Come Undone

by AJ Matthews

  “Yep. And Mac, thanks for always helping. I’m lucky you’re my friend.”

  He nods again and bolts out the door of my attic bedroom, the stairs creaking under his feet. I walk to my closet and hum the theme from Pretty in Pink. I believed Andie and Blane should be together, but Mom always liked Duckie best. Mom said he got Andie, and he stayed by her side when things got ugly.

  Mom might be onto something after all.

  “Push it down/Keep it bottled inside/Don’t let it show/Go along for the ride.”—Lyrics from “Freak” by Mac Kelly

  I HIT THE BOTTOM OF THE creaking stairs and lean back against the whitewashed house. I push out the breath I’d been holding since Trini had hugged me and stared up into my eyes.

  What the hell? God, I love this girl, and Dean is such a jerk for breaking up with her because she’d gained the freshman fifteen while they were apart at two different schools. Who cares? Trini is short, barely five feet tall, and so the fifteen pounds show, but she looks so good, and she doesn’t seem to mind the little extra.

  A monumental breakthrough, given her struggles with food and body image.

  Did I mention how amazing her curves are? I want her to be happy with herself, which appears to be the case. With school, with her body, with me, now. It took us a little time to get back on track after she started dating Dean. I sensed he’d do this to her. Break her heart over something petty.

  He doesn’t deserve her. He never did.

  I jump on my bike and pedal through the old, familiar streets of Key West. The masts of boats docked at the seaport are a familiar beacon as I pedal my way home to help set up for my brother’s engagement party.

  Trini’s expression, when she touched my face, encouraged me. It was so different from a secretthe “friend” look. Tonight’s the night. I’m going to tell her I love her, and pray she loves me too.

  Or die of embarrassment and possibly lose my best friend.

  “Even though competition for gigs amongst the musicians is fierce, loyalty is fiercer.”—Trini Díáz, Songs in the Key of Paradise

  MAC’S STILL TWITCHY and I don’t get why. He won’t talk to me. Does he think I’m going to burst into tears again? Did that scare him earlier today?

  “Hey.” I nudge at his arm. “Wanna go outside? I’m a bit warm, and fresh—”

  A quiet commotion erupts when Thea’s friend Leesh enters the house with a hot Indian guy in tow. Hmm. Things just got a little interesting. Thea and Leesh are deep in conversation, and Shay motions for us to come over.

  Shay whispers, “Bennie’s missing.”

  Bennie is Thea’s other close friend, here from North Carolina for the party.

  Shay continues, “Leesh got a weird call from her, and now she isn’t answering her phone. Do you guys mind helping us look for her?”

  Mac and I both respond affirmatively, and Shay sends us to check the streets and alleys west of Duval. While neither Mac nor I are Key West natives, we’ve been here since we were kids, and we could ride our bikes down these streets practically blindfolded.

  We set off on foot and hike the few blocks to our destination. Leesh and Dev (the hot Indian guy) follow. They’re taking the bars on Duval, which Mac and I can’t get into because we’re both under twenty-one. We part ways at Sloppy Joe’s. Mac and I walk to the end of Eaton and find no sign of Bennie, so we backtrack.

  We pass the theater, and Mac’s head jerks toward the alley next to the building. His long legs come to a grinding halt.

  I stop next to him. I’m too short to see over the fence. “Do you see something, Mac?”

  “I’m not sure. Hey, why don’t you check in the theater?” He pulls out his phone and sends me the photo Leesh had texted him earlier. His eyes dart in the direction of the alley again. “I’m going to check over here to make sure it’s nothing.”

  Wow. Mac’s so in command, a contrast to his “go-with-the-flow” personality. Rocking the boat is scary to him, so action is a big thing. I like Mac, the quiet, observant rock. But this in-charge Mac is something. I’m not sure what, but I like it. A lot. This disturbs me a little.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a few.” I head into the theater as Mac heads to scout the alley. He reaches over and unlatches the gate. For a quick second, I ponder what it would be like to be more than just friends.

