by Karen Cimms
He laughed, and she shot him a pained look. No wonder his mood had changed; he was stoned.
“I’d never let you do anything that might hurt you,” he said, running his nose around the edge of her ear. In spite of the little nugget of anxiety growing inside her, the skin along her arm pebbled under his touch.
Swallowing half a pill was one thing. So was pot. Everyone smoked pot. But snorting cocaine? She hadn’t even known Toni did it.
“Don’t you trust me?” Billy asked.
She gave him a little shrug and nodded.
“Watch. Like this.” Leaning forward, he covered his nostril with his index finger, touched the bill to a line, then sniffed in hard.
The three of them looked at her expectantly, their eyes shining, noses running. Not the most attractive look. Not the look you’d expect from someone who’d been preparing to serve a tray of homemade ice cream sandwiches.
Billy slid closer and put his arm around her waist. She pinched the bill between her fingers and grimaced. The thought of putting something in her nose that had just been in three other noses was disgusting. Should she ask for her own dollar? Probably not. Leaning forward, she was startled by the face in the mirror staring up at her. What are you doing? it asked. Ignoring her reflection, she did as she was told while Billy held her hair. The inside of her nose burned and her eyes watered. She coughed. He laughed, then leaned over and kissed her as if she’d done something wonderful.
One line and the melting desserts remained.
“Who’s in?” Billy asked.
“I’ll drive,” Toni told Eric. “Knock yourself out. I’m gonna have one of these.” She picked up an ice cream sandwich and ran her tongue between the cookies, catching the drips.
“Keep that up and we’re leaving now,” Eric said with a lascivious wink.
“Looks good,” Billy said. When Kate looked up she realized his attention was focused on her, not on her dessert.
It was late when Toni and Eric left. Once the door closed, Billy had her up against the wall with such urgency she banged her head. His mouth found hers before she could utter a sound, while his hand yanked at the button on her jeans. He grasped her thighs, then lifted her so she could wrap her legs around his waist. She took in a great gulp of air when he pulled his lips from hers.
“I want these clothes off, now,” he grumbled, carrying her into the living room and dropping her onto the couch. He stripped out of his clothes while she watched, a bit stunned. Impatient, he reached down and gave her jeans a sharp tug.
“Off,” he demanded, pointing at the sweater. She tugged it over her head, but before she could remove her bra, he pushed her down and climbed between her open thighs, sinking deep inside with a low, throaty growl. He reached behind her, and unfastening her last remaining item of clothing, pulled it down and tossed it across the room. “That’s better,” he mumbled against her breast.
As hastily as he’d begun, he slowed now, teasing and playing until she found herself falling over the brink with him. As she did, he quickened his pace until, with one final thrust, he grunted and sank his teeth into the softness of her shoulder. She cried out, a combination of pain and pleasure.
His body turned to dead weight. She pushed against him. When he didn’t budge, she pushed harder. He mumbled incoherently into her ear.
“Billy, I can’t breathe,” she whispered, pushing her palm against his chest. He shifted his weight just enough for her to expand her lungs. His eyes were closed, his face turned to hers. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep.
When he finally peered out at her, she was watching him.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I’m very okay. Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
“You’re not okay?”
“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine. That’s not what I meant.”
He sighed. “What is it, Katie?” His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were almost black.
“Sometimes when you take me like that, it seems like there’s barely a hair’s breadth between passion and anger. I feel like you’re on the precipice of destroying me or consuming me. It can be a little scary.”
He chuckled. “Precipice, huh?”
“Don’t tease me.” She fought a sudden urge to cry.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Not really. I just wonder why you’re so angry.”
He raised himself off her. “If I frighten you so much, why don’t you fight back? Tell me to stop?”
She struggled to find the right words.
“Because you never really hurt me—it just seems like you might. Maybe I sound crazy, but in some ways, it’s exciting and dangerous.”
What she couldn’t explain was that standing on a precipice was familiar. Getting hurt was familiar. But how could she explain when she didn’t understand it herself?
She shrugged. “Besides—I trust you.” She gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and touched his temple. “I just wish I knew what was going on up here.”
Hours later, still wired from the cocaine and Kate’s words, Billy stood over the bed and watched her sleep. The sheets were tangled between her legs, and the light from the hall washed over her bare skin. In the dim light, he could see the circle his teeth had left on the fleshy part of her shoulder. A bluish-purple bruise bloomed near her hip bone.
Guilt flowed through him like ice water.
Yes, he was angry. He’d been angry for years, but it had nothing to do with her. If anything, she’d softened his harder edges. The world was no longer just black and white.
He loved her, and he didn’t want to hurt her. So then what the fuck was he doing? Fate had somehow dropped her in his lap. Now what? Was he trying to possess her? He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Even now, knowing she was sound asleep, he wanted to climb into bed and kiss her until she woke.
Maybe that was part of it, the feeling of not being in control, always wanting. He’d never felt like this about any girl before. He’d barely allowed himself to feel before.
