by Nikki Chase
They fight in the kitchen while I have breakfast before going to school; they fight as soon as they get home from work; they fight in the living room while I do my homework upstairs. I have to wear headphones to concentrate on anything.
I put my hand inside the pocket of my coat to play with my iPod, running my thumb over the smooth surface of the scroll wheel. I leave it off, though.
I choose to listen to my parents talking in normal voices to each other. Each night, I find myself raising the volume of the iPod to drown out my parents’ voices. This is a nice change of pace.
Besides, the speakers inside the mall are playing Coldplay’s Viva La Vida, which I’ve been playing on repeat. The music sounds different when Chris Martin isn’t practically screaming in my ears. It’s better.
All around us are other families. Parents and children. Couples on dates.
We probably look just like them, but we’re different.
While they stroll leisurely, we’re marching with purpose. While they chat casually with one another, I’m silently watching my parents speak in hushed, tense tones. While they browse the stores for things to purchase, we’ve only paid attention to one store in particular.
Toy Kingdom.
It’s heaven for most children, with their endless shelves stacked high with all kinds of colorful plastic things.
It’s hell for us, though. We can trace all our problems to that store. When Toy Kingdom first opened, that was the beginning of our downfall. It changed everything almost overnight.
There used to be kids running all over my parents’ store all the time. I had to watch my step so I wouldn’t run into them, or let them run into me. But now, I can close my eyes to navigate the store.
The shelves used to be packed so tightly with too many boxes that I sometimes had no idea how to fit everything. But now there’s plenty of empty spaces between the toys.
Also, I hardly get to paste the “New!” stickers on the shelves anymore, because my parents can’t afford to broaden the range of their inventory anymore, now that the store isn’t making enough money.
Judging from what my parents say during their arguments, they can barely afford to pay our bills, much less stock the store with new, shiny, expensive toys.
My parents stop talking as we walk past the window display of Toy Kingdom, filled with Barbie dolls in pink boxes, a big, life-sized dog made of Lego bricks, and Peppa Pig doll houses. Bright light spills out of the store, along with the screams and laughter of kids. The store is so big it takes us forever to reach the other side.
Past Toy Kingdom, there’s an innocuous door that leads to a narrow hallway. We wait here for an elevator that takes us up to another hallway that looks identical to the one downstairs, except for what’s waiting for us behind the door.
Mom and Dad share a look before they push the door open and walk through the doorway together. There’s a big wooden counter right in front of us. And behind it, about ten desks where people sit in front of their computers.
My parents are still holding hands as they reach the counter, where they’re greeted by a pretty brunette in her twenties.
“Good afternoon, how can I help you?” she asks chirpily.
“We have an appointment with Ethan Hunter,” Dad says.
“Right. Please give me a second.” She holds a pencil in her hand and drags it down the page of a big book in front of her. She stops halfway down the page and looks up. Giving my parents a friendly smile, she asks, “The Joneses, right?”
“Yes,” Mom answers, a little too quickly, revealing her nervousness.
Mom looks exhausted—I don't usually notice when we're at home. But here, when she's standing right in front of a woman who obviously takes good care of herself, I see it.
Mom wears make-up today, and a nice, color-coordinated pantsuit. But the redness in her eyes, the bags underneath, and the dullness of her hair show the cracks not just in her appearance, but also in her psyche.
“Please follow me,” the receptionist says. She leads us across the office until we reach some couches grouped around a coffee table. “Please wait here. I’ll check if Mr. Hunter is able to see you now.”
The brunette knocks on a door. I hear a faint voice from inside, deep and authoritative. She turns on her heels, her floral skirt swishing gracefully as she does, and invites us to go in.
“Wait here, sweetie,” Mom says as I get up to follow them.
“But, Mom, I—”
“Listen to me just this once. Please,” Mom says impatiently as she walks away, only briefly glancing my way as she does. She and Dad disappear into the enclosed office that belongs to the guy called Mr. Hunter, who I can assume is the one in charge of the whole mall.
I sit back down, feeling guilty for bothering my mom when she's obviously distraught. At the same time, I hate being treated like a child. I'm already thirteen, damn it.
I put on some music on my iPod and look around. Dull grey carpet, plywood desks, fluorescent lighting—this part of the mall looks nowhere close to how nice and shiny everything is downstairs, where the shops are.
As I absent-mindedly rub my iPod and pass it from one hand to another, guilt burrows itself deep within me, constricting my lungs. My parents bought the music player for me back before this mall opened, back before there was a Toy Kingdom in our neighborhood, back before we ever had any money problems.
Sometimes, despite its small size and light weight compared to my old portable CD player, the iPod feels heavy in my pocket. Guilt adds a lot of weight to it.
It feels like forever until my parents finally emerge from the door in front of me. I turn off the music as soon as the door opens, and realize I would've been able to hear the tail end of their secret adult conversation had I not played any songs. They are speaking at pretty loud volumes now.
“Please!” Mom says, desperation in her voice. “You have to give us a chance. We have no idea what we're going to do without our store.”
“I’m sorry,” says a man with the same deep voice who told the receptionist to let them in earlier.
