by A. R. Rivera
I kept staring. His face was so close and lovely, his presence so strong beside me. I had his undivided attention and was smashed up against him and still didn’t feel close enough.
“Angel. If it’s what I think it is, it won’t change my mind.”
I wasn’t sure what he was saying and still couldn’t form a response. There was so much he didn’t know about me and I was afraid to tell him. I settled for placing my hands in between our laps and staring into his hypnotic eyes, hoping to find courage.
Still cupping my cheek, Jake leaned closer. I thought he was going to kiss me and felt heat bloom in my chest.
“Last night wasn’t your first time, was it?”
The petals of my desire wilted. “What?”
“You know, a guy can tell. And you didn’t have to pretend. I’m not one of those assholes that’s gonna judge you. Just be who you are.”
I was mortified. And totally confused. My neck suddenly felt very hot. “Wait. What are you saying?”
Jake dipped his head, speaking so low I could barely hear. “Lack of pain . . . and or hymen?”
My cheeks blazed in a chagrin fueled inferno. I smothered my face in my palms. “Oh god. I knew it. Now you think I’m a slut.”
“Did you hear anything I just said? Because if you did, you would know that’s fucking ridiculous.”
“You think I do this all the time.” I wanted to disappear.
“No. I don’t. Even if you did, that’s none of my business. What the hell? Angel, I like you, why would I think that?”
I had to take a deep breath and let his words sink in. Look him in the face and search his eyes. He didn’t seem to be angry and I sensed no sarcasm. But his opening the discussion on something so personal with such a casual manner, it was painful.
But it wasn’t his fault. All Jake knew was I had already lied about my age. I knew he needed truth and he didn’t trust me to give it to him. And that bothered me, but more than my nonsensical irritation, I wanted to give Jake what he wanted. Even though I feared, once I told him he wouldn’t want me anymore.
“Well, you’re right about one thing, Jake.” I took a deep breath and exhaled, imagining the small breeze from my mouth was pushing him away, like dry leaves in the wind. “You are nosey. You want the truth? Fine. Here it is: I’ve had a royally screwed up life. I’m busted in every way you can imagine and probably a few that you can’t. I’m sorry for trying to shield you from that. Truth is my hymen was broken when I was five years-old.”
His eyes widened. My words had him in recoil. I could see the theories and scenarios playing across his concerned face.
“I was in a car accident. It killed my mother and I almost died, too. In case you’re still curious, I might never have kids because of it.” I shut my eyes tight to keep from seeing his reaction. “I don’t have a family and I can’t make one. I have been in foster homes, living with people that either steadily ignore me or beat the shit out of me, for the past eleven years. I don’t talk to anyone about my life. Not even to the doctors who ask about the bruises.” I was nearly panting, my body rigid with the suffocating feeling that accompanied any topic involving my mother.
The blood drained from his face. “Is all that true?”
I almost rolled my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Whatever.”
“Not ‘whatever.’ Angel, look at me.” He took my chin and made me obey. “We all have parts of ourselves that we don’t like to share. I understand that. I just forgot it for a minute. I really am sorry.”
I shrugged, deflated. “Not your fault.”
He pulled me back under his arm. “I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”
I relaxed into his hold, stuffing my face into the crook of his neck. “Please don’t ask me about it.”
“I won’t.”
Breathing in his scent, I decided to make the most of my last few hours with him. I was going to stay like that—nose flush against him, feeling the freedom, listening to the hum of the road under the vans’ tires and the punk music burbling through the speakers—for as long as I could.
“Would you be interested in being the girlfriend of an asshole like me?”
I went rigid again and pulled away to look at him. He was so beautiful, with his wide-eyed expression and soft smile. “Why, Jake? Why would you want that?”
“Is it so tough to believe I like talking to you? And I started writing your song months ago. Did I tell you that?” Jakes brow was scrunched, but his eyes held amusement. “Besides, you’re so damn hot. That alone is reason enough, right?”
I waited, watching him. I enjoyed being coveted, but even I knew that was nothing to build a relationship on and that was something I didn’t know I wanted, because I wouldn’t let myself think it, until Jake touched me and kissed me in that greedy way he had; as if he were starving for something only I possessed. And looking at him in that moment, recalling the feeling of him the night before, I knew I needed something true and lasting from him. I needed him. I needed him to say that he needed me. So I waited, hoping.
His affirmation was barely audible over the music from the radio. “Come on, Angel. It’s not like we just met. We’ve been talking after every show for the better part of two years. Do you think I do that with everyone?”
He looked deep into my eyes. “Well, I don’t. I like you. More than I should. I like how sensitive and attuned you are to me. I like that you understand how important my music is. You don’t assume anything or talk too much shit. And you’re really sweet. Thoughtful.” His eyes were soft as he grinned down at me. “But above all of that, I love the way you look at me, and the way it feels when I do something that makes you smile. How it makes me feel . . .” His palm rested against my face, gently sliding down to my mouth, “when I touch you.”
The heat coming off of his confession charged the air between us. Our mouths were mere millimeters apart. Every other part of my body was flush against his—my shoulders and both arms, my side, my hip, and the whole length of my leg. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to taste those delicious lips to see if they were as sweet as my memory told me they were.
