The Face You See

by Amelia Legend

  I give her a look telling her to calm down.

  “No,” she whispers, and we know she isn’t going to, not yet at least. The best thing about Melody is also the worst. Her sweet, gentle nature can cause her not to stand up for herself, a lifetime of her mother walking all over her has now led her to allowing men to do the same—the cycle of destruction we are all fighting against.

  We don’t argue with her after that; we know it’s no use. This is not his first indiscretion, and it won’t be his last. We just are here to help her get through it until she is strong enough to leave him for good. What else can we really do? We start the DVD in silence, arms wrapped around Melody.

  I send my nightly message halfway through the movie, but suddenly I feel like being a little flirtatious.

  how’s your first night on break?

  He responds quickly.

  uneventful. U?

  with the girls … they fell asleep watching Grey’s

  thats because it’s boring :p

  i’ll pretend you didn’t say that!

  would you forgive me if I told you that I could quote almost all of Mean Girls?

  What?!

  … my sister … don’t ask …

  I may forgive you, still undecided …

  what if I told you I know the theme song to Cinderella by heart … :)

  What?! R u serious?

  I can just imagine the ridiculousness of a hot guy singing “Cinderella, Cinderella,” and laugh at the thought.

  … my sister … don’t ask …

  I will have to thank your sister then;)

  Better not! So what are you doing this weekend? Want to go somewhere with me tomorrow?

  Where?

  I am smiling now at my phone screen, but I’m starting to get those butterflies again.

  Surprise?

  Is this were you kidnap me and chop me into little pieces?

  Yep, how’d you guess?!

  I knew you had a secret … sure i am game. Im at Jem’s so you can pick me up from here whenever …

  see you tomorrow … g’night, princess.

  He started calling me princess after one of his midnight texts a few weeks ago. It wasn’t as romantic as it was funny at the time, but I had never been called princess before. Nothing felt farther from the truth in my mind, but when he calls me princess I kind of feel like one. I smile, my eyes closing while thinking of Cinderella of all things.

  “Mmft.”

  I hear what sounds like stumbling as the front door slams closed. It is 3:13 a.m. No, there is no way I am getting out of bed. No way. There is only one person who would be getting in at this hour, and I’d rather avoid him. Not going to do it.

  I hear more stumbling around coming from down the hall, accompanied by a loud crash. He is gonna kill himself! I look over at Jem and Melody, who are sprawled quietly undisturbed on the floor, arms and legs thrown every which way in the dark. I hear a muffled thud followed by a loud four-letter word. Yep, I’m doin’ it. Pissed at myself, I quietly sneak out of Jem’s room while walking over two bodies, trying to avoid the countless piles of clothes and shoes on the floor. Jem’s a bit of a slob.

  When I reluctantly approach the sound of the noise, trying to assess the damage, I watch Jett struggling to take his shoes off while at the same time attempting to take his shirt off. Drunk moron. He hears me as I approach and abruptly stops. A shadow of regret and pain marks his face as he takes a small step toward me. Or am I just imagining it, hoping he would regret those words that day? Doubtful.

  “What are you doing up?” he slurs.

  “The girls are asleep. So was I until you got home. Thanks for that by the way, so please try not to be so freakin' loud!” I whisper-yell as I pass him walking toward the kitchen. Grabbing a glass of water, I ignore the sounds of him getting closer as I’m filling it. Loud drunk, damn him. I turn around, surprised at just how close he is. He is practically breathing down my neck like a creeper.

  “So was that your new boyfriend I met? How long have you been together? Have you kissed him?”

  His successive questions make me wonder if he realizes he is actually speaking out loud. He just stares at me with his shirt off, standing in his kitchen, a look on his face that makes me feel sorry for him … almost.

  Wounded. Hurt. That’s the only way to describe the look in his eyes.

