That’s another thing. I don’t have a cell. My aunt and uncle don’t believe in them, and I can’t afford one on my own. Gina already told me I could use hers to call Kyle, but I turned her down. I could also use the phone in the commons area. Neither option sounds appealing, and I’m glad.
Really.
I’m truly happy about my choices.
I don’t want to talk to Kyle. I won’t call him. Why should I be the one to instigate a conversation when he doesn’t even remember who I am?
If he wants to talk, he can make the effort.
Please don’t find me. Please don’t find me.
Please find me.
Kyle
“You’re an idiot. How are you my son?”
He backhands me across the face. Shoves me into the counter. Pain explodes behind my eyes making them water. And I see light like fireworks go off inside my head.
It feels like my jaw has been broken, but it probably isn’t. Broken bones would mean a trip to the hospital and dad wouldn’t want that.
I don’t say anything. There’s no point when he gets like this.
“Are you deaf?” He punches me between the shoulder blades, and my cheek slams into the cupboard.
More painful fireworks behind my watering eyes. Pain pulses like an extra heartbeat in the center of my back, but I stay quiet.
“You have one job. One damn job.” He picks up the pot of burnt spaghetti and throws it at me. “Can’t even cook spaghetti. Pathetic. Your mother is probably rolling over in her grave. Embarrassed she gave birth to someone so dumb.”
The hot pan strikes my back, and a searing agony makes me yell out against my will. Red sauce is everywhere. I turn around, watch him pour himself a shot—his fourth, or eighth, or twelfth—and gulp it down. “Make me something I can eat.” He takes the vodka bottle and the shot glass and leaves the kitchen.
It takes me more than an hour to get all the red sauce, water, and noodles wiped up. My back feels like it’s on fire. I do my best to ignore it. When I’m finished, I make my dad a ham and cheese sandwich and set it on the table. If things have gone the way they normally do, he’ll be passed out on the couch.
Sure enough, he’s asleep, the bottle drooping in one hand, empty. I cover him with a blanket and go to my room.
I carefully take off my shirt. I turn toward the mirror over my dresser, trying to see the damage on my back. It’s angry red. Red sauce is in my hair, on my back and jeans, but I don’t care. Now that I’m alone I let the tears fall. Exhausted, I fall face first onto my bed and am almost asleep when there’s a light tapping on my window, and it slides open.
Maddie crawls through and flips on the lamp next to my bed. I hear her gasp.
“Is he passed out?” she asks. No need to specify. We both know who she’s referring to.
I nod, sniffle, and turn so I can see her face.
She strokes my forehead where I’m sure there’s a bruise from its collision course with the cupboard. “Be right back.”
I don’t say anything. Just let the tears fall. When she comes back through my window she’s carrying her first aid kit. If I weren’t in so much pain I’d tease her about it.
“How long ago did this happen?” She sits on the bed next to me.
I shrug. Look at the clock. “Maybe a couple hours.”
She sighs. “In that case, I’m going to apply some aloe ointment.”
She unscrews the lid on a tube and squeezes clear stuff onto her fingers.
“It doesn’t look like it’s blistered. Only a little red. But this still might hurt. I’m sorry.” With fingers light as feathers, she spreads the cooling liquid over the burn. It does hurt, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
“Thanks, Maddie.”
She presses a water bottle against my shoulder. “You should take these.”
I face her. Take the water and two pills from her hand. After they go down I hand the water back.
“No, drink it all. You need it.”
I obey and chug every last drop.
“Good.” She smiles.
I turn onto my stomach. She covers me to my waist with my sheet. “Will you be alright?”
I nod. “Sure.”
She touches the lump on my forehead. “Too bad your hair isn’t longer. You could cover this up.”
“I’m a guy. Bruises are part of growing up,” I say, repeating my dad’s words.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Night, Freckles.”
She grunts something indiscernible as she climbs out the window and closes it.