“You do?” My heart leapt inside my chest when the edges of his lips curved sweetly up.
“I’m a sucker for laying it all out like this, but yes. Very much,” Jake said. “The only thing holding me back was I thought maybe you were too young. I was right about that.”
I cringed at the reminder of my lie. “It’s only three years.”
“It’s closer to four. So I need to be able to trust you—especially if we’re going to keep doing what we did last night.” He smirked, and the arm that was slipped behind me reached down my back and into the tops of my jeans. I felt his fingertips tug at the lace of my panties and blushed furiously.
“So? You promise?”
“I promise. I won’t hide anything.”
“Good, Liar.” He closed the gap between us, sending beautiful shivers through me.
6
—Angel
It was a blazing Saturday afternoon, a little over a month since that first night at the motel. I really was seventeen by then.
Jake and I were lounging in the pick-up truck he’d borrowed from his mom. We were parked in a small patch of shade behind one of the few drive-thru burger stands in Carlisle. The small tree only shaded my half of the cab. The radio was tuned to a local rock station which played an eclectic mix of modern and classic. As I sat beside Jake on the bench seat of the Chevy, the speakers churned out Sebastian Bachs’ aching screams about the tragedy of being eighteen.
A gentle breeze floated through the windows, cooling the beads of moisture building on my neck and back. I had my feet up on the seat and my back against the door.
Jakes’ expression was raw. It had been that way since he surprised me with his pledge of love in the line of the drive-thru only a few minutes before. He was thoughtfully staring at his half-eaten burger peeking from the foil wrapping.
In a wa
y that always seemed so very Jake, he began speaking mid-thought. “I mean, you get it, right? I’m too young and I’m still four years older than you.”
“Three and a half,” I disagreed.
He locked his entrancing gaze on me. “It makes you way too young.”
“Does my age really bother you?”
He shook his head. “Not as much as it should.”
“It doesn’t bother me at all.”
“That’s because you’re the minor.” He ran a hand through his much shorter hair. “There’s every reason to go slow. So much I don’t get about you and me. Still . . .”
From his place in the sun-drenched driver seat, he watched as I sucked the frosty chocolate milkshake from a freshly dipped fry. He grinned when a melted droplet fell onto the spaghetti strap of my tank top. Reaching over, he wiped the mess with his thumb and put it to my lips. I took his fingertip in my mouth.
“I should, at least, have something to offer you.” He shook his head, smiling at my scandalous ways.
“I can work for what I want. But there is serious misery in those three little words.”
“Misery?” Jakes’ eyes darkened as he set his burger on the dashboard. He took my food next, placing my fries and sweating cup in the hot sun beside his. He leaned over my outstretched legs. “Just misery?”
“Other stuff, too.” I breathed, caught in his spell.
“Like what?” He smoothed my feet over his lap and came closer.
“Good stuff.”
“How good?” He asked, leaning and shifting to come at me head-on.
“Extra-super-good and extremely fantastic.”
His knee came up onto the seat as he stretched, pressing his weight against my thigh and the vinyl bench. “I used four words, remember? ‘I fucking love you.’ Does that scare you?” His voice was husky, his eyes on my mouth.
The radio’s commercial break ended. Joan Jett and her Blackhearts began a wailing chant about hate and love as I adjusted myself, preparing to receive whatever Jake wanted to give and bit my lip. I wasn’t sure I should say what I felt, but Jake was always very open with his feelings, and encouraged me to do the same.
“Well, does it?” He whispered, sending my heart into double-time as he swooped through the small bit of space between us, pinning one of my raised knees against the seatback and the other against the dashboard. Jake occupied all the space in between.
My breath caught. The burning sun had nothing on him.
“I don’t—” I stopped, swallowing a deep breath before starting again. “I can’t believe how good it is to be with you. Jake, I don’t care about what that means.” I watched his beautiful face, trying to guess what he was thinking. The steamy air of his eyes never wavered, making me think his thoughts were as naughty as mine.
I shook my head to clear it, still needing to answer his question. “Maybe that’s irresponsible, but everything besides you and me feels secondary.”
“Us,” he whispered, as if trying out the word. The smirk that followed gave me goose bumps.
“And I—don’t judge me, okay.” I rolled my eyes, feeling pathetic and needy. “When I think about what’s ahead, I get really worried about what might happen when Analog goes back on tour.”
Jakes soft eyes immediately hardened. “I’m not a cheater.”
“No, that’s not it.” I smiled, embracing the warmth of this admission, though Jake had never given me a reason to doubt his fidelity. “I’m worried . . .” I took his hand from the dashboard and set it over my hammering heart. “What if this—what we feel like—changes, if we’re apart for too long?” If he met a girl who could create like him, understood music like he did, who could offer him things I couldn’t, like stability and a family—it would break me.
“My whole life, I’ve been shoved from one place to the next. Every single person that was supposed to love me didn’t, but you, Jake, you say you do. As unbelievable as it feels, I believe you; but that makes me need you, Jake. And that terrifies me.” It was only half true. I’d needed him from the moment he first kissed me, but could only now bring myself to admit it.
