by Susan Soares
Devin moved next to me and interlaced his fingers with mine. “So we should probably grab our seats. Front row center, just so you know.”
I moved my body in front of his and grabbed him by the back of the neck, pulling his face down to meet mine. My lips pressed hard against his. My tongue found its way into his mouth and we swirled and danced around each other’s wet mouths. My breasts were pressed against him and my chest rubbed against his making my already erect nipples even harder. His breath quickened, and I felt his hand massage all over my back and my ass. He pulled my legs up and wrapped them around him, keeping his hand on my behind. As we kissed, he pushed my lower body against his, and I felt him grow even more. Soft, delightful moans escaped me as his mouth found the flesh of my neck.
We were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Show’s about to start,” a male voice said from behind us.
Devin and I broke apart, and I slid down his body. I turned to see a security guard smiling at us. “Great, thanks,” Devin said. We shared a stifled laugh as we followed the guard to our seats.
I’d never sat in the front row of a concert before. The energy in the theater was palatable. The intimate setting of two hundred of Amy Parkson’s devoted fans was something I’d never forget. “So if it didn’t translate back there, I’m very thankful for this,” I whispered in Devin’s ear just before flicking his lobe with my tongue.
“Oh, I got that,” he said while covering his crotch with his hands. He looked me deep in the eyes and said, “I’m happy you’re happy.” His lips rested softly on mine, and he held his mouth there for a deep, penetrating moment.
My heart wanted to fly out of my chest and explode in a spectacle of love sparkles that would sprinkle all over Devin. The lights went out, and the soft strum of a guitar—her guitar—cut through the air, and the crowd began to cheer as Amy Parkson started her show. Everything was magical; the lighting, the acoustics, the musicians, and Amy herself with her voice in perfect angelic form. When she began to sing Forever, my heart had to fight to stop itself from breaking.
***
It was the day before the funeral, and Haley’s mom had asked me to come over. At her request, I’d been working on putting together a compilation DVD of Haley’s life. It had been beyond painful to look through all the photos her mom had given me along with all the photos of the two of us that I had on my computer. I understood why she couldn’t do it, but it still killed me to put it together. Just staring at her bright gray eyes caused my heart to break little by little. I was unable to put any photos up from the past four months or so. I had a few of her, and I could see how the disease had affected her. Her eyes were sunken in, her cheeks protruded, and her color was off. So I did what I had to do. I put together the best selection of pictures from her short, short life. When I’d added them all, it was time to pick a music track to play in the background. There was only one song that would be fitting enough. Forever by Amy Parkson. I added the track to the background of the slide show, and then I sat cross-legged on my bed and held onto my favorite teddy bear with the laptop in front of me, and I pressed play.
The swell of guitar music filled the air as a photo of a little two-year-old Haley in pigtails with frosting on her nose filled the computer screen. Amy’s angelic voice began to sing as the slideshow progressed to a photo of Haley age four dressed as an angel. Moments caught on film documenting this young girl’s life flickered in bright pixels as Amy sang,
When I remember you it’ll be forever
‘Cause now or never you’re still the same
And if you doubt I’ll love you never
You know forever won’t be the same
Fat tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at the photo of Haley and me standing near her swimming pool at her tenth birthday party. We both thought we were hot stuff in our matching polka-dotted bikinis. The photo showed us arm in arm with bright beaming smiles. We thought the world was ours for the taking. The tears continued with the next photo of us giving each other facials at a spa party I had for my eleventh birthday. Haley playing soccer. Haley in dance class. Haley on her swings. Haley accepting her high honors certificate. Haley and her mom. Haley and me at our junior prom. Haley. Haley. Haley. Gone. Gone. Gone. And Amy Parks sang,
When I remember you it’ll be forever
‘Cause now or never you’re still the same
And if you doubt I’ll love your never
You know forever won’t be the same
The slideshow was shown on a loop at her wake. It was set up in a small room across from where the casket was. Just before I left the wake, I peeked into the room. The movie had somehow gotten frozen—probably a problem with the DVD player or something—but it was frozen on a photo of Haley and me. It was taken the day before we started our senior year. We were at the beach standing near the ice cream stand. As an end of summer promotion, they were selling extreme sundaes for one dollar. We each got one and asked some older ladies who were nearby to take our picture eating them. In the photo, we were feeding each other obnoxiously large scoops. Haley smiled through the ice cream I was trying to jam into her mouth, and I was laughing. It was a great shot. I remembered how normal we were then. How normal food was then. I must’ve stood there staring at the photo for a few minutes before the DVD kicked over and moved onto the next photo. It was like it was stuck there on purpose. Like I was meant to remember that photo. Like Haley was trying to tell me to remember her that way, forever.
