Without Scars

by Jones, Ayla

  “It’s a different job. Working with kids on a play,” I said to Denise as I got into her car. We waved goodbye to the others.

  “I thought we agreed Castles made us hate kids?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, we do…but money.” Okay, so it wasn’t the job I had barely wanted, but it was the one I had gotten. And it sounded like fun. I needed dance more than I needed a stage to dance on.

  When Denise and I got to the auto shop, Ghost was waiting at the counter inside. I groaned. I hated that I would be a few hundred dollars closer to my credit card max soon. Not anything to bankrupt me, but it was still money I wished I weren’t spending on a car repair. Then Ghost slid the bill across the counter.

  “Um…where’s the rest of it?” I asked. Something wasn’t right. I read my name and the car information three times to be certain he’d given me the correct invoice.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  I frowned. “Did Charlie pay for some of it?” Seemed irrational that he would.

  “Nope.” He sighed. “That’s your bill. Hurry up and pay, so I can go home already.”

  I slid him one credit card. “Why is it so small?”

  He glared at me as he swiped it through the card reader, but it wasn’t an unfriendly look. “Because Charlie is my friend. It’s just how it is.” That was it? Bro friendship? It wasn’t a satisfactory answer but I kept my mouth shut. The printer noisily spat out a stream of paper. He marked different sections with X’s then shoved it at me with a pen. “Sign, please.” Charlie had naked pictures of Ghost. That’s what it was. His dick and his face in the same shot. Had to be.

  Hiding my smile, I scribbled quickly and put the keys inside my bag. In case I’d annoyed him enough to change his mind about the cost. “Thanks, Ghost.” He’d saved my ass today.

  “Yeah, no problem. Car’s just on the side, on the right. See you later. I mean that,” he called after me. “We’re expecting you. It’s a good group, seriously; we’re kinda crazy, though. Comedy show and Coco’s right after.”

  “I’ll be there!” It wasn’t like I had anything better to do tonight. How hard was it going to be to hang out with complete strangers when I’d already gotten into a car with one of them?

  Once I was inside my mom’s car, I took a moment to relish the relief that it was fixed, before I pressed out a text to her: Running late. Car was broken into. Took care of it. Everything’s fine now. On my way to your house.

  I could’ve gotten away with the secret, with a lie about having to stay later at work. But open and honest communication was the only way to repair my relationship with my parents. In whatever way I still could. Mom was going to think I was lying, anyway, like all those times before. My track record didn’t give me much good character to stand on. But who’d blame them when their daughter was an alcoholic? I’m better and I am trying, I reminded myself. I’m trying so hard. I squeezed the steering wheel, willed the tears away. Dread churned in my stomach when I pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. My house key privileges were revoked long ago. But even if I had been able to just let myself in, I wouldn’t have anyway. I wasn’t unwelcome, but there was great loss in feeling like a stranger in a place I should’ve felt comfort.

  My younger brother, Tyler, swung the door open before I even had the chance to knock. Whatever he had expected to see wasn’t me, so he grunted. “Hey, Ty…” He gave me a quick nod and charged up the stairs. I heard my parents laughing somewhere inside. I was so jumpy I stumbled into an end table.

  “Is that my Butterfly?” my dad called from the kitchen. He walked into the living room a few seconds later, a jar of salsa and a bag of tortilla chips in his hand as he plopped down in an armchair.

  “Hi, Dad.” I strode across the room to give him a hug and to kiss the top of his head, like I had been doing since I was a kid. He was in his late 50’s now, so there was pretty much a horseshoe of salt-and-pepper gray hair up there. I had more of his features than my mom’s. People always threw out “spitting image” when we were together.

  “Hey, your mom read your text to me. What happened?”

  “Some guy broke into the car about a week ago. The officer who came to the scene gave me a case number for the report. I left my stupid iPod on the passenger seat. It was my fault and I wanted to handle it.” I knew he was studying me, trying to find the lie. This was why filing the police report after the robbery was important, for the proof. I hoped they knew I wouldn’t file a false one to cover up damage to the car that was the result of my drinking. You see I used to drive tipsy all the time. I learned how. But my car still got dinged up a lot. I’d blame kids throwing around a ball, objects flying off the back of pickups, a runaway shopping cart, or a careless someone’s car door. You know people never leave a note if they won’t get caught, I’d say. Even while Captain Morgan was my blood type.

