by Megan Hand
Jay was only five years old when that happened. He was too young to do anything then, but after the broken nose incident, he took charge and got his mom into a shelter for battered women. That only lasted until Jay went off to college.
Right now, he’s wondering if he’s becoming his father. That’s what that tear means. I can see it in the pain all over his face. I feel it in the tender but desolate way he holds me.
I know he’ll never be that man. Never. Still, the betrayal stings like a thousand needles to the heart.
I love you.
I forgive you.
Both are viable replies, but I can’t. I just can’t. He won’t risk me, and I can’t give him the words he needs.
“I’m going with Turner,” he says. “I know what we need to do now. We’ll take care of everything, I promise.” With one arm supporting my weight, his other hand catches in my hair as he begins to really choke up, his throat on the edge of a sob. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just can’t lose you. You’re my butterfly,” he whispers.
It’s ironic that he grasps that he might lose our relationship, but he’ll risk it to not lose me.
With seconds left, I’m too shocked to react. I don’t fight, don’t move, don’t blink. I only stare at our embracing reflection as he begins to hum his lullaby for me. The same one he sang to me last night in my bedroom. The one that once soothed me as I cried myself to sleep. I can’t cry now, but I listen as my eyelids are forced to close.
Baby, don’t listen.
Close your ears and eyes.
Let the tears fall,
But don’t let in the cries.
The night is almost over,
Soon to wash away.
Baby, don’t listen.
I’ll hold you ‘til the day.
Close your eyes. We’ll run away
To where the sun will shine.
Give me your heart,
And I’ll tuck it inside of mine.
Run away. Run, run, run.
Take my hand. Let’s go.
Your heart is safe inside of mine
Because I love you so.
Close your eyes, baby.
I’ll shield you from the storm.
Your heart is safe inside of mine,
Forever, forever warm.
Your heart is safe inside of mine,
Forever, forever warm.
Though the drugs take me long before he gets the whole song out, I sink into the velvety, rough timbre of his tenor voice as it takes me back to a place where the sun used to shine.
Where I thought my heart was safe.
I have no clue what time it is when I come to. I see light beneath my eyelids, but I can’t tell if it’s sunlight or lamplight. There’s no heat in it. My fingers and toes are the first to stir, and I hear sounds in the near distance. Shuffling papers, muffled music, chair squeaking.
Again, my eyelids feel like they’re stuck together. I hate this feeling. Haven’t I had enough of this in the past forty-eight hours?
“Oh, you’re up.” The voice is unfamiliar, reminding me too much of the last time this happened.
Don’t panic, Lil, I tell myself. I can’t help but wonder if Alpha is lurking near me, waiting for me.
“Mmmm.” There’s no tape on my mouth. That’s a good sign. I stretch my limbs, willing them to awaken because I have this pressing notion that I should be somewhere. I should be doing something.
I should not be sleeping.
“They told me you’d be out all night from the meds, but ah—”
“What time is it?” I ask groggily.
“Five.” There’s a pause. “I guess they didn’t judge the time right.”
When my eyes open all the way and adjust to the light, I can see that it is as he says. Late afternoon or early evening. Through the small window behind where I lie, the sun is lower in the sky, but it’s still shining.
I push up on my elbows and blink to focus. The room is vaguely familiar. It takes me a few seconds to remember—Trigger’s room. I’m in Trigger’s room.
“Who are you?” I ask a young, slightly chubby guy with wavy dirty-blond hair.
“Frank’s roommate.” He’s sitting at his desk with earbuds draped over one shoulder. “How you feelin’?”
“Ugh.” I force myself into a sitting position, fighting the bleariness that’s weighing me down.
It’s all coming back to me now—Trigger, the lab, Jay…Jay drugged me.
Jay drugged me? No. That can’t be right.
But it so is. Jay freaking drugged me!
