In Control (The City Series)

by Crystal Serowka

  “Happy birthday!” he said, kissing my cheeks, my neck, and my forehead.

  I laughed as he spun me around and when he eventually let me down, he kissed me one last time on the lips. I tasted the alcohol, but that didn’t surprise me. It was a Saturday morning and usually we’d start it with a few sips of whiskey. What did surprise me was that Porter had done it alone.

  “You started drinking already?” I asked.

  “I just had a tiny sip. I was nervous and that seemed to do the trick.”

  I nodded and he led me into his house. His mom had already left for yoga, and his dad had gone out of town for business. We weren’t usually allowed in the house by ourselves, but Porter told his parents he was going to meet me, giving us the chance to be alone. He escorted me up the stairs and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

  When I looked at Porter’s room, I was surprised at how different it was than I imagined. In my mind, I pictured gray walls and car posters hung with tape. In real life, his walls were dark blue, complete with framed photos of athletic stars. He had a large bookcase on the wall opposite the window, and across from his full-size bed, a TV far too massive. His floor was always free of clothing, and I liked that everything seemed to be in perfect order. In my room, I was the same way, keeping everything I owned in neat rows. When I told Porter that I loved how clean he was, he told me that it was also one of the things he loved about me. He said that his crush began as he watched me arrange my school items. I’d put two pencils on each side of my notebook, keeping everything perfectly symmetrical. I never realized I did it until he pointed it out. He said it was one of my many quirks.

  Porter walked to his closet as I sat on the edge of his unmade bed. “This is for you,” he said, handing me a box.

  The wrapping paper had colorful macaroons printed on it and the package was tied with a bright yellow bow. The box was large, and I’d never held something so beautiful in my hands. I didn’t even want to tear the paper off, so when I tried carefully peeling the tape away, Porter became irritated.

  “Just rip it off,” he insisted.

  “But it’s so pretty. I’d like to save the paper.”

  He exhaled, but allowed me to take my time. Underneath the pretty wrapping was a plain black box, and I was tempted to shake the box before pulling the top off.

  “Open it,” he ordered, standing in front of me with his arms crossed against his chest.

  I slowly opened the box and instantly felt my smile drop. Before Porter could notice the change in my expression, I displayed a cheerful grin. “Wow,” I said, touching the gift. “Thank you.”

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s such a thoughtful gift.” I masked my sadness, hoping Porter couldn’t tell how displeased I really was.

  I placed the large box off to the side and stood up to give him a hug.

  “Are you happy or sad?” Porter asked, his voice betraying a trace of fear.

  “So happy,” I lied.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting from Porter. I wasn’t expecting a present at all, but when he revealed that he had gotten me something, I never expected him to be so selfish as to buy something that would be for his own enjoyment.

  I never expected it to be a bottle of whiskey.

  “Good,” he whispered in my ear.

  I didn’t want him to know how unhappy I was. He’d be so upset if he knew that I was expecting his present to be something else, anything else. I couldn’t let him see that I wanted our relationship to go back to what it used to be during the summer. I couldn’t lose him.

  So I kissed him. I kissed him with more of myself than I ever had. During our kiss, I was surprised to feel parts of my body tremble, which confused me, because it wasn’t a scared tremble—it was an excited one. First I felt my knees weaken as Porter’s lips scanned my earlobe. Then I felt my stomach clench when his lips moved onto my neck. When his hands reached up onto my hips, his fingers lightly caressing my skin, I became aware of the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Parts of my body were tingling. Other parts were clutching at my nerves.

  Porter pressed his body to mine and a familiar fear filled me. I didn’t realize I’d pushed him as hard as I did until I saw the mirror above his dresser shake. His eyes were as big as golf balls and his mouth hung wide open.

  “I-I’m so sorry,” I said, grabbing for his hand.

  The hardness between Porter’s legs made every memory I’d banished from that night come alive. When it happened, I’d felt the same thing, right against my thigh, only this time I could actually do something about it.

