by S. Walden
Evan bent down and kissed her stomach. He kissed her hands that stayed locked in between her legs. He kissed her inner thighs, moving his hands up and down her outer legs. She relaxed and didn’t resist when he peeled away her hands to leave her completely exposed to him. She shut her eyes tightly, imagining what he thought looking at her. She did not have to imagine for very long. She heard the sharp intake of his breath.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
The heat moved over her body in one sweeping wave, and she tried to close her legs. He kept them apart.
“I’m going to make you come for me, Clara.”
She shivered then let out a whimper as she felt a kiss there. A light kiss, and then another, and then his tongue, and then the dark box she entered to confess her sins. Warm and velvety and she knew she’d done wrong, but ahhhh, she had to keep doing wrong. It felt good to do it, and she wanted to pay for it. She trembled for wanting it, the punishment. She’d say it over and over, penance so sweet until she settled her debt. Then she was lifted off her knees, embraced by God who drew her up, up, up until she reached the crystal gates that opened to her undoing, and she screamed and cried her exploding pleasure into the vast whiteness.
Clara and Evan sat on the couch side by side. He ran his hand through his hair for something to do. She, fully clothed now, stared ahead of her wondering what the hell just happened.
“I’m just going to be honest with you, Clara,” Evan said after a time. “I’ve never made a girl come like that before. I mean, I don’t think I’m all that or anything, but damn.”
“Be quiet, Evan,” Clara snapped.
“Okay.”
“And don’t mention other girls after you’ve done . . . that,” she said.
“You’re right,” he replied. “That was inconsiderate of me.”
She whirled around to face him. “And exactly how many girls have you done that to?”
“Oh God,” he groaned.
“What does that mean? A lot?” she asked, feeling her temper rise.
“None, Clara.” He passed a hand through his hair again.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied.
“Why? You brought it up. You said you’ve never made a girl come like that before,” Clara said. “Congratulations. You must feel really good about yourself.”
“Yeah, I do,” Evan snapped. “What the hell is wrong with that? You didn’t seem to mind it.” He thought to yank her pants off and show her again how much she didn’t mind it.
“Tell me, did I taste as good as those other girls? Does poor pussy taste as good as rich pussy?” Clara jumped up from the couch.
“What is wrong with you?” Evan asked. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Because I’d like to know what I’m competing with,” she said. “And you still haven’t answered my question. How many girls? Do you keep a tally?”
“Oh my God, Clara.”
“Well? Do you?!”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she cried. “You say something stupid and then I ask you to tell me how many girls and you act like there haven’t been other girls!”
“There’ve been other girls, okay?!” he shouted. “I’m not a fucking monk!”
Clara stared at the floor. She seethed with an anger she knew was unjustified. Yes, his comment was stupid, but she was angry that he’d had other sexual partners, and that wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair—she didn’t even know him then—but she was infuriated and jealous nonetheless.
“I’ve been with three girls, okay?” he confessed. His blood boiled with words he knew he shouldn’t say, but he was pissed off, so he said them anyway. “And your pussy tasted better than any of theirs.”
Clara blushed furiously, and then she found her voice. “You’re an asshole.”
“Okay, Clara.”
Her brain took her someplace she didn’t want to go. A place that forced her to consider why a gorgeous, popular senior would want to date her. And then she realized it was because she was an easy conquest. She couldn’t fight him when he pursued her. Couldn’t resist him when he kissed her the first time. Couldn’t say no when he spread her legs and told her what he planned to do to her.
“You don’t care about me at all,” she whispered. “I’m just easy for you.”
Evan had enough. He stood up towering over her and grabbed her upper arm. “If I didn’t care about you, then I would have demanded you return the favor,” he hissed. “But I didn’t do that, Clara. I made you feel good. I wasn’t being selfish. I was showing you how much I care about you. So stop playing the victim. Get over the fact that I was with other girls. I didn’t know you then. So get the fuck over it.”
She yanked her arm out of his grasp. She couldn’t look at his face. Hers burned a deep scarlet, and she knew if she didn’t leave now he would see her cry, and there was no way in hell she was going to let him see her cry.
She walked out of the basement without a word.
***
Beatrice chattered on about her science project and dinner with Angela and her family. Clara was preoccupied, feeling guilty for letting Evan do the things he did to her, wondering if she could still consider herself a “good girl.” She also couldn’t shake his frank words and how they made her face burn with embarrassment. He did make her feel good. Too good, and she couldn’t deny it.
She thought about the chilly house that awaited them and decided she would ask Ms. Debbie about spending the night. It was simply too cold, and the girls slept in misery for the past three days. Even Beatrice, who looked at everything as an adventure and could find the positive in all situations, couldn’t pretend that she liked “camping out” anymore.
Clara turned on to her street and saw the flashing red lights immediately. Beatrice who was slouched in the passenger seat bolted straight up.
