A Terrible Love

by Eros, Marata

  “I'm sorry,” he says and I press my finger to his lips.

  “He only got the one hit in, right?” he asks anxiously.

  I nod. It was a good one. I didn't remember anything after that.

  A thought occurs to me. “How many?”

  Cas looks uncomfortable, immediately understanding what I'm asking. Finally, he answers, “Five.”

  Five against one. Bad odds.

  I swallow again, fearful. “Where are they now?” I ask because I must. It's shades of Thad and I'm scared all over again.

  The ghost of a smile brushes his lips and is gone before I think I've seen it.

  “Here,” he says in a terse word.

  “What?” I ask, sitting up quickly and looking around for the group to spring out like a Jack-in-the-box toy.

  Then it dawns on me.

  We're in a hospital.

  Devin Castile hurt them. Badly.

  A small part of me is glad and I'm ashamed.

  “How?” I ask, shaking my head. How does one guy take on five? It didn't seem possible.

  Cas shrugs. Then he looks off, his gaze riveted to the window. “When I saw that dickhead Brock hit you....” he lifts a shoulder, the muscles flanking his neck a small rolling mountain, “I saw red, I literally steam rolled them. In fact,” he gave a nervous chuckle, “I don't really remember doing much of it.”

  He palms his chin with an agitated hand, then lays his abused fist against his knee, the elbow sticking out at his side like a wing.

  An angel's wing.

  “I'm sorry I...” I didn't know what to say, I unfolded my hands and let them fall limply by my sides, thinking about the words I hurled at him before he'd beaten five men to defend me.

  “It's okay, Jess.”

  He is so what I don't need, I think, and everything I do.

  “I know you need more than me.”

  My eyes jerk to his, my very thoughts laid bare from his mouth.

  He laughed. “You oughta think about stuff with a straight face. You're an open book.”

  Oh.

  He touches my face then lets his hand drop with a laugh. “It's okay, it's what I like best about you.”

  I smile, thinking he has a funny way of showing it. My face heats with my recollections. I trample my thoughts savagely. “So... where do we go from here?” I ask.

  Carlie storms in just as Cas opens his mouth and she nearly shoves him away. “I know you saved her ass but... shoo, hero!” she says and he laughs and backs away, giving her center stage.

  Tears shimmer in my eyes, it feels so much like a goodbye I almost leap out of the hospital bed.

  Somehow, I restrain myself, even when he gives me a little salute with two fingers and walks away, the leather creaking as he moves down the hall.

  I swing my gaze away from Cas's retreating form reluctantly.

  “Mackey?” Carlie asks, her eyes searching mine, her fingers a death grip on my shoulders. “Girlfriend... you are so lucky!” She hugs me and I cave against her.

  “Guess what?” she squeals. I blink stupidly and shake my head, so overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours I can't think.

  “They've arrested Brock.”

  Well thank God.

  “For what... I mean, I know he's a creep but...?”

  Her eyebrows pop and her chin kicks up. Uh-oh. “Right, I guess you hit your head harder on that wall than they thought.” Carlie gives a supreme eye roll and I want to hit her, she makes me crazy sometimes.

  Instead I cross my arms. “Spill it.”

  “For the murders.”

  My mouth gapes. Oh my God... Amanda and the other girls... it was Brock all along. I roll it around in my brain for a moment, but it doesn't hang right. Like a window shutter that's crooked.

  “What?” she asks, frowning. “It's like great news. Stud saved you and Brock the Jock is a serial killer.”

  It seemed a little too neat. For one, I knew how they thought... intimately, and Thad had been smart. Covered his tracks, deliberate, methodically planning everything out. I had lived only because I was too difficult to get rid of.

  Faith hadn't been.

  I gulped, my hands trembling. I knotted them together. “I don't think it's Brock, Carlie.”

  Carlie stepped back, jutting her hip out, one knee flung to the side as she tapped her foot. “Girl, you need to think about this. Brock is gonna make big rocks into little ones. Chicks are safe...” Then she smiled. “And the douchebags are gonna get it too.”