  I doubled over, my stomach spilling the contents of last night’s dinner. The images replaying in my mind continued to gag me, and it wasn’t until I began dry heaving that I started to cry. I opened my eyes to see that I had made a mess not only on Porter’s carpet, but also his feet.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I cried.

  He was silent. He stood above me, looking down at the mess I had made. His hands covered his mouth and I knew in his mind he was wishing he never told me he loved me.

  “Can you get a towel in the hallway closet?” he asked through his fingers.

  I nodded and grabbed a towel, hurrying back to the disaster. I bent down to wipe the carpet, but Porter grabbed it from my hands and immediately wiped his feet.

  “Porter, I’m so—”

  “Just stop!” he yelled.

  More tears raced down my cheeks and I wanted so badly to die in that moment. The embarrassment from this was something I’d never get over. Porter would never look at me the same, and he’d probably dump me for someone who didn’t puke on him when getting intimate.

  When Porter finished wiping his feet, he dropped to the floor and began scrubbing at the carpet.

  “Please talk to me,” I pleaded. I sat on the ground, trying to reach for the towel, but each time Porter pushed my hand away.

  “You puked on my floor and me, and I’m not sure if it was my boner that set this all off, but this definitely isn’t what I had in mind for today.”

  His clipped tone made the leftover remnants in my stomach stir. He hissed expletives under his breath as he rubbed the towel against the carpet. The back and forth motion continued for at least five minutes, and when he lifted the towel up, a small stain was all that was left behind.

  “Porter,” I reached for his hand, and this time he didn’t push it away, “I’m sorry.”

  His look revealed how disgusted he was. He shook away my hand, almost like he hadn’t realized I was holding onto it until that second. “It’s like every time I try and touch you, you flip out!” he practically shouted. “You push me away whenever I reach a certain point, and that’s not fair. We’ve been dating for a while now, and I haven’t even seen you without a shirt on. I haven’t even touched your boobs, which is something Charlotte let me do the first week we dated!”

  The mention of Charlotte’s name made both of my hands clench into tight fists. I couldn’t be like every other girl. I couldn’t open myself up to a boy I loved because all he would see is ugliness. He wouldn’t ever be able to understand why I don’t allow his fingers to roam and why I can’t let him see where I sleep at night. I wished I could tell Porter, but every time I tried, Mrs. Henderson’s voice filled my head. Don’t say a word to anyone. Or else.

  I cried harder, but Porter just sat right in front of me, ignoring my sadness. He focused on the stain, only looking up every few seconds. I shouldn’t have been surprised that this birthday turned into a disaster, but in a small way, I was. I was convinced this one would be different, that it would be perfect because I finally had love in my life.

  “I think you should go home. We can meet tomorrow at my parent’s building. I just want to be alone right now.”

  I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t be able to change Porter’s mind. I wished I could press rewind and not feel sick to my stomach when I felt him against my legs. I wished I could have pulled him ev
en closer and kissed him hard to prove that I wanted the same thing he did. But I couldn’t. I was terrified of the memories that seemed to pry their way into my happy bubble and burst it apart like it never existed.

  I didn’t bother taking the bottle of alcohol he had given me. I left it, thinking that maybe he needed it more than I did. I took my time leaving, hoping that he’d run after me. But he didn’t. By the time I reached the front door of the house, I could hear music blaring from his bedroom. It was angry music, the kind you’d listen to in a fit of rage. Before walking off of Porter’s property, I untied the red balloons from his mailbox and held the strings in my hands. Since I wasn’t going to have a birthday cake, the balloons were my only chance at making a wish. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on the only thing I wanted in the whole wide world.

  The balloons floated up into the clouds and I hoped that if there was a genie who made birthday wishes come true, he’d hear mine and award me with a love that would never abandon me.

  Wren and I were drunk. Not just drunk, but belligerent. Somehow, over the course of an hour, we’d polished off the entire bottle of his father’s whiskey. I didn’t even feel bad about it. I was too busy feeling as if I were floating on a cloud.