“What’s going on, Clara?” she asked.
Clara’s heartbeat quickened. She prayed silently that it was something minor, but the the EMT’s frenzied urgency told her it was anything but minor.
“I’m not sure, Bea,” she said. “Maybe Ms. Debbie just had an accident, like slipping and falling or something like that.”
She parked the car in front of the next door neighbor’s house. She flew out of the vehicle and ran towards Ms. Debbie’s house.
“What’s going on?” she demanded of the first person she saw.
“Who are you?” a short lady asked. “Get back, please.” She brushed by Clara hurriedly.
Beatrice ran up to stand beside Clara. She took her hand instinctively the way children take their parents’ hands when they need to feel protected.
“What’s happened?” Clara replied not leaving the lady’s side. Beatrice was dragged behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Miss, you need to back up,” the lady said, and looking at Beatrice added, “And take her with you.”
“Jesus Christ, tell me something!” Clara screamed. “I’m her granddaughter! I . . . I was coming over to visit with her tonight. Please, I’m begging you.”
The lady considered her for a brief moment, and then her voice softened. “I’m sorry hon, but your grandma had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God,” Clara gasped. She heard Beatrice let out a quiet sob. “Will she be okay?” Clara asked dazed.
“Sweetheart, she’s dead.”
“I’m cold, Clara,” Beatrice said quietly. She huddled close to the fire wrapped in her winter coat, scarf, and gloves. She pulled her toboggan down over her ears.
“Me too, Bea,” Clara replied, and got up for more firewood. She placed the logs on the weak fire and balled up some newspaper. Once she threw in the paper, the flames shot up, burning hot and angry, and Clara settled herself beside Beatrice to watch the glow.
“She made fantastic pies, Clara,” Beatrice said staring into the flames.
“Y
es she did,” Clara replied pulling on another pair of socks.
“She loved the book Evan got you,” Beatrice went on. “She told me Yeats was her favorite poet, too.”
Clara wiped at a tear that snuck out of the corner of her eye.
“I’m cold,” Beatrice said again.
“Put these socks on, Bea. I’ve got plenty of blankets. We’ll be warm if we sleep snuggled really close beside the fire,” Clara said, but there weren’t enough blankets and socks in the world to warm the chill in the girls’ hearts, and Clara knew it.
Chapter 14
Clara ignored Evan when he sat down beside her in health class the next day. He looked her over and decided how best to start the conversation. He knew he had a right to be angry about her reaction to his sexual history, but he wished now that he didn’t allow her to bait him into an argument. He was bothered that he felt nothing remotely close to remorse for anything he said to her. Not even the comment about her tasting better than any other girls he’d been with.
He realized he was grinning and stopped. It was the truth—that comment—but he had no business voicing it. He knew he messed up. He knew he needed to apologize. He also knew that deep in his heart the apology would be disingenuous. All of her anger stemmed from the fact that she felt frustrated and inexperienced around him. He knew it and tried to be understanding. But there was no way she was going to make him feel guilty for his sexual past. She could be as pious and chaste as she wanted. He’d fix that.
“Clara?” he asked tentatively.
“Hmm?” she replied affecting distraction, holding her latest novel up to her face.
“Will you put your book down?” he asked.
She placed it on the desk and looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have made that comment.”
“Which one?” she asked.
Evan took a deep breath. “The first one,” he replied. “We’ll start with that. I’m sorry for making a comment that sounded like I was comparing you to other girls. I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. I wasn’t even thinking about those other girls when I said it. I was thinking about how happy I was to make you feel so good.”
Clara tried hard to make her expression inscrutable, but she blushed in spite of her efforts. Evan saw and took it as a hopeful sign.
“I really was only thinking about you.”
“And what about that other comment?” she asked.
Evan couldn’t help but grin. “What comment?” he replied. He knew precisely what she was referring to.
Clara narrowed her eyes. “You know.”
“I really don’t,” Evan lied. He just wanted to hear her say it.
Clara lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. “The one where you said I tasted better than those other girls. You were making a comparison then.”
Evan’s grin widened. “You’re not mad about that comment one bit,” he replied. “You’re flattered.”
Clara snorted.
“And I did want to piss you off by saying that, though I knew you’d secretly like it,” he went on.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Evan leaned in close. “Because it is the truth. You do. And if you’d stop being unfair to me by punishing me for being with other girls, then maybe I’d show you again how much you like that comment.”
She felt it instantly, the heat surging in between her legs. How did he make her want to scream at him and scream for him at the same time? She tried to ignore her sexual reaction. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not working,” Clara said. The deep flush in her cheeks told otherwise.
“Clara, you are so pretty. And you know I adore you. So can you just get over yourself already?” Evan asked.
He waited for her to say something. She was thinking, her face screwed up in concentration, and he wondered if she was deciding to let it all go or wondering how much longer she needed to punish him.
