take the hint: go before love makes me stay.

  “You better be,” I say as I leave.

  I don’t realize how fucked-up I am until we’re on the road and dashed yellow lines start to curve. Rubber hugs tar, and I try to keep the tires straight, but my clammy palms turn the wheel with the bend of the dividing stripes. Compromised eyes look down at the speedometer; I’m going ten miles under the speed limit but it feels like flying.

  Uppers contend with downers, and my heart can’t decide if it should beat fast or slow. I drop my hood back, swerving into the oncoming lane without both hands on the wheel. Seeking better awareness of the highway in front of me, I shake my head and straighten my posture, inhaling a deep breath. My phone starts to ring in my back pocket.

  Riding shotgun, Petey’s talking to his lady on his cell.

  “Don’t answer that,” he says. “It’s Queen Slut.”

  I veer a little to the left.

  “No, you’re not a slut, babe.” Petey laughs into his receiver. “Your friends are.”

  Ben’s in the back middle seat, lighting up, making his mellow reflection glow orange in the rearview mirror. Thick white smoke fills the cab of the car, obstructing my shifty eyesight.

  Out of nowhere, concealing subtle worry about my safety and theirs, I start to laugh, and then I can’t stop. Lightness pushes away anxiety, and I’m happy, free.

  My phone starts up again. The car swings to the right.

  “Someone tell the Mega Slut to stop fucking calling me,” I say, laughing. My headlights shine on the wrong side of the street.

  In what feels like the blink of an eye, we’re not in Newport. We’re on some old, bumpy road I don’t recognize. I look over to ask Pete if he knows where we are only to realize he’s speaking to me.

  “What?” I ask, shaking my head. My heartbeat pounds, drowning out nonsense.

  Receiving a call, I let go of the wheel to reach into my back pocket. The Audi swerves to the left, and Pete grabs the steering wheel.

  “Hello,” I hear myself say.

  “Where are you?” Valarie asks. She keeps talking, but I hang up.

  Certain I’m lost and aware I’m too high to be driving, I slow the car down and try to keep four wheels straight. Moving my heavy eyes up to the rearview mirror, I see Ben, stoned and sitting back with no expression, absent. Pete’s smoking the joint by himself now.

  “I have no idea where we are,” I admit. Fear crawls like spiders up my arms, and nervousness strokes down my spine.

&n
bsp; “You’re kidding,” Petey says. Forever the paranoid one, fright coats his tone. “What, dude? What? We’re lost?”

  Humored by his friend’s paranoia, Ben snaps out of his momentary coma and starts to laugh, falling across the seat with his hands over his stomach.

  It’s infectious.

  “Dusty, pull over,” Pete says. His eyes are wild. “Pull over, Thomas.”

  It’s all fun and games until he actually opens his door, ready to jump out.

  Reaching over to save his life, I lose control of the car and we go into a spin. Trees, highway, trees, highway, trees, highway—headlights illuminate our demise. There’s no telling how many times the Audi turns before we slip off pavement into dirt and forest. Slanted and sailing, the windshield shatters and all four tires pop before we finally crash and everything goes black.

  WHEN I regain consciousness, the headlights have gone dark but the radio is playing a slow song. There’s smoke coming from the engine, and the steering wheel is bent to the right. No airbags. No clue where we are. No idea if my friends are alive or—

  Petey’s fallen forward and is completely still.

  “Petey,” I say with a voice that trembles. The seat belt’s cut into his neck. “Peter!”

  His head jerks up and I grab onto his arm.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, near hysterical. My hands shake. My vision shakes. My heart shakes.

  Nodding, my boy touches his bleeding throat.

  I look back for Ben. He’s sitting up straight with eyes wide open, stunned but okay.

  “We should get out of the car,” I say as realization of what happened slowly weighs down on me.

  Petey and I are able to get out through our doors, but Ben has to climb over the front seat. We’re cut up and bruised, and scared, but alive.

  Turning toward the car, it takes a moment for me to comprehend what I’m looking at. What used to be the Audi is destroyed. Its entire trunk is missing.

  Gone.

  Tossed thirty feet away.

  With both of my hands in my hair, I kick my door shut and walk. Ben and Petey stay back, and I pace for what feels like hours. Once I feel like my mind is clear enough, I call the only person who can help me.

  I’VE WRECKED the car outside Newport on Highway 20. It takes my dad less than half an hour to find me on the side of the road after I woke him up with a phone call no parent should ever get.

  I don’t need to direct him to the crash site; he follows the tire marks.

  Warm air blows from the heater, but I shake despite being put at ease in my dad’s presence. For his sake, I don’t cry and a word isn’t spoken between us until he pulls over and kills the car’s motor.

  “If anyone drives by, we are fucked. Fucked!” My dad gets out and slams his door shut with both hands, rocking the Mercedes.

  Following, I stand a few feet behind him with my hands in my pockets while he stares at what’s left of his old car. Ben and Pete are sitting against a tree silently, waiting for instruction.

  “Boys,” the lawyer finally speaks. “Go get in the car and wait for me.”

  Assuming that includes me, I turn to follow my friends but Dad calls me back.

  “You stay,” I’m ordered.

  He punches me in the chest, and I fall against the car. I’m not given a chance to recover the air knocked from my lungs before he lifts me by the front of my sweater, pulling me up to his face.

  “How could you be so stupid?” he asks. Dad’s cheeks are red from the cold and his eyes are black with anger. Brutality builds behind his fists, and I know better than to say anything. He jerks me away from the car and pushes me toward his. “Get out of my face.”

