The Bright Effect

by Autumn Doughton

  “How about the foxtrot?”

  “You betcha.”

  “The Charleston?”

  He breaks into a short jig and I throw my head back and laugh as I try to mimic him.

  An hour later, we’re still on the dance floor, pulling off ridiculous moves. I’m dry, but now the room is starting to spin.

  “I need a break,” I shout to Wesley. Then I wobble away from him to seek balance against my stool.

  “Water?” Tommy asks me from behind the bar.

  I swallow and nod. My face and chest are too warm and I’m starting to get a little woozy. While I greedily drink the ice cold water, Wesley comes and finds me. I can’t really understand what he’s asking me, but I realize I don’t like the way he’s rubbing his hand up and down my arm.

  “Let’s go to my place. It ain’t far,” he whispers into my ear.

  “Ummm…” Leaving with this guy is not a good idea, but my brain is too hazy to offer up much of a protest. “I don’t think so.”

  “How ‘bout the back room? Let me show you how to play pool.”

  “I think I know how to play beer pong,” I mumble, confused and feeling light-headed.

  “Do you now?” He laughs and takes my arm, leading me away from the bar and past the bathrooms. We walk through a door into a long, dark hallway.

  “Just this way, Sarah,” he murmurs, letting his fingers brush against my bare thigh.

  I don’t like that. I don’t like this.

  “I think… I think I need to go back,” I say. I try to push him out of my way but my arms feel like wet noodles that I have no control over.

  “Don’t fret. That’s where I’m takin’ you,” he says as he opens a door and pushes me into a small, black room.

  Through the dark, I make out shelves on the wall that are filled with cardboard boxes and stacks of clean glasses.

  “Why isn’t anyone else here?” I ask, a dim and blundering suspicion welling in the pit of my stomach.

  “C’mere,” Wesley says, his heavy-lidded eyes shining at me.

  “No.”

  I’m done flirting now. I try to leave, my fingers clumsily seeking the doorknob, but Wesley yanks me against his body. I feel his hard-on pressing into my leg through his jeans and I jerk back, shocked.

  He laughs and even in the dark I can see a cruel glint in his expression. “What’s wrong, Sarah? I know you like that.”

  He’s too strong. I don’t think I can get past him.

  “I need to find my friend,” I say, my voice shaking.

  “What friend is that?”

  When I don’t answer, he chuckles and traps me in against the wall with his arms. “Don’t lie, sweet girl. You’re all alone tonight and we both know it.”

  I whimper when I feel the tip of his tongue on my neck.

  “Leave me alone.” I try to shout, but my voice comes out weak and scared.

  “I had my eye on you the minute you walked through that door like a drowned rat. We both know you wore those short shorts hopin’ to find somethin’ special tonight.” He rubs his nose against my skin, breathing deeply. “And, lucky girl, you found me.”

  Then his enormous, chapped hand grabs my thigh and I cry out. “No, please.”

  “Hush,” he tells me, roughly groping under my shorts.

  A fierce surge of panic bites through me. I try to pull away but he shoves me back against the wall. My head knocks a shelf and dislodges a glass. It crashes to the floor and wakes me up even more. This is bad. Really bad.

  “Stop,” I plead.

  Wesley clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth like a reprimand. “I ain’t gonna give up that easily, Sarah. You best give me what I want. Hear me now?”

  He grabs hold of my waist, his fingers digging into my side and forces his mouth on my own. I want to fight. I try to fight, but every time I slap his back or push my hands against his chest, his grip tightens and his hips thrust harder, pushing me back against the wall.

  His lips are all over me. He removes one hand, fumbling at his belt buckle and the button on his jeans and I know it might be my only chance. With every ounce of strength I have left, I rear back and bring my knee straight up, connecting solidly with his groin.

  With a pained grunt, he crumples to the floor like a balloon losing its air.

  I scramble sideways, kind of crab-walking along the wall until I feel the door behind me. Wesley is still on the floor, but I can see that I don’t have a lot of time before he regains his composure.

  His head comes up and he growls at me, “You bitch!”

  I don’t wait around to see what happens next. I bolt into the the hallway, knocking a broom down in front of the door, and I start to run.

  It’s not until I bang into a wall that I realize I have no idea how to get back to the main part of the bar. I look left and right. How did I get here? I can hear bar music but I can’t tell which direction the noise is coming from. All the doors look exactly the same like I’m trapped in some messed-up carnival’s Funhouse.

  From somewhere behind me, I hear Wesley cursing furiously. I’m still disoriented but I’m not confused enough to risk him finding me here in the hall, so I turn to my left and hope that it’s the correct way. As I run, the music gets louder which gives me hope that I’m close. I open the last door on the right, stumbling over my own feet into the lights and noise.

  I careen toward the bar, crying. Tommy asks me if I’m okay, but that only makes me cry even harder. God, I’m a sticky, sniveling mess.

  “Do you want me to call someone for you?” he asks.

  I shake my head and grab my racquet bag from where I left it under the bar stool. I find a twenty dollar bill and shove it toward him. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine to me.”

  “It’s nothing,” I respond, keeping my face down and making a beeline for the door.