  “How could you never see/This love for you/Shining bright inside of me?”—Lyrics from “Blind” by Mac Kelly

  IT WAS THE GIGGLING. When Trini enters the theater, another shrill giggle carries over the gate followed by his voice. Dean’s low, smooth tone, reassuring the giggler that no one would find them.

  The voices fade, replaced by disgusting, slurpy noises, I assume of the pair making out. Gross. I wait a second, deciding on my course of action. Do I give him a verbal warning?

  I decide no.

  I approach quietly, grab him by the shoulder, and spin him to face me.

  He sputters. “What the fuck, Mac? Man, what are you doing here?”

  “I should be asking you that, Dean. You know, your girlfriend …”

  “Wait, you have a girlfriend?” The giggler brushes her pale hair out of her face, squaring her thin shoulders as she holds up her hand. “I’m out.”

  She stomps away, and Dean calls after her. “Ex. I have an ex-girlfriend. Stephanie, wait.”

  “My name is Stella, loser.” She stops, spitting something at Dean’s feet. “Here’s your gum back, dickwad.”

  Her wedge sandals clip-clop on the blacktop and the gate slams shut behind her.

  She’s like so many of the other girls Dean dated throughout high school, or so Trini told me. I never paid attention. But the giggler is slender, and Dean’s words to Trini about losing weight echo in my head.

  “Dude,” Dean sputters again. “So uncool!”

  “I’m uncool? Stella’s right, dickwad. You broke up with Trini like two weeks ago. You could’ve waited a little longer.”

  “She broke up with me, if you wanna get technical about it.” He plants his feet in front of mine, his nose nearly touching mine. His breath reeks of beer and minty gum.

  My hands twitch as I search for the insulting words. “Because she refused your ridiculous ultimatum? After she found you with another girl at the party?”

  “What’s your point? I’m single, and so is Trini. We can do whatever we want.”

  I turn my back. He’s not worth the time, and I need to get back to the theater entrance before Trini comes out.

  Dean laughs behind me. “By the way, you’re welcome. You’re now free to fuck her. She’s actually not a bad lay …”

  I pivot to face him. Blood boils behind my eyes, driving my fists forward. I’d never hit anyone in anger. I’d punched and sparred a little when Mom and Da had signed me up for martial arts classes, but had never been in a fight.

  The crack of my fist against his jaw is much more satisfying than it should have been. It felt … good.

  So good, I hit him again, this time connecting with his lip. He doubles over, touches his fingers to his swelling lip, and glares up at me.

  From his position close to the ground, he lunges, catching me off guard. I stumble a bit as he swings, right hand first, left next. The first shot grazes my chin, but out of sheer luck, or because I’m sober and a little more coordinated than he is at this moment, I avoid significant injury. I swing again, landing a blow to his gut.

  He falls to his knees and shakes his head. “You’re lucky, man. Out of respect for Trini, I’ll spare you the beat-down tonight.”

  “Out of respect for … you are kidding, right?” I shoot him a look my brothers call my “crazy eyes.” Dean’s never respected her.

  “Don’t make me change my mind, Kelly.” He slurs his words and staggers to his feet. He bumps his shoulder into me as he stomps from the alley, but flinches and runs when I take a step at him again.

  I may have scared him. If not with my fists, which did more damage than I had expected, then with my reputation. My au
tism has never been a secret. I had a few legendary outbursts in high school, including head-butting lockers and scratching myself till I bled. I dropped out and got my G.E.D. My mom worked nights, and for a few hours each day she helped me study so I could pass the test. I barely squeaked by, but I at least accomplished my parents’ goal of graduating from high school. The Kelly boys were so lucky she came into our lives when she did.

  I shake my hand. It’ll be swollen later. My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I pull it out.

  Shay: Found her. She’s fine. You’ll never believe where she was. Ask Liam when you get home.

  Huh. That should be an interesting story. I leave the alley behind, stepping through the gate as Trini exits the theater. She shakes her head, her curls glowing pink, yellow, and blue from the neon sign above the building. “No Bennie inside. The manager let me walk through the auditoriums, but no sign.”