“Do you like me for me?” she asked finally. She did not look him in the eyes when she said it.
He wasn’t expecting that. “Yes.”
She looked at him then. Her eyes told him that she believed him. “Okay.”
They held each other’s gaze for a few moments before Clara spoke again.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” she said. “I feel really badly about it. I just feel weird sometimes with you knowing a lot of stuff that I don’t. I know this’ll sound stupid, but it makes me feel like you have the upper hand all the time.”
Evan thought for a moment. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he admitted.
Clara flipped through the pages of her notebook. “Just please don’t compare me to those other girls. In your brain. I don’t want you comparing me. And don’t take advantage of me. You know I don’t know what I’m doing. I probably suck at all of it.”
Evan burst out laughing.
Clara looked up sharply. “That’s funny?”
“I’m sorry, but you said ‘suck,’ and I’m immature,” he replied chuckling.
Clara blushed at her poor choice of words. And then she giggled. Evan was so grateful for it and demanded she lean over towards him. She did, and he planted a kiss on her lips.
“I will never compare you to anyone, okay?” he said. “And I will never take advantage of you. Do you trust me?”
Clara nodded. She smiled and he sighed relief.
“Now the question is, what are you doing this weekend?” he asked lightly.
Clara’s smile faded.
“Going to a funeral,” she whispered.
***
Clara, Evan, and Beatrice walked to the gravesite, Evan in between the sisters and holding their hands. Beatrice wept uncontrollably. Clara had only seen her cry that hard when their mother left, the night they made the joke about her going to the store.
Clara didn’t realize how affected she would be seeing all of the flowers in the church, the pictures of Ms. Debbie displayed on stage. There were so many people there, church members who were deeply grieved by her passing. They looked frightened and empty, and Clara knew why. Ms. Debbie took care of them, and now she was gone. Who would take care of them now? Who would take care of her now? The intensity of Clara’s grief multiplied. Not grief that elicits tears. No, the shocked, numb grief of low, humming fear.
She was scared. She had come to depend on Ms. Debbie and didn’t realize it. For all of Clara’s insistence to provide for and protect Beatrice on her own, she needed her neighbor, and a new fear crept into Clara’s heart. The fear of sole responsibility. There was no adult now, only her, and she was terrified the panic would return, the darkness that almost snared her, the despair that robbed her of her will to fight. It was only temporary, but she remembered going days without washing her hair. She couldn’t remember how she snapped out of it—she thought the voices told her to—but she dreaded the day those feelings of hopelessness returned. She knew deep in her heart they would because she got that from Mom, Beatrice had said. She instinctively placed her hand on her scalp, massaging it with her fingers, feeling around for any oil. She never wanted to feel that again.
The pastor said a few words, and then Ms. Debbie was lowered into the ground. Beatrice turned to Evan who wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, letting her spill her tears all over his suit jacket. Clara watched the scene as though it was a movie and she was part of the theatre audience, separated by the screen, unable to grasp the magnitude and finality of what was happening because she was not a character in it. She was on the outside watching, fingers in her hair searching for oil.
***
Florence approached Clara at her locker.
“I think it’s great you’re dating Evan,” she said abruptly. Florence was odd that way. Sometimes good with social skills and then sometimes apparently absent of them.
“Thank you,” Clara replied smiling.
“It gives the rest of us hope, you know?” she said.
Clara didn’t kn
ow what to say.
“I mean, not that we all have to date popular guys or anything, but just the fact that we’re seen, you know?” she went on. “I mean, I doubt I’m seen, but you know what I’m saying.”
Clara nodded.
“Speaking of,” Florence said looking past Clara down the hall.
“Hey, Clara,” Evan said. “Hey, Florence.”
Florence’s mouth dropped open. She stood for a second staring at him, unable to locate the words that were usually easy for her to find, graceful or not.
“How the hell do you know my name?” she asked.
Evan smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“Did Clara tell you?” Florence asked.
“No.”
“Did anyone tell you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know everybody’s name here?”
“No.”
“Damn,” Florence said.
Clara grinned.
“I was telling Clara that I’m glad you two are dating,” Florence said after a moment. “I told her it gives all us nerds some hope.”
Clara sighed patiently wishing Florence would understand when not to talk.
“You’re not a nerd,” Evan said. He sounded completely genuine.
“Well, a dork then,” Florence corrected.
“Or that,” Evan replied.
Florence considered him. “You’re all right, Evan,” she assessed, and Clara laughed.
“Thank you, Florence.”
“See you in science, Clara,” she said then walked off.
***
Clara rummaged through her bottom drawer for a sweatshirt. She already had on two camisoles and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but she was freezing. She had gone into the living room three times to stoke the fire, but no matter the size and heat of the flames, she could not warm the chill deep within her bones. It ached, threatening to take up permanent residence, and she was frantic to get it out.
