Malentendido (Misunderstood)

by Mara White

  The stupid pen in my lab coat pocket scratches the paper without depositing a drop of ink. Even after sticking the top in my mouth sucking hard, and then shaking the crap out of it. It scratches the paper again and tears a hole.

  Fuck.

  I know there’s an old closet that’s filled with paper supplies somewhere down this hallway.

  Leaving the cart behind and my shoe in the door, I limp down the hallway, checking a few of the doorknobs. The closet opens but when I flick the light on nothing happens except a pop. They probably haven’t changed the fluorescent lights on this floor since the late eighties, back when this area was actually in use. I kick off my other clog and try to use it to hold the closet door open. The floor feels cold on my feet passing right through my thin socks. The door is so heavy that it only holds it back for a moment but the ray of light is enough to spot boxes of pens in the back right-hand corner. I strategically place my shoe as a stop while I shove the door as hard as possible. Enough light pours in so that I can see to keep from tripping over the old metal mop bucket on wheels sitting right in my path. Who’d think getting trial vials would turn out to be such an obstacle course.

  Just as I wrap my hand around the box of pens, the heavy door clicks closed and I am surrounded by darkness, an absence of light so profound that my stomach plummets as it envelops me. I can barely tolerate dark rooms ever since Luciano’s light left my life. My heart rate speeds up and I’m suddenly aware of my own breathing. But then I hear someone else breathing too, and my own scream pierces out into the blackness.

  Antes

  “Hey, Belén, wait up!” It’s Jeremy, jogging down the hall to catch up with me. I really don’t want to speak with him, especially after what happened at his party, when Lucky found us making out and dealt him the fist to face special.

  “Hi Jeremy, how’s your head?”

  “Aw, no big deal. I fell playing ice hockey once and got twice as many stitches.”

  But he blushes when he says it. Of course he’s never been hit that hard before—knocked unconscious with a busted nose by a drug-confused, adrenaline-riddled maniac like my cousin. He’s lucky he didn’t end up with a concussion.

  “Did you get into trouble? Did your parents find out?”

  I adjust my backpack from one shoulder to the other and scan the halls for the boy who takes my breath away but causes nothing but trouble. I don’t want him to find me speaking to Jeremy. I’ll either get the coldest shoulder possible, or worse, another invitation to fight.

  “Yeah, sort of. They’re not going to get me the car I wanted for graduation after all. But I can save up for it, I’m not worried.”

  Their house was trashed, people got arrested and their son was knocked unconscious into a puddle of his own blood. But apparently car brand name punishment is how the rich kid’s parents roll. I wouldn’t know.

  “Wow, my mom would have thought up some insane kind of punishment. She’d have sent me back to Catholic school and made me go to bible study every night, do my homework in the confessional.”

  He laughs sort of uncomfortably and scratches his head where the injury was. Only thing is, it’s not a joke—my mom would kill me if she knew I’d had a party in her house or that I almost lost my virginity. “Seriously, Jeremy. She’d lock me away in a dungeon and forget the key. She’d only drag me out and beat me with her sandal until it was time for me to go to college.”

  “They were teenagers once too. They got over it pretty quick. I didn’t tell them it was Lucky who hit me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  I shrug and shake my head. I’m not my cousin’s keeper. If I were held responsible for his actions, I’d be halfway to a life sentence by now. Lucky always gets into fights. He lives by bad decisions.

  “You want to go out again? I mean just me and you?” Jeremy sounds nervous when he asks and instead of being endearing, it makes anxiety spike through my system.

  I throw my backpack over both shoulders and slam my locker closed. Jeremy has a purple ring both above and below his eye like a shadow. Marks from Lucky that will linger with a threat every time Jeremy looks in the mirror. I guess a split head and black eye are better than a broken jaw. Still, he looks different, like a battle-scarred hero instead of a somewhat annoying rich boy. I take pity on him and consider saying yes.

