Firsts

by Laurie Elizabeth Flynn

  “Why do you hate your mom?” Charlie says, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

  “Excuse me?” I say, taken aback by his bluntness.

  “You just seem to really hate her,” he says, sitting on the edge of my duvet. “She’s really pretty cool, for a mom.”

  “No offense, but I’d rather not talk about Kim,” I say, gripping the armrests of my chair. “We’re here to talk about you and Angela.” I resist the urge to add, And you know absolutely nothing about our fucked-up family situation, so don’t pretend you do.

  “She just wants you to be happy,” he says, raising the bottle to his lips again. “She wants you to find a boyfriend.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Kim told you that? Why would she talk about that with you?”

  He shrugs. “We talk about a lot of things. She says you haven’t found anyone special yet. She told me she gets her hopes up whenever someone new comes over.”

  I stare at my fingers, clamped on the armrests. I’m gripping them so tightly that my knuckles are turning white. I knew Kim was a terrible parent, but I didn’t think she would stoop as low as discussing my love life with my best friend’s boyfriend. I guess I was wrong.

  “She’s full of shit,” I say through gritted teeth. “If someone new comes over, it’s one of hers.”

  Charlie holds one hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa, chill out. I didn’t mean anything. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  I relax my grip and force my mouth into a smile. “Well, enough about Kim’s stupid fantasies. Now, let’s get to whatever you’re planning for Angela.”

  “We are getting to it,” he says. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

  “I’m sure she will love it, whatever it is,” I say. “Just don’t put too much pressure on yourself. Don’t stress out. I’m sure it’ll be something she will never forget.” I’m saying the words but not really meaning them.

  Charlie does another shot of rum and shakes his head. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  He puts the bottle on the floor and stretches his arms over his head. His neck makes a cracking sound. “You’d never guess it, but I know it’s true.”

  I pull my knees against my chest. “I think you’ve had enough to drink, Charlie. I don’t even know what you’re saying. I get that you’re nervous about … whatever it is you’re nervous about, but you’re not going to find any answers at the bottom of that bottle.”

  He nods like I have just said something incredibly profound. Then he stands up and does a lap around my bed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. No more rum for Charlie.”

  I glance at the clock on my nightstand. It’s almost five. Zach is coming at seven. I wish I would have told him to come earlier. I suddenly want any excuse to get rid of Charlie. Not to mention, the way he is referring to himself in the third person is creeping me out.

  “So, Miss Mercy, where do I find the answers?” He throws his arms into an exaggerated shrug.

  “In here,” I say, half-sarcastically, pointing to my heart. I expect him to laugh, to call me out on being a smart-ass. Anything except what he actually does.

  He tries to kiss me.

  He’s in my face so quickly that I don’t have time to move out of his way. I turn my head just in time so that his lips make contact with my cheek instead of my mouth. The smell of the rum on his breath makes my stomach lurch, and I use my hands to push him backwards. Except my swivel chair catches on something on the carpet and gets stuck, giving him another chance to push himself onto me. This time I almost flip out of the chair in my attempt to stave him off.

  “Charlie, what the fuck are you doing?”

  He’s breathing heavy and starts to laugh, which makes me even more confused and pissed off. I should have insisted we meet at school. This never would have happened there.

  “Don’t fight it,” he says, coming closer. “There’s this thing between us. It’s just getting stronger.”

  “What thing? There’s nothing here besides a mutual love for Angela.” I get out of my chair and point at the door. “I think you should go. You’re drunk.”

  “Angela.” Charlie rubs his hand against his chin, like he’s thinking deeply. “Angela wants so much. Angela wants to wait until we’re married. And apparently Angela’s best friend Mercy thinks it’s important to be sure.” He glares at me, and I realize he knows I talked to Angela.

  He knows, and he’s pissed.

  “You can’t just change her mind,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “And you shouldn’t want to. She’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to respect her. And if you leave now, I won’t tell her about any of this.” I hope he doesn’t realize that this is a complete lie. I absolutely intend to tell Angela everything about what just happened the second Charlie finally gets out of my bedroom.