***
After the show, I felt like I was floating on air. Watching Amy live had been more than I’d ever dreamed of. Every note was perfection, and every moment had been burned into my heart and mind forever.
“Have I already said thank you?” I touched Devin’s sculpted bicep as he drove.
He smiled. “About twenty times.” He glanced towards me. “And you’re welcome.”
Relaxation crossed over my whole body, and I wanted to bask in that feeling forever. I’d assumed we were headed back to my apartment, but I could tell from the exit Devin took off the highway that that wasn’t the case. “Is there more to this adventure?” I asked.
“Just a five minute drive to a little piece of paradise.” He winked at me, and my body trembled with excitement.
True to his word, five minutes later Devin was pulling into a small parking lot. He got out of the driver’s side quickly and met me by my door just as I was opening it. Like a footman, he held out his hand for me to take. There was no way to tell where I was as the only light around us was that from the moon. I let Devin guide me down along a small path that opened up to a large patch of beach that was completely bathed in moonlight.
“What are the odds Amy would be playing a show on the same night of a full moon?” he said as we walked onto the squishy sand.
“This view of the moon is breathtaking.” The world looked as if it was bathed in the blue light of a moon that was so full, it almost looked fake.
“Yeah, I didn’t even know about this lake till last year. Not many people do,” he said while laying out the blanket he’d grabbed from the trunk of the car.
“How’d you find out about it?” I asked while sitting down on the blanket.
“A friend of mine’s a lifeguard here. This place is so peaceful and open. I’ve come here a few times at night just to clear my head.” He turned to me. “But I never thought I’d be sitting here with a girl who shines brighter than the full moon.”
His words sounded like a line from a carefully written romantic movie, but the softness in his eyes made me believe every one. I bit the inside of my lip. “Devin, tonight’s been like a dream. I don’t want it to end.”
He moved a hair to behind my ear, and a warm smile crossed his face. “It doesn’t have to end yet.” His eyes darted down to my mouth, and I heard him sigh.
My heart pounded in my ears as we moved together to kiss. His lips were ripe, and I wanted to suck all the color out of them. The warm night air brushed against my s
kin as Devin’s hands moved from my hair, to my neck, to my breasts. I pulled at his t-shirt, moving it up and over his head to expose his delicious chest. Without warning, I latched onto his collarbone and sucked hard until I’d bruised him. From the ruffled moans that escaped him, I could tell he enjoyed it. He grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it off me. I pressed my chest against him with the fabric of my bra seeming like a brick wall between us. As if sensing how badly I wanted my skin pressed against him, Devin unhooked my bra and slipped the straps down off my arms exposing my ever-waiting breasts. His hands rubbed over them and his fingers flicked my nipples, and I thought I was going to explode. He lay down on the blanket and pulled me on top of him. The feeling of my bare skin touching his was mounting inside me, and I didn’t know how much longer I could control myself. As the water washed against the shore, and the moon shone on our bodies, we moved closer together with each touch, each kiss, and each breath. I let myself give up control and give into him and the moment. All that I’d ever needed was suddenly being given to me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Can you help me zip this up?” Fiona asked from inside the dressing room.