  “Bey!” Lucky calls out and Jeremy and I both look up. Lucky is striding over to us, holding up his sagging pants with one hand; he doesn’t bring a backpack, he never carries books. It’s like Lucky goes to school just to keep an eye on me. He skips half of his classes.

  “Probably not, Jeremy. My family is kind of strict. Maybe just call me later and we’ll see if we could get coffee or something that’s not so much like a date.” I rattle it off like an auctioneer before Lucky reaches us. I’m terrified he’ll punch him again and it wouldn’t be okay. For violence on school grounds, Lucky would get suspended and Jeremy—well, Jeremy would get another trip to the nurse’s office.

  “Come on, Bey, let’s go,” he says without acknowledging Jeremy. He’s pretending us leaving together is par for the course. Funny thing is, he usually avoids me as much as humanly possible. But, regardless of his games I still cringe at his callousness—our moms raised us to be better than that. It’s so ingrained in me that I’m overly polite to everyone. I bug my eyes wide at him and nod ever so slightly with my head.

  “Apologize!” I say out of the side of my mouth. God! He can’t just yank me away and pretend like nothing happened the other night.

  And what’s he doing over here anyway? Lucky never comes and finds me after school, and if we happen to pass each other all I ever get is some intense and solemn gaze instead. Like he’s willing me to go home with his eyes and to stay the hell away from him and his friends.

  “Oh, hey, what’s up? Jeremy, right?”

  Lucky is such a bull-shitter, like he didn’t drag me away from him half naked when we were minutes from having sex. I glare at Lucky hard; he has to make amends.

  “Sorry about the bust at your party the other night. But if you touch my cousin again, you’ll get another taste of my fist. Nobody fucking touches her. Nobody,” he says. Lucky pokes his finger into Jeremy’s chest repeatedly as he threatens him. Not exactly the apology I had imagined.

  Lucky slides his arm across my shoulder and pulls me to his frame with so much force that I stumble and wrap my arm around him to keep from toppling over.

  “This girl is like a sister to me. Anyone who comes near her has to answer to me. Got that?” Jeremy takes a step back.

  Great, Lucky. Nice work. Now I’ll never get a boyfriend. I won’t even be able to keep any friends at all with this this psychopath dictating my social life. Jeremy nods and walks away without even saying goodbye to me.

  “Piece of shit,” he mutters under his breath as he guides me down the hall.

  “Thanks a lot, Lucky. Now the only boy who ever noticed me is terrified. And since when do you and me hang out at school?”

  “Boys notice you,” Lucky says, his voice steely and harsh.

  I only want one boy to notice me, the only boy who has my heart.

  “I’m surprised you even know where my locker is, but all of a sudden you’re the lord of my social life.”

  “I know where your locker is, Belén. I know everything there is to know about you.”

  You can’t know everything, Lucky. Because if you did, you’d probably run the other way down the hall.

  “Please, Luciano! Do us both a favor y deja de ser tan macho.”

  I shake his arm off of my shoulder and speed up my pace. I always walk home by myself, I won’t give him the satisfaction of bending to his will. He’ll just pull me in and like he always does and then force me away again. I know how this works.

  “Believe me, Bey. Guys do notice you.” Lucky grabs my arm and jerks me around to face him.

  “Nobody ever asked me out before him.”

  “’Cause they all know I’d fucking kill them.
”

  “You say that like we’re best friends, but all you do is ignore me! What am I supposed to do? Be alone forever?”

  “You are my best friend, Len. You’re the most important person in my life. I’m sorry about the other night. I really am sorry.”

  “It was my first party. Thanks to you it will probably be my last.”

  I shake my arm out of his grip and march the opposite way down the hall from wherever he was taking me. My body shakes with pent-up anger. I can’t believe how selfish and insensitive he is. If he’s not careful my temper might explode in his face.

  “It’s my job to keep them away from you, for as long as it’s possible. Your dad ain’t around, so I gotta look out for you.”

  I cross my arms and roll my eyes to the ceiling.