  He mock gasps. “If I leave now? Are you threatening me?”

  I nod. “If you want to take it as a threat, be my guest. But get out now. Before I throw you out myself.”

  “You won’t do that,” he says. “There’s something you need to do for me first.”

  “And what might that be?”

  He sits down on my bed and pats the empty space next to him. “I want you to give me my first time. From what I hear, you’re good at it.”

  27

  Of all the things I thought Charlie might say—that he was drunk, that he was nervous, that he was sorry for scaring me—that wasn’t one of them. My throat constricts, like my heart has leapt into it and blocked the air supply from the rest of my body. I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears, loud and panicked, like a fire alarm going off inside of me.

  But I don’t give Charlie the satisfaction of my panic. I go with my first instinct instead—playing dumb to find out how much he really knows.

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Charlie. I don’t know where you got that idea, but get it out of your head.”

  He stretches his legs out and pats the comforter. “So this is where the magic happens. I have to say, when I heard about what you do, I didn’t believe it. But I found out for myself.” He grins, a maniacal smile that makes me feel like I’m going to be sick.

  “What do you mean, found out for yourself?” I fall into my swivel chair because I’m afraid my legs might give out at any second.

  “Well, you don’t just take these things at face value. Rumors are rumors. And locker-room talk is, well, locker-room talk. But I overheard Connor Reid in there one day, telling a couple dudes how he finally banged his girlfriend. With your help.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, fighting off a fresh wave of panic. Connor Reid, number four, aka the Screamer. Except when I slept with him, he didn’t play soccer. He played baseball, so I thought he was safe. Exactly how long has Charlie known about me?

  I stare icily. “So what? So some guy has a fantasy about me. Big deal.”

  Charlie shakes his head. He’s still smiling, that shit-eating grin. “That’s what I thought, too. But I had some questions, so I followed up. Turns out, you have a huge following, and not just in one social circle, either. I figured that many people couldn’t all be liars. So I did my homework.”

  “And?” My voice sounds a lot shakier than I wish it did.

  “And you definitely live up to your reputation.” He crawls up my comforter to my pillows. I get increasingly nauseous as I watch him rifle through the clutter on my nightstand, where my laptop is sitting. When he spreads out his palm to show me, he’s holding a little silver and black orb.

  “A webcam.” He curls his fingers around the orb. “I had to see for myself, so I had a friend set it up. I think you know him intimately. He might have wanted to blindfold you? And God, was there ever a lot to see.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from throwing up. “You’re joking. That’s not a webcam. It’s a trick.”

  Charlie looks down at his hand and starts ticking names off his fingers. “After Juan, there was Jeremy
Roth, twice. Or was it three times? And that Zach guy, but I already suspected you were doing it with him. And you finished with Rafe Lawrence. I loved that look the best. All black and those red lips.” He smacks his own lips together.

  My eyes dart between the webcam and Charlie’s smirking face. I’m very aware that I’m trapped in here, trapped in my own bedroom with Charlie and all his knowledge about what has transpired in this very room. Charlie can probably read the shock all over my face, and maybe the panic there, too. So I try a new tactic. Honesty.

  “What do you want, Charlie? You want me to admit it?”

  He taps his fingers on my nightstand. “I want you to do the same for me that you did for them. Those are my terms. If you don’t comply, I’ll show that video to everybody, and the whole school will know exactly what you’ve been doing with their boyfriends and writing in that little book of yours.”

  “But why?” I say, my voice rising. “Why do you even care what I do or who I do it with?”

  “You brought this on yourself,” he says, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “At first, I just wanted to know if it was true. But then you had to go and blow my whole surprise. She knows I have something planned. She made it clear she’s not giving it up until we’re married, so I figured, why not come to you? You’re obviously ready and willing.”