  “My dad is going to flip the fuck out when he sees this bottle is gone,” Wren slurred.

  “We’ll just buy him a new one,” I said, knowing the cost wouldn’t be coming from my bank account. All I’d had left in my account was what Trish had given to me to last the summer, and even that wouldn’t get me very far.

  “K, it’s a rare bottle, meaning we can’t just go to the store and replace it,” he explained.

  “Well...fuck.”

  We sat next to one another on the sectional, both of us leaning haphazardly on the pillows. Wren lifted the empty bottle to his mouth, drinking the last few droplets. It was quiet in the Kavanagh house, and I’m pretty sure one of his parents must have stormed out because we heard the front door slam and a car peel out of the driveway.

  “Do your parents fight often?” I asked, knowing I was bringing up a sore subject.

  “No, that’s what’s weird is they never fight. I was just home the other weekend and they acted fine.”

  I scanned the room, realizing that everything I looked and seemed as if it were moving on its own. I focused on the reading chair in the corner only to find that it was in fact dancing across the room. I hadn’t been this drunk in a while only because Wren usually cut me off after three glasses. He didn’t always do that, but when he became aware that it was the only way I’d open up, he quickly put a stop to it. He said that he didn’t want to learn about me that way; he felt that I shouldn’t have to be blasted to reveal my life story.

  I didn’t want to reveal my life story at all, and no matter how much alcohol filled my stomach, there wasn’t ever going to be a moment I told Wren my darkest secrets. I’d never told anyone what I endured as a child, or what happened between Porter and me. I felt that it wasn’t anyone’s business, and why burden someone else with my problems?

  I walked over to the stereo sitting atop the entertainment center and turned it on. I scanned the CDs sitting next to it, searching for something that would liven the mood. Band of Horses, Death Cab for Cutie, Barcelona, Explosions in the Sky. Continuing to browse, I saw more bands that Wren and I loved, knowing that all of this music must have been his. I popped in Explosions in the Sky, a band we’d usually only listen to when laying in his bed, but figured it’d be the perfect soundtrack to this night.

  “Ah, good choice,” Wren said as the first song began playing.

  I sat close to him, practically on his lap, and stared up at the coffered ceiling. Whenever I drank too much, my mind immediately went to details in my life that I’d always shut out. I wasn’t able to hold them back, and because my brain couldn’t prevent them from invading, I had to watch each memory flicker through. Since I’d met Wren, there had only been a handful of times that I’d gotten to this point, not able to withstand the memories, and I was thankful for that. In a way, without him knowing, his rule of not allowing me more than three glasses of liquor, protected me from the horrid images.

  The first memory came to me. The night it happened. It was the worst memory of all, and the one that I kept hidden beneath all of the rest. To this day, I could still feel Mr. Henderson’s hands on my thigh. I could still feel his fingertips stroke my cheek as he told me how pretty I was. After all of these years, I still felt the ugly marks left behind.

  Wren touched my hand and I abruptly jumped up from the couch. I didn’t realize how heavy I was breathing until the background music had stopped and all I could hear was my own panting.

  “Are you okay?” Wren asked. He stood up and put his arms around my shoulders.

  I didn’t shake them away. Instead, I let them wrap me like a security blanket and basked in the immediate relief. My breathing slowed, but the disgusting image stayed in the spotlight.

  “Kingsley?” Wren lightly shook my shoulders, trying his best to get my attention.

  I focused on his eyes, trying to force myself to get away from the memory. I was clawing to escape but every time I tried, Mr. Henderson was right there, standing in front of me, stroking my cheek with his calloused hands. I screamed, pushing Wren’s body off of me, and ran to the opposite side of the room. I cradled my body into the corner, shielding my face from view. Tears spilled from my eyes, and my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.