  I stare up at him, wondering how I could have ever found him attractive. Suddenly, I realize that I feel nothing but disappointment and regret. I look at him, contemplating how I could have confused comfort with love. He killed any chance of me ever feeling anything for him a long time ago—except maybe anger, but I got over that quite a while ago too.

  I recognize with surprising clarity that I’m done. It’s over. I’m free, and suddenly I can finally breathe again.

  Shaking away my thoughts, I turn away slowly while putting on a practiced mask of indifference, trying to hide the smile my revelation has summoned. “That’s none of your business.” I attempt to walk by him, but he grabs my arm quickly, startling me. He holds me tight, not tight enough to hurt but enough to command my attention.

  He’s as controlling as ever, even drunk.

  Looking up, I see pain reflected in his eyes. Jett, you burned that bridge … You broke my heart, while successfully throwing away years of friendship along with any semblance of trust we had. I plead with him silently. I try to convey with my eyes what I don’t have the heart to say aloud. That I just don’t care anymore, but he doesn’t seemed to get that message.

  I pull my arm out of his grasp, taking a huge step backward as we continue our showdown. I’m not falling for this again. I’m not that naive anymore. If I were being brutally honest, I’d admit that I never trusted him to begin with, and how can you love someone you don’t trust? I don’t even think I know how to trust another human being.

  He takes a deep breath, breaking the silence. “I am asking just as a friend. We can be friends, can’t we?” His voice is pleading, but his eyes dart to my mouth.

  Don’t even think about it, buddy …

  Can we be friends? Not really, when he continually treats me like trash in front of everyone, humiliating me just for laughs. But I try to be the bigger person because pettiness is what makes him the jerk and not me. I won’t let him see what hurt he has caused me by stealing my safe place. His home is the only home I have ever felt safe in, and now it’s being tainted by his bitterness.

  So I simply reply, “Yeah,” with a noncommittal shrug, and I turn to go back to bed. I leave him standing in the kitchen alone, muttering something under his breath. I don’t bother to ask him what he said.

  The next morning, I am the first one up, being the only morning person in the bunch, and head to the coffeepot. Caffeine. Surely proof that God is merciful …

  I am halfway through my second cup and starting to feel like a person again when Jett walks into the kitchen, looking very awake for 8:26 a.m., considering when he went to bed.

  “Want breakfast? I’m making eggs.” He looks at me, waiting for a response with a hopeful look on his face while holding a frying pan.

  Utterly shocked, I stutter, “Sh-sure.”

  I try to hide my confusion. Maybe he is offering a truce? I might as well try to reciprocate, attempt to make the peace last. Resolved, I get up to help him with breakfast while trying to keep a safe physical distance from him cooking. Jett, however, keeps brushing up against me or not so subtly putting a hand on my lower back. What is he up to?

  I make no mention of it. It’s not worth a fight. I try to think of Reed to keep my mind off of the awkwardness. I’m not expecting Reed to text for at least a few more hours, being that he’s definitely not a morning person. So I guess I have time to kill; I might as well get this truce started so that Jett and I can finally put this craziness behind us. We have been friends before; we just have to get used to being around each other again, now that we aren’t a couple, now that we are trying not to be enemies.

 
He starts cooking the scrambled eggs, even though I prefer over-easy. He never made eggs the way I liked them, even when we were dating. He always preferred scrambled, so we always ate eggs scrambled. I should have taken that as a bad omen. But like everything else, I let it go because I thought it was normal.

  I guess now I realize I simply want more.

  He looks at me sideways and says quietly, “So I meant what I said last night about us being friends, ya know.”

  I’m surprised that he can remember anything he said last night, considering how drunk he was. I quietly stare at his back while he cooks. “Yeah, I think we could manage that,” I say, trying to recover.

  I kinda wish I could see his expression as he says it to determine what's eating him.

  “Good, because I just want you to know that I don’t know how I feel about Reed,” he says quickly, speaking over his shoulder.

  Yeah, because he is talking to your ex? Jett’s having a contest over territory.

  Hells no.