He doesn't sound very apologetic; if anything, he seems rushed. He’s barely focusing on my parents anymore. Instead, he’s looking past both of them, his gaze flicking around like he's looking for someone.
“Please,” Mom repeats, even as she backs out of the office, her palms together like she’s saying a prayer to her new, human god. She’s no longer holding Dad’s hand.
“We shouldn't even have had this meeting,” the man-god says.
“But Mr. Hunter, like we said, we’ll make sure it will meet your requirements.” Dad tries to wedge himself in the door, even as Mr. Hunter’s hand on his shoulder clearly indicates that he wants my parents out of his office.
“Again, it's not personal. I just don't see how I could help you. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll find a way out of your problems.” Mr. Hunter raises his eyebrows at someone behind my parents’ backs. I follow his gaze and find a burly man wearing the mall security uniform rushing toward the office doorway where the commotion is.
Oh, no. This is not going to go well.
I sling my schoolbag over my shoulder and get up, compelled by adrenaline. But what do I do now? What can I do?
Dad snaps his head around when the security guard touches his shoulder, alarm etched in his face. His eyes are wild and his mouth is open. His expression reminds me of a baby raccoon we once cornered in our backyard.
“Please follow me, Sir, Ma’am,” the guard says, his face stern and his voice demanding. He’s not just another mall worker putting on his fake customer-service smile. This guy’s job is to be aggressive.
And my parents know it, too. They can’t bargain or argue with this guy. They’ve lost the battle. No—worse than that, they’ve lost the war.
Again, I follow behind my parents. This time, though, there’s a security guard trailing us, making sure we leave the premises.
Also, my parents are no longer holding hands. They’re not talkin
g either. We’re just looking ahead, not meeting the eyes of the office workers but fully aware they’re staring at us regardless.
As we walk past the receptionist’s counter, she catches me gazing at her and pretends to look down at her book of appointments. I wonder why someone so pretty, someone who looks so much like an angel, could stand to work for the devil and ignore his misdeeds.
The security guard insists on “escorting” us down the elevator and out of the mall. I hold my precious iPod in my pocket as we walk across the parking lot, disappointed and ashamed.
I have no idea what actually happened inside that office, but I know it wasn’t good. I know we’re in even deeper trouble than we already were.
Once we’re all seated inside the car and all the doors are closed, Mom sobs into her palms. Dad just sits there with his hands on the steering wheel, staring into the distance, not even bothering to turn on the ignition.
“Mom, Dad,” I say softly as I lean forward and pop my head between the two front seats. “I can sell my iPod on Craigslist and get a part-time job.”
“No!” Mom cries out, her voice shaking. “You’re a child. Be a child.”
“But Mom—”
“I said no,” she repeats. Despite the obvious tremor in her voice, her words are firm. “I may not be able to get that…man to listen to me. But my own daughter will listen to me.”
I lean back in my seat and keep my mouth shut. We sit there, the silence only occasionally broken when Mom catches her breath in between her quiet weeping.
The air, already somber from the mood, gets more and more suffocating as the oxygen gets replaced by the carbon dioxide we breathe out.
Finally, Dad turns on the engine. As we drive home, the air gradually gets lighter, but the atmosphere remains grave.
We bring that same mood into the house, where it remains, hanging in the air. It feels like that one summer when there was a dead rat slowly decomposing in the vent, spreading the smell of death throughout our living space.
Too bad we can’t just call someone to get rid of this dark, heavy atmosphere.
Megan
“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” Ethan says in the darkness, making me jump in shock. When I twist around to look at him, he’s smiling. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s just… I didn’t hear you.” I widen my eyes to make out his silhouette in the dark.
There’s some light from outside that filters in through the glass walls, but not much. The neon signs on the skyscrapers around us are bright. But beyond the buildings, the ocean looms, dark and terrifying, reaching up to drag the night sky into its depths.
Suddenly, I get self-conscious about the clothes I’m wearing. Normally, when I see Ethan at the office, I’m in a nice blouse, tight pencil skirt, and heels. Tonight, I’m dressed for bed in a pair of hot-pink shorts and a black oversized shirt that I got for free from some writing competition at college.
I’m not the only one who looks different tonight. Ethan is wearing a white T-shirt with faded stains and a pair of grey sweatpants that leave little to the imagination.
My gaze travels to the bulge that’s clearly outlined by the fabric. Heat sears across my cheeks. Luckily, he can’t see the color of my face in this darkness.
“If you’re wondering about what the hell I’m wearing, I can explain.” Ethan pulls the bottom of his shirt away from his muscular body, stretching the fabric. He walks down the hallway, approaching me. “I got these stains from watching Penny draw with some watercolors. I guess I wasn’t staying far enough from her. But this shirt is so comfortable I can’t bring myself to throw it away.”
As Ethan stops just a few inches from me, my heart pounds in my chest, so hard I can almost hear the beats.
This feels intimate, to see each other in the dark at two in the morning, when most of the city is asleep.