“Maddie,” I whisper, wiping the steam from the mirror over the sink. I gently bang my forehead against the glass, stare at my reflection. “Maybe she can’t stand the sight of you. You’re part of her past, a past that involves death.”
Or maybe she doesn’t want a guy she knows is broken. More likely she thinks you’re an ass for pretending you don’t know her!
I want to be different, go back and change the way I acted, tell her I’m sorry. There’s an Alpha frat party tonight. I’m obligated to go. It’s black tie. I get dressed, hoping against hope I’ll see her there.
Maddie
ou look hot!” Gina squeals.
I hop off the chair and check my reflection. She’s lined my eyes in smoky grey liner. A darker shade of gray is on my lids, and she’s put on several coats of mascara. On my lips and cheeks, she put light pink lip-gloss and a touch of blush.
She’s also fixing my hair. Curling it with a thick curling iron. The end result is soft, romantic.
I wonder if Kyle will like it, I think, and then mentally kick myself.
“Wow, Gina.”
“Yeah, I know. The guys are going trip over themselves to get your digits.” She pushes me back in the chair. “Especially one boy in particular.” She sniffles. Still has a cold or allergies, it seems. “I got the scoop for you, by the way.”
I turn to face her. “The scoop?”
“Yeah, the scoop about Hottie TA.” She spritzes some of my curls with hair spray.
I clear my throat. “And?”
I don’t want to give anything away. He doesn’t seem to know me, so I’m going to pretend I don’t know anything about him. Like the fact that he used to sleep with a nightlight. Or that he would tickle my back so, so gently while we listened to music. His favorite band was The Cure, and he said he wanted to be a poet when he grew up.
Once he wrote me a poem. My aunt threw it away, but I have it memorized.
You make me laugh.
I’m torn in half.
When I’m with you I feel whole.
I’ll never let you go.
That’s the Kyle I remember. Sweet. Kind. Caring.
Ass-grabbing Kyle doesn’t even register, but I know it’s him, a version of him I don’t understand, but still, it’s him. Plus, apparently he has no idea who I am.
“Earth to Maddie. Come in, Maddie.” Gina snaps her fingers in front of my face.
“Oh, sorry,” I say, and smile. “Thanks again for fixing me up. I love the dress, though the shoes make me wobbly.”
She sniffles. “You’re welcome.” She shrugs. “Now do you want the scoop or not?”
“Sure,” I say, standing. Following Gina to the door.
It’s ten-thirty at night. The perfect time to get the party started, according to Gina. I have to admit I’m excited about drinking alcohol again. The liquid is warmth and peace. It’s numbness, and feeling everything good. It makes me bold.
“His name is Kyle Hadley,” she begins.
That I already know.
“He’s a sophomore, and apparently Bitchy Spears thinks he’s a genius.”
I didn’t know that. Maybe he still writes poetry.
Her eyes meet mine. “He’s kind of a slut.” She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if you think that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” She snickers.
“It’s…” I shrug. I have no idea what to say.
She continues, “And wo
rd is, he likes the kinky stuff.”
“What?” My eyes blink several times. “What do you mean by ‘kinky?’ “
“Shit, roomie. Have you been living in a nunnery? Whips. Handcuffs. Hell, I don’t know. There are several levels of kink.”
I open my mouth. Close it. My heart is pounding. Handcuffs? Whips? I’m way out of my league. My brain can’t even attach those things to making love. If that’s what Kyle wants, then he’ll never be interested in me.
Which is what you want, I tell myself. But the desire spreading through my belly suggests I might be willing to learn. If Kyle were to show me.
“No, I haven’t lived in a nunnery.”
Not quite. My home life is sort of throwback to the seventies. “When life was laid back,” my uncle has said on more than one occasion.
Her brows pinch together. “Are you a virgin, Maddelena Martin?”
My face heats up. “So what if I am?”
What’s the big deal? I’m sure lots of people are virgins. Besides, the only boy I want to give myself to is the son of the man who killed my parents. It kind of takes the romance out of everything. Plus, apparently he’s a kinky slut.
