by A. R. Rivera
Jake shot straight up, looking around the dark room with wide eyes. They landed on me. He let out loud breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I explained, kicking my boots from my aching feet.
“So you decided to walk two and a half miles—” he stretched back and snatched the alarm clock from a shelf on his headboard—“at four-thirty-seven in the morning? And climb through my bedroom window?” He set the clock radio back behind him as REO Speedwagon began floating into the dark air. I knew the radio was on that station because that was where Angel liked it. My stomach should have turned a little, but it didn’t. I was going to take it on the run just like the song said.
I shrugged. “Basically.”
A chuckle growled from low in Jakes throat. “Oh, you got it bad.”
I did not return his smile. I didn’t say anything. I never wanted his affection, or to take anything away from Angel. That wasn’t even a possibility. I did not want him for myself. I didn’t want him for anything. I just needed to feel like a whole person, if only for a few minutes and even if it cost me more than I was willing to pay.
I wanted—no, I needed—a distraction and Jakes’ touch had always felt like a balm to Angel. I wanted it to heal me, too.
I couldn’t make out Jakes’ form, but I heard him pull back the sheet he was covered with. I unzipped my pants, shoved out of them, and my tank top quickly followed.
“I’ll give you a ride home.” Jakes’ husky voice carried from his corner in the dark.
“Don’t you want me here?” I wished I’d thought to consider the possibility that he’d reject me, or at the very least, asked the question while I was still wearing clothes.
A small lamp flicked on. It was sitting on his headboard, pointing straight down, but still giving plenty of light to Jake’s studious gaze. His eyes were glued to my body.
“Dumb question.” He shifted in a way that showed me he had no intention of making me leave.
I didn’t let myself feel the relief of acceptance; I simply took away the space between us, shoving Jake onto his back. I saw his lips part and leaned away. Jake gasped when I forced his boxers down with my feet. He sat up so we were nose to nose—pressing his lips to my shoulders and neck. He tried to cup my face, but I turned my head.
Before he could change the encounter into something resembling intimacy, I grabbed his long hands and shoved them down to my waist so he could feel the lines, so he’d know what I needed and why. He’d seen the marks enough times and he said I could count on him.
Don’t cut yourself. Come to me, first. I’ll do what I can.”
“One of those nights, huh?” He whispered in my ear, and then took my soft flesh into his rough hands.
The second we connected, it was there—a little silence, almost a glimmer of peace. I nearly howled, so pleased to feel something more than the angry nothing.
It was helping, but I couldn’t clear my mind, not with his eyes right there watching me. I tossed his hands away and leapt to the middle of the bed, facing the wall. Jake followed, wordlessly gripping my shoulders. I relaxed again, feeling him tense up, aiming to deliver the help he promised.
And then—the glorious ache. I started to cry out, but Jake set his hand over my mouth. “Shh!”
Oh yeah, the doorknob still wasn’t fixed.
His fingers knotted into my hair and I groaned, begging for more. More pleasure, more pain, more everything. Anything to make me stop thinking.
“Any more and you’ll go through the wall.” Jake whispered into the skin of my shoulder, but kept pulling my hair because he knew I needed it.
His moves were concentrated and wonderful, shooting my aching void and the nagging beast inside it to the moon.
+++
I lay beneath him panting.
Feeling his hot breath against my back, his voice was husky. “You’re crazy.” His lips skimmed my shoulder before he rolled over to grab a cigarette.
And that was my cue.
“I’ve got school.” I scrambled out of bed, grabbing at my discarded clothes.
Jakes face soured. He flicked the lighter on and drew in a puff of smoke. “I’m driving you home.”
“No.” I turned around in search of my shoes.
“Hey,” He touched my arm and I froze.
His fingertip felt like a brick flying through a plate-glass window. I was broken and desolate all over again. Another mistake.
Another fucking colossal mistake to add to the flurry of shit that followed me wherever I went. Another reason for Angel to hate me.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” The word came out like a bullet, with force. “I just want to walk.”
I carried my shoes with me outside, scrambling to put as much distance between me and that house as I could before I broke.
Shit!
No amount of speed could carry me fast enough to outrun the emptiness that opened again, more ferocious than before. The tears were coming. Still, I tried to outrun them.
30
—Avery
Of course Angel decided to chase Jake out to California. Worse: she expected me to be happy about it.
She was the one leaving everything behind—except me, of course—and still stressing on how to make everything easier for Jake. It was typical Angel: so sure she wasn’t worth Jakes’ time and constantly trying to make-up for that bullshit. But Jake had that effect on people—he could make them do things they never thought they’d do without a second-thought.
I hated that about him.
As far as I could tell, Angels exit strategy depended entirely on Deanna being okay with Angel skipping out on her own graduation. But Angel was determined—no matter the sacrifice—that she would make the tour and the only way that was going to happen was if she got permission to leave. The flipside was; if we followed our instinct and just ran off, someone would give chase, and Jake couldn’t have that inconvenience. So that was the choice I was leaning towards.
I watched Angel busy herself; making her bed and a pallet before leaving the room to pop some popcorn. She brought back drinks and a movie and kept moving around the room, a bundle of nervous energy, sifting through the bags of clothes I brought over.