  “Even your ma says I gotta watch your back. I’d do the same thing if you were my sister!”

  “Thanks for reminding me that I don’t have a father!” I yell in his face.

  He looks guilty. He looks sorry. He looks like he wants to kiss me. Lucky is so handsome I could stand here and argue with him all day—just to be close to him, to stand close enough that I can feel the anger and frustration rising off of his body in heat waves. Our anger feels a lot like poorly disguised sexual tension.

  He wants to say he’s like my brother—that he’s only looking out for me, but there’s something else there and he knows it, maybe as well as I do. It’s impossible not to feel it, the fire that ignites between us. The attraction is frightening because it’s so wrong, but I don’t believe either one of us can stop it. Whenever we’re together we have to fight it away. It creeps up my body like vines on a trellis, growing and attaching and every day becoming stickier, harder and harder to just shrug off.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “No you’re not.” He doesn’t deny it.

  We are twisting together, two scarred branches rooted in the same spot. We’re not supposed to grow this way but no one is there to notice, no one who knows how to weed out our garden plot. Lucky and I have become something unnatural, an abnormality, a grotesque mistake. What we feel for each other is a sin and if people knew, they’d be disgusted by us. We must be separated by force, cut down deep to the root, the ends cauterized so that we won’t get out of control again. No more stolen kisses in the kitchen. No more rooftops.

  We’re in so deep that something from outside, that’s bigger than the both of us, has to pull us apart.

  I stare into his eyes; it’s easy to see how he loves me, his face goes from pained to soft. A little spark of hope lights up inside both of us just from eye contact. I know every minute shade of each facial expression he has. He can run away from me but he can’t hide his feelings. I see them, I know them like I know myself. We are two halves of a whole and there is something undoubtedly wrong with us.

  “You’re beautiful, Bey. Any guy would be hype to go out with you.”

  He says it softly and reaches out to brush the loose strand of hair falling down my forehead.

  “There’s only one guy I want,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.

  “You can’t always have what you want,” Lucky says. His voice is low, it’s barely a whisper.

  “Do you know what I want?” I ask, my voice just as low and shaky as his. I want to hear him say it. Admit it out loud and make it real with words instead of anger and manipulation.

  “I don’t know, Bey, we shouldn’t even be talking about it. We both know that’s not possible,” he whispers. He tucks the same strand behind my ear again, the tendril becoming an excuse for contact. Gently his eyes fall to my lips.

  He blinks his eyes slowly, wets his lips with his tongue and it makes me feel dizzy. Euphoric, so needy my chest aches.

  “Come on,” Lucky says and grabs my hand, interlocking his fingers with mine.

  “Where are we going?” I protest.

  “Shhh. Just come!” he scolds as he jerks me along behind him.

  He pulls me into an alcove by the end of the lockers. It’s an empty corner with nothing but a garbage can and a window that looks down on the shitty parking lot. It’s partway under the stairs, basically hidden from view.

  “Don’t go out with that guy, Bey. Anyone but him. You don’t need to date. Just work on your school stuff and you can worry about all the rest when you go to college. You’re too young anyway.”

  He leans from foot to foot as he lectures me and it’s pretty clear that he’s high. Lately, the real question to ask is, when is he not? Lucky bounces and shakes like he’s freezing cold; his teeth even chatter. He’s sped up, buzzed and unpredictable. Whatever he took is just now hitting his system.

  “Who are you, my dad? You’re the one who gets to say if I date or not? You get to choose who and when I go out with someone, not me?”

  It comes out spitefully. He’s all I’ve got and our relationship is more complex than any shape in geometry. We’re complete opposites but annoyingly, exactly the same. Two poles torn apart that snap right back together again. He can’t tell me what to do and then go do the opposite. Why do I have to be good while he gets to play? Does whatever he likes—fucks whomever he pleases and spends every night with his friends or at a stupid party?

  I put my hands on my hips and chew on my lower lip. My brows converge and lower to show him how serious I am.