  “The other jocks? Brock's friends?” I ask, confused. She leans forward and in conspirator's tones says, “They didn't know, the asshats.”

  “What did they think they were doing?” I ask, perplexed, thinking of Cas beating all five.

  “They thought they were gonna jump Castile.”

  People were seldom brave as individuals, but in groups, they were invincible.

  “So Brock convinces them that they need to beat up Cas...”

  “Then he hits a girl, and Castile freight trains on their asses!” she squeals again, clapping her hands together and gives a celebratory hop.

  Something's not adding up. Brock had been a royal dick. True. Cas had made him look bad. Brad had too. He was on my radar to avoid at all costs.

  I'm almost there on working it through when Carlie asks, “So I heard you guys were found by the Janitor's closet.”

  I keep a straight face but my skin is the tell, flaming to a high red and Carlie bursts out laughing.

  “Slut!” she hisses in glee.

  “Takes one to know one,” I whisper back with a smile in my voice.

  She grins, “You're okay, Mackey.”

  I smile.

  I will be.

  15

  The entire university campus is in high spirits. Brock is the scapegoat and has been pinned with the rape/murders of a half dozen girls since 2011 while his cadre of mouth-breathing friends had gotten off relatively unscathed. Only guilty of not knowing what Brock had really been up to.

  I still wasn't buying it. The evidence was circumstantial and entirely too easy for my taste.

  Or my brand of inert paranoia. I don't know what part of me couldn't stomach Brock being The One. But I didn't. Even his interest in me, threatening me... seemed false, forced somehow. Had he scared me? Well, yeah. But why had he focused on me?

  I asked Brad in class, for once talking after lecture instead of during.

  He looked over at me, boots stacked underneath the seat in front of him. “Jess... he was an all-around dick. He has a thing about females. Equal opportunity. He killed them. K? Who knows how many girls he did something to without killing them. Bad stuff, ya dig?”

  I did.

  Brad is a good guy, and Brock hadn't been. It's obvious. But a date rapist was not a serial murderer. For one, I didn't think Brock was all that bright. Thad had been. I kept coming back to the only point of reference I had. It wasn't speculative either, I had first hand knowledge.

  I'd done some cursory research and serial killers were usually borderline genius IQ.

  I knew from hard experience Thad was. When I was little and I'd found the dead bodies of animals Thad “experimented” on and he threatened me then; I knew. I knew if I told I'd end up like them. So I told Faith to stay sane in a household where eyes like a storm watched me. Threatening pewter clouds roiling in my direction, ready to rain on my head at the slightest provocation. When the sexual intimidation began, I had nowhere to turn; except Faith.

  “Hey,” Brad says.

  “Huh?” I lift my head and realize he's called my name a few times.

  His eyes latch onto mine and don't let go. “What is it?”

  I shrug and give a nervous smile. “I think they've got the wrong guy, is all.”

  Brad opened his mouth and I interrupt him, “He's a bad guy, but he's not the killer.”

  “The cops have evidence, Jess,” he says with the gravity of truth behind him.

  I bet they do, I think, stil
l an unbeliever.

  Then Brad gives me a sideways hug. “I'm glad you're okay and that jackass is where he deserves to be.” He winks and it's case closed to Brad.

  I sit and stew.

  Brock's not innocent but he's not guilty of this.

  *

  I leave Biology, thinking about Cas, who's disappeared again. I'm more confused than before, if possible. I almost run straight into Mitch, who catches me by the shoulders.

  I look up at him and give a slow blink; my thoughts have been elsewhere.

  “Let's talk, Jess,” he says.

  My body coils with anxiety, I clutch my backpack reflexively.

  I knew this was coming. I can't handle the two men. I couldn't handle what had happened with Brock... with Cas. But for two different reasons.

  I resign myself to being late to the next class, my grades were suffering for so many reasons. It'd be easy to blame it on dance. But the reality was the distraction of Devin Castile and what he brought to the table, or didn't bring... has changed my focus. It's moved from survival and anonymity to wanting to be with him. On whatever pathetic terms he dictated.