  I’m not anyone’s territory. Disappointment shoots through me when I realize Reed and I are only friends, and he has never suggested he wants more.

  “Well, we are just friends. I don’t really want to date anyone right now. I am too busy, and guys aren’t worth my time,” I say quickly, trying to sound bored. Reed would be worth my time, but I keep that to myself.

  “Good,” he says, concentrating rather hard on the eggs.

  Good? What a butt face.

  The morning flies by in a rushed blur once the girls get up. We all eat breakfast together, chatting about school, Jett asks us questions about our classes this year. We ask him questions about his freshman year at the state college he attends. He reminisces about parties and drunk frat pranks while we all try not to fall off our chairs laughing at them.

  This is what I’ve missed—the friendship. If he wasn’t such a jerk to me in front of his friends, as if trying to prove an unknown point, we could be friends again. But I have a feeling that’s not going to happen, regardless of a momentary truce. We both know it but avoid saying it. There is just too much history and too many hurt feelings to ignore.

  “So what are you going to wear today,” Jem asks, wiggling her eyebrows as we clear the breakfast plates together. I glance at Jett, who is suddenly very interested in my answer.

  Shrugging while trying to ignore the pang of guilt, I say, “I’m not sure. Can you pick something out? I don’t know what we are doing. He says it’s a surprise.”

  Jett looks stiff out of the corner of my eye, but he isn’t my problem anymore. Let it go, Dannie.

  I picked Dannie up at Jem’s house after her girls’ night. I’m starting to really like Dannie’s friends. They’re hilarious, though blunt. They seem devoted to one another the way friends should be, not how some chick cliques are nice to one another’s faces but horrible when their backs are turned. Dannie’s friends aren’t like that at all. It makes me happy that she has friends who are genuine toward her.

  What I didn’t expect was for her to be in that white dress. I felt like I had swallowed my tongue when she walked out of the house lookin’ like sunshine. She took my breath away. I opened her door for her, packed a picnic, and played music I know she likes. I’m even wearing a polo, not my usual style, but I wanted her to know I made an effort for her.

  Now we are sitting on a blanket side by side, talking about anything and everything, and all I can think about is how to get her in my arms, to tuck her body beside mine so that they meld together. I’ll admit I’m having a hard time concentrating on what she is saying because I keep thinking about what it would feel like pressed against her.

  She finally catches my attention when I tell her how beautiful she is, and she responds with a quiet, “Thank you.”

  It’s not the words as much as the sad look on her face after I said it that startles me. I thought it was a nice thing to say, and I meant it; she looks gorgeous. Then why does she look like I hurt her feelings.

  Then it hits me—Jett.

  I’ll try again, however many times it takes to erase what he’s done. Trying to convey some sense of my sincerity, I cup her face with my hand, look her in the eye, and whisper, “You are perfect.” It doesn’t have the effect that I hope for because a shadow of some unspoken thought clouds her eyes.

  What happened?

  I lean a little closer. “I’m not him, you know. I would never treat anyone the way he treats you. I would never do that to you.” I pause before breaking contact by lying down. I try not to contemplate the fact that I might very well have treated her similarly if I had been back in Kansas. I always avoid thinking about my past when Dannie and I are together but sometimes it's unavoidable. Where is the line between avoiding a topic and flat out lying about your past? I'd like to think I'd be more forthcoming if I were to be presented with the opportunity, but I'm not so sure. I can't stand the thought of her looking at me differently. Looking at me the way I saw her looking at Jett during the football game. I can't help but feel like I might lose her if she really knew the type of guy I used to be. A guy I am ashamed of.

  “I'm not Jett”, I repeat to myself and to Dannie as I fold my hands behind my head so that I don’t reach out and touch her again. I have to be gentle with her, patient, careful. She has been hurt before, that much is obvious, and I have to earn her trust the right way.