  I stuff my right hand into my pocket before she notices anything, and I rub my chin with my other hand. She’ll find out what happened eventually. I can’t cover that up for long. Will she hate me for hitting him? Still, I’m not sorry I hurt him.

  “Did you find anything?” She links her arm into mine and we begin the trek home.

  “Nothing. A stray dog.” I fidget with the picks in my pocket and pull away from her a bit. Not a total lie, at least the “dog” part. “But I got a text from Shay. They found Bennie, so we can go now.”

  “Oh, how sad about the stray dog. But I’m glad Bennie’s okay.” She leans back into me.

  This time, I don’t pull away.

  “The lowest of lows/you always pulled me out of the dark mist/and without you/I’ll never find true bliss.”—Lyrics from “True Bliss” by Mac Kelly

  “WHAT THE HELL DO you mean you punched Dean? Why?” The expression on Trini’s face tells me she is not pleased by this development. “What did he do?”

  “I … well …” I want to tell her I caught Dean fondling a girl in the alley next to the movie theater, but she’ll press for details. Who was the girl? What did she look like? I don’t want to tell her. I want her to hate Dean, but I don’t want her to feel bad about herself.

  I want her to love me. The way I’d been madly in love with her since we first met a dozen years ago. So I lie. “He hurt you, Trini, and I wanted him to hurt too, even if that meant giving him a bloody lip.”

  “A bloody … Mac, come on! Why?” Trini flings her hands up as she paces around the room, careful not to walk into the sloped ceiling of her attic bedroom. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

  Not the reaction I’d wanted at all.

  “Th-that’s not all.” Do I tell her about the girl now?

  No.

  Tell her the other thing, how you love her…

  Could this one thing be the game changer?

  She crosses her arms and glares at me. It’s a pose I’m familiar with. Once I saw her throw down the first day we met when I was eight years old, on the playground. I was flapping my hands and spinning, and a bully started teasing me. I’ve learned to control my stimming—self-stimulatory behavior, like repetitive physical movements, sounds, and moving stuff around—but it was pronounced when I was younger. Trini beat up the bully, and to me she was the bravest, prettiest girl ever. It was her first day at school, and she was defending me instead of the other way around.

  It was not a good thing she was aiming the glare at me. The sting from her gaze burns into my own eyes. I stare up at the ceiling, and the age-old urge to flap my fingers crawls from my brain to my arms and into my hands.

  Instead, I stuff my hands in my pockets. I have to tell her something.

  So a partial truth it will be.

  I swallow. Bite my lip. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck, despite the cooling breeze billowing the curtains through the open window.

  “I love you.”

  “Don’t, Mac. I love you too, but don’t use our friendship as an excuse.”

  Shit. She doesn’t get it. Try again.

  I swallow the massive lump of chicken shit clogging my throat and spit the words out.

  “No, Trini. That’s not what I mean.”

  She furrows her brow, the thick dark arches slashing across the soft bronze of her complexion. “What do you mean?”

  I’m inept at handling spontaneous emotions. Confrontation scares me, makes me want to crawl into bed and stuff my head under the covers. I’d found a home in the dark, or more accurately, it found a home in me when I was young. My family helped pull me back to the surface. Someone else pulled me back into the sun.

  Trini.

  I want her to be mine. Really be mine. So I’ll take this plunge. If I don’t, I’ll never know, and I have to find out.

  I’m no good at taking chances, either, but this might be the last one I get. I find my strength in her questioning eyes.

  “I … Trini, I am in love with you. I have been forever.”

  The sole sound is the creak of the floorboard as I shift my weight from one foot to the other, rocking to calm myself.

  She simply stares at me, like she’s never seen me until this moment.

  Like she wants to know who this stranger is standing in her bedroom.

  My heart pounds with a steady, booming rhythm, like the tortured, twisted bass line from the opening of U2’s “Bullet the Blue Sky.” The vibrating bass line threatening to explode and shatter the windows at any moment? That’s the thud in my chest.

  I blank on what to do next.