  “I won’t do it to your face, which is more than I can say for you.” I cross my arms over my breasts and lean back.

  There. I said it. What can he say to that? Nothing, because it’s only fair and he can’t tell me I’m wrong.

  I was hoping that he pulled me to a secluded spot to kiss me. Hide away and indulge his hands all over me, steal moments together in secret that no one can interrupt.

  I want more than anything for Lucky to kiss me again. Right here and now no matter the anger or the damn walls he’s built up. I tell him with my eyes and I can feel the heightened tension rush through the both of us.

  Something is happening.

  His fingertips on my arm are the epicenters of seismic rumblings. His pause means he’s considering it, weighing it over. I want his hands to touch me and together we can explore, uncover our own recipes for enrapture. We could abandon words all together and speak fluent language with just our fingers.

  I want more than just his hands. I want his mouth. I want his cock. I want him naked, crazed with lust and completely unable to reason, to even remember who we are. No defenses, no excuses, just pure desire and overflowing drive. I can handle a boy like Lucky.

  I might be the only one who loves him enough.

  His fingers press into my bicep cautiously as he contemplates what could happen. Then they release and he trails his knuckles over my shoulder and up my neck. I close my eyes and tip my head back slightly, absorbing every moment of his touch.

  There are miracles we could discover together, I’m more sure of it than anything else in my life. Lucky and I could make magic happen, if only he’d let go and give in. Or maybe I’m crazy, maybe Lucky doesn’t even feel it at all. He pulls his hand back from the caress, from the touch that speaks legions more to me than his words ever do. The spell breaks. He’s distant again. He’s put the walls back up.

  “All right. I don’t want to fight with you.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal.

  “You always fight me, you fight us,” I whisper, looking at the spot where his hands grasped my arm.

  “You win, Bey. You’re better than me. I’m a complete fuck-up.”

  Después

  “Belén.”

  It’s impossible, rationally I know that. I tell myself that I’m in a storage closet on a restricted floor in the hospital.

  But I know that voice. In the blackness, without sight, with only my heartbeat and breathing to guide me. I know the voice, but I haven’t forgotten what happened to him. I also know that I heard the voice clear and present in my head. Out of the black void comes the strange realization that I must be dead. And it’s a relief to realize it,
because that, I can wrap my brain around. Death is darkness. Death is the absence of light. In death you hear the voices of those who mattered the most. I move toward the breathing, toward the direction of the voice in the dark. I wonder if there is a physical body after death. Will I be able to feel him? Will Luciano be able to feel my touch?

  I’ve waited so long for this, it feels like dying is birth. I’ll be reunited with the man I love, shed all of the shame and the hurt. But in death, my heart beats fast and ragged breaths still rasp in and out of my chest like I can’t get enough air.

  “Lucky, it’s me,” I whisper into the darkness. I don’t want him to feel scared.

  Death is like coming home. I have no fear, no concrete thoughts, just peaceful acceptance of being reunited with my lover. I move toward the idea of him, the soft phantom sounds in the dark, but I trip on the metal mop bucket which shouldn’t exist in the after life . Pain slices into my leg, a brutal overdose of reality. The sudden, brilliant burn in my leg shakes me smack into reality. I’m most certainly alive, not unconscious or even dreaming. Lacerated skin hurts like hell and I can feel the warm blood as it oozes down my leg.

  Not dead, I’m still in the closet. Overwhelming pain and irrational fear spread through me again. Another scream rips out of my chest and tears through the darkness. I heard someone say my name. I know I did, and that can only mean one thing: there’s someone in here with me. I’m locked in a restricted wing of the hospital with a dangerous man who knows my name, not my dead cousin.

  My heart flutters like a frightened hummingbird trying to escape the cage of my chest. Tears pour from my eyes and I kneel and clutch my fingers across the huge tear in my pants. I can feel the warm blood trickle out. The stickiness and the smell make me nauseated.