  “I figured the repair was within your deductible…” I searched my purse for the cop’s business card. “Mom?” I called out. I could hear her moving around in the kitchen. She stuck her head out from around the wall. “The car’s fine. You can go loo—”

  “We’re both just glad you weren’t in it at the time,” she said. She smiled but she gave me the same scrutinizing once-over my dad had.

  “Bye!” Tyler flew down the stairs a second later, buttoning his shirt. The thick scent of cologne floated into the room, too. I smiled at how he’d cleaned himself up so quickly: black hair combed back, shaven face, collared shirt, and clean jeans. Oh…this was for a girl.

  “Wait!” my mom yelled before he reached the door. “Curfew?”

  “One.”

  “No…” she said.

  “You guys let me stay out until one with the guys from the team last weekend!”

  “You were at your coach’s house,” my dad said. “And we’d known about that for weeks.”

  “What? I didn’t even know you were playing basketball this year…” I mumbled.

  “Yeah. Mom and Dad were at the last home game, which we won”—he looked at our parents pointedly—“and you guys saw me get elected co-captain for next year. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

  “Yeah. We’re proud of you. Tell Lola we said hi,” my mom said.

  I felt like I was at someone else’s house, watching someone else’s family. That stung. I walked over and stepped in front of Tyler. He veered around me, so I grabbed his arm. “Seriously, Ty, I can’t get five minutes?” I could never tell if my brother’s behavior toward me was teen shit or my shit. I mussed up his hair in the front. His jaw clenched as he pushed my hand away. He looked like he was mulling over what to say. “Well?” I urged.

  “I’ll come over soon,” he said, wriggling out of my grasp. “Bye.” Oookay.

  “Eleven, T!” Dad called out. I went to sit near him. My mom was leaning against the wall near the kitchen entry.

  “Big news!” I said. Maybe it was childish, but I wanted them to be excited about something in my life, too.

  “Me too,” my dad said. “You first.”

  “I got a dance job today! Working with kids on their musical. And it pays. I think it’s a good start. The guy who offered it was happy I said yes.”

  “Congrats, sweetheart,” my mom said.

  “Thanks.” I leaned toward my dad. “What’s your news?”

  He extended his prosthetic leg. It was different tonight—titanium I guessed, with a curved blade foot—not the skin-like one he used every day. “I got cleared to start running again.”

  “Oh, wow! I’m really happy for you.” I spoke haltingly to make sure my voice didn’t crack. Tears were already burning my eyes. My dad was getting his hobby back, exactly like he’d vowed he would. So much had been lost two years ago, and so much was still being rebuilt.

  Without saying anything, my mom spun and went into the kitchen. I swallowed down hard. I started to call after her and ask if she was all right, but what was the use? She’d brush it off as nothing. Like always.

  “T is already talking marathons fo
r next year. I think he purposefully let me run our mile faster than he did tonight to coax me into signing up,” Dad said with a loud chuckle. It was good to hear him laugh again. Always good to hear it sound so hearty again. He’d come a long way from the multiple surgeries, year plus of physical therapy, and treatment for depression.

  I didn’t speak again right away, not until I was sure my tears weren’t much of a threat anymore. The guilt was always hanging over my head, but in this house it seeped into me. I never seemed to be able to find the right words. Everything sounded generic when I had to face my mistakes. “You’ll be beating Ty on your own in no time.” It was the best I could do.

  I stayed anxious and distracted until Lea sent me a text to say she was on her way to get me. When her car pulled up, it felt like a jailbreak. I used my mom’s keys one last time to transfer the alcohol from her trunk to Lea’s. I hated that Charlie saw the bottles earlier. If there was anyone’s judgment about my perceived alcohol consumption that shamed me the most, it was usually a stranger’s.