When he thought he could trust himself, he climbed into bed, gently slipping his arm beneath her head and wrapping himself around her.
“What’s wrong?” she murmured.
“Nothing.” He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
She peered up at him. “For what?”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
He felt her warm breath on his chest. “You didn’t,” she answered sleepily. “We’re good.”
Her eyes fluttered. “Just remember, you can let me in. I won’t hurt you, either.”
He didn’t answer for a long time, and not until he was certain she was asleep.
“Don’t,” he whispered to the darkness.
Chapter Sixteen
Kate pressed her way through the grocery store aisles along with everyone else who was trying to stock up before the winter storm hit. She filled her cart with enough food to tide her over until Billy got home. Toilet paper was on sale, so she tossed in a few extra rolls and wondered how long it would be before she spent Sunday afternoons clipping coupons.
When she moved in with Billy, she had assumed she’d be going on the road with him, but in reality that would have been way too expensive. So while Viper toured the southern states, she found herself alone in Bayonne at the end of January, thumbing through the latest issue of People and contemplating Drew Barrymore’s hairstyle. She tossed the magazine into the cart. She needed a pick-me-up. And if she were being honest about her new lifestyle, it probably wouldn’t hurt to read about the thirteen-year-old’s drug and alcohol issues, either.
The first snowflakes fell as she finished chopping carrots for her vegetable beef soup. She set the pot on a low simmer, pulled on one of Billy’s old sweatshirts, and settled on the couch with her magazine. Just before five, there was a loud knock at the door.
She peeked through the peephole, recoiling when a huge eye
stared back.
“Who is it?” she asked, deepening her voice.
“Let me in before I get mugged!”
Joey burst in as soon as she opened the door, stomping his feet and kicking snow all over the doormat and floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you lived in the projects?” he demanded. “This place makes my apartment look like The Plaza!”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t start.”
After exchanging hugs and kisses, she took his coat and hung it on the rack she’d had Billy install near the front door. “You should’ve told me you were coming. What would you’ve done if I wasn’t here?”
“I’d have waited five minutes until you got back,” he replied, straight-faced. “Where would you possibly go, with Romeo on the road?” He peeked into the kitchen and tsked. “Look at you,” he said sadly. “You’re like a bird in an ungilded cage.”
“Be nice.”
“Oh, I am. You should hear what I really think.” He shook droplets of snow from his curls.
Best to change the subject. “How did you get here?”
“I took the Lexington Avenue local to City Hall, walked to the E, took that to Port Authority, then took the PATH to Newark, the Hudson-Bergen Light Rail to 34th Street, then a bus the rest of the way.” He looked at his watch. “And it only took twelve hours.”
“Funny.”
He lifted his chin and gave the air a sniff. “What’s that wonderful smell?”
“Vegetable beef soup. It should be ready soon. Meanwhile, let me give you the grand tour.”
She started in the kitchen, pointing out her handiwork to make it sound more impressive. At the living room window, she pointed out that the lights flickering in the distance were New York.
“If that’s New York, I’ll swim across the Hudson next time. It’ll be quicker.”
“Actually, it’s Staten Island.”
He crinkled his nose. “Never mind.”
In the bedroom, Joey waved his arm at the king-sized bed. “I assume this is where the women’s gymnastics team practiced for the Olympics before you moved in.”
She wordlessly guided him toward the kitchen.
“Are you staying over?” she asked as she ladled soup into bowls.
“I was planning to, but I have a class Monday afternoon, so I should probably leave now.”
“Funny.”
“Of course I’m staying. I haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. But I’m glad you’re here.” She set a bowl of soup down in front of him, then fixed one for herself. “I’ve been going crazy. There’s nothing to do. I’ve cleaned everything that could be cleaned. I’ve read every book Billy owns. I even bought some knitting needles and yarn, but I can’t figure out what I’m doing. All I’ve made so far is a mess.”
“Knitting? What has this clown turned you into?”
“Joey, please. He’s not making me knit. I was just looking for something to do while he’s away.”
“Let me get this straight.”
“Can you?”
He flashed her an evil look. “You leave home to run off with this wannabe rock star. Leave your family, friends, and drop out of college so you can follow him all over the globe, or at least the Mid-Atlantic States. Yet here you sit in this godforsaken little city, all alone on a Saturday night, while Romeo is performing in front of adoring women a thousand miles away, supposedly alone.”
“I’m not alone. You’re here.”
He put down his spoon. “Talk to me. Something’s wrong. I hear it in your voice over the phone, and now that I’m here, I see it in your eyes.”
Uncomfortable under the scrutiny, she stood and reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white zinfandel. “Wine?”
“No, thanks.” He smiled brightly. “I’m not old enough to drink, remember?”
If Joey had a clue what she’d been doing in addition to drinking, he’d knock her over the head and drag her back to the Bronx. She filled her glass, and after they resettled on the couch, she reprised the story of what happened with her parents.