  “You’re not driving are you?”

  More head shaking on my end.

  “Be safe out there,” Tommy calls as the door falls shut behind me.

  Out on the sidewalk, I take off into a sprint. I need to get away from here, I think as moonlight chases me down the sidewalk. I bump into some guy who’s walking out of a restaurant, but I don’t even stop to apologize. It’s not until I’m blocks away from Wesley and the bar that I pause to catch my breath. As my heartbeat dips back down, I reach into my bag for my phone.

  It only rings one time before he answers.

  “Hello?”

  “Sebastian? Can you come get me?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Bash

  She’s standing exactly where she said she’d be. Her head and shoulders are bent and her long hair is loose and blowing into her face. Her legs are bare and even from the car I can see that she’s shaking.

  I pull the car parallel to the curb and unlock the door. As she climbs unsteadily in the passenger side, I crank up the heat. “You look like you’re freezing.”

  She gratefully holds her hands over a vent and stretches out her fingers. “Because I am.” Then she looks in the backseat and blinks in surprise. “Carter is back there,” she says like I might have missed that.

  “Seth has a show tonight in Summerville and I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave him at home by himself.”

  “Right,” she says. “God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you for this.”

  “You mean for being drunk?”

  “I’m more tipsy than drunk.”

  “Whatever,” I say. I reach over her and start to pull the seatbelt over her chest. Like a little kid, she obediently lifts her arms higher so that I can buckle her in.

  “You’re mad,” she observes.

  “I’m not mad. I’m—” I take a breath and exhale. I don’t know what I am. There are so many things I want to ask her… so many things I’m confused about but I don’t know where to begin.

  “What?”

  “For starters—why were you at a bar by yourself?”

&nbs
p; “Because I felt like having a drink.”

  “You felt like having a drink?” I repeat back to her.

  “Yes, I wanted a drink and I wanted to be alone for a little while,” she says, her voice growing in volume with each word. “Is that really so hard to understand?”

  I put my finger to my lips and glance in the backseat, relieved to see that Carter is still sleeping.

  “Sorry,” she whispers, wincing. “I forgot.”

  “Like you forgot that you were supposed to meet us for ice cream?”

  “Oh, crap… Sebastian, I meant to text you back and tell you—”

  “Or like you forgot to tell me why your face is red and you’ve obviously been crying? Or maybe why the leg of your shorts is ripped and why there’s a button missing from your jacket?”

  She looks down at her clothes and bursts into tears.

  Shit.

  “Amelia… I…”

  “No, you’re right,” she hiccups in between choked breaths. “This day has been a mess.” She stops and shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want to know what’s going on with you.”

  “I suck.”

  This gets me to smile a little. I reach over to push her hair from her face. “You don’t suck.”

  “I do suck. I don’t know why I was there,” she whispers, tears still streaming down her cheeks. “Practice was a disaster. I quit the team.”

  “You quit tennis?”

  She nods and scrunches her eyebrows down. “Yeah, and I guess I wanted to be somewhere where no one knew who I was, and I was walking and I saw the sign and… I went in and sat on a stool not really expecting to get served. The next thing I knew, I was three drinks in and there was this awful guy.”

  This gets my hackles up. “What guy?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing happened. I just realized I didn’t really want to be there after all. I don’t think I want to be anywhere, Sebastian.”

  My heart races as I pull her close and press our foreheads together. All the pieces of the last few months and the ones before that are whirling in my head. I can’t get things straight yet, but I can control this moment with this girl.

  I tell her it will be all right. I don’t know if she believes me but she lets me kiss her crying face and rub her arms and tuck her tightly against my chest. And a while later—it could be seconds or hours—I notice the crying has stopped and her breathing has fallen into a steady rhythm.

  I lay her back carefully against the seat so I don’t jostle her awake. Then I look in the rearview mirror at Carter, who is still in a coma in the backseat, and laugh to myself as I pull onto the road. I’m like a chauffeur for the living dead.

  The dark, wet streets pass by quickly. Within ten minutes, I pull into the driveway and turn off the ignition.

  Amelia groggily lifts her head and asks, “Where are we?”

  “My house.”

  She yawns. “Oh.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to do,” I admit. “I didn’t drive you home because I didn’t want your parents to find out you’d been drinking.”

  “I doubt my father will notice I’m gone. And Nancy… well, it’ll be all right.”

  “I can take you there if that’s better.”

  “No,” she says softly. “I’d rather be here. Is that okay with you?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. “Just wait here while I get Carter into bed and I’ll be back for you.”

  “I can walk myself,” she murmurs, her eyes drooping a little.

  I chuckle. “Amelia, just wait for me here.”

  She gives a small, contented sigh and snuggles against the seat. “Okay.”

  Once I’m certain Amelia’s going to stay put, I sling Carter over my shoulder and take him inside. He barely even stirs as I lay him down in his bed and pull his comforter up, but when I’m at the door he calls out to me.

  “Bash, where’s Red Dead Fred?”

  I look back and see the bear on the floor, halfway under the bed. I pick it up and put it under my brother’s arm.

  “Night, bud.”