  “You look like you really need this,” Lea said, sticking her curly red-haired head out the driver-side window.

  “I do. I really, really do,” I said, getting in. Instead of going to my apartment, we went to a part of Miami that any reasonable person would’ve warned us to stay out of after dark: a crumbling neighborhood lost to foreclosure and general neglect. We parked near a brick wall covered in fading graffiti and popped the trunk. This place was a restaurant once. I threw a bottle of vodka at it. That one was for my dad, like always.

  Lea passed me another bottle as I told her about his improvements and my new unexpected job. Each time one of the bottles smashed, my guilt eased. I loved the sound of the glass shattering. And the way the liquid darkened the brick. Because I really fucking hated alcohol. Here I imagined killing it, destroying it the way I had let it destroy me. This was my therapy, pushing myself to the limit by handling my weakness but staying completely in control.

  “How’s your dad?” I asked. She shrugged. There was always more when Lea shrugged, and I already knew what it was. “Oh, no, don’t choose me.”

  “I’m not choosing you over him. I’m just getting tired of him making me feel like I have to make a choice. He’s stuck on two years ago, so he’d rather you not be someone who is passionate about dance, who goes to see Cami every other Saturday because you want to, and who is leading a better life. And certainly not his socially awkward daughter’s only friend. He wants you to be a soulless person in a dirty trench coat with a scar on your face, and an evil laugh, who doesn’t care about what she did—a monster. Hell, I wanted you to be that once, but we all worked through that…or I thought we did.”

  “I don’t blame him, though.” I never thought I’d be defending a man who couldn’t stand the sight of me, but objectively I didn’t know how I could forgive the person who had caused the worst night of my family’s life, either.

  And my own father’s.

  I remembered feeling the car drifting across the double yellow lines and how much my eyes were hurting. Probably from the splash of oncoming headlights. Thankfully, the Andersons all lived when I slammed into their van. But the collision sent my Civic into a tailspin. I careened into a tree that nearly split my car in half. My dad’s side took on the brunt of the crash.

  ****

  There was a swirl of citrus tobacco scent in the air from the hookah tables outside of Coco’s when Denise, her boyfriend, John, and I got there. After the comedy show, they insisted on tagging along just for a while to make sure I wasn’t being recruited into a sex cult—Denise’s words. Looking inside Coco’s, I could tell it was just a few bodies short of shoulder-to-shoulder on the nightclub side.

  “Nikki!” Charlie waved at me. I’d nearly walked right by him.

  “Okay, you didn’t say anything about this,” Denise whispered, her gaze roaming all over Charlie. Then she plowed her elbow into my ribs so hard I bit my tongue. I almost didn’t recognize him. I tried not to gawk now, but he didn’t look anything like the guy from earlier today. Well, he was still hot, tall and muscular, but he’d cleaned up his facial hair and buzz cut. He was in a black V-neck shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows on both sides. On his left forearm in dark cursive tattoo script was the line, “I leave my heart here and feel even more alive.”

  Damn.

  He’d unknowingly checked every box on the “How to Get Nikki Out of Her Panties” list. Unfortunately for both of us, though, I was staying in mine tonight. I was just here to learn more about the two guys who had gone out of their way for me today.

  “Am I late? Were you guys waiting on me?” I asked, after we had a quick round of introductions.

  His brow furrowed for a moment. “Wow. You look amazing.”

  I didn’t have a doubt but it was always nice to hear. “Thank you.” My midi skirt was so tight my ass looked like a shelf, my crop top was showing just a sliver of my hard-earned abs, and I was in stacked black heels. I’d even curled my hair. Too much for Coco’s, but dressing up was usually the best part of going out, anyway. “So…what’s up? Why are you out here?” Charlie blinked rapidly and smiled, but didn’t say anything. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Jesus.” A woman, who had just been talking to Ghost while he was finishing up his cigarette, approached us and smacked Charlie on the chest. “I guess I have to take over because he’s having a ‘Me Can’t Think, Girl Too Pretty’ brain fart.”