I remember everything now. A jolt of adrenaline shocks my heart, and I bounce off the bed. Well, tumble out is more accurate. My limbs are Jell-O, but at least I’m not nauseous. Spreading my fingers on the edge of Trigger’s bed, I drag myself to a stand. I take a minute to gain my bearings, then I hike up my T-shirt. Sure enough, Alpha’s number is still there in sloppy marker.
I pat my pockets. Empty. Damn.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “Who brought me here?”
“Huh?” He looks at me like I shouldn’t be asking questions I already know the answers to. “Frank and your boyfriend said the hospital gave you a heavy drug since you were really sick. They told me to keep an eye on you while they ran some errands.”
Any compassion I had for Jay earlier while he sang his lullaby is now falling out of me quicker than sand from a broken hourglass. And it’s swiftly being replaced with solid hardcore seething fury.
Errands, my ass! “Did they put my phone somewhere?”
He shrugs, shrinking away from me even though I’m across the room. “I dunno. They just put you in bed and left.”
Shit. Shit!
I have no phone. No money. No camera. No car. No student ID. With my ID, I could’ve caught the city bus for free. Now I have nothing. Jay took it all on the off chance that I might wake up. He didn’t trust Trigger either. Yet he trusted his roommate enough to leave me with him!
A string of curses line up at the edge of my tongue, ready to make their debut, but I stop short. I take a moment to breathe and think. Really, thinking does no good. I’m not staying here. First, I’ve already established I’m not the stand-by kind of girl. Second, Jay—number one on my hate list or not—might be in trouble now with that geeky Trigger, and I have to do something.
I glare at the roommate through narrowed eyes. “Got any cash on you?”
“I, uh…” He shrinks even farther toward his desk, clearly afraid of me.
Wow, Trigger, looks like you and your roommate have at least one thing in common. You’re both afraid of girls.
I approach him, using proximity as an intimidation tactic. “Cash!”
He rummages through the top drawer of his desk and throws a few wrinkled bills at me. “Here.” Then he holds his hands up like it’s a stick-up.
I bite my lip because I’m in no mood to laugh. I smooth the bills out, counting four, five, fifteen, twenty-five, twenty-nine…thirty-seven dollars. “How far will thirty-seven bucks get me?”
“Plenty far if you use the bus. A taxi will probably only get you to Clarence for that.”
Clarence might be a road or a suburb. I don’t ask.
I take a couple of steps back to ease up on him and stuff the money in the front pocket of my jeans. “Do you know which bus will get me downtown?”
He shakes his head, his wavy hair bouncing back and forth. “No, but the nearest pickup point is the campus bus stop a block down the road. You can take that to Schuster. There’s a city bus pickup there that networks from campus.”
I frown and think, hands on my hips.
“Ask a driver. I’m sure they’ll know. They have those map things.”
I turn my frown on him, and his hands go higher in the air to defend himself.
“What?” he says. “I’ve never ridden a city bus. Only campus shuttles.”
Across the room, I spot an orange hoodie with the university logo in black, laying haphazardly in a pile
of clothes. I stomp over and snatch it up. “Yours?”
“No.”
I take a quick sniff and get cologne and musty boy smell but no BO, so I throw it on. It’s bound to be getting chilly out, and the hoodie I brought is in Jay’s car.
Jay…Let it go. He abandoned you.
I’m tempted to shake this guy’s phone out of him, but I don’t want to terrorize the poor thing. I do ask for a camera though, and he points to one of the self-built storage units near Trigger’s bed.
“Up there. His mom sent him this fancy one for a photography class he had to take last semester.”
I reach up to the shelf where he’s pointing and—Score! It’s one of those fancy DSLR things with a neck strap and an elaborate zoom lens. I have no idea how to use it, but it has a dial with a setting written in green that says auto. I think I’ll manage. To be safe, I do what I did before I left my dorm and check the battery display. It reads full, and the memory card dock is occupied. I’m good.
Heading for the door, I say, “Put the thirty-seven bucks on Frank’s tab.” I’m tempted to add a snarky remark about the camera being mine now, too, but his hands are still in the air. I decide against it as a thought occurs to me. A weapon. If I’m going this alone, I should have some sort of pain-inflicting device. Yes? Something other than this beefy slab of technology.