It evokes the kind of magic I used to feel whenever I was having sleepovers as a teenager. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m not at home, which makes it hard for me to fully relax. At the same time, this is better than home, in other ways.
“Can’t sleep?” Ethan asks.
“Yeah.” I can’t tell him I’ve been tossing and turning, thinking about him for the last three hours. Specifically, thinking about something he did eight years ago, something he probably doesn’t even remember.
I realize I saw the incident through the lens of a girl whose parents were desperate and were turned away by an unsympathetic man.
But I hadn’t heard the story from that man’s side. And I hadn’t ever revisited or revised my position on the matter, despite how long it had been.
If I’m going to be an objective reporter of facts, I’d have to give equal weight to all sides.
At the time, Ethan must’ve been dealing with difficult problems of his own. Penny was living with Ashley, being neglected and used as a weapon against her own dad. Ethan had just recovered from a deadly illness.
He needed to earn a lot of money, so he could hire someone to get Penny back. He would’ve done anything to get there.
So he listened to his business sense when considering proposals like the one my parents had put forward, instead of choosing to work with people with the saddest sob stories.
There’s nothing wrong with maximizing profits. That’s the whole premise of capitalism. Arguably, there’s nothing more American than that.
But what does that mean for my mission? What have I even been doing this whole time, if Ethan hasn’t even done anything wrong?
“It’s nice to just stand here and look out there when you can’t sleep,” Ethan says, breaking the silence again.
“Yeah.” I pretend like I’m busy staring out at the city, but from the corners of my eyes I can see Ethan gazing at me with desire in his darkened eyes.
I want him, but at the same time, he scares the hell out of me—not because I think he would deliberately hurt me, but because of how he makes me feel.
I may be a virgin, but I’ve kissed enough boys to know that what we have isn’t normal. I feel like I could get burned if he gets any closer, even if he doesn’t mean me any harm, even if he’s careful.
At the same time, I want him to consume me.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Ethan lets his words hang in the air, filling the silence with thick tension. He knows I know what he wants to talk about. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
Ethan chuckles. “That’s the third time you’ve responded with ‘yeah.’ Only your inflection is different.”
“Sorry.” I turn to face him. As our eyes meet, I realize I shouldn’t have looked directly at him.
“It’s okay. I don’t usually like to talk much when it’s this late, too. But like I said, it’s different with you, and I can’t understand why,” he says. His stare is too intense. He doesn’t hide the fact that he wants me at all.
With great difficulty, I tear my gaze off him and focus my vision outside instead, where the city lights are shining so bright they block out the stars.
“So, this question…” Ethan takes a couple of steps in the dark until he’s standing right behind me. “Last night. I’ve been wondering why you left.”
“I just… I didn’t think it was a good idea.” I bit my lip as I listen to Ethan’s regular breathing. His presence, his nearness, makes my heart race.
“Why not?” He gathers my hair and sweeps it to the front, over my right shoulder. I hold my breath as my hair tumbles down my chest. The tips of Ethan’s fingers graze lightly against the base of my neck, making my hairs stand on end.
“I… Uh… This… We’re supposed to be… This is just pretend,” I say, stumbling all over my words. It’s a difficult thing to discuss, for sure, but his breath on the back of my neck isn’t helping me focus.
“It doesn’t have to be.” Ethan leans closer until his mouth is almost touching my neck.
I keep expecting to feel him on my skin, but there�
�s only the heat emanating from his body.
When he brushes his lips lightly against my exposed neck, my breath catches in my throat.
“What do you mean?” I ask when I finally find my voice. I sound breathless and a little hoarse. It’s kinda sexy, if I may say so myself. But I feel vulnerable, knowing Ethan can manipulate my body into unfamiliar responses.
“I mean, we can turn this into anything we like.” Ethan wraps his arms around my waist, and I realize he’s got me trapped. Not because I can’t leave, but because I don’t want to.
“Anything?” It feels too good here. It’s warm and safe. At the same time, my nerve endings are wide awake, waiting for Ethan to light them up with pleasure.
“Anything.” Ethan puts one hand in my hair and makes a fist, pulling my head to the side. He leans in and claims my neck with his mouth, kissing my skin and biting my flesh.
“Ethan,” I sigh, surprising myself with the lust in my voice. My breath fogs up the glass in front of me. There’s more I want to say, but the words won’t come out.
“I love it when you call my name like that,” he says between kisses.
“Ethan, we shouldn’t be doing this,” I finish my sentence.
“I don’t know. It feels to me like this is exactly what we should be doing.” He raises his free hand up to squeeze my breast through the thin fabric of my shirt. Without a bra in the way, he can freely roam all over my tits and the valley between them. Lightly pinching my nipple, he says, “Look how hard your nipples already are.”
I look down to find out he’s right. They’re like little pebbles poking through my shirt. I never sleep with a bra, and now I’m regretting it. But I have to admit I’m also enjoying this.
“Penny might wake up,” I say.
“It’s nice of you to think about her,” he says teasingly. “Don’t worry, she’s a heavy sleeper. She has never woken up to wander in the middle of the night.”
“What if she needs to go to the bathroom?”