  My face is burning, but I try not to outwardly react, despite the way my heart is ramming against my rib cage. If he isn’t lying and there is a video, I will most definitely have to change schools. But that is a much better prospect than betraying my best friend. That is something I would never do.

  When I don’t say anything, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound makes my skin crawl.

  “I just don’t get it,” he says. “Why would somebody who gets laid as much as you do want to stop me from getting any? What’s in it for you?” He narrows his eyes. “Or maybe you wanted this all along. For my first time to be with you.”

  “I’m not sleeping with you, Charlie,” I say steadily. “Blackmail isn’t going to work on me.” Somehow my voice comes out sounding much stronger than I feel.

  He rubs his jawline with his hand and shakes his head. At first he doesn’t say anything, and I hope he realizes exactly how ridiculous his plan really is. But then he looks up, and the meanness in his eyes leaves no question in my mind.

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” he says, and he’s on me before I have time to react. When I try to wiggle out of the chair, he pushes it against the wall and traps me there. His knee is pressed against my chest, and he’s groping my breasts roughly with his hand.

  “I know what you like,” he says. “In your words, a firm, decisive touch. Except I like to touch a bit harder than that.” He braces his hands on my shoulders. I scrabble with my free hand and manage to claw him across the face with my fingernails, deep enough to draw blood.

  “You bitch.” He puts his fingers to his cheek and stares at the blood, like it’s somebody else’s. I use the distraction to try to knee him in the groin, but he just pulls me closer to him.

  “You know you want to,” he says. “I see how you look at me. Stop fighting it.”

  My heart is pounding and I want to scream, to hit him again, to run away. My mind races. Go for his vulnerable spots. Knees. Throat. Nose. Eyes. But I’m paralyzed, trapped in my own fear like a fly tangled in a web. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it. Waiting for whatever he’s going to do.

  But he lets go of me and drops his arms at his sides. I crack my eyes open. Run. Run. Run, Mercedes.

  I don’t run. I’m not in control, just like I wasn’t in control four years ago with Luke. I’m the same thirteen-year-old, the one who acted like she was going on twenty.

  Charlie leans in close and I duck my head and cower. His hot breath curdles in my ear.

  “Don’t even think about telling anyone,” he whispers. “You tell anyone, and I will destroy you. Everybody will see that video. And I’ll have to tell Angela how you seduced me, too.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I can’t breathe. I can’t function. I brace myself. But he backs away from me. Each step feels like a million miles. It’s not until he’s at the door that I realize he’s leaving. The second he’s out of my room, my body starts listening to my mind and I lock the door and crumple to the floor with my hands wrapped around my knees. Protective stance, the kind they showed us in case of earthquakes.

  I hear him clomping down the stairs, the sound of his boots thudding as he hits the landing. Then I hear the door slam.

  My hands start to shake uncontrollably. The sound of my own heartbeat is everywhere, the sound track to my failure. Thump, thump. Coward. Weakling. Thump, thump. Victim. Liar. I told myself that nobody would ever control me, not after Luke. But here I am, in a heap on the floor all over again. Nothing has changed. I haven’t changed.

  I don’t know how long I sit there for, if it’s seconds or hours. I sit on the floor until I hear the front door open. My body clenches up when I think it could be Charlie, but the clack-clack-clack on the tile floor could only come from Kim’s stiletto heels.

  I should get up and march downstairs and tell Kim everything.

  But what would I tell her? She wouldn’t believe me anyway. She would probably be on Charlie’s side. I can just picture Charlie flexing his muscles and telling her his side of the story. She seduced me. Invited me up to her bedroom. What could I say?

  I should call Angela. Angela needs to know.

  This time I get up on quivering legs. My cell phone is on my desk, and I vaguely remember it was buzzing earlier, but I don’t make a move to reach it. I collapse on my bed instead and stare up at the ceiling, like I have so many times before, but this time is different. This time I see all the cracks, the spiderweb forming in one corner. The maid really should get rid of that.