  So I take two steps, lean down, and kiss her.

  I almost expect her to kick me, but something amazing happens.

  For a moment, she relaxes and kisses me back, her full mouth softening under my rather inexperienced kiss.

  A few seconds later, my lips are cold. The screen door slams, and she’s gone, leaving me standing in her bedroom alone.

  Like a giant tool.

  “For the island musicians, breaks arrive unexpectedly. Sadly, the pitfalls come in the same way, at the most inopportune times.”—Trini Díáz, Songs in the Key of Paradise

  WHAT THE HELL just happened?

  Mac’s in love with me? Since when?

  The kiss was totally unexpected. Inappropriate.

  I wanted to smack Mac for thinking he needed to defend me.

  But the kiss evoked a response in me I hadn’t been expecting.

  Arousal.

  No one but Dean had ever stirred such a reaction in me. I’m so confused.

  I backtrack from the house to Simonton Street and cut down to South Street. I’m familiar with this network of streets and alleys, the shortcuts to take to get where I need to go. I know how to avoid the crowds of drunken, grabby New Year’s Eve revelers and entitled rich kids with their fake IDs trying to get into bars on Duval.

  The scent of salt clings to my skin, my clothes. These things barely register with me anymore, but the smells bring me home when I have a lousy day.

  Like now.

  Mom’s revelation. I have something to tell you, honey. About your dad.

  Mac’s confession. I’m in love with you.

  Dean insulting me. You’ve gained weight.

  My heart is shattered into a thousand pieces, shards ripping away at my nerves, my ligaments, down to the bone. I’ve never hurt so much in my life.

  Dean. I need to find him. Beg him to forgive Mac’s behavior.

  No. Katrina Díáz, you do not beg anyone for anything.

  But I need to plead with him not to press charges against Mac.

  Is pleading the same as begging?

  I need to practice this in my head.

  Dean. I’m sorry my best friend attacked you. Please let it go. He won’t do well in jail. I quicken my pace. I need to get to Dean, make sure he’s okay, or okay enough to not have Mac arrested for assault.

  How dare Mac interfere? He’s pissed at Dean for hurting me, but still … hitting someone is so unlike Mac. He’s never been violent, and while he has a temper, he always walks away
before it gets the best of him. If he does hurt anyone, it’s always himself.

  What had transpired between him and Dean?

  I shake my head, brushing away the loose strands of frizzy hair falling into my eyes.

  I wind my way to the back entrance of Dean’s house, which sits on South Street near the Southernmost Point tourist attraction. Dean is staying in the guest house since his parents remodeled the upper level of the massive early-twentieth-century home when he left for college.

  The hushed murmur of voices filters through the open screen door. Dean’s large silhouette leans against the wall, and a petite figure, Dean’s cousin, Markie, holds up something to his face. An ice bag or towel.

  The bottom step of the porch creaks under my weight, and Dean’s head jerks toward the sound.

  I smile weakly, and Dean frowns.

  Of course he’s going to be angry. I kicked him off my bed, laughed when he hit his head, and my best friend clobbered him with apparently no provocation.

  Dean takes off to the back room of the guest house, leaving Markie to confront me.

  I meet her nose to nose at the screen door.

  “Hey.” She jerks her chin up in greeting, and my eyes fall to something in her hand.

  A bloody towel.

  “Oh my God, Markie, is he okay? Does he need stitches? I’m not sure why—”

  “Your new boyfriend hit him?” I’m surprised when the poison dripping from her words doesn’t kill me.

  “Mac is not my boyfriend! I just found out about this. I didn’t know what he’d done.” Though I’m still not buying Mac’s story about his reason for doing it.

  “Sorry. Dean will be fine. A busted lip. A little bruising. But why are you here? You guys broke up. Leave it alone. He’s not in the mood to talk to anybody. He called me to avoid going to the ER, given the way people like to gossip around this place.”

  My shoulders sag. I won’t be able to reason with him tonight. “Okay. Thanks Markie.” I turn to leave, but need to know. “Did he say anything about calling the police? On Mac?”