“I’m blown away.” Gina scrunches her hair and walks in a circle. “I mean shit, shit, shit. This is serious.”
Tonight she’s wearing a black bustier attached to a tutu. It’s lacy and hooks in the front, with long black bow ties under her breasts. Black leggings and her ankle boots complete the outfit. Her eyes are lined in black again, and her hair is everywhere, but flawlessly placed. She looks gorgeous, but something feels off.
I wish I could be so daring. She’s got me in a red sheath dress. My legs are bare, and I’m wearing red strappy heels. I’m an inch taller, but Gina and I wear the same size clothes and shoes. This outfit is bolder than I’ve ever been. I long for my ballet flats.
“Okay, I get it,” I say, crossing my arms, covering my cleavage. “You’re shocked. Whatever. Let’s go to this party already.”
She grabs my arms and looks directly in my eyes. Hers are twinkling with surprise, shock, and maybe disgust. “Shit,” she says again, this time smiling.
“Wh-when did you do it?” I ask, glancing down at her tutu.
“I was fourteen.” Her voice trembles slightly.
I look up. “I-I…” A part of me wants to tell her about my tattoos. How I got my first when I was fourteen, and what each of them means. That I get them because on the anniversary of the day my parents died the pain is too strong, and I can’t breathe until a needle is piercing my skin a thousand times a minute. I want to tell her that I can’t visit their graves, that I see a therapist the same as she does. I get the feeling she would understand. But at the last second I chicken out. “I think that’s fantastic,” I add quietly.
She laughs, her face filled to brimming with genuine joy. “If you could see your face. Someday you’ll tell me what you actually meant to say.”
I nod, relieved. “Yeah, someday.”
She grabs a tissue and blows her nose, then picks up her purse. “I’ve got to hit the ladies. Meet by the elevators in two?”
I’m about to agree, but decide against it. “Are you sure you’re up for going tonight?”
“Are you effing kidding me right now?” She plants a hand on her hip and pops a knee.
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.” I glance at my hands, nervous. “If you aren’t feeling well.”
“Elevator. Two minutes. Bring your party face.”
Maddie
onight’s party is by invitation only. The card in Gina’s hand is fancy, printed on thick paper, and embossed. Gina is taking me as her plus one. It’s being held at another fraternity. I forget the name. She got the invite from some guy in her Biology class.
The party theme? Heaven or Hell.
I should’ve known that fancy dress meant ostentatious.
When we arrive, a guy takes our invite and directs us to a sitting room. All the guys are in suits and ties, except the pledges; they’re wearing black pants and black bow ties. No shirts. And they’re carrying around silver trays of sparkling cider.
“This party is lame.” Gina is leaning back in a plush love seat, and I’m sitting next to her. She rests her head on her hand and closes her eyes.
“Total snooze,” I agree.
The décor in the sitting room is luxurious. The furniture is black leather. The carpet is white, and the curtains are black and white. Greenery—plants, shrubs, and trees—are spread throughout the room, and paintings—Van Gogh, Klimt, and an artist I don’t know—are hanging on the walls. A black grand piano is off to one side, and a guy in a tux is playing “Suite No. 2” from Romeo and Juliet. There’s even a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
People are milling around, chatting quietly. One guy appears to be asleep. The whole scenario reminds me of a party from the book The Great Gatsby.
“Where’s the booze?” I ask, and immediately regret it.
Gina raises an eyebrow. “You gonna be a lush, roomie?”
I have no idea what she means, so I shrug. “Is this supposed to be a fraternity for the wealthy kids or something?” I whisper.
“I guess. If this is how they party, then I don’t want to be rich.” Her right leg is bouncing up and down. She’s antsy.
A clock on the mantle says eleven twenty-nine.
“Should we get out of here?” I was looking forward to the numbness, the warm fuzziness from the alcohol. But if all they’re going to serve is sparkling cider, there’s no point staying.