  I walk beside Mitch and wonder where we'd be if there'd been no Devin Castile? Would I be in a romantic relationship with Mitch Maverick? Cruising around in his vintage Camaro, visiting a dead sister's grave then taking in the fancy restaurants he somehow manages to afford?

  I don't know because there is Cas. It's like he's always been. That my life had started when I met him. He's the man that awoke me from the sleep of my existence. For that one thing I'll always be grateful.

  Tawny Simon, I think suddenly. His sister's killer has been found. I turn to Mitch as he opens the door ahead of me. “Brock's been arrested, Tawny's killer is... he's going to prison,” I say.

  I don't really believe it's Brock but everyone else does, he's been arrested so it's official, right?

  “Yeah,” Mitch says, then in a flat voice he says, “that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Hmm... didn't sound like he wanted to talk about it. Then his eyes are on me like pale strobes. “I wanted to talk about the other day. And the day that Brock paid you and Castile a visit.”

  Shit-damn-shit. I so don't want to talk about Cas and I.

  We move outside as the other students flow through the courtyard, oblivious of two students standing in an awkward pairing underneath a tree that's littered its leaves all around us. They crunch underfoot as I shift my nervous weight. I think it's bizarre on about a hundred levels that he doesn't want to air his relief that there's closure to Tawny's death.

  But he blows me away with, “I know about the closet... you and Castile screwing in there.”

  I'm speechless, robbed of my reaction, I can feel my throat closing up and fight off a panic attack. I don't know why I'd get one when it has nothing to do with memory triggers of Thad or anything like it but I fight it, breathing deeply.

  I don't owe Mitch and explanation. He looks at me like I'm some slut and it makes me angry. Who's the pushy one? Not me.

  I feel my eyes narrow. “How are you doing, Jess... since you were attacked,” I seethe at him. “Or, how about: I'm so glad my sister's murderer has been caught.” I huff and fold my arms across my chest, cradling my breasts. “Why do you care about me and Cas? And,” I stab my finger in the air, ignoring his expression as it darkens, “how about you trying to get in my pants no matter what I want, huh?”

  He moves in against me and I am suddenly afraid. This guy that I'd thought was hot was now all hard angles and angry planes, his light eyes a fierce blazing fire out of a face whose mouth had turned up in a leering snarl. “I should have fucked you right then. Why not?” he says, flinging his hands out and some students that had been mindlessly trudging turn to stare. “You'll fuck anyone... anywhere, right Jess?” he says with soft menace.

  I back away and my mouth drops open.

  He doesn't know me. I'd been attacked by a fellow student now arrested for the murder of six female students and he was worried about my closet activities. How come I didn't see it?

  I had seen, I had ignored it. The car, the rich venues... his pushiness with sex. Like it was expected. That if he condescended to date me, he got to screw me. As it turned out, he didn't want to share either. It wasn't somehow hot either, like Cas had made it sound. Mitch made me feel like he'd peed on me. It felt dirty

  I feel dirty.

  “I'm not going to dignify that with an answer,” I say as rage drips from my voice. I go to turn away, hurt and confused, shame a close friend. I know my behavior with Cas has been erratic and spontaneous. But I wasn't Mitch's girlfriend, not quite yet, and he didn't get to lay claim to me by putting me down in front of the student body and marking his territory with his dick.

  He took a long step and grabbed my elbow, the strength of his grip was like a band of metal around me.

  “Let me go, Mitch,” I say in a low voice, holding outright fear off by the skin of my teeth.

  “Yeah!” I hear Carlie say, “Let her go ya cock-juggler!”

  Jesus, I breathe like a prayer as he releases me.

  Mitch turns on her, then he looks at all the students around and they're all staring at him. He glares at them. Eyes that had been beautifully light now appeared as slits of unrelenting silver.

  “Whatever,” he says, flinging his hand out. “We're done here.”

  I just stare at him as Carlie comes from behind me. “Jack wagon,” she whispers.