  “Whatever, Mira…” Charlie said, but he couldn’t keep a straight face as he looked at me.

  “Hi, I’m Samira,” the woman said, shaking all our hands.

  “Right. From How to Fuck up a Friendship. Nice to meet you.” She had a deep brown skin tone and dark brown eyes. I was amazed by how much of a bombshell she was in real life, compared to the toned down, laidback chick she played on the few episodes I’d watched while getting dressed. She was all centerfold hair and pushed-up boobs now. Hot either way.

  “Would you two like to join us? Everyone else is stopping by the comedy show after-party first, apparently, so it’s fine,” she said to Denise and John, and they agreed. “Right now there’s nowhere to sit inside and wait.” Then she turned to me. “Anyway, how are you? I heard someone broke into your car. That sucks.”

  “Yeah, but the car’s fine now, so I’m fine. Really.”

  “Yes, yes you are.” Samira grinned and gestured at Charlie. “Hence the absolute breakdown of brain function over here.”

  “Whatever, Mira,” Charlie repeated. It was funny to watch him fiddle with his phone and pretend he didn’t want to look at me some more.

  “We should go check on the wait time again,” Samira suggested. “Maybe sigh passive-aggressively near the hostess a while until she’s so annoyed she has to seat us somewhere.” It worked because even though the hostess couldn’t put us at a regular table, she led us to two bar tables within a few minutes. Or when Charlie slipped her two twenties.

  His hand brushed across my lower back after he pulled out a chair for me. Heat spooled up my insides. “Whosever turn it is to pick the restaurant usually covers the first round of drinks. Since you’re a guest, you’re off the hook for that, but you get to do the honors tonight by picking what we’re all drinking,” Ghost explained. “Pick your favorite. If it’s fruity girlie shit, we’ll make fun of you, but we’ll drink it.”

  Oh boy. I guess they were going to find out anyway when I was nursing a club soda later. “I don’t mind picking but I don’t drink, guys…” I said.

  “How the fuck do you manage this place sober?” Charlie asked. They were right about Coco’s. Miami wasn’t the easiest city to party in when you were under twenty-one. So this place had become a haven for eighteen-year-olds. When you’d made it past your late teens, it was not worth spending nights out with people you could’ve babysat at one point. But coming here was a comfortable habit for me. Deep in the days of my drinking, this was where I was because no one knew me. Once I got sober, I
made a pact with the bartenders to never serve me again.

  “I have to. I’m in recovery.” Denise gave my knee a comforting squeeze beneath the table. Even people who didn’t know you looked at you differently when you made an admission like this. When you confessed that something almost beat you. That it could still beat you. I saw it in the faces of my old friends all the time: How come you just can’t handle fun like other people, idiot?

  “Whoa. Congratulations…” Charlie mumbled as he leaned in, looking apologetic now. “You’re okay with being here?”

  I smiled. “Where in Miami would be any different on a Saturday night? It’s impossible to avoid.” Alcohol didn’t stop existing because it was my burden, and it shouldn’t have had to. One of the reasons I liked my therapy with Lea was that it was changing the things I associated with drinking. Before, it was about squeezing through a crowded nightclub with my friends, the cute bartender leaning toward me, the slap of the glass against the bar top, the clink of the ice inside, and the frost spreading on the surface. And the pour? The red tape at the finish line. The whole ritual thrilled me. Now, it was smashed glass in a bad neighborhood, and a smell like the isopropyl kind my grandma used. The urge would always be there. Now I just had to refocus my attention.

  “You’re absolutely cool being the only sober one?” Ghost asked. “Because we drink.”

  “Definitely. Guys, I didn’t join a convent. Going out entails being around people who drink. It’s fine.”

  “Cool,” Ghost said as he left for the bar. He quickly struck up a conversation with a woman sharing a drink with her girl friend.

  “Well, maybe I won’t drink as much tonight,” Charlie offered.

  “Oh, don’t do that on my account.”

  “Yeah, don’t. We don’t,” Denise said, winking at me. It was true. And I really didn’t mind.