“Yeah.” She looks around the room in disgust. “Snooty and boring. Eesh.” She stands, and I’m about to follow, when a guy in a tux walks in.
He’s handsome in that someday-I’ll-be-a-senator way.
“My name is Sam. I’m the president of the Alpha Kais. If you’ll please follow me.” He turns and walks from the room.
Everyone rushes forward. Excited whispers fill the room.
“What’s happening?”
“Where are we going?”
Gina and I follow the crowd.
“Should we duck out? It looks like he’s leading us past the front door,” Gina says.
I’m curious, though. “Let’s see where he’s taking us.”
Sam takes us past the front entryway, through the kitchen, and then opens a door.
“Welcome to Hell,” he says with a grand flourish. A huge grin lights up his pasty-white face.
Several girls squeal with enthusiasm. It’s like a herd of elephants clomping down the stairs.
Gina and I exchange a look.
Loud music is pumping below.
Without a word to each other, we make our way down.
At the bottom is a thick black curtain. I push it open and can hardly believe my eyes.
“This is more like it!” Gina hollers.
A disco ball sends sparkling lights around the room to the beat of the music. There are girls in bikinis dancing around poles on small circular stages. Their movements are slow and seductive.
In the center of the room is a dance floor. Hundreds of kids are gyrating. To the right are small round tables. Couches shaped in a C are nestled around them. Behind the chairs is a bar. Shirtless guys are whipping up drinks. The room is packed. And I wonder why they kept us waiting around upstairs for so long.
Like the last party, the music, the energy, and the idea of drinking push away the pain that’s constantly dwelling in my soul. It’s too loud to feel anything but the beat.
I glance at Gina. She swaying, and I get the feeling being here pushes away whatever sadness she harbors as well. It dawns on me that I consider her a friend. My first. And I realize I want to get to know her better. Really know her.
A pretty boy with blond highlights, wearing only red boxers, sticks a tray in my face and smiles. “Jell-O shot?”
Surprised, I step back. “What’s in it?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
He leans in and whispers in my ear.
“Heaven.”
My face heats up, and I have no idea why. But I figure I’ll give it a try. He hands me a cup filled with blue Jell-O. I don’t know what to do with it.
Gina grabs a yellow one, tips it, and squeezes the contents into her mouth. She shakes her head, and swallows. “Yummy.” She tosses the empty cup on the tray, picks up another, and does it again.
“Give it a try,” the guy says, smirking at Gina.
I’m still hesitant until Gina adds, “It’s filled with booze.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks over my face.
The mostly-naked guy and Gina laugh. “I guess I should’ve led with that,” the guy says.
My mind is reeling, ready for the gooey warmth that comes with the strong liquid. I tip back the small cup. The contents fall into my mouth, and I swallow. “Mmm. Good.”
“Have another.”
I take a red one and tip it back. “It’s like candy.” And I do a third.
The music changes to a song I know. My body sways on its own.
“The best kind of candy,” Boxer Guy says. “My name is Stuart, by the way.” He sticks out his hand and I shake it.
“Hi. I’m Maddie.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Someone shrieks, and we turn. Gina has jumped on one of the stages and is moving her backside against the pole. The scream must’ve come from the girl Gina kicked off.
I’m a little horrified.
“Your friend’s name is Gina, right?” Stuart asks.
I search his face. He’s watching her, a strange look on his face. Then he clears his throat. “I’ve heard about her. Gina’s a party girl.”
He hasn’t said anything that isn’t true. Obviously she likes to have fun. But, for some reason, the way he said her name makes me want to lock him up and throw away the key. “What did you hear?”
He turns to me. “Oh, nothing. Hey, you want another shot?”
The alcohol buzz hasn’t hit me yet. “Sure.” I tip it back.
Stuart moves closer, and runs a hand along my waist. My heart jumps into my throat. His hand on my body does not feel right.
“Go refill your tray, grunt!” The command has come from behind us.
We both jump.
Stuart turns toward the voice, and I follow.
Because of You Page 5