I use a slightly less hostile tone, not that this will warm him to me. “Hey, you got a knife or something I could borrow?” That last word comes out a bit slow and uncertain, probably because I don’t intend on returning it.
He pokes around in that drawer again. “All I got are these.” He hands me a pair of—Dear. God. No.
My top lip wrinkles so high it hits my nose. “Safety scissors!” Complete with neon green handles, no less.
He looks like he’s about to pee his pants. “S-s-sorry. My mom sends them to me ‘cause I’m kind of clumsy and I’ve cut myself like a thousand times…” He rambles on.
I feel like a kindergartner. Come on, class, gather around. Exhibit A is a serial rapist, and we are going to poke out his eyeballs with these. Now, don’t be shy. Everyone take a pair.
In a brief moment of lunacy, I consider taking them with me. It couldn’t hurt.
No. This is just too ridiculous. I chuck them to the floor, bringing his rant to a halt, and I shake my head. Exasperated, I leave, not bothering with the door as I start down the hall. I don’t hear it shut, so the weirdo might be watching me.
I don’t think about it. I have somewhere to be.
Out on the street, I look both ways down the road until I spot a sign for the campus bus line, and I go in that direction. The camera is secured around my neck, nestled under my arm and pressed against this puff of orange I’m wearing. I’m thankful for the puff of orange, though. The temperature has dropped a few degrees, and the wind has picked up since this morning.
Was it only hours ago that Jay and I showed up here to find Trigger? It feels like years.
At the bus stop, I stuff my hands in the enormous front hoodie pocket. After waiting a few minutes, I begin to shiver and pull the hood up over my head. The thing is so big, I must look like a gigantic orange that could duel James’s giant peach. At least I’m warm. Sort of.
Don’t do it, Lil. Don’t think about how the person you trusted most in the world—loved most in the world—drugged you, betrayed you, left you. Don’t think about it!
My head is pounding. Is it the residual effects from the drugs, or do I need more food?
He only did it because he loves me so much, I try to convince myself. It’s not working. I rub my temples to relieve the pressure.
When the bus arrives a few minutes later, I’ve pulled my arms inside of the massive fabric to control my shivering. I step onto the bus. “Will this take me to Schuster?” Was that the road? My memory hasn’t failed me this whole time, but I’m sure the drugs have demolished a few brain cells.
The driver closes the door once the other stragglers are seated. “Not this one, but you can ride it to the East Loop. Switch there and that one will take you to Schuster.”
I nod. “Thanks.” I take an empty seat right behind the door, directly across from the driver.
“Where you headed?” he asks.
“Downtown,” I answer vaguely. “I need to catch a transit bus.”
He seems like a jolly fellow, older, African American. He pulls out onto the road, and the bus clunks along. “Okay, yeah. If you switch at Schuster, you’ll need to get on the ninety-five. You’ll have to switch once, but that will take you straight to the heart. You goin’ to the heart?”
Uh…I don’t know. I wish I’d paid more attention to where The Clove was. But am I really headed there? Maybe I should go to Harrison Road. Since I’m confused, I smile and tell him, “Yeah. The heart.” Then I sit back in my seat, pulling the hood further over my forehead to hide the tears building up in my eyes.
I don’t want to cry, especially now when I feel my big moment approaching. I have to face Alpha soon, and I need to be strong. What will I say when I call him? What will I do?
Jay will be beyond furious when he finds out his efforts were wasted. Good. I hate him.
Even as the words scroll through my mind, hot, scathing tears sting beneath my eyelids. I’ve never been good at lying to myself. Or police officers.
For the moment, I shove Jay out of my mind. I ditch him like he ditched me. I sort and toss around ideas as the bus continues its journey at a snail’s pace. Actually, I think a snail is probably passing us up as we speak.
For the first time today, I have time. I just hope I can put it to good use.