“Sweetie, I know they’re wrong, but maybe after a few days, things would’ve calmed down and you could have reasoned with them. At least you could’ve stayed in school, even if you had to sneak around for a while. They’d have gotten over it. Now this,” he waved his hand to encompass the tiny apartment, “this is your world—three small rooms and a ginormous bed. That’s a metaphor for your life and what’s important. It’s not right. What about your plans?”
A lone tear trickled down her cheek.
“Kate, honey.” He patted her leg. “You can go home. It’s not too late to go back to school, even. You’d catch up.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He sat back with a huff. “Now you sound like me, and you’re being ridiculous.”
She’d been holding them back for so long, once started, the tears wouldn’t stop. Joey wrapped his arms around her.
“They don’t want me. They never wanted me.” Although it was a relief to finally say it, it felt as if she’d just ripped off a bandage, exposing a wound that hadn’t had time to heal.
When the tears slowed to a trickle, Joey lifted her face, taking in the red eyes and runny nose.
“You are not a pretty crier. You better never let Romeo see you like this. Yuck! Good thing I love you.” He kissed her on the head, starting her tears anew. “Stop! No more crying. Start talking!” He picked up her glass and shoved it at her. “Here, drink this, you alcoholic!”
In spite of the tears, she laughed. When she had calmed somewhat, she excused herself and came back with her mother’s journal, which she’d kept hidden in a shoebox in the bottom of the closet. She turned it to the last page and handed it to him.
His face turned stony as he read. “What is this?”
“Look at the date.”
He read it again, then he thumbed back a few pages. His brow furrowed as he read some of the earlier entries. He folded the journal and set it in his lap. “Could it be that you’re reading this out of context? Maybe it was just postpartum depression or something. It’s hurtful, but—”
“That’s the last entry. There were no more journals after that.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Now that the lid was off, it all came pouring out in a rush. “She’d been offered a grant to some big writers retreat and was planning to take a sabbatical, but then she found out she was pregnant. She wanted an abortion—she begged my father to support her—but he refused. Not because he wanted a baby, no, but because it was illegal. That was his main concern. And since she’d had such bad morning sickness, she couldn’t follow through with her writing. She missed the retreat and lost the grant, and the publisher pulled his offer. So instead of following her dream, she gave birth to her worst nightmare: me.”
As she spoke, the color drained from Joey’s face. For once, he seemed speechless.
“So at least my father was against killing me. That’s a good thing, right?” She forced a smile. “Over the course of the pregnancy, not only did she document her feelings, she saved them. She wanted me to know I ruined her life.”
Joey seemed to be having a hard time digesting what she’d just told him.
“Don’t you think she got over it? I mean, you’re the sweetest person I’ve ever known. There’s nothing about you that could keep someone from loving you once they know you. Look at Romeo. He’s probably had every girl on the East Coast. He spends one night with you, and he’s over the moon.”
The ice that formed around her heart whenever she thought of her mother began to melt. “Do you really think so?”
“For as much as he swept you off your feet, I’m pretty sure the same goes for him. That doesn’t mean I like him any better—but yeah, he’s hooked.”
The pain of revisiting her mother’s journal began to ease. “As for my mother ‘getting over’ it—she didn’t.” She h
eld up the journal. “I think this explains why when I said I wanted to be a writer, she insisted I become a teacher. My father agreed, but if it wasn’t for her, I don’t think it would’ve mattered, as long as I went to Rutgers. My mother wasn’t gonna let me pursue my dream because she blames me for crushing hers. And meeting Billy? It was more than she could handle.”
Joey looked at her like she was crazy. “What does he have to do with this?”
“You should’ve seen her when she met him. It’s the same with every woman. He has this effect on them. They stumble over their words and giggle. When he shook her hand, she actually clutched her pearls. I was stunned then, but I see it everywhere. The women at the A&P practically jump out of their smocks when he pushes his cart into their aisle. Girls at concerts and clubs hang out by the stage, trying to get his attention. I can’t even think about what it’s like when I’m not there.” Her eyes met his. “She accused me of having sex with him.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Um, sweetie . . .”
“I know—but she didn’t have the tone you’d expect from a parent who’s worried that her daughter was too young or might get hurt. This was different. She was jealous. She wasn’t disappointed, which I would understand. She was angry. And she knew if she said I couldn’t see him, I’d leave. Instead of having to deal with me for the next four years, she found an early out. Not early enough, but better late than never.”
She could tell he was struggling to find something positive to say. Before he had a chance, she asked him about school.
He jumped up from the sofa. “That reminds me!” he cried, yanking off one of her socks. She retracted her foot, afraid he was about to tickle her, but he was more intent on insulting her. “Just as I thought. Look at you. You’re a mess. Look at those feet. These hands. Are you working construction?” He headed for his overnight bag. “I need to practice my mani-pedis and you’re my guinea pig. Go put hot water in the tub and soak those nasty things.”
Once her feet had been soaked, scrubbed, and exfoliated, Joey worked his magic. “French manicures are big right now, but you’re a rocker chick. Look what I brought.” He pulled out a bottle of strawberry pink nail enamel. “This will look gorgeous on you!”