After a moment of waiting for his response, I had to know. “It’s the potential for misery. I wouldn’t know how to go back. Do I sound as pathetic as I feel?”
Jake answered by taking his hand from my heart and gripping the back of my head, pulling me closer to him. His heat shot fire through my veins. His teeth gently scraped my lips as he kissed them, and then pulled away. “I’d sooner forget my reflection in the mirror, how to play guitar, or the way my mother smells. The way I feel for you, Angel, it’s part of me.”
My chest filled with flutters as his lashes brushed my cheek. Jake whispered in my ear, “There are millions of songs, baby. Sonnets. Monuments, even. It’s a story as old as time. It’s the inspiration for the greatest works ever produced by mankind.” He leaned back minutely to look in my eyes. “They are all devoted to our cause. Because they know that you never let go, not when it’s real. Love lives, like music. It’s ageless and indelible.”
He closed his eyes, kissing me again, deeper than before. His hands moved down my back pressing my hips forward until they smashed his. The sundrenched seat burnt my legs, but I barely noticed.
“What are you doing to me? I sound like a pussy.” Jake chuckled into my mouth. “But I’m keeping you, anyway.”
When his tongue wrapped itself around mine, it was like two unstable chemicals meeting. Reacting. It was explosive. The heat rippled through me in waves, burning over every fear I had. Jakes’ kisses could do that: chase away everything. Until there was only him. And me. Us.
I fought when he pulled away.
“I promise . . .” His lashes scraped my brow and I knew he was waiting for me to look at him. When I did, he cleared his throat. “I promise you, my angel, that no matter what—even if it breaks up the band—I won’t go anywhere you don’t want me to. If you really need me to stay, tell me. And I will.”
The electric air crackled as his fingertips grazed the skin of my throat. “More than anyone or anything, baby, I need you, too. I want you so bad.”
My lips skimmed along his jaw. “Take me, then.”
+ + +
7
—Avery
This place has a way of picking you apart. You think you’re whole, that you’re complete, but only because it’s never occurred to you to be anything less. Being inside, like I am, it’s a whole other story. The methods they use to keep us in here have a way of washing over you, overwhelming you, until your cracks are exposed. And then all you see are the cracks, the breaks, the insufficiencies and imperfections, and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you need . . . more.
My own cracks came at the cost of expressing myself. I can’t crack anymore, though. Not in this place, where no one listens. I’m suffocating in here; on this island of locked doors and barred windows. Caged like some kind of animal, but treated like a zombie-slash-puppet, forced to brush my watercolor feelings onto paper, forced into silence with pills and schedules.
There is no longer any such thing as conversation or interaction. There is only division, regret, and ruin. Cracks are dark recesses with deaf companions. My voice, waiting to be heard.
In prison, it’s all routines inside walls drenched in mildew and sweat. I spend every second surrounded by guards who don’t actually see me. I don’t get to talk to anyone anymore. Not that I was ever interested in engaging with people. But now . . . I’m not even here. I have no name. I have nothing. Not even my own will.
I’m a ghost.
And like every ghost, I spend a lot of time haunting the memories of the life I lost.
No one cares. Certainly not Angel, who occupies those haunted places with me but hasn’t spoken to me in ages.
That last night, when we were still free, I looked at Angel and knew. Knew that I had pushed too far. Way beyond ‘too far.’ So far that any control I might have had in what happened next, was gone. I forced the situat
ion and it got out of control. Seems like it happened so quickly. In a moment, things were said and done that shouldn’t have been and I had to take responsibility for that. I tried to. Angel still hates me for it, though.
I can’t stand that she won’t forgive me: that she hates me so much that she’ll look right through me, pretend like I don’t exist. If I don’t have her attention, then I have no ones.
I don’t have right now, so that only leaves what was. All I can do is look back and wish that I would have chosen a different road. Maybe then our lives would have turned out differently.
We used to be our own little clique. Most times, when we were together there was perfect synchronicity. A strange family; small, but true. There was me, the older sister-type, struggling to be everything she needed: a nurturer, a friend and confidant.
Angel was always the most frail and dependent between us. I admit that I sometimes preyed on her weaknesses, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love her. She was the best friend I ever had, the only person who had ever seen the true me, the one I hid away from the world. Those glimpses ended up costing her but she still stuck around. Still let me in and appreciated me. I loved her more for that.
And Jake was a fool. For needing her like he did. For taking her at her word. For thinking he could be truly honest with her. For thinking she was strong enough to take the hits that came with being his girl.
He was a damned fool.
+ + +
8
—Angel
I toss myself onto my thin bunk and close my eyes, glad to be out of that suffocating room and back in this little cell that is no less cramped, but feels a little more comfortable. I’ve been out of there for over an hour and still have sweat rings on the underarms of my jumpsuit.
Taking a deep breath, I let my mind drift. It was tough and wonderful talking about him, but I haven’t gotten to the hard parts yet. I still don’t understand how I got from that reasonably happy girl to waiting to die. I mean, I know how it unfolded, I just don’t understand how it could happen to me. And I’m stuck in it.