  Slowly.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that she’s staring where my stomach is exposed. I wouldn’t say I’m ripped, but I’m an athletic guy. The look on her face is one of obvious interest. A girl looking at a guy’s stomach is the equivalent of a guy checking out a girl, so I am rather pleased that she notices me that way. Clearly she is embarrassed because she immediately lies down beside me while her face turns a little pink. So adorable. I can’t help but smile proudly that she thinks I’m worth looking at. Does she think I’m hot? I hope she thinks I’m attractive. I think I my nose is too big and my arms are too long for my body, and I know my short beard is not as common in California, but if she thinks I’m remotely attractive, I’ll be satisfied.

  I reach over and lace my fingers in hers. Before I know it, I am tucking her delicate frame alongside my body. She fits just right, but I am hoping that this contact isn’t too much too soon for her. I close my eyes, the smile still on my face. My girl is in my arms. What more could I want?

  She looks a little upset when I offer to help if she ever needs anything. It came out of my mouth before I knew what I was doing. It feels right when I can say it. I can tell she holds back, although I’m unsure of the reason. I want her to trust me with it. She is an island onto herself, never letting people touch her, never letting anyone close. She keeps her thoughts inside, but I want her to let me in. I need her to know I want her to want me too.

  Looking down at her again, I ask, “No questions today?” trying to lighten the mood.

  “Mmm … If you could be any profession, what would you be?”

  Easy. “Anything with animals. If you could be any celebrity, who would you be?”

  “Ha. Easy. No one, because I never want to be famous.”

  I like that answer, especially considering she was raised in California. Too many girls here seem to be a little Hollywood crazed. “What would you want to be?”

  “Not your turn to answer, sir.” She smiles. “But … anything with books. Librarian?”

  Sexy librarian. I can definitely see it.

  She looks like she really is thinking hard before she comes up with one. “What’s most important to you?”

  “Family.” My reply is quick because it’s so natural. Family is the most important thing to me, but then why does my answer seem to make Dannie frown? “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

  She shakes her head and smiles brightly—too brightly—and snuggles closer to me.

  My happy moment ends the moment I walk into my house after my wonderful picnic with Reed.

  “Where is your mother?” Mark doesn’t even turn as
he gruffly asks from his chair at the head of the table. He looks at me over the rim of his glass as he waits for my response. He is wearing a suit which must mean he intends to head into the office on a Saturday, giving me hope that he might not be around for the rest of the day. As long as I answer his questions correctly.

  “I’m not sure; I haven’t been home.”

  “That’s right. You’ve been gone without so much as a word to your mother and I, and you expect us to trust you?” Coldly, he glances at me, taking in my dress a little too much for my comfort. I’m surprised, considering they have never asked me to call or leave a note before, and I remember telling my mother earlier this week I would be at Jem’s. But I hold my tongue, knowing it would only make this worse.

  Stay silent. Be invisible. Don’t. Show. Emotion.

  “You are not to leave the house for Thanksgiving break. You are grounded for your irresponsibility. I expect you to complete all your chores and the extra list I left on the fridge.”

  Oh, so that is what this is about. He needs a slave, and he knows I am the only one who will do it. I look down, holding my tongue. I honestly doubt I could do anything more as my hands start to shake.

  “And if you do this again, your punishment will be severe.” His tone leaves me frightened with unsaid promises. His impending punishment is inevitable and only a matter of time. I want to throw up. I know what he is capable of. “You may go to your room now and think about this.”

  His calm manner is more frightening and foreboding than if he had been yelling. I almost prefer his yelling to this cold, calculated Mark. The house suddenly sounds too quiet, and I’m afraid that we may be the only ones home. God, I hope not!

  I slowly back out of the kitchen, careful not to make a noise. I can’t recall what life was like before fear was a constant shadow lurking in every corner, permeating every conversation, hiding beneath every lie. Once I’m out of sight, I quickly run to my room and lock the door with the lock my brother recently installed. Thank God. I slump to the floor while I begin to quietly cry alone.