At her request, I pulled back the curtain and helped her zip up the back of a slinky black dress she was trying on. We were at the mall shopping for a dress for her to wear on her date with Jude Cole, the musician who played at Perked. Fiona had been frequenting Perked each night that Jude played there. She made not-so-subtle attempts to let him know she was interested—such as wearing her low cut V-neck top whilst pressing her breasts on the table so he could stare at them while he played. The two sat around talking over coffee after his last set. She said Jude was witty and edgy and totally into his music. She just knew that she had to have him. The date outfit she was shopping for was for an outing they were going on. Apparently, there was some hot new club opening up nearby, and Jude wanted to check out the local band that was playing there.
“Do you think it’s too tight?” Fiona asked as she looked herself over in the full-length mirror.
“Well, that depends,” I said.
“On what?” She spun around to check out the view of her ass.
“On if you’re planning on breathing or not.”
Fiona crinkled her nose up. “Yeah, you’re right. Not worth having a rib removed to be comfortable.” She turned her back to me and motioned for help unzipping the dress. “Maybe I’m overthinking it,” she said as she slid on a black leather mini-skirt with a white burn-out sweater.
“Meaning?”
She smoothed her hands over the skirt. “Meaning what’s the point of wearing something super tight? I mean that just makes things harder to take off, don’t you think?” She pulled the sweater off.
“You’re a very diplomatic kind of slut, aren’t you?” The words crossed my lips with an I-know-you-well-enough-to-know-I-can-get-away-with-that-comment smile.
Fiona was putting her regular clothes back on. “Hey, I’m totally sympathetic to the guy’s plight. And besides, I don’t give away the milk for free.” She brushed past me exiting the dressing room.
“Only if they’re really thirsty, right?” I quipped.
She glowered at me. “You know, someday that smart mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble, missy.” She waggled a finger at me. Then her face went sour.
“What?” I asked, turning my head behind me to see what she was looking at.
My heart stopped when I saw her. She walked towards us wearing a houndstooth suit. A black, patent leather purse was slung low on her arm. Her hair fresh from the salon—sporting new honey-colored highlights—was blown out to perfection. The heels from her two hundred dollar pumps click-clopped on the hard department store floor as she walked over to us.
Her mauve-colored lips curled up into a polite grin. “Well, Mallory. It’s nice to see you.”
Thankfully, Fiona had her hand in the small of back, and I think that’s what helped support me from falling backwards. “Mrs. Emerson, hi.” The words dripped out slow like honey from my mouth.
She shifted her weight on her expensive heels. Haley’s family was upper-middle class. Haley hadn’t gone without much, but she had stood to gain an absurdly large inheritance when she turned eighteen. That money was split between her parents after she died, and I’d heard that retail therapy was the way Mrs. Emerson learned to cope—or run away from coping—with her daughter’s death.
“How are you doing?” she asked as politely as a receptionist.
I mashed my lips together and took a moment before I responded. “Good, I’m good. How are you?”
I watched as her eyes scanned my body. It was like she was searching for signs of the disease on me. But my disease was much more hidden than Haley’s was. “Fine, thank you.” She took another moment to lock eyes with me. Her pupils began to dilate and overtake the bright blue of her irises. In that moment, I could feel her distaste towards me. I knew that she felt I was somewhat responsible for the death of her daughter. I knew that she thought I should have been the one to save her.
***
It was a week after Haley’s funeral that she’d come to my house. My dad had to escort her over to the couch because she was too drunk to walk over on her own. How the hell she managed to drive to our place without getting in an accident was beyond me.
My dad had retreated to the kitchen to get some water and coffee to try to sober her up. So I was left sitting across from a drunk Mrs. Emerson who looked like she was ready to bite my head off.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked, pointing a crooked finger at me. Her words blended together like watercolor paints.