  It’s forty minutes before the tow truck arrives, and I recognize the driver as one of my dad’s clients who must owe him. Hooking the car up to be dragged away from the tree takes a while. When Ben asks if we should get out and help, I shake my head.

  The Audi is towed in pieces and we drop my boys off at Pete’s. My mind keeps going back to the way the headlights flashed between the trees and the highway as we spun. The sound of blowing tires and crushing metal echoes in my ears. My chest hurts, but reality is twice as harsh and more painful.

  Rebecka and Leigh are on the porch when we drive up to the house, shivering and bundled with blankets over their shoulders. I pull my handle on the door to get out, but my dad holds me back.

  “What if one of you would have died? What would I have done if you were killed?” he asks, sadly.

  “I don’t know,” I say into the dark car. I look away from Leigh toward my dad’s silhouette in the seat beside me.

  He clears his throat. “You’re going to tell your mom it was an accident. Tell her you swerved to avoid a deer. Tell her whatever you want, but you will not tell her the truth.”

  “Okay.”

  “If Thaddeus finds out—” he begins, looking toward Bliss with regretful eyes, like he might lose her, too.

  “He won’t,” I say. “She’ll never tell him.”

  “You sure?” Dad asks, already knowing.

  “Leigh would never tell.”

  That’s our deal.

  The entire school reels as rumors about the accident spread quickly in the six days since it happened. The story told about the deer has been so outrageously stretched, the truth won’t be known by anyone other than the persons involved and myself.

  Battered and bruised, the guiltiest party has been out of class all week and his absence only adds to the gossip.

  “Do you have any idea how many car accidents are caused by deer each year?” Valarie asks me and Daisy in French class.

  “Do you?” There’s wit in my tone I couldn’t bury if I tried.

  “A lot,” she says with actual concern in her voice. “They should be killed.”

  Daisy shakes her head, amazed by Valarie’s absurdity.

  “Deer?” I ask.

  I could smack her for being so fucking stupid.

  Val shrugs, defensive because I’m not taking her seriously. “I’d rather have the deer dead than Thomas.”

  “It wasn’t the deer’s fault. It was an accident,” I lie. The truth is, love didn’t hit a deer; he hit a tree because he was driving under the influence.

  Valarie’s concerned face softens, and she smiles. “I know Thomas is like a brother to you, but he’s more to me, Bliss.”

  Instead of hitting her with my French book, I say, “Doesn’t he call you a slut all the time?”

  “It’s a joke. It’s meant as a term of endearment, petite soeur.” She laughs.

  “Imbécile,” Daisy mumbles.

  Valarie turns forward in her seat as my phone beeps. It’s a two-word message from Dusty that changes my sour mood, and everything else.

  Birth control.

  “HOW CAN you eat that crap?” Rebecka points to the Twinkie box on the coffee table. Things at her house are tense, so she came home with me. “You’re going to get cellulite.”

  Rolling my eyes, I chew the last bite of spongy, processed sugar.

  “I’d get varicose veins and high blood pressure if I ate one,” she says.

  “You’ll never get varicose veins.” I laugh.

  “I’m thin because I skateboard and have lots of orgasms.” She scoffs. “You don’t, and you eat like shit. The world is a sad, unfair place, Leighlee Bliss.”

  Thick as thieves, side-by-side on my mother’s couch, her knees are scraped and bruised, and mine are baby-soft and unhurt.

  “We’ve had this conversation, Becka,” I say, dusting crumbs from my hands. “I’m waiting for marriage.”

  “Fourteen’s too young to make a decision that huge. Oliver’s only with Erin because you’re frigid,” she says with a mischievous smile.

  “Hey!” I smack her arm. Artist boy always comes up during these talks. “I am not.”

  “Then let him kiss you.”

  Dad walks in from the front yard and takes one look at me and Rebecka before he shakes his head. “Do I want to
know?”

  “No way, Judge McCloy, keep walking.” Rebecka holds her fist and my dad bumps hers with his as he passes us.

  I elbow her, grateful my dad didn’t hear anything.

  “You know,” Rebecka whispers. “I can give you an orgasm if you won’t let Oliver.”

  My eyes pop open. Mom’s at the grocery store, but I look toward the kitchen to make sure my dad isn’t within range.

  “What?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “We’re best friends. I can give you Christmas explosions if I want to.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shave your vagina, right?” She walks her index and middle finger down my thigh.

  “Yes,” I whisper, sinking into the couch.

  “I’m not afraid of your china-muffin. I’ll touch it.”

  “Rebecka.” I groan.

  She grabs my bare knee and laughs. “It’s what true friends do for other true friends. I want you to feel what I feel, that’s all.”

  Dad strolls by with a glass of ice water at his lips, hurrying back out the front door where it’s safe from teenage girl talk. Topics such as bras and menstrual cycles make him uncomfortable—birth control might give him a stroke. Which is why I went straight to my mom after school today.

  The conversation was strange.

  “Mom, I need birth control.”

  “Bliss, you’re fourteen.”

  “It’s not like that. I have really bad cramps and heard birth control pills will help.”

  “Cramps?”

  “And pimples.”

  “You don’t have pimples, Leighlee.”

  “But I will.”

  “I’ll ask your dad.”

  “Mom, Dad’s afraid of tampons. He won’t understand birth control.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from him.”

  Then I pretended to cry. “You don’t understand how it feels to be me!”

  My appointment is next week.

  “Or I can buy you a vibrator,” Rebecka suggests.

  “You’re embarrassing me. Stop.” I kick her feet off the coffee table.