  Mitch gives a last dark look in my direction. Carlie flips him the bird and he stalks off.

  She searches my face then asks, “What the fuck was that about?”

  Carlie looks around, seeing some rubberneckers still lingering and says, “Piss off, show's over.”

  They wander off as the time for class has begun.

  “You're going to be late for class, Carlie,” I say.

  “Fuck that,” she says and winks.

  I burst into tears.

  “Ah come on, Mackey, you're tougher than that.” Carlie takes me into her arms, holding me as I cry.

  Two women comforting each other.

  I pull away.

  “Tell Carlie, baby.”

  I do.

  She listens, fuming more with each word. “Well, damn!” She gives a stomp of her high heeled boot. “That peckerwood.”

  I snicker and she cracks a smile.

  Carlie shakes her head. “It doesn’t' make sense. Mitch is smokin' hot, right?”

  I'd thought so. “His behavior's not. It leaves much to be desired.”

  Carlie's brows draw together. “That's a weird-ass expression.”

  “My mom used to say it a lot,” I say before I think.

  She gets a sad expression. “I'm sorry you had to give up your family, Jess.”

  Me too. “My mom made her choice... and it wasn't me.”

  Carlie's eyes met mine. “You love her.”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  She sighs. I watch her breath puff like a plume of icy frost when she exhales. “I don't know what to say about Mitch, Jess.”

  “He's an assclown?” I interject.

  Carlie laughs until she wipes her eyes. “He's definitely that. He seemed so into you though.” She looks at me. “Now he's decided he's pissed about you and Castile after he said 'may the best man win'.” She drops her hands from the airquotes she made. “I don't get it.”

  “Me either, but he won't be getting in the golden panties...”

  Carlie looked at me. “I've definitely been a bad influence.”

  I nod and grin. “Definitely.”

  “Sluts unite!” she says.

  I agree, high-fiving her. It's a lame attempt to make me feel better about getting dressed down in public but it kinda works.

  I guess life has made the decision for me after all. Mitch thinks I'm not worth pursuing because I did Cas in a closet.

  She loops an arm through mine, escorting me to my next class, gruesome Physics. “So how was the closet?” she asks in
nocently.

  “I'll never think the same about cleaning again....” I say with a sly glance.

  Carlie barks out a laugh and the wound that Mitch laid on me begins to slowly heal. There are scars beneath but this latest hurt won't become one. Because I have her.

  And a little bit, I have Cas.

  *

  I check my phone and there's no text from Cas. Where is he?

  There's a text from Mitch. My finger hovers for a second then I swipe it over the top, erasing it. Erasing him.

  Like I want to say anything to him.

  I admit I'm a little curious but if he's going to take more chunks out of me? No, better never to read it.

  I stuff my cell in my gear and hoof it to dance, my bun trying to come loose as I slowly jog to the auditorium.

  Boel's in a vile mood, pushing Shelby and me until we think we'll die, or wish to.

  At the end of practice when we limp toward the door Boel says, “Miss Mackey?”

  Shelby says, “Better you than me.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I say. So not funny.

  He faces me, uncomfortable. What? That's my job. I let my gear dump at my feet and he looks pointedly at my face.

  At the healing mark from Brock.

  “I've heard about the episode.”

  Brock getting arrested.

  His eyes darken. “You seem to be a magnet for dangerous men, Miss Mackey.”

  I don't know what to say, I'd like to refute it. But there was Brock.

  Then there was Cas. Had he hurt me? No. Was he violent.

  Oh yes.

  There was Thad... but how was that remotely my fault?

  Finally, there's Mitch. He's in some sort of gray category I can't name. He'd seemed so perfect and suddenly- not. His behavior has certainly not been consistent. And he is secretive, that phone call rising up to remind me that he hadn't been a good choice.

  Boel drags me back to the moment with, “At the Seattle Pacific Ballet Company... we pride ourselves on our professionalism.”

  Seriously?

  He ignores my stance, which clearly says, back off. My leotard begins to stick to my body as it chills against my skin.