  I can’t tell Angela, because if I tell Angela, the whole story will come out. I’ll have to tell her why Charlie threatened to destroy me. And I don’t know whose side she would be on. I don’t know if she would believe me. Charlie is her perfect boyfriend, the one who is willing to wait until marriage. The wholesome, caring guy who gave her the promise ring. The soccer star, the jock with a heart of gold.

  And I’m the girl who slept with everybody’s boyfriends.

  Nobody will believe me.

  All this time I thought I was in control, keeping the upper hand for myself, calling the shots, playing by my rules. But I haven’t been, not really. Because I had the chance to fight back and I froze. A deer in the headlights, just like I was with Luke.

  My body goes from feeling light and insubstantial, like I’m not really here at all, to feeling like a boulder has settled in the pit of my stomach, its jagged edges extending everywhere. It was different with Luke. I was different with Luke.

  Was I?

  But maybe I would have deserved it all the same. I let fourteen people at our school into my bedroom for the same thing Charlie wanted from me: a first time. Did I honestly think he wouldn’t find out, sooner or later?

  Nothing happened. Nothing happened. I’m safe.

  But I can’t get rid of this mess so easily. I can’t push it into some dark place in the back of my head and forget about it. I tried to do that with Luke, to cover it up. To bury it. And instead it almost just happened all over again, like a sick version of déjà vu.

  This time, I can’t pretend nothing happened.

  28

  “Knock knock, knock knock.” The voice is accompanied by a rap-rap-rap on my door. For the first ten seconds I’m awake, I think it’s just another normal day, albeit one I overslept for. But then everything comes flooding back to me. Charlie. His hands on my shoulders. His breath in my ear.

  His threat.

  “Knock knock, Mercedes. You’re late.”

  Since when does Kim even know what time I’m supposed to be at school? Since when does Kim know anything about me?

  Kim starts jangling my doorknob, and I’m grateful I locked it.
I can just imagine her impatient, bony hand, with all her bracelets knocking against the knob.

  “Honey, you shouldn’t be locking me out. And you’re going to be late for school.”

  I open my mouth to shout something at her—probably would have been profanity—but nausea comes up instead. I reach for the garbage can beside my bed just in time to throw up into it. I wait for Kim to yell through the door, probably something about bulimia ruining your tooth enamel. But thankfully the knocking and jangling ceases and I hear her footsteps walking away.

  I stand up slowly. My head hurts. I instinctively grab my cell phone, even though I’m scared to see what’s waiting for me. Seven missed calls and nine text messages, all from Zach. Shit. Zach. Our study date, the one I had been promising him for so long. I read the messages through eyes blurry with tears.

  Hey, I’m coming over a bit early. Hope that’s okay! If it’s not okay, I’m bringing Chinese food so hopefully that will change your mind.

  Hey, I’m in your driveway. Your Jeep is here so I know you’re home. I’m knocking. Want to let me in?

  Okay, now I’m going to eat your egg roll. Can’t you hear your doorbell?

  You did mean tonight, right? Not some other night? I knew I should write stuff down.

  Okay, now I’m sitting on your porch because I’m getting kind of worried.

  I have called enough times to officially be considered a stalker. Please call me if you get this.

  This is strange—Angela’s boyfriend just left your house. Is there something I should know?

  I’m still here, waiting.

  I’m leaving now. I guess I’ll see you around.

  I don’t call him back, even though my fingers hover over the keypad on my phone. I have lied about so much, kept so much of my life a secret that there’s no way Zach could possibly understand. If he knew the truth, he would never want to talk to me again. And I couldn’t really blame him.

  I turn my phone off instead.

  I consider staying home today, coming up with a mystery illness. But what would I do, and where would I go? So I stand up slowly and shuffle to my bathroom and run the shower water, even though I don’t plan on getting in it. The thought of standing up to wash my hair and rinse out the shampoo is much too complicated, and I can’t afford the time it would take to blow dry and style it after. So I run the water while I sit on the toilet.