“You haven’t talked to her?” It didn’t sound like a question.
Angel shook her head and squeaked out, “I tried.”
“Chill out. I’ll tell her for you.” I almost cringed, hearing the words come out of my mouth. I hadn’t planned on offering.
“You would?” Her voice went had gone up at least two octaves; it was hope rising, taking her voice along with it.
“It makes perfect sense.” I reasoned, “You told Jake you’d do it. Now, he’s not here for you to fall back on. That only leaves me.” It was true, but I felt like a douche saying it.
Honestly, I didn’t want to get involved. Angel never liked like the way I handled things. She thought I was too forward, too gruff or some shit. But I couldn’t help myself. She’d made up her mind to go and I had no choice but to go along. She was my only family.
“He offered,” she looked down at the floor. “I told him no.”
“I’ll do it. It’s not a problem. Besides, I’m much better at speaking your mind than you are.” I sighed, only half-kidding, and stared at the clock. “It’s late. We should get some rest. The Foster will be off work in a few hours.”
Even though I’d put my foot in it, I figured me talking to Deanna couldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Worst case scenario, she’s say no and we’d leave undeterred. Jake would be pissed, but that wasn’t really a concern.
I was still glad I stayed over—I didn’t like Angel being alone with Austen. Angel swore he was alright, but I didn’t trust his greedy eyes that lingered a little too long on my friend when she wasn’t looking. I wanted to be there in case he said something to her—but we’d lucked out, Austen left not long after I got here.
I was staring off into space when Angel poked me in t
he ribs with the rim of the popcorn bowl. The lights were off and the small television on her dresser was turned on. Opening credits were already rolling.
“Earth to Avery. What is going on?”
“Nothing—I want this trip to work out for you.”
Angels’ entire face lit up. She smiled so wide, I wondered how much further her skin could stretch before it ripped. “Me, too.”
It felt rare to see her so deeply happy. Only Jake could push her to a pointed extreme: make her glow with delight or fade into a depressed vacuum. Lucky for him, he kept her dreamy-eyed most of the time. Just then, she was radiant and it was a sight.
“Everything will work out the way it needs to.” I assured her. We’d planned on using my mom’s old car. It was a total hoopty that she never drove, but would get us into Tempe.
“Thirty-nine hours,” she sang.
It was as if Angels’ enthusiasm poured into me, washing my frustration away. And then my feet suddenly had a mind of their own. They shot out in front of me, stomping with excitement, rattling the floor, shaking the trailer.
Angel pulled out two wide sheets of newsprint and squealed at the bands publicity photos. Thanks to Pierce, Analog Controller had landed a two-page spread in a Phoenix weekly circular. The paper featured them as ‘The Band to Watch.’ The photos showed the three of them, standing shoulder to shoulder. They had these bad-ass looks on their faces that made me roll my eyes and Angel giggle, but every other girl probably thought they looked tough and sexy.
Angel nearly died a few days before when Jake showed up with his hair shaved down. He had just come back from that photo shoot with the paper and went straight to her house to show her. He told her that he knew she liked his hair longer so he only planned for a trim, but his regular barber was out. Another guy cut his hair and messed it all up. So Jake had him use the clippers. It was now only about two inches long. Jake wasn’t going to let himself be photographed with a shitty haircut.
Angel said she wanted to cry, but it wasn’t like Jake needed her permission. And I liked the way it looked. It made him look dangerous. Besides, the shape of his head was nice and round. No flat spots or lumps. No scars.
I let Angel rattle on over the pictures while I sat back down, losing myself to deeper thoughts. We’d been disagreeing more than usual lately—not fighting, just not sharing the same opinion on everything anymore and that was weird. It was Jakes’ influence. He was changing her. So long as Angel was happy.
It was guilt that made me offer to talk to Deanna, she was a tough lady. I was determined to convince her to let Angel go. Even if it meant that she wouldn’t come back.
“I’m going with you, right?” I asked, needing the reassurance.
Angel turned from the television to face me. She looked sleepy. “What?”
“I’m going with you to California, right?”
Angels’ mouth curved up at the edges. “How could I go without my other half? You’re my best friend and you’re already eighteen.”
Something about the way she said it, sent my mind into overdrive. Planning, making the adult decisions on when and where to push, crafting a way to make what needed to happen, happen. And in the midst of that, we were both so excited we had to make ourselves settle down enough to sleep.
31
—Avery
Angel snoozing was on the floor beside me, curled into a tiny ball with her mouth hanging open. A line of spittle led to a damp circle on her pillow.
The screen door slammed shut, signaling Deanna’s arrival. I stumbled my way down the hall to the kitchen where Angel’s foster mom was unloading groceries into the refrigerator. She smiled when she saw me peeking in from the hall. I waved.
“Good morning, Sunshine. How are you this fine day?” She was nauseatingly cheerful. It was almost unfair for me to be the one witnessing the good mood. Angel loved that stuff. She ate it up.
“Good.”
“Was Austen bothering you last night?”
“No,” I shook my head. “He went out after all.”