  Carter makes a sleepy, chewing sound and rolls over to face the wall, taking the bear with him.

  Amelia is still in my car like I asked so at least that’s something. I open her door and start to lift her up.

  “Is it morning yet?” she asks sleepily.

  “Not quite,” I tell her as I get my hand under her legs for leverage. “Go back to sleep.

  “Uh-huh,” she mumbles, turning her face into my chest.

  I carry her up the steps and into the house.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, her words mushy with sleep and hard to understand.

  “Why do you think?” I ask as I lay her down gently on my unmade bed and remove her jacket. She’s wearing a simple white tank and tennis shorts. Not the best pajamas, but I think they’ll work.

  “I think you like me.”

  I laugh and move to her feet to pull off her shoes and socks. “I think you might be right.”

  She curls her toes in my hand and rolls over, burrowing under the comforter. “I think you love me,” she murmurs.

  I think you might be right.

  I fold both her legs on the bed and cover her with my comforter. Then I pick up her tennis bag and search through it until I find her cell. Normally I’d never think about going through Amelia’s things, but since she’s in no shape to text her parents, I figure I get a free pass.

  I scroll through her contacts, pausing when I see Daphne’s name still listed next to a picture of her grinning and giving the peace sign to the camera. I find Nancy’s entry and I type out a quick text letting her know that Amelia is staying at Audra’s tonight. Yeah it’s a lie, but I doubt they’d be happy about her staying here. Next, I send Audra a text to explain the cover story.

  Amelia is on her side with her arm curled beneath her chin, snoring softly. I lay down beside her and brush her hair off of her face so that I can get a better look at her. I let my eyes trace her jaw and the soft shape of her mouth. There are two little lines between her eyebrows that make me sigh. Even deep in sleep she doesn’t look completely at peace.

  I rub my thumb against those two little lines. If I only knew what to do for her. If only I knew what to do in general.

  I think you love me, she’d said.

  She may have been completely out of it, but she was still right. I do love this beautiful, broken girl beside me. But one thing the world has taught me is that sometimes love isn’t enough.

  ***

  At first I think it’s a dream. A good dream—the kind that I want to go on for days and days.

  I feel her kiss my eyelids in turn and then my mouth. Her breath falls over my jaw and her tongue skims to the base of my neck. Then her fingertips brush down my side and dip under my t-shirt and that’s when I come to, realizing that I’m not dreaming. I’m awake and Amelia is in my bed on top of me.

  I open my eyes and see that my bedroom is full of dull, greenish light. It’s not morning yet, but it’s close.

  Amelia is above me, her hair falling over us both like a heavy velvet curtain. She still has on her tennis clothes—a thin white tank over a sport bra that leaves hardly a thing to the imagination and those torn shorts. Her eyes are bright and clear—like two stars climbing high into the night sky.

  She bends down and kisses me on the mouth. The taste of her is intoxicating and for a moment I get lost in it. Then I remember where we are and what happened last night, and I find her hands and trap them on top of my shirt. “Amelia, stop.”

  Her swollen lips form a question. “Why?”

  “You were drinking.”

  She shakes her head. “That was hours and hours ago. I swear I’m not even a little buzzed now.”

  “But—”

  “I miss you,” she whispers.

  It’s such a small and simple thing to say, but it moves through me with the power of a hurricane, knocking down ho
uses and tearing up trees by their root systems.

  I release the air in my lungs in a gush and let go of her hands. “I miss you too.”

  Amelia smiles. I run my fingers through her hair and down the side of her neck. She shivers beneath my touch. I take her face in between my palms and we’re kissing again, only this time it’s not so gentle.

  A flood of heat ignites under my skin and both of our shirts become a thing of the past. In a tangle of limbs and hitched breaths, we switch places. I kiss my way down her neck and over her chest and she closes her eyes and presses her head back into the pillow. Her hands move below my waist, seeking blindly.

  I stop and look down at her. She’s breathing hard and her skin is flushed pink in the soft light.

  “Is this not okay?” she asks, her fingers sliding slowly beneath the waistband of my boxer shorts.

  My entire body quakes. I close my eyes and shake my head. “Of course it’s okay. But—” I’m still unsure if this is a good idea.

  “Please, Sebastian?” she pleads softly, her lips barely brushing against my own. “I just want to feel something other than sad. And if you have something then...”

  I think of the small box in the drawer by my bed. I’d bought it on impulse, not really expecting anything. “I do, but are you positive?”

  Instead of answering, she kisses me and it’s the kind of kiss that speaks the words for her. I meet her bold touch with a desperation of my own, claiming her mouth and peeling the rest of her clothes from her body.

  Never breaking the kiss, Amelia twines her arms around my neck and presses herself against me. I graze my fingers over her satiny skin, paying attention to every detail of her and loving the small gasping sounds she makes into my mouth when I find something she likes.

  “This?” I ask, my hand traveling over the sloping curve of her hip.

  She nods and kisses my chin, urging me on. For a long time, we explore each other like that, tasting and savoring.

  And then, like the last piece of the puzzle slipping into place, it happens. One moment Amelia and I are a world apart and in the next heartbeat, we’re as close as two people can be.