The ninety-five is an exceptionally filthy bus with exceptionally filthy people. Thank the good Lord that it’s not a Greyhound. I’ve heard stories about stinky people that haven’t showered in days or weeks. I’ve never had to take the Greyhound, and honestly, the stories are enough to make my stingy ass pay the extra money for a plane ticket to wherever I need to go. Now, however, I don’t think I’d need to ride one for the full experience because it can’t be far from this.
This is my fifth bus. I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes pouring over the detailed map of transit routes, streets, and overlaps. I’ve plotted out where I need to switch buses, also finding possible resting areas and meeting places.
The problem is that they don’t show all the businesses on here or all the roads that lie just outside the city. Case in point, The Clove and Harrison Road are still mysteries to me. Although, I already have a hunch finding The Clove would be useless.
Since Jay mentioned there was a club in his dream, I’m positive that his and Trigger’s magnificant Lilaless plan will begin there.
The non-negotiables I’ve been able to stamp down so far are: I need to smoke Alpha out, meet him in a public place, and at least claim I have dirt on him. If this guy is as tough as Trigger says he is—as tough as I know he is—then dirt is the only kicker that will guarantee he comes my way. When I call him, that is, and I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to do that. Pay phones aren’t exactly a hot commodity in the city anymore. They do have them, there just aren’t five to a block.
As the ninety-five chugs to a stop at Tombsburrow Street, I hop off, spying a phone booth a few blocks down the road. I am now officially in what that driver earlier called “the heart.” Encroaching on me are skyscraperish buildings and cafés and hot dog stands and city folk rambling in every direction, beelining for their shiny cars to vacate their work-life and scooch onto the freeways before they’re pulverized by the boredom of bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Oh, the joys.
At the pay phone, I actually have to wait because it’s in use. Who knew? I stand there, fisting my hips and tapping a foot, not even pretending to be patient.
Dammit. I hate how helpless and alone I feel.
How am I going to do this by myself? I still only have a half-memorized script of what I’ll say, and I’m not so confident in my speech skills right now.
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Damn you, Jay!
I overhear this greasy chick tell her kid “I’ve gotta work another shift tonight, but I’ll be home in time to tuck you in, baby.” I glance around with furrowed brows to see exactly where this chick’s extra shift is. I only see a bunch of suits, skirts, and skyscrapers. No restaurants, no extra-shift-type jobs.
She steps out of the booth and slides the door closed behind her, giving me the evil eye. She has probably picked up on the fact that I was eavesdropping, but that’s not why she adds an edge and bitch, please to her glare. That’s because of the way I’m staring at her.
I keep staring, my brain having just turned to mush as she traipses away with her long, skinny body clad in a ratty jean miniskirt and a skintight lace top that doesn’t reach her bellybutton. Her long, oily brown hair barely moves in the wind.
Behind her glare, I saw it. All of it. The pronounced red veins that looked like spider webs in the whites of her eyes. The red-purple shadows that hung beneath her eye sockets. The hollowness in her cheeks. The chalky paste color of her skin. The cracked inkiness of her lips, still stained from days-old lipstick. The worn-out sag of no sleep and all-nighters of drugs and sex, whether it was paid for, given, or taken by force.
I saw the hopelessness with an ounce of defiance that said, I dare you to offer me better. Because she knew I saw it—what she was. She has probably done it all, had it all, and had it all done to her.
Is she the future? Of what will become of probably fifty percent or more of all of Alpha’s—and whoever else’s—victims? One of the weak ones that didn’t know what to do with the trauma? Didn’t know how to pick up the pieces of her broken soul? Couldn’t overcome the images stalking and creeping around the edge of her dreams, transforming them to nightmares?
All day I haven’t let myself see it. I’ve closed my eyes and thrust away the demons. I’ve been so intent on my mission, but now…no. No. Not Heather and Nilah. That would never be them. It would never be me.
This girl probably never had a savior to catch her. No hero to carry her away. No boyfriend to sing her to sleep.