Deanna extended a hand bearing a prepackaged blueberry muffin. “You want coffee? You must have been up all night.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Bags.” Her two fingers traced the valley below her own eyes, in gesture.
“Actually, I wanted to talk. Well, to ask you something.” I set the muffin on the counter.
I’d try nice first.
Deanna leaned back against the stove, arms crossed. “I’m all ears.”
I was already sensing an impasse. “You know Jake’s band? Well, they’re playing tomorrow night in Tempe and—” Deanna was already shaking her head. “But you know how much—”
“No.”
“Please! It would mean everything.” I had to choose my words carefully when talking with Deanna. She was always a little too observant. A little too sharp and a lot too stubborn.
“Not a wise idea. That relationship has gotten too serious and Tempe is too far away.”
I lowered my voice and stepped in very close. “No. It’s not too far. And I wasn’t really asking for permission.”
Deanna slapped her hands on her hips, wasting no time getting all turkey-necked. “I won’t have this-this attitude. What has gotten into you?”
I stepped back, composing myself. I couldn’t be that way with Angels’ Foster. It wouldn’t end well for anyone. I thought of what Angel would say and used that as my argument. “It’s just music. It’s one weekend.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that and you know it. Money. Transportation. Supervision. Curfews. That Doctor Williams wants me to meet with me. No. There’s too much going on.” She reached for her purse spread across the far counter and was suddenly holding a cigarette. I looked at her, semi-surprised—I thought she’d quit.
“I started again.” Deanna announced, holding the cigarette with her teeth, answering my unspoken question as she lit up and took a long drag. Her muscles relaxed as she exhaled. The smoke streamed from her nostrils like two steam pipes. “We’ve talked about running off like that, and nothing has changed since the last conversation. Or has it?”
I wasn’t going to let her drag me into whatever direction she thought the conversation needed to go. So I ignored her question, deciding to take a more direct approach. “You know, the eighteen year mark isn’t far away. And we have all decided to go to California. Together.”
“So, ‘we’ includes the too-old boyfriend?” She raised her head, eyes darting to the ceiling and wiped at her mouth.
I nodded. “Him and his band that will be signing a two-record deal with a label the moment they land in LA.” I breathed slowly, mechanically moving forward again. “You need to let us go.”
Deanna’s eyes suddenly cooled. She flicked the ashes of her cigarette onto the kitchen floor. “Are you stepping to me, little girl?”
I flung my palms out, slapping them against her shoulders. Deanna stumbled back, shocked, but didn’t fall.
“No.” I answered, my voice firm as I glared, willing the hollowed out core I kept so carefully concealed to show, just for a moment. Deanna needed to see what I could do so she would know why she shouldn’t shove back. Her eyes widened for a moment, but she didn’t move.
“You’ve never been put out by this foster care situation.” I began to explain; wondering if the path of least resistance was the lesser of two evils. I had to consider my next step. If she gave me another reason to push I would, without a doubt.
“You’ve always been comfortable, because you’ve never been asked to do anything. And just so you understand, I’m not asking. I’m telling you: we are going out to California. We are not coming back. All you need to do is continue to be comfortable. To do nothing.”
Deanna’s dark skin paled as I took away the last inch between us. “In a few hours, when that bedroom is empty, your responsibilities as a foster parent are officially over and you get to keep the next few checks. It’s a good deal for you.”
“Austen! Austen, get out here!” Deanna called to the hallway behind her while backing towards the living room.
“He’s not back from his girlfriends.” I reminded her and could have kicked myself for offering such a glaringly normal response in the middle of this unprecedented assault. I was going for bad-ass and informative didn’t fit.
Deanna took advantage of my distraction and moved into the space behind the end table at the far end of the living room. I told myself to get my head in the game and eyed her, closing the gap between us once more, effectively blocking her path to the door.
Deanna had always reminded me of a chocolate bar. She was dark, smooth and smelled sweet. She was also a little nutty sometimes so I had to watch my step.
“So help me God, I will call that case worker right now if you don’t back-up.”
“No.”
“Now.” She grabbed the cordless phone on the arm of the small couch beside her.
“You’re not calling anyone.” The tight balls of my fists pounded the words into my thighs.
This was not the outcome I wanted. Not that I thought convincing Deanna would be easy. When I promised to ask her about the concert, I was going to avoid temptation and reason with her, but she didn’t let me even explain.
She went right for the throat and that meant I had to go further. I thought over our short exchange, trying to piece together what might have set it off. Would a simple apology set things right? She was usually lenient when she felt she was in control. But, then there was still the problem of leaving.
I knew how to handle Deanna, but my way was definitely not the recourse Angel hoped for. In fact she’d totally disapprove. But I was cornered; she had the phone and made a threat. She’d taken away the alternatives and sealed everyone’s fate.
I dropped my shoulders. “Deanna, I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“Damn right.” She didn’t sound like she was scared, but I examined her tight posture, her cornered positioning behind the end table, as my mind explored the possibilities.
What if I kept pushing? What could Deanna really do? What would be her next step? How would I react? The base of the phone was plugged into an outlet in the kitchen. Could she punch three numbers before I got to it? What was I willing to do to keep her from making that call?