My legs bopped up and down as I sat on the couch across from her and not knowing the right thing to say.
“You two were so close. Too close.” She stood and tumbled over to me. “You knew about it, didn’t you?” Her breath was strong enough to get me hammered.
“Mrs. Emerson—”
“Don’t try to deny it, Mallory,” she said, adding a few extra l’s to the middle of my name as it slurred in her mouth. “If you knew was what going on with her, you could have stopped it. You were closer to her than anyone. You could have stopped her. You could have saved her.” With each sentence, she moved closer to me until I could see the black part of her eyes expanding like a rabid dog. “Why did you let my baby die?!” she shrieked just before she lunged at me.
Mrs. Emerson was on top of me and pinning me down, her brown and gray hair whipping around my face as she floundered on top of me. In one quick movement, she was off of me, and I saw her body dangling from my father’s grip.
“Okay, Barbara, that’s enough. Either you sit and sober up, or I’m calling the cops. Which one will it be?” he barked as he restrained her.
She wriggled in his arms like an alligator being wrestled. “Call the damn cops. What the hell do I care.” Her body continued to contort erratically.
“Have it your way,” my father said before escorting her outside, where he called the police after taking Mrs. Emerson’s car keys away. She was picked up a mile from our house as she attempted to walk herself home.
***
As she stood before me with her hair quaffed and her crow’s feet plumped with injections, I still could see the frenetic woman who pinned me on my couch in the blacks of her eyes.
“Well, I’d better be going,” she said while pulling down on the hem of her suit coat.
She crossed beside us, and the smell of her expensive, synthetic perfume choked me. Fiona put a supportive arm around my shoulder.
“You okay?” she asked.
I put on my bravest face. The kind you put on after you’ve fallen off your new bicycle—the one without training wheels—and your dad is there asking if you’re okay with a look of fear that he’s trying to hide. “Yup, I’m okay.”
But as we left the store and walked to the car, I knew that Haley’s ghost was going to haunt me later that night when the house was still and the walls were quiet. And I
didn’t know if I’d be able to fight her off.
That night, I lay in my bed with visions of Mrs. Emerson running through my head. Fiona had gone to bed early with a headache, but I’d been up for hours. Mrs. Emerson’s image was stuck to my brain like caramel to popcorn. The way she looked me up and down, the way her expensive perfume smelled, the way she wished I was dead instead of her daughter. My teeth gnawed at the inside of my mouth until I tasted blood. I had to find a release.
Quieter than the Easter bunny, I tiptoed into the kitchen. No luck: the cupboards were bare. There was no way I’d make it through the night. The itch of anxiety covered me like poison ivy. I slipped on some yoga pants and a t-shirt, and grabbed my purse before heading out into the night.
For fear of Fiona waking up and finding me gone, I only traveled to the pharmacy right up the street. The bright, fluorescent lights illuminated me towards the candy aisle. Even through their wrappers, I could smell the sweet scent of chocolate.
I grabbed ten candy bars and tossed them in my plastic basket. Then, I scurried over to an old, familiar aisle that held the ipecac syrup. An old man in a brown, wrinkled, leather jacket that matched his face was scanning through the irritable bowel products, so I casually strolled by him and pretended I had no idea what I was searching for. Moments later, old wrinkle-face was gone, and I took half a second to snatch a bottle off the shelf. Just looking at the contents in my basket created a wash of complacency over me.
There was no way I could check out with a clerk with so few items. I wondered if there was an eating disorder hotline they could call if they suspected binge-and-purge purchases. Nevertheless, I tossed in a box of tampons and a fashion magazine hoping that would throw them off.
At the register, my hands shook as I handed the clerk—who thankfully was a younger woman who seemed to make sense of my purchases with the half-smile she gave me—my money. After discarding the change in the take-a-penny-leave-a-penny bucket, I walked home clutching the bag to my chest as if it were an infant.