  “Kingsley, please,” Wren pleaded, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Leave me alone!” I cried. I rocked back and forth, not able to stop myself. My hands were shaking. I could feel the pain from my nails but couldn’t undo my fists. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Wren quickly grabbed a garbage can, forcing it between my knees. I adjusted my body and held onto the can tightly, taking deep breaths in through my nose and exhaling out my mouth. This seemed to help the nausea subside, and I continued doing it until I was able to finally look up at him. The room stopped spinning, but I could feel my brain seesawing inside my head. Up and down. Up and down.

  Wren knelt down, placing the can aside. “Talk to me. Tell me what just happened.”

  Many times I opened my mouth, thinking of ways to explain, but every explanation I came up with revealed too much.

  “Please, Kingsley!”

  The undeniable urgency in Wren’s tone made me feel horrible. I knew he wanted to know why I acted the way I did, but how do you tell a person you’d been raped? How do you tell someone that the incident lit a fire inside you, and every event that had happened since then played off of that night?

  You don’t.

  You hold it all in, and yes, you feel like your insides are going to burst with all of the negative memories you keep locked inside, but you don’t dare tell a soul unless you want to appear weak.

  “I just felt sick for a second. It’s nothing,” I lied.

  Wren looked down at the carpet for a few seconds before standing up and walking to the stereo. He turned it off, then spun back to look at me. “You’re never going to open up to me. How am I supposed to love you if you won’t allow me to love all of you?” He waited, seeing if I would answer his question. When he realized I wasn’t, he walked up the stairs, closing the basement door behind him.

  The room was dark, the only light coming from the lamp in the corner. The soft wattage created a relaxing effect, but my insides were anything but. I sat against the wall, aware that I messed everything up. Again. I’d be surprised if my bags weren’t packed and waiting by the front door when I went upstairs.

  When I left the Hendersons, it was a moment I’d looked forward to for such a long time, but it was also a terrifying one. I was still underage, so I went straight back to the children’s home I came from. I was heartbroken, lost, confused, and so completely damaged that I never thought I’d be normal again. The counselors told me that the depression would get better over time. They said that the medicine I ha
d to take every day would start working soon, and then I’d feel human again. I sat in the room that was assigned to me, staring at the bare white walls and waiting for that moment that never came. I became restless and soon began refusing to take the drugs they were prescribing me. They weren’t helping anyway.

  A week passed and a counselor came into my room, claiming that a nice lady was there to pick me up and take me to her home. I automatically feared the worst, remembering the exact situation with the Hendersons. What nice lady would want to meet a fourteen-year-old girl who had nothing to give? I walked into the waiting room and was greeted by a beautiful woman with a smile almost as sweet as Ms. Cole’s. Her brown hair was cut short, ending just under her chin, and her petite frame was covered by loose-fitting jeans and a green silk blouse. I approached the table, seeing that I was at least five inches taller than her. She wasn’t deterred by my height, instead she looked up, greeting me with the same warm smile.

  “Hi. My name is Trish. You must be Kingsley.”

  I noticed her accent, but couldn’t place where she was from. Her delicate voice produced a calmness in me I hadn’t felt since being with Porter. I took her outstretched hand in mine and shook it.

  “I’ll let you two have a moment to get to know one another better,” the counselor said before leaving the room.

  I sat across from Trish, staring at everything but her. She seemed nice, but so did the Hendersons the first time I met them.

  “You must be really confused with what’s going on,” she concluded.

  “Why do you want to foster me?” I asked blatantly, expecting to hear how I was just another paycheck, or her husband needed someone to touch in the middle of the night. Instead she said that she wasn’t able to have babies of her own. She told me that she’d been trying for years to become pregnant, and it was no longer an option. She exposed to me the truth, saying that she dreamed of caring for someone other than just herself.

  “This morning I got a call from your counselor, and she told me that she had a scared little girl that just needed to be loved.” Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke. “I didn’t care that you were already a teenager. All I heard was that you needed someone. Five minutes later, I was in the car and now here I am.”